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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Thus Spake Zarathustra, by Friedrich Nietzsche
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: Thus Spake Zarathustra
+       A Book for All and None
+
+Author: Friedrich Nietzsche
+
+Translator: Thomas Common
+
+Release Date: December, 1999 [eBook #1998]
+[Most recently updated: July 25, 2021]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+Produced by: Sue Asscher and David Widger
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA ***
+
+
+
+
+THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA
+
+A BOOK FOR ALL AND NONE
+
+
+By Friedrich Nietzsche
+
+
+Translated By Thomas Common
+
+
+PG Editor’s Note:
+
+Archaic spelling and punctuation usages have not been changed.
+I particular quotations are often not closed for several paragraphs.
+
+DW
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+     INTRODUCTION BY MRS FORSTER-NIETZSCHE.
+
+
+
+     THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA.
+
+     FIRST PART.
+
+     Zarathustra’s Prologue.
+
+     Zarathustra’s Discourses.
+
+     I.  The Three Metamorphoses.
+
+     II.  The Academic Chairs of Virtue.
+
+     III.  Backworldsmen.
+
+     IV.  The Despisers of the Body.
+
+     V.  Joys and Passions.
+
+     VI.  The Pale Criminal.
+
+     VII.  Reading and Writing.
+
+     VIII.  The Tree on the Hill.
+
+     IX.  The Preachers of Death.
+
+     X.  War and Warriors.
+
+     XI.  The New Idol.
+
+     XII.  The Flies in the Market-place.
+
+     XIII.  Chastity.
+
+     XIV.  The Friend.
+
+     XV.  The Thousand and One Goals.
+
+     XVI.  Neighbour-Love.
+
+     XVII.  The Way of the Creating One.
+
+     XVIII.  Old and Young Women.
+
+     XIX.  The Bite of the Adder.
+
+     XX.  Child and Marriage.
+
+     XXI.  Voluntary Death.
+
+     XXII.  The Bestowing Virtue.
+
+
+     SECOND PART.
+
+     XXIII.  The Child with the Mirror.
+
+     XXIV.  In the Happy Isles.
+
+     XXV.  The Pitiful.
+
+     XXVI.  The Priests.
+
+     XXVII.  The Virtuous.
+
+     XXVIII.  The Rabble.
+
+     XXIX.  The Tarantulas.
+
+     XXX.  The Famous Wise Ones.
+
+     XXXI.  The Night-Song.
+
+     XXXII.  The Dance-Song.
+
+     XXXIII.  The Grave-Song.
+
+     XXXIV.  Self-Surpassing.
+
+     XXXV.  The Sublime Ones.
+
+     XXXVI.  The Land of Culture.
+
+     XXXVII.  Immaculate Perception.
+
+     XXXVIII.  Scholars.
+
+     XXXIX.  Poets.
+
+     XL.  Great Events.
+
+     XLI.  The Soothsayer.
+
+     XLII.  Redemption.
+
+     XLIII.  Manly Prudence.
+
+     XLIV.  The Stillest Hour.
+
+
+     THIRD PART.
+
+     XLV.  The Wanderer.
+
+     XLVI.  The Vision and the Enigma.
+
+     XLVII.  Involuntary Bliss.
+
+     XLVIII.  Before Sunrise.
+
+     XLIX.  The Bedwarfing Virtue.
+
+     L.  On the Olive-Mount.
+
+     LI.  On Passing-by.
+
+     LII.  The Apostates.
+
+     LIII.  The Return Home.
+
+     LIV.  The Three Evil Things.
+
+     LV.  The Spirit of Gravity.
+
+     LVI.  Old and New Tables.
+
+     LVII.  The Convalescent.
+
+     LVIII.  The Great Longing.
+
+     LIX.  The Second Dance-Song.
+
+     LX.  The Seven Seals.
+
+
+     FOURTH AND LAST PART.
+
+     LXI.  The Honey Sacrifice.
+
+     LXII.  The Cry of Distress.
+
+     LXIII.  Talk with the Kings.
+
+     LXIV.  The Leech.
+
+     LXV.  The Magician.
+
+     LXVI.  Out of Service.
+
+     LXVII.  The Ugliest Man.
+
+     LXVIII.  The Voluntary Beggar.
+
+     LXIX.  The Shadow.
+
+     LXX.  Noon-Tide.
+
+     LXXI.  The Greeting.
+
+     LXXII.  The Supper.
+
+     LXIII.  The Higher Man.
+
+     LXXIV.  The Song of Melancholy.
+
+     LXXV.  Science.
+
+     LXXVI.  Among Daughters of the Desert.
+
+     LXXVII.  The Awakening.
+
+     LXXVIII.  The Ass-Festival.
+
+     LXXIX.  The Drunken Song.
+
+     LXXX.  The Sign.
+
+
+     APPENDIX.
+
+     Notes on “Thus Spake Zarathustra” by Anthony M. Ludovici.
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION BY MRS FORSTER-NIETZSCHE.
+
+HOW ZARATHUSTRA CAME INTO BEING.
+
+“Zarathustra” is my brother’s most personal work; it is the history of
+his most individual experiences, of his friendships, ideals, raptures,
+bitterest disappointments and sorrows. Above it all, however, there
+soars, transfiguring it, the image of his greatest hopes and remotest
+aims. My brother had the figure of Zarathustra in his mind from his very
+earliest youth: he once told me that even as a child he had dreamt of
+him. At different periods in his life, he would call this haunter of his
+dreams by different names; “but in the end,” he declares in a note on
+the subject, “I had to do a PERSIAN the honour of identifying him with
+this creature of my fancy. Persians were the first to take a broad and
+comprehensive view of history. Every series of evolutions, according
+to them, was presided over by a prophet; and every prophet had his
+‘Hazar,’--his dynasty of a thousand years.”
+
+All Zarathustra’s views, as also his personality, were early conceptions
+of my brother’s mind. Whoever reads his posthumously published writings
+for the years 1869-82 with care, will constantly meet with passages
+suggestive of Zarathustra’s thoughts and doctrines. For instance, the
+ideal of the Superman is put forth quite clearly in all his writings
+during the years 1873-75; and in “We Philologists”, the following
+remarkable observations occur:--
+
+“How can one praise and glorify a nation as a whole?--Even among the
+Greeks, it was the INDIVIDUALS that counted.”
+
+“The Greeks are interesting and extremely important because they reared
+such a vast number of great individuals. How was this possible? The
+question is one which ought to be studied.
+
+“I am interested only in the relations of a people to the rearing of
+the individual man, and among the Greeks the conditions were unusually
+favourable for the development of the individual; not by any means owing
+to the goodness of the people, but because of the struggles of their
+evil instincts.
+
+“WITH THE HELP OF FAVOURABLE MEASURES GREAT INDIVIDUALS MIGHT BE REARED
+WHO WOULD BE BOTH DIFFERENT FROM AND HIGHER THAN THOSE WHO HERETOFORE
+HAVE OWED THEIR EXISTENCE TO MERE CHANCE. Here we may still be hopeful:
+in the rearing of exceptional men.”
+
+The notion of rearing the Superman is only a new form of an ideal
+Nietzsche already had in his youth, that “THE OBJECT OF MANKIND SHOULD
+LIE IN ITS HIGHEST INDIVIDUALS” (or, as he writes in “Schopenhauer as
+Educator”: “Mankind ought constantly to be striving to produce great
+men--this and nothing else is its duty.”) But the ideals he most revered
+in those days are no longer held to be the highest types of men. No,
+around this future ideal of a coming humanity--the Superman--the poet
+spread the veil of becoming. Who can tell to what glorious heights man
+can still ascend? That is why, after having tested the worth of our
+noblest ideal--that of the Saviour, in the light of the new valuations,
+the poet cries with passionate emphasis in “Zarathustra”:
+
+“Never yet hath there been a Superman. Naked have I seen both of them,
+the greatest and the smallest man:--
+
+All-too-similar are they still to each other. Verily even the greatest
+found I--all-too-human!”--
+
+The phrase “the rearing of the Superman,” has very often been
+misunderstood. By the word “rearing,” in this case, is meant the act of
+modifying by means of new and higher values--values which, as laws and
+guides of conduct and opinion, are now to rule over mankind. In general
+the doctrine of the Superman can only be understood correctly in
+conjunction with other ideas of the author’s, such as:--the Order
+of Rank, the Will to Power, and the Transvaluation of all Values. He
+assumes that Christianity, as a product of the resentment of the botched
+and the weak, has put in ban all that is beautiful, strong, proud, and
+powerful, in fact all the qualities resulting from strength, and that,
+in consequence, all forces which tend to promote or elevate life have
+been seriously undermined. Now, however, a new table of valuations
+must be placed over mankind--namely, that of the strong, mighty, and
+magnificent man, overflowing with life and elevated to his zenith--the
+Superman, who is now put before us with overpowering passion as the
+aim of our life, hope, and will. And just as the old system of valuing,
+which only extolled the qualities favourable to the weak, the suffering,
+and the oppressed, has succeeded in producing a weak, suffering, and
+“modern” race, so this new and reversed system of valuing ought to rear
+a healthy, strong, lively, and courageous type, which would be a glory
+to life itself. Stated briefly, the leading principle of this new system
+of valuing would be: “All that proceeds from power is good, all that
+springs from weakness is bad.”
+
+This type must not be regarded as a fanciful figure: it is not a
+nebulous hope which is to be realised at some indefinitely remote
+period, thousands of years hence; nor is it a new species (in the
+Darwinian sense) of which we can know nothing, and which it would
+therefore be somewhat absurd to strive after. But it is meant to be
+a possibility which men of the present could realise with all their
+spiritual and physical energies, provided they adopted the new values.
+
+The author of “Zarathustra” never lost sight of that egregious example
+of a transvaluation of all values through Christianity, whereby the
+whole of the deified mode of life and thought of the Greeks, as well as
+strong Romedom, was almost annihilated or transvalued in a comparatively
+short time. Could not a rejuvenated Graeco-Roman system of valuing (once
+it had been refined and made more profound by the schooling which
+two thousand years of Christianity had provided) effect another such
+revolution within a calculable period of time, until that glorious type
+of manhood shall finally appear which is to be our new faith and hope,
+and in the creation of which Zarathustra exhorts us to participate?
+
+In his private notes on the subject the author uses the expression
+“Superman” (always in the singular, by-the-bye), as signifying “the most
+thoroughly well-constituted type,” as opposed to “modern man”; above
+all, however, he designates Zarathustra himself as an example of the
+Superman. In “Ecco Homo” he is careful to enlighten us concerning the
+precursors and prerequisites to the advent of this highest type, in
+referring to a certain passage in the “Gay Science”:--
+
+“In order to understand this type, we must first be quite clear in
+regard to the leading physiological condition on which it depends: this
+condition is what I call GREAT HEALTHINESS. I know not how to express my
+meaning more plainly or more personally than I have done already in
+one of the last chapters (Aphorism 382) of the fifth book of the ‘Gaya
+Scienza’.”
+
+“We, the new, the nameless, the hard-to-understand,”--it says
+there,--“we firstlings of a yet untried future--we require for a new end
+also a new means, namely, a new healthiness, stronger, sharper, tougher,
+bolder and merrier than all healthiness hitherto. He whose soul
+longeth to experience the whole range of hitherto recognised values
+and desirabilities, and to circumnavigate all the coasts of this ideal
+‘Mediterranean Sea’, who, from the adventures of his most personal
+experience, wants to know how it feels to be a conqueror, and discoverer
+of the ideal--as likewise how it is with the artist, the saint, the
+legislator, the sage, the scholar, the devotee, the prophet, and the
+godly non-conformist of the old style:--requires one thing above all
+for that purpose, GREAT HEALTHINESS--such healthiness as one not only
+possesses, but also constantly acquires and must acquire, because one
+unceasingly sacrifices it again, and must sacrifice it!--And now, after
+having been long on the way in this fashion, we Argonauts of the ideal,
+more courageous perhaps than prudent, and often enough shipwrecked
+and brought to grief, nevertheless dangerously healthy, always healthy
+again,--it would seem as if, in recompense for it all, that we have a
+still undiscovered country before us, the boundaries of which no one
+has yet seen, a beyond to all countries and corners of the ideal known
+hitherto, a world so over-rich in the beautiful, the strange, the
+questionable, the frightful, and the divine, that our curiosity as well
+as our thirst for possession thereof, have got out of hand--alas! that
+nothing will now any longer satisfy us!--
+
+“How could we still be content with THE MAN OF THE PRESENT DAY
+after such outlooks, and with such a craving in our conscience and
+consciousness? Sad enough; but it is unavoidable that we should look
+on the worthiest aims and hopes of the man of the present day with
+ill-concealed amusement, and perhaps should no longer look at them.
+Another ideal runs on before us, a strange, tempting ideal full of
+danger, to which we should not like to persuade any one, because we
+do not so readily acknowledge any one’s RIGHT THERETO: the ideal of
+a spirit who plays naively (that is to say involuntarily and from
+overflowing abundance and power) with everything that has hitherto
+been called holy, good, intangible, or divine; to whom the loftiest
+conception which the people have reasonably made their measure of value,
+would already practically imply danger, ruin, abasement, or at least
+relaxation, blindness, or temporary self-forgetfulness; the ideal of
+a humanly superhuman welfare and benevolence, which will often enough
+appear INHUMAN, for example, when put alongside of all past seriousness
+on earth, and alongside of all past solemnities in bearing, word, tone,
+look, morality, and pursuit, as their truest involuntary parody--and
+WITH which, nevertheless, perhaps THE GREAT SERIOUSNESS only commences,
+when the proper interrogative mark is set up, the fate of the soul
+changes, the hour-hand moves, and tragedy begins...”
+
+Although the figure of Zarathustra and a large number of the leading
+thoughts in this work had appeared much earlier in the dreams and
+writings of the author, “Thus Spake Zarathustra” did not actually come
+into being until the month of August 1881 in Sils Maria; and it was the
+idea of the Eternal Recurrence of all things which finally induced my
+brother to set forth his new views in poetic language. In regard to his
+first conception of this idea, his autobiographical sketch, “Ecce Homo”,
+written in the autumn of 1888, contains the following passage:--
+
+“The fundamental idea of my work--namely, the Eternal Recurrence of
+all things--this highest of all possible formulae of a Yea-saying
+philosophy, first occurred to me in August 1881. I made a note of the
+thought on a sheet of paper, with the postscript: 6,000 feet beyond
+men and time! That day I happened to be wandering through the woods
+alongside of the lake of Silvaplana, and I halted beside a huge,
+pyramidal and towering rock not far from Surlei. It was then that the
+thought struck me. Looking back now, I find that exactly two months
+previous to this inspiration, I had had an omen of its coming in the
+form of a sudden and decisive alteration in my tastes--more particularly
+in music. It would even be possible to consider all ‘Zarathustra’ as a
+musical composition. At all events, a very necessary condition in its
+production was a renaissance in myself of the art of hearing. In a small
+mountain resort (Recoaro) near Vicenza, where I spent the spring of
+1881, I and my friend and Maestro, Peter Gast--also one who had been
+born again--discovered that the phoenix music that hovered over us, wore
+lighter and brighter plumes than it had done theretofore.”
+
+During the month of August 1881 my brother resolved to reveal the
+teaching of the Eternal Recurrence, in dithyrambic and psalmodic form,
+through the mouth of Zarathustra. Among the notes of this period, we
+found a page on which is written the first definite plan of “Thus Spake
+Zarathustra”:--
+
+“MIDDAY AND ETERNITY.”
+
+“GUIDE-POSTS TO A NEW WAY OF LIVING.”
+
+Beneath this is written:--
+
+“Zarathustra born on lake Urmi; left his home in his thirtieth year,
+went into the province of Aria, and, during ten years of solitude in the
+mountains, composed the Zend-Avesta.”
+
+“The sun of knowledge stands once more at midday; and the serpent
+of eternity lies coiled in its light--: It is YOUR time, ye midday
+brethren.”
+
+In that summer of 1881, my brother, after many years of steadily
+declining health, began at last to rally, and it is to this first gush
+of the recovery of his once splendid bodily condition that we owe not
+only “The Gay Science”, which in its mood may be regarded as a prelude
+to “Zarathustra”, but also “Zarathustra” itself. Just as he was
+beginning to recuperate his health, however, an unkind destiny brought
+him a number of most painful personal experiences. His friends caused
+him many disappointments, which were the more bitter to him, inasmuch as
+he regarded friendship as such a sacred institution; and for the first
+time in his life he realised the whole horror of that loneliness to
+which, perhaps, all greatness is condemned. But to be forsaken is
+something very different from deliberately choosing blessed loneliness.
+How he longed, in those days, for the ideal friend who would thoroughly
+understand him, to whom he would be able to say all, and whom he
+imagined he had found at various periods in his life from his earliest
+youth onwards. Now, however, that the way he had chosen grew ever more
+perilous and steep, he found nobody who could follow him: he therefore
+created a perfect friend for himself in the ideal form of a majestic
+philosopher, and made this creation the preacher of his gospel to the
+world.
+
+Whether my brother would ever have written “Thus Spake Zarathustra”
+ according to the first plan sketched in the summer of 1881, if he
+had not had the disappointments already referred to, is now an idle
+question; but perhaps where “Zarathustra” is concerned, we may also say
+with Master Eckhardt: “The fleetest beast to bear you to perfection is
+suffering.”
+
+My brother writes as follows about the origin of the first part of
+“Zarathustra”:--“In the winter of 1882-83, I was living on the charming
+little Gulf of Rapallo, not far from Genoa, and between Chiavari and
+Cape Porto Fino. My health was not very good; the winter was cold and
+exceptionally rainy; and the small inn in which I lived was so close
+to the water that at night my sleep would be disturbed if the sea were
+high. These circumstances were surely the very reverse of favourable;
+and yet in spite of it all, and as if in demonstration of my belief that
+everything decisive comes to life in spite of every obstacle, it was
+precisely during this winter and in the midst of these unfavourable
+circumstances that my ‘Zarathustra’ originated. In the morning I used to
+start out in a southerly direction up the glorious road to Zoagli, which
+rises aloft through a forest of pines and gives one a view far out into
+the sea. In the afternoon, as often as my health permitted, I walked
+round the whole bay from Santa Margherita to beyond Porto Fino. This
+spot was all the more interesting to me, inasmuch as it was so dearly
+loved by the Emperor Frederick III. In the autumn of 1886 I chanced to
+be there again when he was revisiting this small, forgotten world
+of happiness for the last time. It was on these two roads that all
+‘Zarathustra’ came to me, above all Zarathustra himself as a type;--I
+ought rather to say that it was on these walks that these ideas waylaid
+me.”
+
+The first part of “Zarathustra” was written in about ten days--that is
+to say, from the beginning to about the middle of February 1883. “The
+last lines were written precisely in the hallowed hour when Richard
+Wagner gave up the ghost in Venice.”
+
+With the exception of the ten days occupied in composing the first part
+of this book, my brother often referred to this winter as the hardest
+and sickliest he had ever experienced. He did not, however, mean thereby
+that his former disorders were troubling him, but that he was suffering
+from a severe attack of influenza which he had caught in Santa
+Margherita, and which tormented him for several weeks after his arrival
+in Genoa. As a matter of fact, however, what he complained of most was
+his spiritual condition--that indescribable forsakenness--to which he
+gives such heartrending expression in “Zarathustra”. Even the reception
+which the first part met with at the hands of friends and acquaintances
+was extremely disheartening: for almost all those to whom he presented
+copies of the work misunderstood it. “I found no one ripe for many of my
+thoughts; the case of ‘Zarathustra’ proves that one can speak with the
+utmost clearness, and yet not be heard by any one.” My brother was very
+much discouraged by the feebleness of the response he was given, and as
+he was striving just then to give up the practice of taking hydrate
+of chloral--a drug he had begun to take while ill with influenza,--the
+following spring, spent in Rome, was a somewhat gloomy one for him.
+He writes about it as follows:--“I spent a melancholy spring in Rome,
+where I only just managed to live,--and this was no easy matter. This
+city, which is absolutely unsuited to the poet-author of ‘Zarathustra’,
+and for the choice of which I was not responsible, made me inordinately
+miserable. I tried to leave it. I wanted to go to Aquila--the opposite
+of Rome in every respect, and actually founded in a spirit of enmity
+towards that city (just as I also shall found a city some day), as a
+memento of an atheist and genuine enemy of the Church--a person very
+closely related to me,--the great Hohenstaufen, the Emperor Frederick
+II. But Fate lay behind it all: I had to return again to Rome. In the
+end I was obliged to be satisfied with the Piazza Barberini, after I had
+exerted myself in vain to find an anti-Christian quarter. I fear that
+on one occasion, to avoid bad smells as much as possible, I actually
+inquired at the Palazzo del Quirinale whether they could not provide a
+quiet room for a philosopher. In a chamber high above the Piazza just
+mentioned, from which one obtained a general view of Rome and could
+hear the fountains plashing far below, the loneliest of all songs
+was composed--‘The Night-Song’. About this time I was obsessed by an
+unspeakably sad melody, the refrain of which I recognised in the words,
+‘dead through immortality.’”
+
+We remained somewhat too long in Rome that spring, and what with the
+effect of the increasing heat and the discouraging circumstances already
+described, my brother resolved not to write any more, or in any case,
+not to proceed with “Zarathustra”, although I offered to relieve him
+of all trouble in connection with the proofs and the publisher. When,
+however, we returned to Switzerland towards the end of June, and he
+found himself once more in the familiar and exhilarating air of the
+mountains, all his joyous creative powers revived, and in a note to me
+announcing the dispatch of some manuscript, he wrote as follows: “I have
+engaged a place here for three months: forsooth, I am the greatest fool
+to allow my courage to be sapped from me by the climate of Italy. Now
+and again I am troubled by the thought: WHAT NEXT? My ‘future’ is the
+darkest thing in the world to me, but as there still remains a great
+deal for me to do, I suppose I ought rather to think of doing this than
+of my future, and leave the rest to THEE and the gods.”
+
+The second part of “Zarathustra” was written between the 26th of June
+and the 6th July. “This summer, finding myself once more in the sacred
+place where the first thought of ‘Zarathustra’ flashed across my mind,
+I conceived the second part. Ten days sufficed. Neither for the second,
+the first, nor the third part, have I required a day longer.”
+
+He often used to speak of the ecstatic mood in which he wrote
+“Zarathustra”; how in his walks over hill and dale the ideas would crowd
+into his mind, and how he would note them down hastily in a note-book
+from which he would transcribe them on his return, sometimes working
+till midnight. He says in a letter to me: “You can have no idea of the
+vehemence of such composition,” and in “Ecce Homo” (autumn 1888) he
+describes as follows with passionate enthusiasm the incomparable mood in
+which he created Zarathustra:--
+
+“--Has any one at the end of the nineteenth century any distinct notion
+of what poets of a stronger age understood by the word inspiration? If
+not, I will describe it. If one had the smallest vestige of superstition
+in one, it would hardly be possible to set aside completely the idea
+that one is the mere incarnation, mouthpiece or medium of an almighty
+power. The idea of revelation in the sense that something becomes
+suddenly visible and audible with indescribable certainty and accuracy,
+which profoundly convulses and upsets one--describes simply the matter
+of fact. One hears--one does not seek; one takes--one does not ask
+who gives: a thought suddenly flashes up like lightning, it comes with
+necessity, unhesitatingly--I have never had any choice in the matter.
+There is an ecstasy such that the immense strain of it is sometimes
+relaxed by a flood of tears, along with which one’s steps either rush
+or involuntarily lag, alternately. There is the feeling that one is
+completely out of hand, with the very distinct consciousness of an
+endless number of fine thrills and quiverings to the very toes;--there
+is a depth of happiness in which the painfullest and gloomiest do not
+operate as antitheses, but as conditioned, as demanded in the sense of
+necessary shades of colour in such an overflow of light. There is an
+instinct for rhythmic relations which embraces wide areas of forms
+(length, the need of a wide-embracing rhythm, is almost the measure of
+the force of an inspiration, a sort of counterpart to its pressure and
+tension). Everything happens quite involuntarily, as if in a tempestuous
+outburst of freedom, of absoluteness, of power and divinity. The
+involuntariness of the figures and similes is the most remarkable
+thing; one loses all perception of what constitutes the figure and
+what constitutes the simile; everything seems to present itself as
+the readiest, the correctest and the simplest means of expression.
+It actually seems, to use one of Zarathustra’s own phrases, as if all
+things came unto one, and would fain be similes: ‘Here do all things
+come caressingly to thy talk and flatter thee, for they want to ride
+upon thy back. On every simile dost thou here ride to every truth. Here
+fly open unto thee all being’s words and word-cabinets; here all being
+wanteth to become words, here all becoming wanteth to learn of thee how
+to talk.’ This is MY experience of inspiration. I do not doubt but that
+one would have to go back thousands of years in order to find some one
+who could say to me: It is mine also!--”
+
+In the autumn of 1883 my brother left the Engadine for Germany and
+stayed there a few weeks. In the following winter, after wandering
+somewhat erratically through Stresa, Genoa, and Spezia, he landed in
+Nice, where the climate so happily promoted his creative powers that
+he wrote the third part of “Zarathustra”. “In the winter, beneath the
+halcyon sky of Nice, which then looked down upon me for the first time
+in my life, I found the third ‘Zarathustra’--and came to the end of my
+task; the whole having occupied me scarcely a year. Many hidden corners
+and heights in the landscapes round about Nice are hallowed to me by
+unforgettable moments. That decisive chapter entitled ‘Old and New
+Tables’ was composed in the very difficult ascent from the station
+to Eza--that wonderful Moorish village in the rocks. My most creative
+moments were always accompanied by unusual muscular activity. The body
+is inspired: let us waive the question of the ‘soul.’ I might often have
+been seen dancing in those days. Without a suggestion of fatigue I could
+then walk for seven or eight hours on end among the hills. I slept well
+and laughed well--I was perfectly robust and patient.”
+
+As we have seen, each of the three parts of “Zarathustra” was written,
+after a more or less short period of preparation, in about ten days.
+The composition of the fourth part alone was broken by occasional
+interruptions. The first notes relating to this part were written while
+he and I were staying together in Zurich in September 1884. In the
+following November, while staying at Mentone, he began to elaborate
+these notes, and after a long pause, finished the manuscript at Nice
+between the end of January and the middle of February 1885. My brother
+then called this part the fourth and last; but even before, and shortly
+after it had been privately printed, he wrote to me saying that he still
+intended writing a fifth and sixth part, and notes relating to these
+parts are now in my possession. This fourth part (the original MS. of
+which contains this note: “Only for my friends, not for the public”)
+is written in a particularly personal spirit, and those few to whom he
+presented a copy of it, he pledged to the strictest secrecy concerning
+its contents. He often thought of making this fourth part public also,
+but doubted whether he would ever be able to do so without considerably
+altering certain portions of it. At all events he resolved to distribute
+this manuscript production, of which only forty copies were printed,
+only among those who had proved themselves worthy of it, and it speaks
+eloquently of his utter loneliness and need of sympathy in those days,
+that he had occasion to present only seven copies of his book according
+to this resolution.
+
+Already at the beginning of this history I hinted at the reasons which
+led my brother to select a Persian as the incarnation of his ideal of
+the majestic philosopher. His reasons, however, for choosing Zarathustra
+of all others to be his mouthpiece, he gives us in the following
+words:--“People have never asked me, as they should have done, what the
+name Zarathustra precisely means in my mouth, in the mouth of the first
+Immoralist; for what distinguishes that philosopher from all others
+in the past is the very fact that he was exactly the reverse of an
+immoralist. Zarathustra was the first to see in the struggle between
+good and evil the essential wheel in the working of things. The
+translation of morality into the metaphysical, as force, cause, end in
+itself, was HIS work. But the very question suggests its own answer.
+Zarathustra CREATED the most portentous error, MORALITY, consequently he
+should also be the first to PERCEIVE that error, not only because he
+has had longer and greater experience of the subject than any other
+thinker--all history is the experimental refutation of the theory of
+the so-called moral order of things:--the more important point is that
+Zarathustra was more truthful than any other thinker. In his teaching
+alone do we meet with truthfulness upheld as the highest virtue--i.e.:
+the reverse of the COWARDICE of the ‘idealist’ who flees from reality.
+Zarathustra had more courage in his body than any other thinker before
+or after him. To tell the truth and TO AIM STRAIGHT: that is the first
+Persian virtue. Am I understood?... The overcoming of morality through
+itself--through truthfulness, the overcoming of the moralist through his
+opposite--THROUGH ME--: that is what the name Zarathustra means in my
+mouth.”
+
+ELIZABETH FORSTER-NIETZSCHE.
+
+Nietzsche Archives,
+
+Weimar, December 1905.
+
+
+
+
+THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA.
+
+
+
+
+FIRST PART. ZARATHUSTRA’S DISCOURSES.
+
+
+
+
+ZARATHUSTRA’S PROLOGUE.
+
+
+1.
+
+When Zarathustra was thirty years old, he left his home and the lake of
+his home, and went into the mountains. There he enjoyed his spirit and
+solitude, and for ten years did not weary of it. But at last his heart
+changed,--and rising one morning with the rosy dawn, he went before the
+sun, and spake thus unto it:
+
+Thou great star! What would be thy happiness if thou hadst not those for
+whom thou shinest!
+
+For ten years hast thou climbed hither unto my cave: thou wouldst have
+wearied of thy light and of the journey, had it not been for me, mine
+eagle, and my serpent.
+
+But we awaited thee every morning, took from thee thine overflow and
+blessed thee for it.
+
+Lo! I am weary of my wisdom, like the bee that hath gathered too much
+honey; I need hands outstretched to take it.
+
+I would fain bestow and distribute, until the wise have once more become
+joyous in their folly, and the poor happy in their riches.
+
+Therefore must I descend into the deep: as thou doest in the
+evening, when thou goest behind the sea, and givest light also to the
+nether-world, thou exuberant star!
+
+Like thee must I GO DOWN, as men say, to whom I shall descend.
+
+Bless me, then, thou tranquil eye, that canst behold even the greatest
+happiness without envy!
+
+Bless the cup that is about to overflow, that the water may flow golden
+out of it, and carry everywhere the reflection of thy bliss!
+
+Lo! This cup is again going to empty itself, and Zarathustra is again
+going to be a man.
+
+Thus began Zarathustra’s down-going.
+
+2.
+
+Zarathustra went down the mountain alone, no one meeting him. When he
+entered the forest, however, there suddenly stood before him an old man,
+who had left his holy cot to seek roots. And thus spake the old man to
+Zarathustra:
+
+“No stranger to me is this wanderer: many years ago passed he by.
+Zarathustra he was called; but he hath altered.
+
+Then thou carriedst thine ashes into the mountains: wilt thou now carry
+thy fire into the valleys? Fearest thou not the incendiary’s doom?
+
+Yea, I recognise Zarathustra. Pure is his eye, and no loathing lurketh
+about his mouth. Goeth he not along like a dancer?
+
+Altered is Zarathustra; a child hath Zarathustra become; an awakened one
+is Zarathustra: what wilt thou do in the land of the sleepers?
+
+As in the sea hast thou lived in solitude, and it hath borne thee up.
+Alas, wilt thou now go ashore? Alas, wilt thou again drag thy body
+thyself?”
+
+Zarathustra answered: “I love mankind.”
+
+“Why,” said the saint, “did I go into the forest and the desert? Was it
+not because I loved men far too well?
+
+Now I love God: men, I do not love. Man is a thing too imperfect for me.
+Love to man would be fatal to me.”
+
+Zarathustra answered: “What spake I of love! I am bringing gifts unto
+men.”
+
+“Give them nothing,” said the saint. “Take rather part of their load,
+and carry it along with them--that will be most agreeable unto them: if
+only it be agreeable unto thee!
+
+If, however, thou wilt give unto them, give them no more than an alms,
+and let them also beg for it!”
+
+“No,” replied Zarathustra, “I give no alms. I am not poor enough for
+that.”
+
+The saint laughed at Zarathustra, and spake thus: “Then see to it that
+they accept thy treasures! They are distrustful of anchorites, and do
+not believe that we come with gifts.
+
+The fall of our footsteps ringeth too hollow through their streets. And
+just as at night, when they are in bed and hear a man abroad long before
+sunrise, so they ask themselves concerning us: Where goeth the thief?
+
+Go not to men, but stay in the forest! Go rather to the animals! Why not
+be like me--a bear amongst bears, a bird amongst birds?”
+
+“And what doeth the saint in the forest?” asked Zarathustra.
+
+The saint answered: “I make hymns and sing them; and in making hymns I
+laugh and weep and mumble: thus do I praise God.
+
+With singing, weeping, laughing, and mumbling do I praise the God who is
+my God. But what dost thou bring us as a gift?”
+
+When Zarathustra had heard these words, he bowed to the saint and said:
+“What should I have to give thee! Let me rather hurry hence lest I take
+aught away from thee!”--And thus they parted from one another, the old
+man and Zarathustra, laughing like schoolboys.
+
+When Zarathustra was alone, however, he said to his heart: “Could it be
+possible! This old saint in the forest hath not yet heard of it, that
+GOD IS DEAD!”
+
+3.
+
+When Zarathustra arrived at the nearest town which adjoineth the forest,
+he found many people assembled in the market-place; for it had been
+announced that a rope-dancer would give a performance. And Zarathustra
+spake thus unto the people:
+
+I TEACH YOU THE SUPERMAN. Man is something that is to be surpassed. What
+have ye done to surpass man?
+
+All beings hitherto have created something beyond themselves: and ye
+want to be the ebb of that great tide, and would rather go back to the
+beast than surpass man?
+
+What is the ape to man? A laughing-stock, a thing of shame. And just the
+same shall man be to the Superman: a laughing-stock, a thing of shame.
+
+Ye have made your way from the worm to man, and much within you is still
+worm. Once were ye apes, and even yet man is more of an ape than any of
+the apes.
+
+Even the wisest among you is only a disharmony and hybrid of plant and
+phantom. But do I bid you become phantoms or plants?
+
+Lo, I teach you the Superman!
+
+The Superman is the meaning of the earth. Let your will say: The
+Superman SHALL BE the meaning of the earth!
+
+I conjure you, my brethren, REMAIN TRUE TO THE EARTH, and believe not
+those who speak unto you of superearthly hopes! Poisoners are they,
+whether they know it or not.
+
+Despisers of life are they, decaying ones and poisoned ones themselves,
+of whom the earth is weary: so away with them!
+
+Once blasphemy against God was the greatest blasphemy; but God died,
+and therewith also those blasphemers. To blaspheme the earth is now the
+dreadfulest sin, and to rate the heart of the unknowable higher than the
+meaning of the earth!
+
+Once the soul looked contemptuously on the body, and then that contempt
+was the supreme thing:--the soul wished the body meagre, ghastly, and
+famished. Thus it thought to escape from the body and the earth.
+
+Oh, that soul was itself meagre, ghastly, and famished; and cruelty was
+the delight of that soul!
+
+But ye, also, my brethren, tell me: What doth your body say about
+your soul? Is your soul not poverty and pollution and wretched
+self-complacency?
+
+Verily, a polluted stream is man. One must be a sea, to receive a
+polluted stream without becoming impure.
+
+Lo, I teach you the Superman: he is that sea; in him can your great
+contempt be submerged.
+
+What is the greatest thing ye can experience? It is the hour of great
+contempt. The hour in which even your happiness becometh loathsome unto
+you, and so also your reason and virtue.
+
+The hour when ye say: “What good is my happiness! It is poverty and
+pollution and wretched self-complacency. But my happiness should justify
+existence itself!”
+
+The hour when ye say: “What good is my reason! Doth it long for
+knowledge as the lion for his food? It is poverty and pollution and
+wretched self-complacency!”
+
+The hour when ye say: “What good is my virtue! As yet it hath not made
+me passionate. How weary I am of my good and my bad! It is all poverty
+and pollution and wretched self-complacency!”
+
+The hour when ye say: “What good is my justice! I do not see that I am
+fervour and fuel. The just, however, are fervour and fuel!”
+
+The hour when ye say: “What good is my pity! Is not pity the cross on
+which he is nailed who loveth man? But my pity is not a crucifixion.”
+
+Have ye ever spoken thus? Have ye ever cried thus? Ah! would that I had
+heard you crying thus!
+
+It is not your sin--it is your self-satisfaction that crieth unto
+heaven; your very sparingness in sin crieth unto heaven!
+
+Where is the lightning to lick you with its tongue? Where is the frenzy
+with which ye should be inoculated?
+
+Lo, I teach you the Superman: he is that lightning, he is that frenzy!--
+
+When Zarathustra had thus spoken, one of the people called out: “We have
+now heard enough of the rope-dancer; it is time now for us to see him!”
+ And all the people laughed at Zarathustra. But the rope-dancer, who
+thought the words applied to him, began his performance.
+
+4.
+
+Zarathustra, however, looked at the people and wondered. Then he spake
+thus:
+
+Man is a rope stretched between the animal and the Superman--a rope over
+an abyss.
+
+A dangerous crossing, a dangerous wayfaring, a dangerous looking-back, a
+dangerous trembling and halting.
+
+What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not a goal: what is
+lovable in man is that he is an OVER-GOING and a DOWN-GOING.
+
+I love those that know not how to live except as down-goers, for they
+are the over-goers.
+
+I love the great despisers, because they are the great adorers, and
+arrows of longing for the other shore.
+
+I love those who do not first seek a reason beyond the stars for going
+down and being sacrifices, but sacrifice themselves to the earth, that
+the earth of the Superman may hereafter arrive.
+
+I love him who liveth in order to know, and seeketh to know in
+order that the Superman may hereafter live. Thus seeketh he his own
+down-going.
+
+I love him who laboureth and inventeth, that he may build the house for
+the Superman, and prepare for him earth, animal, and plant: for thus
+seeketh he his own down-going.
+
+I love him who loveth his virtue: for virtue is the will to down-going,
+and an arrow of longing.
+
+I love him who reserveth no share of spirit for himself, but wanteth to
+be wholly the spirit of his virtue: thus walketh he as spirit over the
+bridge.
+
+I love him who maketh his virtue his inclination and destiny: thus, for
+the sake of his virtue, he is willing to live on, or live no more.
+
+I love him who desireth not too many virtues. One virtue is more of a
+virtue than two, because it is more of a knot for one’s destiny to cling
+to.
+
+I love him whose soul is lavish, who wanteth no thanks and doth not give
+back: for he always bestoweth, and desireth not to keep for himself.
+
+I love him who is ashamed when the dice fall in his favour, and who then
+asketh: “Am I a dishonest player?”--for he is willing to succumb.
+
+I love him who scattereth golden words in advance of his deeds, and
+always doeth more than he promiseth: for he seeketh his own down-going.
+
+I love him who justifieth the future ones, and redeemeth the past ones:
+for he is willing to succumb through the present ones.
+
+I love him who chasteneth his God, because he loveth his God: for he
+must succumb through the wrath of his God.
+
+I love him whose soul is deep even in the wounding, and may succumb
+through a small matter: thus goeth he willingly over the bridge.
+
+I love him whose soul is so overfull that he forgetteth himself, and all
+things are in him: thus all things become his down-going.
+
+I love him who is of a free spirit and a free heart: thus is his
+head only the bowels of his heart; his heart, however, causeth his
+down-going.
+
+I love all who are like heavy drops falling one by one out of the dark
+cloud that lowereth over man: they herald the coming of the lightning,
+and succumb as heralds.
+
+Lo, I am a herald of the lightning, and a heavy drop out of the cloud:
+the lightning, however, is the SUPERMAN.--
+
+5.
+
+When Zarathustra had spoken these words, he again looked at the people,
+and was silent. “There they stand,” said he to his heart; “there they
+laugh: they understand me not; I am not the mouth for these ears.
+
+Must one first batter their ears, that they may learn to hear with their
+eyes? Must one clatter like kettledrums and penitential preachers? Or do
+they only believe the stammerer?
+
+They have something whereof they are proud. What do they call it, that
+which maketh them proud? Culture, they call it; it distinguisheth them
+from the goatherds.
+
+They dislike, therefore, to hear of ‘contempt’ of themselves. So I will
+appeal to their pride.
+
+I will speak unto them of the most contemptible thing: that, however, is
+THE LAST MAN!”
+
+And thus spake Zarathustra unto the people:
+
+It is time for man to fix his goal. It is time for man to plant the germ
+of his highest hope.
+
+Still is his soil rich enough for it. But that soil will one day be
+poor and exhausted, and no lofty tree will any longer be able to grow
+thereon.
+
+Alas! there cometh the time when man will no longer launch the arrow of
+his longing beyond man--and the string of his bow will have unlearned to
+whizz!
+
+I tell you: one must still have chaos in one, to give birth to a dancing
+star. I tell you: ye have still chaos in you.
+
+Alas! There cometh the time when man will no longer give birth to any
+star. Alas! There cometh the time of the most despicable man, who can no
+longer despise himself.
+
+Lo! I show you THE LAST MAN.
+
+“What is love? What is creation? What is longing? What is a star?”--so
+asketh the last man and blinketh.
+
+The earth hath then become small, and on it there hoppeth the last man
+who maketh everything small. His species is ineradicable like that of
+the ground-flea; the last man liveth longest.
+
+“We have discovered happiness”--say the last men, and blink thereby.
+
+They have left the regions where it is hard to live; for they need
+warmth. One still loveth one’s neighbour and rubbeth against him; for
+one needeth warmth.
+
+Turning ill and being distrustful, they consider sinful: they walk
+warily. He is a fool who still stumbleth over stones or men!
+
+A little poison now and then: that maketh pleasant dreams. And much
+poison at last for a pleasant death.
+
+One still worketh, for work is a pastime. But one is careful lest the
+pastime should hurt one.
+
+One no longer becometh poor or rich; both are too burdensome. Who still
+wanteth to rule? Who still wanteth to obey? Both are too burdensome.
+
+No shepherd, and one herd! Every one wanteth the same; every one is
+equal: he who hath other sentiments goeth voluntarily into the madhouse.
+
+“Formerly all the world was insane,”--say the subtlest of them, and
+blink thereby.
+
+They are clever and know all that hath happened: so there is
+no end to their raillery. People still fall out, but are soon
+reconciled--otherwise it spoileth their stomachs.
+
+They have their little pleasures for the day, and their little pleasures
+for the night, but they have a regard for health.
+
+“We have discovered happiness,”--say the last men, and blink thereby.--
+
+And here ended the first discourse of Zarathustra, which is also
+called “The Prologue”: for at this point the shouting and mirth of the
+multitude interrupted him. “Give us this last man, O Zarathustra,”--they
+called out--“make us into these last men! Then will we make thee a
+present of the Superman!” And all the people exulted and smacked their
+lips. Zarathustra, however, turned sad, and said to his heart:
+
+“They understand me not: I am not the mouth for these ears.
+
+Too long, perhaps, have I lived in the mountains; too much have I
+hearkened unto the brooks and trees: now do I speak unto them as unto
+the goatherds.
+
+Calm is my soul, and clear, like the mountains in the morning. But they
+think me cold, and a mocker with terrible jests.
+
+And now do they look at me and laugh: and while they laugh they hate me
+too. There is ice in their laughter.”
+
+6.
+
+Then, however, something happened which made every mouth mute and every
+eye fixed. In the meantime, of course, the rope-dancer had commenced his
+performance: he had come out at a little door, and was going along the
+rope which was stretched between two towers, so that it hung above the
+market-place and the people. When he was just midway across, the little
+door opened once more, and a gaudily-dressed fellow like a buffoon
+sprang out, and went rapidly after the first one. “Go on, halt-foot,”
+ cried his frightful voice, “go on, lazy-bones, interloper,
+sallow-face!--lest I tickle thee with my heel! What dost thou here
+between the towers? In the tower is the place for thee, thou shouldst be
+locked up; to one better than thyself thou blockest the way!”--And with
+every word he came nearer and nearer the first one. When, however, he
+was but a step behind, there happened the frightful thing which made
+every mouth mute and every eye fixed--he uttered a yell like a devil,
+and jumped over the other who was in his way. The latter, however, when
+he thus saw his rival triumph, lost at the same time his head and his
+footing on the rope; he threw his pole away, and shot downwards faster
+than it, like an eddy of arms and legs, into the depth. The market-place
+and the people were like the sea when the storm cometh on: they all flew
+apart and in disorder, especially where the body was about to fall.
+
+Zarathustra, however, remained standing, and just beside him fell the
+body, badly injured and disfigured, but not yet dead. After a while
+consciousness returned to the shattered man, and he saw Zarathustra
+kneeling beside him. “What art thou doing there?” said he at last, “I
+knew long ago that the devil would trip me up. Now he draggeth me to
+hell: wilt thou prevent him?”
+
+“On mine honour, my friend,” answered Zarathustra, “there is nothing of
+all that whereof thou speakest: there is no devil and no hell. Thy soul
+will be dead even sooner than thy body: fear, therefore, nothing any
+more!”
+
+The man looked up distrustfully. “If thou speakest the truth,” said he,
+“I lose nothing when I lose my life. I am not much more than an animal
+which hath been taught to dance by blows and scanty fare.”
+
+“Not at all,” said Zarathustra, “thou hast made danger thy calling;
+therein there is nothing contemptible. Now thou perishest by thy
+calling: therefore will I bury thee with mine own hands.”
+
+When Zarathustra had said this the dying one did not reply further; but
+he moved his hand as if he sought the hand of Zarathustra in gratitude.
+
+7.
+
+Meanwhile the evening came on, and the market-place veiled itself in
+gloom. Then the people dispersed, for even curiosity and terror become
+fatigued. Zarathustra, however, still sat beside the dead man on the
+ground, absorbed in thought: so he forgot the time. But at last it
+became night, and a cold wind blew upon the lonely one. Then arose
+Zarathustra and said to his heart:
+
+Verily, a fine catch of fish hath Zarathustra made to-day! It is not a
+man he hath caught, but a corpse.
+
+Sombre is human life, and as yet without meaning: a buffoon may be
+fateful to it.
+
+I want to teach men the sense of their existence, which is the Superman,
+the lightning out of the dark cloud--man.
+
+But still am I far from them, and my sense speaketh not unto their
+sense. To men I am still something between a fool and a corpse.
+
+Gloomy is the night, gloomy are the ways of Zarathustra. Come, thou cold
+and stiff companion! I carry thee to the place where I shall bury thee
+with mine own hands.
+
+8.
+
+When Zarathustra had said this to his heart, he put the corpse upon his
+shoulders and set out on his way. Yet had he not gone a hundred steps,
+when there stole a man up to him and whispered in his ear--and lo!
+he that spake was the buffoon from the tower. “Leave this town, O
+Zarathustra,” said he, “there are too many here who hate thee. The
+good and just hate thee, and call thee their enemy and despiser; the
+believers in the orthodox belief hate thee, and call thee a danger to
+the multitude. It was thy good fortune to be laughed at: and verily thou
+spakest like a buffoon. It was thy good fortune to associate with the
+dead dog; by so humiliating thyself thou hast saved thy life to-day.
+Depart, however, from this town,--or tomorrow I shall jump over thee,
+a living man over a dead one.” And when he had said this, the buffoon
+vanished; Zarathustra, however, went on through the dark streets.
+
+At the gate of the town the grave-diggers met him: they shone their
+torch on his face, and, recognising Zarathustra, they sorely derided
+him. “Zarathustra is carrying away the dead dog: a fine thing that
+Zarathustra hath turned a grave-digger! For our hands are too cleanly
+for that roast. Will Zarathustra steal the bite from the devil? Well
+then, good luck to the repast! If only the devil is not a better thief
+than Zarathustra!--he will steal them both, he will eat them both!” And
+they laughed among themselves, and put their heads together.
+
+Zarathustra made no answer thereto, but went on his way. When he had
+gone on for two hours, past forests and swamps, he had heard too much of
+the hungry howling of the wolves, and he himself became a-hungry. So he
+halted at a lonely house in which a light was burning.
+
+“Hunger attacketh me,” said Zarathustra, “like a robber. Among forests
+and swamps my hunger attacketh me, and late in the night.
+
+“Strange humours hath my hunger. Often it cometh to me only after a
+repast, and all day it hath failed to come: where hath it been?”
+
+And thereupon Zarathustra knocked at the door of the house. An old man
+appeared, who carried a light, and asked: “Who cometh unto me and my bad
+sleep?”
+
+“A living man and a dead one,” said Zarathustra. “Give me something to
+eat and drink, I forgot it during the day. He that feedeth the hungry
+refresheth his own soul, saith wisdom.”
+
+The old man withdrew, but came back immediately and offered Zarathustra
+bread and wine. “A bad country for the hungry,” said he; “that is why
+I live here. Animal and man come unto me, the anchorite. But bid thy
+companion eat and drink also, he is wearier than thou.” Zarathustra
+answered: “My companion is dead; I shall hardly be able to persuade him
+to eat.” “That doth not concern me,” said the old man sullenly; “he
+that knocketh at my door must take what I offer him. Eat, and fare ye
+well!”--
+
+Thereafter Zarathustra again went on for two hours, trusting to the path
+and the light of the stars: for he was an experienced night-walker, and
+liked to look into the face of all that slept. When the morning dawned,
+however, Zarathustra found himself in a thick forest, and no path was
+any longer visible. He then put the dead man in a hollow tree at his
+head--for he wanted to protect him from the wolves--and laid himself
+down on the ground and moss. And immediately he fell asleep, tired in
+body, but with a tranquil soul.
+
+9.
+
+Long slept Zarathustra; and not only the rosy dawn passed over his head,
+but also the morning. At last, however, his eyes opened, and amazedly he
+gazed into the forest and the stillness, amazedly he gazed into himself.
+Then he arose quickly, like a seafarer who all at once seeth the land;
+and he shouted for joy: for he saw a new truth. And he spake thus to his
+heart:
+
+A light hath dawned upon me: I need companions--living ones; not dead
+companions and corpses, which I carry with me where I will.
+
+But I need living companions, who will follow me because they want to
+follow themselves--and to the place where I will.
+
+A light hath dawned upon me. Not to the people is Zarathustra to speak,
+but to companions! Zarathustra shall not be the herd’s herdsman and
+hound!
+
+To allure many from the herd--for that purpose have I come. The people
+and the herd must be angry with me: a robber shall Zarathustra be called
+by the herdsmen.
+
+Herdsmen, I say, but they call themselves the good and just. Herdsmen, I
+say, but they call themselves the believers in the orthodox belief.
+
+Behold the good and just! Whom do they hate most? Him who breaketh up
+their tables of values, the breaker, the lawbreaker:--he, however, is
+the creator.
+
+Behold the believers of all beliefs! Whom do they hate most? Him who
+breaketh up their tables of values, the breaker, the law-breaker--he,
+however, is the creator.
+
+Companions, the creator seeketh, not corpses--and not herds or believers
+either. Fellow-creators the creator seeketh--those who grave new values
+on new tables.
+
+Companions, the creator seeketh, and fellow-reapers: for everything is
+ripe for the harvest with him. But he lacketh the hundred sickles: so he
+plucketh the ears of corn and is vexed.
+
+Companions, the creator seeketh, and such as know how to whet their
+sickles. Destroyers, will they be called, and despisers of good and
+evil. But they are the reapers and rejoicers.
+
+Fellow-creators, Zarathustra seeketh; fellow-reapers and
+fellow-rejoicers, Zarathustra seeketh: what hath he to do with herds and
+herdsmen and corpses!
+
+And thou, my first companion, rest in peace! Well have I buried thee in
+thy hollow tree; well have I hid thee from the wolves.
+
+But I part from thee; the time hath arrived. ‘Twixt rosy dawn and rosy
+dawn there came unto me a new truth.
+
+I am not to be a herdsman, I am not to be a grave-digger. Not any more
+will I discourse unto the people; for the last time have I spoken unto
+the dead.
+
+With the creators, the reapers, and the rejoicers will I associate: the
+rainbow will I show them, and all the stairs to the Superman.
+
+To the lone-dwellers will I sing my song, and to the twain-dwellers;
+and unto him who hath still ears for the unheard, will I make the heart
+heavy with my happiness.
+
+I make for my goal, I follow my course; over the loitering and tardy
+will I leap. Thus let my on-going be their down-going!
+
+10.
+
+This had Zarathustra said to his heart when the sun stood at noon-tide.
+Then he looked inquiringly aloft,--for he heard above him the sharp call
+of a bird. And behold! An eagle swept through the air in wide circles,
+and on it hung a serpent, not like a prey, but like a friend: for it
+kept itself coiled round the eagle’s neck.
+
+“They are mine animals,” said Zarathustra, and rejoiced in his heart.
+
+“The proudest animal under the sun, and the wisest animal under the
+sun,--they have come out to reconnoitre.
+
+They want to know whether Zarathustra still liveth. Verily, do I still
+live?
+
+More dangerous have I found it among men than among animals; in
+dangerous paths goeth Zarathustra. Let mine animals lead me!”
+
+When Zarathustra had said this, he remembered the words of the saint in
+the forest. Then he sighed and spake thus to his heart:
+
+“Would that I were wiser! Would that I were wise from the very heart,
+like my serpent!
+
+But I am asking the impossible. Therefore do I ask my pride to go always
+with my wisdom!
+
+And if my wisdom should some day forsake me:--alas! it loveth to fly
+away!--may my pride then fly with my folly!”
+
+Thus began Zarathustra’s down-going.
+
+
+
+
+ZARATHUSTRA’S DISCOURSES.
+
+
+
+
+I. THE THREE METAMORPHOSES.
+
+Three metamorphoses of the spirit do I designate to you: how the spirit
+becometh a camel, the camel a lion, and the lion at last a child.
+
+Many heavy things are there for the spirit, the strong load-bearing
+spirit in which reverence dwelleth: for the heavy and the heaviest
+longeth its strength.
+
+What is heavy? so asketh the load-bearing spirit; then kneeleth it down
+like the camel, and wanteth to be well laden.
+
+What is the heaviest thing, ye heroes? asketh the load-bearing spirit,
+that I may take it upon me and rejoice in my strength.
+
+Is it not this: To humiliate oneself in order to mortify one’s pride? To
+exhibit one’s folly in order to mock at one’s wisdom?
+
+Or is it this: To desert our cause when it celebrateth its triumph? To
+ascend high mountains to tempt the tempter?
+
+Or is it this: To feed on the acorns and grass of knowledge, and for the
+sake of truth to suffer hunger of soul?
+
+Or is it this: To be sick and dismiss comforters, and make friends of
+the deaf, who never hear thy requests?
+
+Or is it this: To go into foul water when it is the water of truth, and
+not disclaim cold frogs and hot toads?
+
+Or is it this: To love those who despise us, and give one’s hand to the
+phantom when it is going to frighten us?
+
+All these heaviest things the load-bearing spirit taketh upon itself:
+and like the camel, which, when laden, hasteneth into the wilderness, so
+hasteneth the spirit into its wilderness.
+
+But in the loneliest wilderness happeneth the second metamorphosis: here
+the spirit becometh a lion; freedom will it capture, and lordship in its
+own wilderness.
+
+Its last Lord it here seeketh: hostile will it be to him, and to its
+last God; for victory will it struggle with the great dragon.
+
+What is the great dragon which the spirit is no longer inclined to call
+Lord and God? “Thou-shalt,” is the great dragon called. But the spirit
+of the lion saith, “I will.”
+
+“Thou-shalt,” lieth in its path, sparkling with gold--a scale-covered
+beast; and on every scale glittereth golden, “Thou shalt!”
+
+The values of a thousand years glitter on those scales, and
+thus speaketh the mightiest of all dragons: “All the values of
+things--glitter on me.
+
+All values have already been created, and all created values--do I
+represent. Verily, there shall be no ‘I will’ any more.” Thus speaketh
+the dragon.
+
+My brethren, wherefore is there need of the lion in the spirit? Why
+sufficeth not the beast of burden, which renounceth and is reverent?
+
+To create new values--that, even the lion cannot yet accomplish: but to
+create itself freedom for new creating--that can the might of the lion
+do.
+
+To create itself freedom, and give a holy Nay even unto duty: for that,
+my brethren, there is need of the lion.
+
+To assume the right to new values--that is the most formidable
+assumption for a load-bearing and reverent spirit. Verily, unto such a
+spirit it is preying, and the work of a beast of prey.
+
+As its holiest, it once loved “Thou-shalt”: now is it forced to find
+illusion and arbitrariness even in the holiest things, that it may
+capture freedom from its love: the lion is needed for this capture.
+
+But tell me, my brethren, what the child can do, which even the lion
+could not do? Why hath the preying lion still to become a child?
+
+Innocence is the child, and forgetfulness, a new beginning, a game, a
+self-rolling wheel, a first movement, a holy Yea.
+
+Aye, for the game of creating, my brethren, there is needed a holy Yea
+unto life: ITS OWN will, willeth now the spirit; HIS OWN world winneth
+the world’s outcast.
+
+Three metamorphoses of the spirit have I designated to you: how the
+spirit became a camel, the camel a lion, and the lion at last a child.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra. And at that time he abode in the town which is
+called The Pied Cow.
+
+
+
+
+II. THE ACADEMIC CHAIRS OF VIRTUE.
+
+People commended unto Zarathustra a wise man, as one who could discourse
+well about sleep and virtue: greatly was he honoured and rewarded for
+it, and all the youths sat before his chair. To him went Zarathustra,
+and sat among the youths before his chair. And thus spake the wise man:
+
+Respect and modesty in presence of sleep! That is the first thing! And
+to go out of the way of all who sleep badly and keep awake at night!
+
+Modest is even the thief in presence of sleep: he always stealeth softly
+through the night. Immodest, however, is the night-watchman; immodestly
+he carrieth his horn.
+
+No small art is it to sleep: it is necessary for that purpose to keep
+awake all day.
+
+Ten times a day must thou overcome thyself: that causeth wholesome
+weariness, and is poppy to the soul.
+
+Ten times must thou reconcile again with thyself; for overcoming is
+bitterness, and badly sleep the unreconciled.
+
+Ten truths must thou find during the day; otherwise wilt thou seek truth
+during the night, and thy soul will have been hungry.
+
+Ten times must thou laugh during the day, and be cheerful; otherwise thy
+stomach, the father of affliction, will disturb thee in the night.
+
+Few people know it, but one must have all the virtues in order to sleep
+well. Shall I bear false witness? Shall I commit adultery?
+
+Shall I covet my neighbour’s maidservant? All that would ill accord with
+good sleep.
+
+And even if one have all the virtues, there is still one thing needful:
+to send the virtues themselves to sleep at the right time.
+
+That they may not quarrel with one another, the good females! And about
+thee, thou unhappy one!
+
+Peace with God and thy neighbour: so desireth good sleep. And peace also
+with thy neighbour’s devil! Otherwise it will haunt thee in the night.
+
+Honour to the government, and obedience, and also to the crooked
+government! So desireth good sleep. How can I help it, if power like to
+walk on crooked legs?
+
+He who leadeth his sheep to the greenest pasture, shall always be for me
+the best shepherd: so doth it accord with good sleep.
+
+Many honours I want not, nor great treasures: they excite the spleen.
+But it is bad sleeping without a good name and a little treasure.
+
+A small company is more welcome to me than a bad one: but they must come
+and go at the right time. So doth it accord with good sleep.
+
+Well, also, do the poor in spirit please me: they promote sleep. Blessed
+are they, especially if one always give in to them.
+
+Thus passeth the day unto the virtuous. When night cometh, then take I
+good care not to summon sleep. It disliketh to be summoned--sleep, the
+lord of the virtues!
+
+But I think of what I have done and thought during the day. Thus
+ruminating, patient as a cow, I ask myself: What were thy ten
+overcomings?
+
+And what were the ten reconciliations, and the ten truths, and the ten
+laughters with which my heart enjoyed itself?
+
+Thus pondering, and cradled by forty thoughts, it overtaketh me all at
+once--sleep, the unsummoned, the lord of the virtues.
+
+Sleep tappeth on mine eye, and it turneth heavy. Sleep toucheth my
+mouth, and it remaineth open.
+
+Verily, on soft soles doth it come to me, the dearest of thieves, and
+stealeth from me my thoughts: stupid do I then stand, like this academic
+chair.
+
+But not much longer do I then stand: I already lie.--
+
+When Zarathustra heard the wise man thus speak, he laughed in his heart:
+for thereby had a light dawned upon him. And thus spake he to his heart:
+
+A fool seemeth this wise man with his forty thoughts: but I believe he
+knoweth well how to sleep.
+
+Happy even is he who liveth near this wise man! Such sleep is
+contagious--even through a thick wall it is contagious.
+
+A magic resideth even in his academic chair. And not in vain did the
+youths sit before the preacher of virtue.
+
+His wisdom is to keep awake in order to sleep well. And verily, if
+life had no sense, and had I to choose nonsense, this would be the
+desirablest nonsense for me also.
+
+Now know I well what people sought formerly above all else when they
+sought teachers of virtue. Good sleep they sought for themselves, and
+poppy-head virtues to promote it!
+
+To all those belauded sages of the academic chairs, wisdom was sleep
+without dreams: they knew no higher significance of life.
+
+Even at present, to be sure, there are some like this preacher of
+virtue, and not always so honourable: but their time is past. And not
+much longer do they stand: there they already lie.
+
+Blessed are those drowsy ones: for they shall soon nod to sleep.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+III. BACKWORLDSMEN.
+
+Once on a time, Zarathustra also cast his fancy beyond man, like all
+backworldsmen. The work of a suffering and tortured God, did the world
+then seem to me.
+
+The dream--and diction--of a God, did the world then seem to me;
+coloured vapours before the eyes of a divinely dissatisfied one.
+
+Good and evil, and joy and woe, and I and thou--coloured vapours did
+they seem to me before creative eyes. The creator wished to look away
+from himself,--thereupon he created the world.
+
+Intoxicating joy is it for the sufferer to look away from his suffering
+and forget himself. Intoxicating joy and self-forgetting, did the world
+once seem to me.
+
+This world, the eternally imperfect, an eternal contradiction’s image
+and imperfect image--an intoxicating joy to its imperfect creator:--thus
+did the world once seem to me.
+
+Thus, once on a time, did I also cast my fancy beyond man, like all
+backworldsmen. Beyond man, forsooth?
+
+Ah, ye brethren, that God whom I created was human work and human
+madness, like all the Gods!
+
+A man was he, and only a poor fragment of a man and ego. Out of mine own
+ashes and glow it came unto me, that phantom. And verily, it came not
+unto me from the beyond!
+
+What happened, my brethren? I surpassed myself, the suffering one; I
+carried mine own ashes to the mountain; a brighter flame I contrived for
+myself. And lo! Thereupon the phantom WITHDREW from me!
+
+To me the convalescent would it now be suffering and torment to believe
+in such phantoms: suffering would it now be to me, and humiliation. Thus
+speak I to backworldsmen.
+
+Suffering was it, and impotence--that created all backworlds; and
+the short madness of happiness, which only the greatest sufferer
+experienceth.
+
+Weariness, which seeketh to get to the ultimate with one leap, with
+a death-leap; a poor ignorant weariness, unwilling even to will any
+longer: that created all Gods and backworlds.
+
+Believe me, my brethren! It was the body which despaired of the body--it
+groped with the fingers of the infatuated spirit at the ultimate walls.
+
+Believe me, my brethren! It was the body which despaired of the
+earth--it heard the bowels of existence speaking unto it.
+
+And then it sought to get through the ultimate walls with its head--and
+not with its head only--into “the other world.”
+
+But that “other world” is well concealed from man, that dehumanised,
+inhuman world, which is a celestial naught; and the bowels of existence
+do not speak unto man, except as man.
+
+Verily, it is difficult to prove all being, and hard to make it speak.
+Tell me, ye brethren, is not the strangest of all things best proved?
+
+Yea, this ego, with its contradiction and perplexity, speaketh most
+uprightly of its being--this creating, willing, evaluing ego, which is
+the measure and value of things.
+
+And this most upright existence, the ego--it speaketh of the body, and
+still implieth the body, even when it museth and raveth and fluttereth
+with broken wings.
+
+Always more uprightly learneth it to speak, the ego; and the more it
+learneth, the more doth it find titles and honours for the body and the
+earth.
+
+A new pride taught me mine ego, and that teach I unto men: no longer
+to thrust one’s head into the sand of celestial things, but to carry it
+freely, a terrestrial head, which giveth meaning to the earth!
+
+A new will teach I unto men: to choose that path which man hath followed
+blindly, and to approve of it--and no longer to slink aside from it,
+like the sick and perishing!
+
+The sick and perishing--it was they who despised the body and the earth,
+and invented the heavenly world, and the redeeming blood-drops; but even
+those sweet and sad poisons they borrowed from the body and the earth!
+
+From their misery they sought escape, and the stars were too remote for
+them. Then they sighed: “O that there were heavenly paths by which to
+steal into another existence and into happiness!” Then they contrived
+for themselves their by-paths and bloody draughts!
+
+Beyond the sphere of their body and this earth they now fancied
+themselves transported, these ungrateful ones. But to what did they owe
+the convulsion and rapture of their transport? To their body and this
+earth.
+
+Gentle is Zarathustra to the sickly. Verily, he is not indignant
+at their modes of consolation and ingratitude. May they become
+convalescents and overcomers, and create higher bodies for themselves!
+
+Neither is Zarathustra indignant at a convalescent who looketh tenderly
+on his delusions, and at midnight stealeth round the grave of his God;
+but sickness and a sick frame remain even in his tears.
+
+Many sickly ones have there always been among those who muse, and
+languish for God; violently they hate the discerning ones, and the
+latest of virtues, which is uprightness.
+
+Backward they always gaze toward dark ages: then, indeed, were delusion
+and faith something different. Raving of the reason was likeness to God,
+and doubt was sin.
+
+Too well do I know those godlike ones: they insist on being believed in,
+and that doubt is sin. Too well, also, do I know what they themselves
+most believe in.
+
+Verily, not in backworlds and redeeming blood-drops: but in the body
+do they also believe most; and their own body is for them the
+thing-in-itself.
+
+But it is a sickly thing to them, and gladly would they get out of their
+skin. Therefore hearken they to the preachers of death, and themselves
+preach backworlds.
+
+Hearken rather, my brethren, to the voice of the healthy body; it is a
+more upright and pure voice.
+
+More uprightly and purely speaketh the healthy body, perfect and
+square-built; and it speaketh of the meaning of the earth.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+IV. THE DESPISERS OF THE BODY.
+
+To the despisers of the body will I speak my word. I wish them neither
+to learn afresh, nor teach anew, but only to bid farewell to their own
+bodies,--and thus be dumb.
+
+“Body am I, and soul”--so saith the child. And why should one not speak
+like children?
+
+But the awakened one, the knowing one, saith: “Body am I entirely, and
+nothing more; and soul is only the name of something in the body.”
+
+The body is a big sagacity, a plurality with one sense, a war and a
+peace, a flock and a shepherd.
+
+An instrument of thy body is also thy little sagacity, my brother, which
+thou callest “spirit”--a little instrument and plaything of thy big
+sagacity.
+
+“Ego,” sayest thou, and art proud of that word. But the greater
+thing--in which thou art unwilling to believe--is thy body with its big
+sagacity; it saith not “ego,” but doeth it.
+
+What the sense feeleth, what the spirit discerneth, hath never its end
+in itself. But sense and spirit would fain persuade thee that they are
+the end of all things: so vain are they.
+
+Instruments and playthings are sense and spirit: behind them there
+is still the Self. The Self seeketh with the eyes of the senses, it
+hearkeneth also with the ears of the spirit.
+
+Ever hearkeneth the Self, and seeketh; it compareth, mastereth,
+conquereth, and destroyeth. It ruleth, and is also the ego’s ruler.
+
+Behind thy thoughts and feelings, my brother, there is a mighty lord,
+an unknown sage--it is called Self; it dwelleth in thy body, it is thy
+body.
+
+There is more sagacity in thy body than in thy best wisdom. And who then
+knoweth why thy body requireth just thy best wisdom?
+
+Thy Self laugheth at thine ego, and its proud prancings. “What are these
+prancings and flights of thought unto me?” it saith to itself. “A by-way
+to my purpose. I am the leading-string of the ego, and the prompter of
+its notions.”
+
+The Self saith unto the ego: “Feel pain!” And thereupon it suffereth,
+and thinketh how it may put an end thereto--and for that very purpose it
+IS MEANT to think.
+
+The Self saith unto the ego: “Feel pleasure!” Thereupon it rejoiceth,
+and thinketh how it may ofttimes rejoice--and for that very purpose it
+IS MEANT to think.
+
+To the despisers of the body will I speak a word. That they despise is
+caused by their esteem. What is it that created esteeming and despising
+and worth and will?
+
+The creating Self created for itself esteeming and despising, it created
+for itself joy and woe. The creating body created for itself spirit, as
+a hand to its will.
+
+Even in your folly and despising ye each serve your Self, ye despisers
+of the body. I tell you, your very Self wanteth to die, and turneth away
+from life.
+
+No longer can your Self do that which it desireth most:--create beyond
+itself. That is what it desireth most; that is all its fervour.
+
+But it is now too late to do so:--so your Self wisheth to succumb, ye
+despisers of the body.
+
+To succumb--so wisheth your Self; and therefore have ye become despisers
+of the body. For ye can no longer create beyond yourselves.
+
+And therefore are ye now angry with life and with the earth. And
+unconscious envy is in the sidelong look of your contempt.
+
+I go not your way, ye despisers of the body! Ye are no bridges for me to
+the Superman!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+V. JOYS AND PASSIONS.
+
+My brother, when thou hast a virtue, and it is thine own virtue, thou
+hast it in common with no one.
+
+To be sure, thou wouldst call it by name and caress it; thou wouldst
+pull its ears and amuse thyself with it.
+
+And lo! Then hast thou its name in common with the people, and hast
+become one of the people and the herd with thy virtue!
+
+Better for thee to say: “Ineffable is it, and nameless, that which is
+pain and sweetness to my soul, and also the hunger of my bowels.”
+
+Let thy virtue be too high for the familiarity of names, and if thou
+must speak of it, be not ashamed to stammer about it.
+
+Thus speak and stammer: “That is MY good, that do I love, thus doth it
+please me entirely, thus only do _I_ desire the good.
+
+Not as the law of a God do I desire it, not as a human law or a human
+need do I desire it; it is not to be a guide-post for me to superearths
+and paradises.
+
+An earthly virtue is it which I love: little prudence is therein, and
+the least everyday wisdom.
+
+But that bird built its nest beside me: therefore, I love and cherish
+it--now sitteth it beside me on its golden eggs.”
+
+Thus shouldst thou stammer, and praise thy virtue.
+
+Once hadst thou passions and calledst them evil. But now hast thou only
+thy virtues: they grew out of thy passions.
+
+Thou implantedst thy highest aim into the heart of those passions: then
+became they thy virtues and joys.
+
+And though thou wert of the race of the hot-tempered, or of the
+voluptuous, or of the fanatical, or the vindictive;
+
+All thy passions in the end became virtues, and all thy devils angels.
+
+Once hadst thou wild dogs in thy cellar: but they changed at last into
+birds and charming songstresses.
+
+Out of thy poisons brewedst thou balsam for thyself; thy cow,
+affliction, milkedst thou--now drinketh thou the sweet milk of her
+udder.
+
+And nothing evil groweth in thee any longer, unless it be the evil that
+groweth out of the conflict of thy virtues.
+
+My brother, if thou be fortunate, then wilt thou have one virtue and no
+more: thus goest thou easier over the bridge.
+
+Illustrious is it to have many virtues, but a hard lot; and many a one
+hath gone into the wilderness and killed himself, because he was weary
+of being the battle and battlefield of virtues.
+
+My brother, are war and battle evil? Necessary, however, is the evil;
+necessary are the envy and the distrust and the back-biting among the
+virtues.
+
+Lo! how each of thy virtues is covetous of the highest place; it wanteth
+thy whole spirit to be ITS herald, it wanteth thy whole power, in wrath,
+hatred, and love.
+
+Jealous is every virtue of the others, and a dreadful thing is jealousy.
+Even virtues may succumb by jealousy.
+
+He whom the flame of jealousy encompasseth, turneth at last, like the
+scorpion, the poisoned sting against himself.
+
+Ah! my brother, hast thou never seen a virtue backbite and stab itself?
+
+Man is something that hath to be surpassed: and therefore shalt thou
+love thy virtues,--for thou wilt succumb by them.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+VI. THE PALE CRIMINAL.
+
+Ye do not mean to slay, ye judges and sacrificers, until the animal hath
+bowed its head? Lo! the pale criminal hath bowed his head: out of his
+eye speaketh the great contempt.
+
+“Mine ego is something which is to be surpassed: mine ego is to me the
+great contempt of man”: so speaketh it out of that eye.
+
+When he judged himself--that was his supreme moment; let not the exalted
+one relapse again into his low estate!
+
+There is no salvation for him who thus suffereth from himself, unless it
+be speedy death.
+
+Your slaying, ye judges, shall be pity, and not revenge; and in that ye
+slay, see to it that ye yourselves justify life!
+
+It is not enough that ye should reconcile with him whom ye slay. Let
+your sorrow be love to the Superman: thus will ye justify your own
+survival!
+
+“Enemy” shall ye say but not “villain,” “invalid” shall ye say but not
+“wretch,” “fool” shall ye say but not “sinner.”
+
+And thou, red judge, if thou would say audibly all thou hast done in
+thought, then would every one cry: “Away with the nastiness and the
+virulent reptile!”
+
+But one thing is the thought, another thing is the deed, and another
+thing is the idea of the deed. The wheel of causality doth not roll
+between them.
+
+An idea made this pale man pale. Adequate was he for his deed when he
+did it, but the idea of it, he could not endure when it was done.
+
+Evermore did he now see himself as the doer of one deed. Madness, I call
+this: the exception reversed itself to the rule in him.
+
+The streak of chalk bewitcheth the hen; the stroke he struck bewitched
+his weak reason. Madness AFTER the deed, I call this.
+
+Hearken, ye judges! There is another madness besides, and it is BEFORE
+the deed. Ah! ye have not gone deep enough into this soul!
+
+Thus speaketh the red judge: “Why did this criminal commit murder? He
+meant to rob.” I tell you, however, that his soul wanted blood, not
+booty: he thirsted for the happiness of the knife!
+
+But his weak reason understood not this madness, and it persuaded him.
+“What matter about blood!” it said; “wishest thou not, at least, to make
+booty thereby? Or take revenge?”
+
+And he hearkened unto his weak reason: like lead lay its words upon
+him--thereupon he robbed when he murdered. He did not mean to be
+ashamed of his madness.
+
+And now once more lieth the lead of his guilt upon him, and once more is
+his weak reason so benumbed, so paralysed, and so dull.
+
+Could he only shake his head, then would his burden roll off; but who
+shaketh that head?
+
+What is this man? A mass of diseases that reach out into the world
+through the spirit; there they want to get their prey.
+
+What is this man? A coil of wild serpents that are seldom at peace among
+themselves--so they go forth apart and seek prey in the world.
+
+Look at that poor body! What it suffered and craved, the poor soul
+interpreted to itself--it interpreted it as murderous desire, and
+eagerness for the happiness of the knife.
+
+Him who now turneth sick, the evil overtaketh which is now the evil: he
+seeketh to cause pain with that which causeth him pain. But there have
+been other ages, and another evil and good.
+
+Once was doubt evil, and the will to Self. Then the invalid became a
+heretic or sorcerer; as heretic or sorcerer he suffered, and sought to
+cause suffering.
+
+But this will not enter your ears; it hurteth your good people, ye tell
+me. But what doth it matter to me about your good people!
+
+Many things in your good people cause me disgust, and verily, not their
+evil. I would that they had a madness by which they succumbed, like this
+pale criminal!
+
+Verily, I would that their madness were called truth, or fidelity,
+or justice: but they have their virtue in order to live long, and in
+wretched self-complacency.
+
+I am a railing alongside the torrent; whoever is able to grasp me may
+grasp me! Your crutch, however, I am not.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+VII. READING AND WRITING.
+
+Of all that is written, I love only what a person hath written with his
+blood. Write with blood, and thou wilt find that blood is spirit.
+
+It is no easy task to understand unfamiliar blood; I hate the reading
+idlers.
+
+He who knoweth the reader, doeth nothing more for the reader. Another
+century of readers--and spirit itself will stink.
+
+Every one being allowed to learn to read, ruineth in the long run not
+only writing but also thinking.
+
+Once spirit was God, then it became man, and now it even becometh
+populace.
+
+He that writeth in blood and proverbs doth not want to be read, but
+learnt by heart.
+
+In the mountains the shortest way is from peak to peak, but for that
+route thou must have long legs. Proverbs should be peaks, and those
+spoken to should be big and tall.
+
+The atmosphere rare and pure, danger near and the spirit full of a
+joyful wickedness: thus are things well matched.
+
+I want to have goblins about me, for I am courageous. The courage which
+scareth away ghosts, createth for itself goblins--it wanteth to laugh.
+
+I no longer feel in common with you; the very cloud which I see
+beneath me, the blackness and heaviness at which I laugh--that is your
+thunder-cloud.
+
+Ye look aloft when ye long for exaltation; and I look downward because I
+am exalted.
+
+Who among you can at the same time laugh and be exalted?
+
+He who climbeth on the highest mountains, laugheth at all tragic plays
+and tragic realities.
+
+Courageous, unconcerned, scornful, coercive--so wisdom wisheth us; she
+is a woman, and ever loveth only a warrior.
+
+Ye tell me, “Life is hard to bear.” But for what purpose should ye have
+your pride in the morning and your resignation in the evening?
+
+Life is hard to bear: but do not affect to be so delicate! We are all of
+us fine sumpter asses and assesses.
+
+What have we in common with the rose-bud, which trembleth because a drop
+of dew hath formed upon it?
+
+It is true we love life; not because we are wont to live, but because we
+are wont to love.
+
+There is always some madness in love. But there is always, also, some
+method in madness.
+
+And to me also, who appreciate life, the butterflies, and soap-bubbles,
+and whatever is like them amongst us, seem most to enjoy happiness.
+
+To see these light, foolish, pretty, lively little sprites flit
+about--that moveth Zarathustra to tears and songs.
+
+I should only believe in a God that would know how to dance.
+
+And when I saw my devil, I found him serious, thorough, profound,
+solemn: he was the spirit of gravity--through him all things fall.
+
+Not by wrath, but by laughter, do we slay. Come, let us slay the spirit
+of gravity!
+
+I learned to walk; since then have I let myself run. I learned to fly;
+since then I do not need pushing in order to move from a spot.
+
+Now am I light, now do I fly; now do I see myself under myself. Now
+there danceth a God in me.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+VIII. THE TREE ON THE HILL.
+
+Zarathustra’s eye had perceived that a certain youth avoided him. And as
+he walked alone one evening over the hills surrounding the town called
+“The Pied Cow,” behold, there found he the youth sitting leaning against
+a tree, and gazing with wearied look into the valley. Zarathustra
+thereupon laid hold of the tree beside which the youth sat, and spake
+thus:
+
+“If I wished to shake this tree with my hands, I should not be able to
+do so.
+
+But the wind, which we see not, troubleth and bendeth it as it listeth.
+We are sorest bent and troubled by invisible hands.”
+
+Thereupon the youth arose disconcerted, and said: “I hear Zarathustra,
+and just now was I thinking of him!” Zarathustra answered:
+
+“Why art thou frightened on that account?--But it is the same with man
+as with the tree.
+
+The more he seeketh to rise into the height and light, the more
+vigorously do his roots struggle earthward, downward, into the dark and
+deep--into the evil.”
+
+“Yea, into the evil!” cried the youth. “How is it possible that thou
+hast discovered my soul?”
+
+Zarathustra smiled, and said: “Many a soul one will never discover,
+unless one first invent it.”
+
+“Yea, into the evil!” cried the youth once more.
+
+“Thou saidst the truth, Zarathustra. I trust myself no longer since I
+sought to rise into the height, and nobody trusteth me any longer; how
+doth that happen?
+
+I change too quickly: my to-day refuteth my yesterday. I often overleap
+the steps when I clamber; for so doing, none of the steps pardons me.
+
+When aloft, I find myself always alone. No one speaketh unto me; the
+frost of solitude maketh me tremble. What do I seek on the height?
+
+My contempt and my longing increase together; the higher I clamber, the
+more do I despise him who clambereth. What doth he seek on the height?
+
+How ashamed I am of my clambering and stumbling! How I mock at my
+violent panting! How I hate him who flieth! How tired I am on the
+height!”
+
+Here the youth was silent. And Zarathustra contemplated the tree beside
+which they stood, and spake thus:
+
+“This tree standeth lonely here on the hills; it hath grown up high
+above man and beast.
+
+And if it wanted to speak, it would have none who could understand it:
+so high hath it grown.
+
+Now it waiteth and waiteth,--for what doth it wait? It dwelleth too
+close to the seat of the clouds; it waiteth perhaps for the first
+lightning?”
+
+When Zarathustra had said this, the youth called out with violent
+gestures: “Yea, Zarathustra, thou speakest the truth. My destruction
+I longed for, when I desired to be on the height, and thou art the
+lightning for which I waited! Lo! what have I been since thou hast
+appeared amongst us? It is mine envy of thee that hath destroyed
+me!”--Thus spake the youth, and wept bitterly. Zarathustra, however, put
+his arm about him, and led the youth away with him.
+
+And when they had walked a while together, Zarathustra began to speak
+thus:
+
+It rendeth my heart. Better than thy words express it, thine eyes tell
+me all thy danger.
+
+As yet thou art not free; thou still SEEKEST freedom. Too unslept hath
+thy seeking made thee, and too wakeful.
+
+On the open height wouldst thou be; for the stars thirsteth thy soul.
+But thy bad impulses also thirst for freedom.
+
+Thy wild dogs want liberty; they bark for joy in their cellar when thy
+spirit endeavoureth to open all prison doors.
+
+Still art thou a prisoner--it seemeth to me--who deviseth liberty
+for himself: ah! sharp becometh the soul of such prisoners, but also
+deceitful and wicked.
+
+To purify himself, is still necessary for the freedman of the spirit.
+Much of the prison and the mould still remaineth in him: pure hath his
+eye still to become.
+
+Yea, I know thy danger. But by my love and hope I conjure thee: cast not
+thy love and hope away!
+
+Noble thou feelest thyself still, and noble others also feel thee still,
+though they bear thee a grudge and cast evil looks. Know this, that to
+everybody a noble one standeth in the way.
+
+Also to the good, a noble one standeth in the way: and even when they
+call him a good man, they want thereby to put him aside.
+
+The new, would the noble man create, and a new virtue. The old, wanteth
+the good man, and that the old should be conserved.
+
+But it is not the danger of the noble man to turn a good man, but lest
+he should become a blusterer, a scoffer, or a destroyer.
+
+Ah! I have known noble ones who lost their highest hope. And then they
+disparaged all high hopes.
+
+Then lived they shamelessly in temporary pleasures, and beyond the day
+had hardly an aim.
+
+“Spirit is also voluptuousness,”--said they. Then broke the wings of
+their spirit; and now it creepeth about, and defileth where it gnaweth.
+
+Once they thought of becoming heroes; but sensualists are they now. A
+trouble and a terror is the hero to them.
+
+But by my love and hope I conjure thee: cast not away the hero in thy
+soul! Maintain holy thy highest hope!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+IX. THE PREACHERS OF DEATH.
+
+There are preachers of death: and the earth is full of those to whom
+desistance from life must be preached.
+
+Full is the earth of the superfluous; marred is life by the
+many-too-many. May they be decoyed out of this life by the “life
+eternal”!
+
+“The yellow ones”: so are called the preachers of death, or “the black
+ones.” But I will show them unto you in other colours besides.
+
+There are the terrible ones who carry about in themselves the beast of
+prey, and have no choice except lusts or self-laceration. And even their
+lusts are self-laceration.
+
+They have not yet become men, those terrible ones: may they preach
+desistance from life, and pass away themselves!
+
+There are the spiritually consumptive ones: hardly are they born when
+they begin to die, and long for doctrines of lassitude and renunciation.
+
+They would fain be dead, and we should approve of their wish! Let
+us beware of awakening those dead ones, and of damaging those living
+coffins!
+
+They meet an invalid, or an old man, or a corpse--and immediately they
+say: “Life is refuted!”
+
+But they only are refuted, and their eye, which seeth only one aspect of
+existence.
+
+Shrouded in thick melancholy, and eager for the little casualties that
+bring death: thus do they wait, and clench their teeth.
+
+Or else, they grasp at sweetmeats, and mock at their childishness
+thereby: they cling to their straw of life, and mock at their still
+clinging to it.
+
+Their wisdom speaketh thus: “A fool, he who remaineth alive; but so far
+are we fools! And that is the foolishest thing in life!”
+
+“Life is only suffering”: so say others, and lie not. Then see to it
+that YE cease! See to it that the life ceaseth which is only suffering!
+
+And let this be the teaching of your virtue: “Thou shalt slay thyself!
+Thou shalt steal away from thyself!”--
+
+“Lust is sin,”--so say some who preach death--“let us go apart and beget
+no children!”
+
+“Giving birth is troublesome,”--say others--“why still give birth? One
+beareth only the unfortunate!” And they also are preachers of death.
+
+“Pity is necessary,”--so saith a third party. “Take what I have! Take
+what I am! So much less doth life bind me!”
+
+Were they consistently pitiful, then would they make their neighbours
+sick of life. To be wicked--that would be their true goodness.
+
+But they want to be rid of life; what care they if they bind others
+still faster with their chains and gifts!--
+
+And ye also, to whom life is rough labour and disquiet, are ye not very
+tired of life? Are ye not very ripe for the sermon of death?
+
+All ye to whom rough labour is dear, and the rapid, new, and strange--ye
+put up with yourselves badly; your diligence is flight, and the will to
+self-forgetfulness.
+
+If ye believed more in life, then would ye devote yourselves less to the
+momentary. But for waiting, ye have not enough of capacity in you--nor
+even for idling!
+
+Everywhere resoundeth the voices of those who preach death; and the
+earth is full of those to whom death hath to be preached.
+
+Or “life eternal”; it is all the same to me--if only they pass away
+quickly!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+X. WAR AND WARRIORS.
+
+By our best enemies we do not want to be spared, nor by those either
+whom we love from the very heart. So let me tell you the truth!
+
+My brethren in war! I love you from the very heart. I am, and was ever,
+your counterpart. And I am also your best enemy. So let me tell you the
+truth!
+
+I know the hatred and envy of your hearts. Ye are not great enough not
+to know of hatred and envy. Then be great enough not to be ashamed of
+them!
+
+And if ye cannot be saints of knowledge, then, I pray you, be at least
+its warriors. They are the companions and forerunners of such saintship.
+
+I see many soldiers; could I but see many warriors! “Uniform” one
+calleth what they wear; may it not be uniform what they therewith hide!
+
+Ye shall be those whose eyes ever seek for an enemy--for YOUR enemy. And
+with some of you there is hatred at first sight.
+
+Your enemy shall ye seek; your war shall ye wage, and for the sake of
+your thoughts! And if your thoughts succumb, your uprightness shall
+still shout triumph thereby!
+
+Ye shall love peace as a means to new wars--and the short peace more
+than the long.
+
+You I advise not to work, but to fight. You I advise not to peace, but
+to victory. Let your work be a fight, let your peace be a victory!
+
+One can only be silent and sit peacefully when one hath arrow and bow;
+otherwise one prateth and quarrelleth. Let your peace be a victory!
+
+Ye say it is the good cause which halloweth even war? I say unto you: it
+is the good war which halloweth every cause.
+
+War and courage have done more great things than charity. Not your
+sympathy, but your bravery hath hitherto saved the victims.
+
+“What is good?” ye ask. To be brave is good. Let the little girls say:
+“To be good is what is pretty, and at the same time touching.”
+
+They call you heartless: but your heart is true, and I love the
+bashfulness of your goodwill. Ye are ashamed of your flow, and others
+are ashamed of their ebb.
+
+Ye are ugly? Well then, my brethren, take the sublime about you, the
+mantle of the ugly!
+
+And when your soul becometh great, then doth it become haughty, and in
+your sublimity there is wickedness. I know you.
+
+In wickedness the haughty man and the weakling meet. But they
+misunderstand one another. I know you.
+
+Ye shall only have enemies to be hated, but not enemies to be despised.
+Ye must be proud of your enemies; then, the successes of your enemies
+are also your successes.
+
+Resistance--that is the distinction of the slave. Let your distinction
+be obedience. Let your commanding itself be obeying!
+
+To the good warrior soundeth “thou shalt” pleasanter than “I will.” And
+all that is dear unto you, ye shall first have it commanded unto you.
+
+Let your love to life be love to your highest hope; and let your highest
+hope be the highest thought of life!
+
+Your highest thought, however, ye shall have it commanded unto you by
+me--and it is this: man is something that is to be surpassed.
+
+So live your life of obedience and of war! What matter about long life!
+What warrior wisheth to be spared!
+
+I spare you not, I love you from my very heart, my brethren in war!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XI. THE NEW IDOL.
+
+Somewhere there are still peoples and herds, but not with us, my
+brethren: here there are states.
+
+A state? What is that? Well! open now your ears unto me, for now will I
+say unto you my word concerning the death of peoples.
+
+A state, is called the coldest of all cold monsters. Coldly lieth
+it also; and this lie creepeth from its mouth: “I, the state, am the
+people.”
+
+It is a lie! Creators were they who created peoples, and hung a faith
+and a love over them: thus they served life.
+
+Destroyers, are they who lay snares for many, and call it the state:
+they hang a sword and a hundred cravings over them.
+
+Where there is still a people, there the state is not understood, but
+hated as the evil eye, and as sin against laws and customs.
+
+This sign I give unto you: every people speaketh its language of good
+and evil: this its neighbour understandeth not. Its language hath it
+devised for itself in laws and customs.
+
+But the state lieth in all languages of good and evil; and whatever it
+saith it lieth; and whatever it hath it hath stolen.
+
+False is everything in it; with stolen teeth it biteth, the biting one.
+False are even its bowels.
+
+Confusion of language of good and evil; this sign I give unto you as
+the sign of the state. Verily, the will to death, indicateth this sign!
+Verily, it beckoneth unto the preachers of death!
+
+Many too many are born: for the superfluous ones was the state devised!
+
+See just how it enticeth them to it, the many-too-many! How it
+swalloweth and cheweth and recheweth them!
+
+“On earth there is nothing greater than I: it is I who am the regulating
+finger of God”--thus roareth the monster. And not only the long-eared
+and short-sighted fall upon their knees!
+
+Ah! even in your ears, ye great souls, it whispereth its gloomy lies!
+Ah! it findeth out the rich hearts which willingly lavish themselves!
+
+Yea, it findeth you out too, ye conquerors of the old God! Weary ye
+became of the conflict, and now your weariness serveth the new idol!
+
+Heroes and honourable ones, it would fain set up around it, the new
+idol! Gladly it basketh in the sunshine of good consciences,--the cold
+monster!
+
+Everything will it give YOU, if YE worship it, the new idol: thus it
+purchaseth the lustre of your virtue, and the glance of your proud eyes.
+
+It seeketh to allure by means of you, the many-too-many! Yea, a hellish
+artifice hath here been devised, a death-horse jingling with the
+trappings of divine honours!
+
+Yea, a dying for many hath here been devised, which glorifieth itself as
+life: verily, a hearty service unto all preachers of death!
+
+The state, I call it, where all are poison-drinkers, the good and the
+bad: the state, where all lose themselves, the good and the bad: the
+state, where the slow suicide of all--is called “life.”
+
+Just see these superfluous ones! They steal the works of the inventors
+and the treasures of the wise. Culture, they call their theft--and
+everything becometh sickness and trouble unto them!
+
+Just see these superfluous ones! Sick are they always; they vomit their
+bile and call it a newspaper. They devour one another, and cannot even
+digest themselves.
+
+Just see these superfluous ones! Wealth they acquire and become poorer
+thereby. Power they seek for, and above all, the lever of power, much
+money--these impotent ones!
+
+See them clamber, these nimble apes! They clamber over one another, and
+thus scuffle into the mud and the abyss.
+
+Towards the throne they all strive: it is their madness--as if happiness
+sat on the throne! Ofttimes sitteth filth on the throne.--and ofttimes
+also the throne on filth.
+
+Madmen they all seem to me, and clambering apes, and too eager. Badly
+smelleth their idol to me, the cold monster: badly they all smell to me,
+these idolaters.
+
+My brethren, will ye suffocate in the fumes of their maws and appetites!
+Better break the windows and jump into the open air!
+
+Do go out of the way of the bad odour! Withdraw from the idolatry of the
+superfluous!
+
+Do go out of the way of the bad odour! Withdraw from the steam of these
+human sacrifices!
+
+Open still remaineth the earth for great souls. Empty are still many
+sites for lone ones and twain ones, around which floateth the odour of
+tranquil seas.
+
+Open still remaineth a free life for great souls. Verily, he who
+possesseth little is so much the less possessed: blessed be moderate
+poverty!
+
+There, where the state ceaseth--there only commenceth the man who is not
+superfluous: there commenceth the song of the necessary ones, the single
+and irreplaceable melody.
+
+There, where the state CEASETH--pray look thither, my brethren! Do ye
+not see it, the rainbow and the bridges of the Superman?--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XII. THE FLIES IN THE MARKET-PLACE.
+
+Flee, my friend, into thy solitude! I see thee deafened with the noise
+of the great men, and stung all over with the stings of the little ones.
+
+Admirably do forest and rock know how to be silent with thee. Resemble
+again the tree which thou lovest, the broad-branched one--silently and
+attentively it o’erhangeth the sea.
+
+Where solitude endeth, there beginneth the market-place; and where the
+market-place beginneth, there beginneth also the noise of the great
+actors, and the buzzing of the poison-flies.
+
+In the world even the best things are worthless without those who
+represent them: those representers, the people call great men.
+
+Little do the people understand what is great--that is to say, the
+creating agency. But they have a taste for all representers and actors
+of great things.
+
+Around the devisers of new values revolveth the world:--invisibly it
+revolveth. But around the actors revolve the people and the glory: such
+is the course of things.
+
+Spirit, hath the actor, but little conscience of the spirit. He
+believeth always in that wherewith he maketh believe most strongly--in
+HIMSELF!
+
+Tomorrow he hath a new belief, and the day after, one still newer. Sharp
+perceptions hath he, like the people, and changeable humours.
+
+To upset--that meaneth with him to prove. To drive mad--that meaneth
+with him to convince. And blood is counted by him as the best of all
+arguments.
+
+A truth which only glideth into fine ears, he calleth falsehood and
+trumpery. Verily, he believeth only in Gods that make a great noise in
+the world!
+
+Full of clattering buffoons is the market-place,--and the people glory
+in their great men! These are for them the masters of the hour.
+
+But the hour presseth them; so they press thee. And also from thee
+they want Yea or Nay. Alas! thou wouldst set thy chair betwixt For and
+Against?
+
+On account of those absolute and impatient ones, be not jealous, thou
+lover of truth! Never yet did truth cling to the arm of an absolute one.
+
+On account of those abrupt ones, return into thy security: only in the
+market-place is one assailed by Yea? or Nay?
+
+Slow is the experience of all deep fountains: long have they to wait
+until they know WHAT hath fallen into their depths.
+
+Away from the market-place and from fame taketh place all that is great:
+away from the market-place and from fame have ever dwelt the devisers of
+new values.
+
+Flee, my friend, into thy solitude: I see thee stung all over by the
+poisonous flies. Flee thither, where a rough, strong breeze bloweth!
+
+Flee into thy solitude! Thou hast lived too closely to the small and the
+pitiable. Flee from their invisible vengeance! Towards thee they have
+nothing but vengeance.
+
+Raise no longer an arm against them! Innumerable are they, and it is not
+thy lot to be a fly-flap.
+
+Innumerable are the small and pitiable ones; and of many a proud
+structure, rain-drops and weeds have been the ruin.
+
+Thou art not stone; but already hast thou become hollow by the numerous
+drops. Thou wilt yet break and burst by the numerous drops.
+
+Exhausted I see thee, by poisonous flies; bleeding I see thee, and torn
+at a hundred spots; and thy pride will not even upbraid.
+
+Blood they would have from thee in all innocence; blood their bloodless
+souls crave for--and they sting, therefore, in all innocence.
+
+But thou, profound one, thou sufferest too profoundly even from small
+wounds; and ere thou hadst recovered, the same poison-worm crawled over
+thy hand.
+
+Too proud art thou to kill these sweet-tooths. But take care lest it be
+thy fate to suffer all their poisonous injustice!
+
+They buzz around thee also with their praise: obtrusiveness, is their
+praise. They want to be close to thy skin and thy blood.
+
+They flatter thee, as one flattereth a God or devil; they whimper before
+thee, as before a God or devil. What doth it come to! Flatterers are
+they, and whimperers, and nothing more.
+
+Often, also, do they show themselves to thee as amiable ones. But that
+hath ever been the prudence of the cowardly. Yea! the cowardly are wise!
+
+They think much about thee with their circumscribed souls--thou art
+always suspected by them! Whatever is much thought about is at last
+thought suspicious.
+
+They punish thee for all thy virtues. They pardon thee in their inmost
+hearts only--for thine errors.
+
+Because thou art gentle and of upright character, thou sayest:
+“Blameless are they for their small existence.” But their circumscribed
+souls think: “Blamable is all great existence.”
+
+Even when thou art gentle towards them, they still feel themselves
+despised by thee; and they repay thy beneficence with secret
+maleficence.
+
+Thy silent pride is always counter to their taste; they rejoice if once
+thou be humble enough to be frivolous.
+
+What we recognise in a man, we also irritate in him. Therefore be on
+your guard against the small ones!
+
+In thy presence they feel themselves small, and their baseness gleameth
+and gloweth against thee in invisible vengeance.
+
+Sawest thou not how often they became dumb when thou approachedst them,
+and how their energy left them like the smoke of an extinguishing fire?
+
+Yea, my friend, the bad conscience art thou of thy neighbours; for they
+are unworthy of thee. Therefore they hate thee, and would fain suck thy
+blood.
+
+Thy neighbours will always be poisonous flies; what is great in
+thee--that itself must make them more poisonous, and always more
+fly-like.
+
+Flee, my friend, into thy solitude--and thither, where a rough strong
+breeze bloweth. It is not thy lot to be a fly-flap.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XIII. CHASTITY.
+
+I love the forest. It is bad to live in cities: there, there are too
+many of the lustful.
+
+Is it not better to fall into the hands of a murderer, than into the
+dreams of a lustful woman?
+
+And just look at these men: their eye saith it--they know nothing better
+on earth than to lie with a woman.
+
+Filth is at the bottom of their souls; and alas! if their filth hath
+still spirit in it!
+
+Would that ye were perfect--at least as animals! But to animals
+belongeth innocence.
+
+Do I counsel you to slay your instincts? I counsel you to innocence in
+your instincts.
+
+Do I counsel you to chastity? Chastity is a virtue with some, but with
+many almost a vice.
+
+These are continent, to be sure: but doggish lust looketh enviously out
+of all that they do.
+
+Even into the heights of their virtue and into their cold spirit doth
+this creature follow them, with its discord.
+
+And how nicely can doggish lust beg for a piece of spirit, when a piece
+of flesh is denied it!
+
+Ye love tragedies and all that breaketh the heart? But I am distrustful
+of your doggish lust.
+
+Ye have too cruel eyes, and ye look wantonly towards the sufferers.
+Hath not your lust just disguised itself and taken the name of
+fellow-suffering?
+
+And also this parable give I unto you: Not a few who meant to cast out
+their devil, went thereby into the swine themselves.
+
+To whom chastity is difficult, it is to be dissuaded: lest it become the
+road to hell--to filth and lust of soul.
+
+Do I speak of filthy things? That is not the worst thing for me to do.
+
+Not when the truth is filthy, but when it is shallow, doth the
+discerning one go unwillingly into its waters.
+
+Verily, there are chaste ones from their very nature; they are gentler
+of heart, and laugh better and oftener than you.
+
+They laugh also at chastity, and ask: “What is chastity?
+
+Is chastity not folly? But the folly came unto us, and not we unto it.
+
+We offered that guest harbour and heart: now it dwelleth with us--let it
+stay as long as it will!”--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XIV. THE FRIEND.
+
+“One, is always too many about me”--thinketh the anchorite. “Always once
+one--that maketh two in the long run!”
+
+I and me are always too earnestly in conversation: how could it be
+endured, if there were not a friend?
+
+The friend of the anchorite is always the third one: the third one is
+the cork which preventeth the conversation of the two sinking into the
+depth.
+
+Ah! there are too many depths for all anchorites. Therefore, do they
+long so much for a friend, and for his elevation.
+
+Our faith in others betrayeth wherein we would fain have faith in
+ourselves. Our longing for a friend is our betrayer.
+
+And often with our love we want merely to overleap envy. And often we
+attack and make ourselves enemies, to conceal that we are vulnerable.
+
+“Be at least mine enemy!”--thus speaketh the true reverence, which doth
+not venture to solicit friendship.
+
+If one would have a friend, then must one also be willing to wage war
+for him: and in order to wage war, one must be CAPABLE of being an
+enemy.
+
+One ought still to honour the enemy in one’s friend. Canst thou go nigh
+unto thy friend, and not go over to him?
+
+In one’s friend one shall have one’s best enemy. Thou shalt be closest
+unto him with thy heart when thou withstandest him.
+
+Thou wouldst wear no raiment before thy friend? It is in honour of thy
+friend that thou showest thyself to him as thou art? But he wisheth thee
+to the devil on that account!
+
+He who maketh no secret of himself shocketh: so much reason have ye
+to fear nakedness! Aye, if ye were Gods, ye could then be ashamed of
+clothing!
+
+Thou canst not adorn thyself fine enough for thy friend; for thou shalt
+be unto him an arrow and a longing for the Superman.
+
+Sawest thou ever thy friend asleep--to know how he looketh? What is
+usually the countenance of thy friend? It is thine own countenance, in a
+coarse and imperfect mirror.
+
+Sawest thou ever thy friend asleep? Wert thou not dismayed at thy friend
+looking so? O my friend, man is something that hath to be surpassed.
+
+In divining and keeping silence shall the friend be a master: not
+everything must thou wish to see. Thy dream shall disclose unto thee
+what thy friend doeth when awake.
+
+Let thy pity be a divining: to know first if thy friend wanteth pity.
+Perhaps he loveth in thee the unmoved eye, and the look of eternity.
+
+Let thy pity for thy friend be hid under a hard shell; thou shalt bite
+out a tooth upon it. Thus will it have delicacy and sweetness.
+
+Art thou pure air and solitude and bread and medicine to thy friend?
+Many a one cannot loosen his own fetters, but is nevertheless his
+friend’s emancipator.
+
+Art thou a slave? Then thou canst not be a friend. Art thou a tyrant?
+Then thou canst not have friends.
+
+Far too long hath there been a slave and a tyrant concealed in woman.
+On that account woman is not yet capable of friendship: she knoweth only
+love.
+
+In woman’s love there is injustice and blindness to all she doth not
+love. And even in woman’s conscious love, there is still always surprise
+and lightning and night, along with the light.
+
+As yet woman is not capable of friendship: women are still cats, and
+birds. Or at the best, cows.
+
+As yet woman is not capable of friendship. But tell me, ye men, who of
+you are capable of friendship?
+
+Oh! your poverty, ye men, and your sordidness of soul! As much as ye
+give to your friend, will I give even to my foe, and will not have
+become poorer thereby.
+
+There is comradeship: may there be friendship!
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XV. THE THOUSAND AND ONE GOALS.
+
+Many lands saw Zarathustra, and many peoples: thus he discovered the
+good and bad of many peoples. No greater power did Zarathustra find on
+earth than good and bad.
+
+No people could live without first valuing; if a people will maintain
+itself, however, it must not value as its neighbour valueth.
+
+Much that passed for good with one people was regarded with scorn and
+contempt by another: thus I found it. Much found I here called bad,
+which was there decked with purple honours.
+
+Never did the one neighbour understand the other: ever did his soul
+marvel at his neighbour’s delusion and wickedness.
+
+A table of excellencies hangeth over every people. Lo! it is the table
+of their triumphs; lo! it is the voice of their Will to Power.
+
+It is laudable, what they think hard; what is indispensable and hard
+they call good; and what relieveth in the direst distress, the unique
+and hardest of all,--they extol as holy.
+
+Whatever maketh them rule and conquer and shine, to the dismay and envy
+of their neighbours, they regard as the high and foremost thing, the
+test and the meaning of all else.
+
+Verily, my brother, if thou knewest but a people’s need, its land,
+its sky, and its neighbour, then wouldst thou divine the law of its
+surmountings, and why it climbeth up that ladder to its hope.
+
+“Always shalt thou be the foremost and prominent above others: no one
+shall thy jealous soul love, except a friend”--that made the soul of a
+Greek thrill: thereby went he his way to greatness.
+
+“To speak truth, and be skilful with bow and arrow”--so seemed it alike
+pleasing and hard to the people from whom cometh my name--the name which
+is alike pleasing and hard to me.
+
+“To honour father and mother, and from the root of the soul to do their
+will”--this table of surmounting hung another people over them, and
+became powerful and permanent thereby.
+
+“To have fidelity, and for the sake of fidelity to risk honour and
+blood, even in evil and dangerous courses”--teaching itself so, another
+people mastered itself, and thus mastering itself, became pregnant and
+heavy with great hopes.
+
+Verily, men have given unto themselves all their good and bad. Verily,
+they took it not, they found it not, it came not unto them as a voice
+from heaven.
+
+Values did man only assign to things in order to maintain himself--he
+created only the significance of things, a human significance!
+Therefore, calleth he himself “man,” that is, the valuator.
+
+Valuing is creating: hear it, ye creating ones! Valuation itself is the
+treasure and jewel of the valued things.
+
+Through valuation only is there value; and without valuation the nut of
+existence would be hollow. Hear it, ye creating ones!
+
+Change of values--that is, change of the creating ones. Always doth he
+destroy who hath to be a creator.
+
+Creating ones were first of all peoples, and only in late times
+individuals; verily, the individual himself is still the latest
+creation.
+
+Peoples once hung over them tables of the good. Love which would rule
+and love which would obey, created for themselves such tables.
+
+Older is the pleasure in the herd than the pleasure in the ego: and as
+long as the good conscience is for the herd, the bad conscience only
+saith: ego.
+
+Verily, the crafty ego, the loveless one, that seeketh its advantage in
+the advantage of many--it is not the origin of the herd, but its ruin.
+
+Loving ones, was it always, and creating ones, that created good and
+bad. Fire of love gloweth in the names of all the virtues, and fire of
+wrath.
+
+Many lands saw Zarathustra, and many peoples: no greater power did
+Zarathustra find on earth than the creations of the loving ones--“good”
+ and “bad” are they called.
+
+Verily, a prodigy is this power of praising and blaming. Tell me, ye
+brethren, who will master it for me? Who will put a fetter upon the
+thousand necks of this animal?
+
+A thousand goals have there been hitherto, for a thousand peoples have
+there been. Only the fetter for the thousand necks is still lacking;
+there is lacking the one goal. As yet humanity hath not a goal.
+
+But pray tell me, my brethren, if the goal of humanity be still lacking,
+is there not also still lacking--humanity itself?--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XVI. NEIGHBOUR-LOVE.
+
+Ye crowd around your neighbour, and have fine words for it. But I say
+unto you: your neighbour-love is your bad love of yourselves.
+
+Ye flee unto your neighbour from yourselves, and would fain make a
+virtue thereof: but I fathom your “unselfishness.”
+
+The THOU is older than the _I_; the THOU hath been consecrated, but not
+yet the _I_: so man presseth nigh unto his neighbour.
+
+Do I advise you to neighbour-love? Rather do I advise you to
+neighbour-flight and to furthest love!
+
+Higher than love to your neighbour is love to the furthest and future
+ones; higher still than love to men, is love to things and phantoms.
+
+The phantom that runneth on before thee, my brother, is fairer than
+thou; why dost thou not give unto it thy flesh and thy bones? But thou
+fearest, and runnest unto thy neighbour.
+
+Ye cannot endure it with yourselves, and do not love yourselves
+sufficiently: so ye seek to mislead your neighbour into love, and would
+fain gild yourselves with his error.
+
+Would that ye could not endure it with any kind of near ones, or their
+neighbours; then would ye have to create your friend and his overflowing
+heart out of yourselves.
+
+Ye call in a witness when ye want to speak well of yourselves; and
+when ye have misled him to think well of you, ye also think well of
+yourselves.
+
+Not only doth he lie, who speaketh contrary to his knowledge, but more
+so, he who speaketh contrary to his ignorance. And thus speak ye
+of yourselves in your intercourse, and belie your neighbour with
+yourselves.
+
+Thus saith the fool: “Association with men spoileth the character,
+especially when one hath none.”
+
+The one goeth to his neighbour because he seeketh himself, and the other
+because he would fain lose himself. Your bad love to yourselves maketh
+solitude a prison to you.
+
+The furthest ones are they who pay for your love to the near ones; and
+when there are but five of you together, a sixth must always die.
+
+I love not your festivals either: too many actors found I there, and
+even the spectators often behaved like actors.
+
+Not the neighbour do I teach you, but the friend. Let the friend be the
+festival of the earth to you, and a foretaste of the Superman.
+
+I teach you the friend and his overflowing heart. But one must know how
+to be a sponge, if one would be loved by overflowing hearts.
+
+I teach you the friend in whom the world standeth complete, a capsule
+of the good,--the creating friend, who hath always a complete world to
+bestow.
+
+And as the world unrolled itself for him, so rolleth it together again
+for him in rings, as the growth of good through evil, as the growth of
+purpose out of chance.
+
+Let the future and the furthest be the motive of thy to-day; in thy
+friend shalt thou love the Superman as thy motive.
+
+My brethren, I advise you not to neighbour-love--I advise you to
+furthest love!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XVII. THE WAY OF THE CREATING ONE.
+
+Wouldst thou go into isolation, my brother? Wouldst thou seek the way
+unto thyself? Tarry yet a little and hearken unto me.
+
+“He who seeketh may easily get lost himself. All isolation is wrong”: so
+say the herd. And long didst thou belong to the herd.
+
+The voice of the herd will still echo in thee. And when thou sayest,
+“I have no longer a conscience in common with you,” then will it be a
+plaint and a pain.
+
+Lo, that pain itself did the same conscience produce; and the last gleam
+of that conscience still gloweth on thine affliction.
+
+But thou wouldst go the way of thine affliction, which is the way unto
+thyself? Then show me thine authority and thy strength to do so!
+
+Art thou a new strength and a new authority? A first motion? A
+self-rolling wheel? Canst thou also compel stars to revolve around thee?
+
+Alas! there is so much lusting for loftiness! There are so many
+convulsions of the ambitions! Show me that thou art not a lusting and
+ambitious one!
+
+Alas! there are so many great thoughts that do nothing more than the
+bellows: they inflate, and make emptier than ever.
+
+Free, dost thou call thyself? Thy ruling thought would I hear of, and
+not that thou hast escaped from a yoke.
+
+Art thou one ENTITLED to escape from a yoke? Many a one hath cast away
+his final worth when he hath cast away his servitude.
+
+Free from what? What doth that matter to Zarathustra! Clearly, however,
+shall thine eye show unto me: free FOR WHAT?
+
+Canst thou give unto thyself thy bad and thy good, and set up thy will
+as a law over thee? Canst thou be judge for thyself, and avenger of thy
+law?
+
+Terrible is aloneness with the judge and avenger of one’s own law.
+Thus is a star projected into desert space, and into the icy breath of
+aloneness.
+
+To-day sufferest thou still from the multitude, thou individual; to-day
+hast thou still thy courage unabated, and thy hopes.
+
+But one day will the solitude weary thee; one day will thy pride yield,
+and thy courage quail. Thou wilt one day cry: “I am alone!”
+
+One day wilt thou see no longer thy loftiness, and see too closely thy
+lowliness; thy sublimity itself will frighten thee as a phantom. Thou
+wilt one day cry: “All is false!”
+
+There are feelings which seek to slay the lonesome one; if they do not
+succeed, then must they themselves die! But art thou capable of it--to
+be a murderer?
+
+Hast thou ever known, my brother, the word “disdain”? And the anguish of
+thy justice in being just to those that disdain thee?
+
+Thou forcest many to think differently about thee; that, charge they
+heavily to thine account. Thou camest nigh unto them, and yet wentest
+past: for that they never forgive thee.
+
+Thou goest beyond them: but the higher thou risest, the smaller doth the
+eye of envy see thee. Most of all, however, is the flying one hated.
+
+“How could ye be just unto me!”--must thou say--“I choose your injustice
+as my allotted portion.”
+
+Injustice and filth cast they at the lonesome one: but, my brother, if
+thou wouldst be a star, thou must shine for them none the less on that
+account!
+
+And be on thy guard against the good and just! They would fain crucify
+those who devise their own virtue--they hate the lonesome ones.
+
+Be on thy guard, also, against holy simplicity! All is unholy to it that
+is not simple; fain, likewise, would it play with the fire--of the fagot
+and stake.
+
+And be on thy guard, also, against the assaults of thy love! Too readily
+doth the recluse reach his hand to any one who meeteth him.
+
+To many a one mayest thou not give thy hand, but only thy paw; and I
+wish thy paw also to have claws.
+
+But the worst enemy thou canst meet, wilt thou thyself always be; thou
+waylayest thyself in caverns and forests.
+
+Thou lonesome one, thou goest the way to thyself! And past thyself and
+thy seven devils leadeth thy way!
+
+A heretic wilt thou be to thyself, and a wizard and a sooth-sayer, and a
+fool, and a doubter, and a reprobate, and a villain.
+
+Ready must thou be to burn thyself in thine own flame; how couldst thou
+become new if thou have not first become ashes!
+
+Thou lonesome one, thou goest the way of the creating one: a God wilt
+thou create for thyself out of thy seven devils!
+
+Thou lonesome one, thou goest the way of the loving one: thou lovest
+thyself, and on that account despisest thou thyself, as only the loving
+ones despise.
+
+To create, desireth the loving one, because he despiseth! What knoweth
+he of love who hath not been obliged to despise just what he loved!
+
+With thy love, go into thine isolation, my brother, and with thy
+creating; and late only will justice limp after thee.
+
+With my tears, go into thine isolation, my brother. I love him who
+seeketh to create beyond himself, and thus succumbeth.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XVIII. OLD AND YOUNG WOMEN.
+
+“Why stealest thou along so furtively in the twilight, Zarathustra? And
+what hidest thou so carefully under thy mantle?
+
+Is it a treasure that hath been given thee? Or a child that hath been
+born thee? Or goest thou thyself on a thief’s errand, thou friend of the
+evil?”--
+
+Verily, my brother, said Zarathustra, it is a treasure that hath been
+given me: it is a little truth which I carry.
+
+But it is naughty, like a young child; and if I hold not its mouth, it
+screameth too loudly.
+
+As I went on my way alone to-day, at the hour when the sun declineth,
+there met me an old woman, and she spake thus unto my soul:
+
+“Much hath Zarathustra spoken also to us women, but never spake he unto
+us concerning woman.”
+
+And I answered her: “Concerning woman, one should only talk unto men.”
+
+“Talk also unto me of woman,” said she; “I am old enough to forget it
+presently.”
+
+And I obliged the old woman and spake thus unto her:
+
+Everything in woman is a riddle, and everything in woman hath one
+solution--it is called pregnancy.
+
+Man is for woman a means: the purpose is always the child. But what is
+woman for man?
+
+Two different things wanteth the true man: danger and diversion.
+Therefore wanteth he woman, as the most dangerous plaything.
+
+Man shall be trained for war, and woman for the recreation of the
+warrior: all else is folly.
+
+Too sweet fruits--these the warrior liketh not. Therefore liketh he
+woman;--bitter is even the sweetest woman.
+
+Better than man doth woman understand children, but man is more childish
+than woman.
+
+In the true man there is a child hidden: it wanteth to play. Up then, ye
+women, and discover the child in man!
+
+A plaything let woman be, pure and fine like the precious stone,
+illumined with the virtues of a world not yet come.
+
+Let the beam of a star shine in your love! Let your hope say: “May I
+bear the Superman!”
+
+In your love let there be valour! With your love shall ye assail him who
+inspireth you with fear!
+
+In your love be your honour! Little doth woman understand otherwise
+about honour. But let this be your honour: always to love more than ye
+are loved, and never be the second.
+
+Let man fear woman when she loveth: then maketh she every sacrifice, and
+everything else she regardeth as worthless.
+
+Let man fear woman when she hateth: for man in his innermost soul is
+merely evil; woman, however, is mean.
+
+Whom hateth woman most?--Thus spake the iron to the loadstone: “I hate
+thee most, because thou attractest, but art too weak to draw unto thee.”
+
+The happiness of man is, “I will.” The happiness of woman is, “He will.”
+
+“Lo! now hath the world become perfect!”--thus thinketh every woman when
+she obeyeth with all her love.
+
+Obey, must the woman, and find a depth for her surface. Surface, is
+woman’s soul, a mobile, stormy film on shallow water.
+
+Man’s soul, however, is deep, its current gusheth in subterranean
+caverns: woman surmiseth its force, but comprehendeth it not.--
+
+Then answered me the old woman: “Many fine things hath Zarathustra said,
+especially for those who are young enough for them.
+
+Strange! Zarathustra knoweth little about woman, and yet he is right
+about them! Doth this happen, because with women nothing is impossible?
+
+And now accept a little truth by way of thanks! I am old enough for it!
+
+Swaddle it up and hold its mouth: otherwise it will scream too loudly,
+the little truth.”
+
+“Give me, woman, thy little truth!” said I. And thus spake the old
+woman:
+
+“Thou goest to women? Do not forget thy whip!”--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XIX. THE BITE OF THE ADDER.
+
+One day had Zarathustra fallen asleep under a fig-tree, owing to the
+heat, with his arms over his face. And there came an adder and bit him
+in the neck, so that Zarathustra screamed with pain. When he had
+taken his arm from his face he looked at the serpent; and then did it
+recognise the eyes of Zarathustra, wriggled awkwardly, and tried to get
+away. “Not at all,” said Zarathustra, “as yet hast thou not received
+my thanks! Thou hast awakened me in time; my journey is yet long.”
+ “Thy journey is short,” said the adder sadly; “my poison is fatal.”
+ Zarathustra smiled. “When did ever a dragon die of a serpent’s
+poison?”--said he. “But take thy poison back! Thou art not rich enough
+to present it to me.” Then fell the adder again on his neck, and licked
+his wound.
+
+When Zarathustra once told this to his disciples they asked him:
+“And what, O Zarathustra, is the moral of thy story?” And Zarathustra
+answered them thus:
+
+The destroyer of morality, the good and just call me: my story is
+immoral.
+
+When, however, ye have an enemy, then return him not good for evil: for
+that would abash him. But prove that he hath done something good to you.
+
+And rather be angry than abash any one! And when ye are cursed, it
+pleaseth me not that ye should then desire to bless. Rather curse a
+little also!
+
+And should a great injustice befall you, then do quickly five small ones
+besides. Hideous to behold is he on whom injustice presseth alone.
+
+Did ye ever know this? Shared injustice is half justice. And he who can
+bear it, shall take the injustice upon himself!
+
+A small revenge is humaner than no revenge at all. And if the punishment
+be not also a right and an honour to the transgressor, I do not like
+your punishing.
+
+Nobler is it to own oneself in the wrong than to establish one’s right,
+especially if one be in the right. Only, one must be rich enough to do
+so.
+
+I do not like your cold justice; out of the eye of your judges there
+always glanceth the executioner and his cold steel.
+
+Tell me: where find we justice, which is love with seeing eyes?
+
+Devise me, then, the love which not only beareth all punishment, but
+also all guilt!
+
+Devise me, then, the justice which acquitteth every one except the
+judge!
+
+And would ye hear this likewise? To him who seeketh to be just from the
+heart, even the lie becometh philanthropy.
+
+But how could I be just from the heart! How can I give every one his
+own! Let this be enough for me: I give unto every one mine own.
+
+Finally, my brethren, guard against doing wrong to any anchorite. How
+could an anchorite forget! How could he requite!
+
+Like a deep well is an anchorite. Easy is it to throw in a stone: if
+it should sink to the bottom, however, tell me, who will bring it out
+again?
+
+Guard against injuring the anchorite! If ye have done so, however, well
+then, kill him also!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XX. CHILD AND MARRIAGE.
+
+I have a question for thee alone, my brother: like a sounding-lead, cast
+I this question into thy soul, that I may know its depth.
+
+Thou art young, and desirest child and marriage. But I ask thee: Art
+thou a man ENTITLED to desire a child?
+
+Art thou the victorious one, the self-conqueror, the ruler of thy
+passions, the master of thy virtues? Thus do I ask thee.
+
+Or doth the animal speak in thy wish, and necessity? Or isolation? Or
+discord in thee?
+
+I would have thy victory and freedom long for a child. Living monuments
+shalt thou build to thy victory and emancipation.
+
+Beyond thyself shalt thou build. But first of all must thou be built
+thyself, rectangular in body and soul.
+
+Not only onward shalt thou propagate thyself, but upward! For that
+purpose may the garden of marriage help thee!
+
+A higher body shalt thou create, a first movement, a spontaneously
+rolling wheel--a creating one shalt thou create.
+
+Marriage: so call I the will of the twain to create the one that is
+more than those who created it. The reverence for one another, as those
+exercising such a will, call I marriage.
+
+Let this be the significance and the truth of thy marriage. But that
+which the many-too-many call marriage, those superfluous ones--ah, what
+shall I call it?
+
+Ah, the poverty of soul in the twain! Ah, the filth of soul in the
+twain! Ah, the pitiable self-complacency in the twain!
+
+Marriage they call it all; and they say their marriages are made in
+heaven.
+
+Well, I do not like it, that heaven of the superfluous! No, I do not
+like them, those animals tangled in the heavenly toils!
+
+Far from me also be the God who limpeth thither to bless what he hath
+not matched!
+
+Laugh not at such marriages! What child hath not had reason to weep over
+its parents?
+
+Worthy did this man seem, and ripe for the meaning of the earth: but
+when I saw his wife, the earth seemed to me a home for madcaps.
+
+Yea, I would that the earth shook with convulsions when a saint and a
+goose mate with one another.
+
+This one went forth in quest of truth as a hero, and at last got for
+himself a small decked-up lie: his marriage he calleth it.
+
+That one was reserved in intercourse and chose choicely. But one time he
+spoilt his company for all time: his marriage he calleth it.
+
+Another sought a handmaid with the virtues of an angel. But all at once
+he became the handmaid of a woman, and now would he need also to become
+an angel.
+
+Careful, have I found all buyers, and all of them have astute eyes. But
+even the astutest of them buyeth his wife in a sack.
+
+Many short follies--that is called love by you. And your marriage
+putteth an end to many short follies, with one long stupidity.
+
+Your love to woman, and woman’s love to man--ah, would that it were
+sympathy for suffering and veiled deities! But generally two animals
+alight on one another.
+
+But even your best love is only an enraptured simile and a painful
+ardour. It is a torch to light you to loftier paths.
+
+Beyond yourselves shall ye love some day! Then LEARN first of all to
+love. And on that account ye had to drink the bitter cup of your love.
+
+Bitterness is in the cup even of the best love: thus doth it cause
+longing for the Superman; thus doth it cause thirst in thee, the
+creating one!
+
+Thirst in the creating one, arrow and longing for the Superman: tell me,
+my brother, is this thy will to marriage?
+
+Holy call I such a will, and such a marriage.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXI. VOLUNTARY DEATH.
+
+Many die too late, and some die too early. Yet strange soundeth the
+precept: “Die at the right time!”
+
+Die at the right time: so teacheth Zarathustra.
+
+To be sure, he who never liveth at the right time, how could he ever die
+at the right time? Would that he might never be born!--Thus do I advise
+the superfluous ones.
+
+But even the superfluous ones make much ado about their death, and even
+the hollowest nut wanteth to be cracked.
+
+Every one regardeth dying as a great matter: but as yet death is not
+a festival. Not yet have people learned to inaugurate the finest
+festivals.
+
+The consummating death I show unto you, which becometh a stimulus and
+promise to the living.
+
+His death, dieth the consummating one triumphantly, surrounded by hoping
+and promising ones.
+
+Thus should one learn to die; and there should be no festival at which
+such a dying one doth not consecrate the oaths of the living!
+
+Thus to die is best; the next best, however, is to die in battle, and
+sacrifice a great soul.
+
+But to the fighter equally hateful as to the victor, is your grinning
+death which stealeth nigh like a thief,--and yet cometh as master.
+
+My death, praise I unto you, the voluntary death, which cometh unto me
+because _I_ want it.
+
+And when shall I want it?--He that hath a goal and an heir, wanteth
+death at the right time for the goal and the heir.
+
+And out of reverence for the goal and the heir, he will hang up no more
+withered wreaths in the sanctuary of life.
+
+Verily, not the rope-makers will I resemble: they lengthen out their
+cord, and thereby go ever backward.
+
+Many a one, also, waxeth too old for his truths and triumphs; a
+toothless mouth hath no longer the right to every truth.
+
+And whoever wanteth to have fame, must take leave of honour betimes, and
+practise the difficult art of--going at the right time.
+
+One must discontinue being feasted upon when one tasteth best: that is
+known by those who want to be long loved.
+
+Sour apples are there, no doubt, whose lot is to wait until the last
+day of autumn: and at the same time they become ripe, yellow, and
+shrivelled.
+
+In some ageth the heart first, and in others the spirit. And some are
+hoary in youth, but the late young keep long young.
+
+To many men life is a failure; a poison-worm gnaweth at their heart.
+Then let them see to it that their dying is all the more a success.
+
+Many never become sweet; they rot even in the summer. It is cowardice
+that holdeth them fast to their branches.
+
+Far too many live, and far too long hang they on their branches. Would
+that a storm came and shook all this rottenness and worm-eatenness from
+the tree!
+
+Would that there came preachers of SPEEDY death! Those would be the
+appropriate storms and agitators of the trees of life! But I hear only
+slow death preached, and patience with all that is “earthly.”
+
+Ah! ye preach patience with what is earthly? This earthly is it that
+hath too much patience with you, ye blasphemers!
+
+Verily, too early died that Hebrew whom the preachers of slow death
+honour: and to many hath it proved a calamity that he died too early.
+
+As yet had he known only tears, and the melancholy of the Hebrews,
+together with the hatred of the good and just--the Hebrew Jesus: then
+was he seized with the longing for death.
+
+Had he but remained in the wilderness, and far from the good and just!
+Then, perhaps, would he have learned to live, and love the earth--and
+laughter also!
+
+Believe it, my brethren! He died too early; he himself would have
+disavowed his doctrine had he attained to my age! Noble enough was he to
+disavow!
+
+But he was still immature. Immaturely loveth the youth, and immaturely
+also hateth he man and earth. Confined and awkward are still his soul
+and the wings of his spirit.
+
+But in man there is more of the child than in the youth, and less of
+melancholy: better understandeth he about life and death.
+
+Free for death, and free in death; a holy Naysayer, when there is no
+longer time for Yea: thus understandeth he about death and life.
+
+That your dying may not be a reproach to man and the earth, my friends:
+that do I solicit from the honey of your soul.
+
+In your dying shall your spirit and your virtue still shine like an
+evening after-glow around the earth: otherwise your dying hath been
+unsatisfactory.
+
+Thus will I die myself, that ye friends may love the earth more for my
+sake; and earth will I again become, to have rest in her that bore me.
+
+Verily, a goal had Zarathustra; he threw his ball. Now be ye friends the
+heirs of my goal; to you throw I the golden ball.
+
+Best of all, do I see you, my friends, throw the golden ball! And so
+tarry I still a little while on the earth--pardon me for it!
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXII. THE BESTOWING VIRTUE.
+
+1.
+
+When Zarathustra had taken leave of the town to which his heart was
+attached, the name of which is “The Pied Cow,” there followed him many
+people who called themselves his disciples, and kept him company. Thus
+came they to a crossroad. Then Zarathustra told them that he now wanted
+to go alone; for he was fond of going alone. His disciples, however,
+presented him at his departure with a staff, on the golden handle of
+which a serpent twined round the sun. Zarathustra rejoiced on account
+of the staff, and supported himself thereon; then spake he thus to his
+disciples:
+
+Tell me, pray: how came gold to the highest value? Because it is
+uncommon, and unprofiting, and beaming, and soft in lustre; it always
+bestoweth itself.
+
+Only as image of the highest virtue came gold to the highest value.
+Goldlike, beameth the glance of the bestower. Gold-lustre maketh peace
+between moon and sun.
+
+Uncommon is the highest virtue, and unprofiting, beaming is it, and soft
+of lustre: a bestowing virtue is the highest virtue.
+
+Verily, I divine you well, my disciples: ye strive like me for the
+bestowing virtue. What should ye have in common with cats and wolves?
+
+It is your thirst to become sacrifices and gifts yourselves: and
+therefore have ye the thirst to accumulate all riches in your soul.
+
+Insatiably striveth your soul for treasures and jewels, because your
+virtue is insatiable in desiring to bestow.
+
+Ye constrain all things to flow towards you and into you, so that they
+shall flow back again out of your fountain as the gifts of your love.
+
+Verily, an appropriator of all values must such bestowing love become;
+but healthy and holy, call I this selfishness.--
+
+Another selfishness is there, an all-too-poor and hungry kind, which
+would always steal--the selfishness of the sick, the sickly selfishness.
+
+With the eye of the thief it looketh upon all that is lustrous; with the
+craving of hunger it measureth him who hath abundance; and ever doth it
+prowl round the tables of bestowers.
+
+Sickness speaketh in such craving, and invisible degeneration; of a
+sickly body, speaketh the larcenous craving of this selfishness.
+
+Tell me, my brother, what do we think bad, and worst of all? Is it not
+DEGENERATION?--And we always suspect degeneration when the bestowing
+soul is lacking.
+
+Upward goeth our course from genera on to super-genera. But a horror to
+us is the degenerating sense, which saith: “All for myself.”
+
+Upward soareth our sense: thus is it a simile of our body, a simile of
+an elevation. Such similes of elevations are the names of the virtues.
+
+Thus goeth the body through history, a becomer and fighter. And the
+spirit--what is it to the body? Its fights’ and victories’ herald, its
+companion and echo.
+
+Similes, are all names of good and evil; they do not speak out, they
+only hint. A fool who seeketh knowledge from them!
+
+Give heed, my brethren, to every hour when your spirit would speak in
+similes: there is the origin of your virtue.
+
+Elevated is then your body, and raised up; with its delight, enraptureth
+it the spirit; so that it becometh creator, and valuer, and lover, and
+everything’s benefactor.
+
+When your heart overfloweth broad and full like the river, a blessing
+and a danger to the lowlanders: there is the origin of your virtue.
+
+When ye are exalted above praise and blame, and your will would command
+all things, as a loving one’s will: there is the origin of your virtue.
+
+When ye despise pleasant things, and the effeminate couch, and cannot
+couch far enough from the effeminate: there is the origin of your
+virtue.
+
+When ye are willers of one will, and when that change of every need is
+needful to you: there is the origin of your virtue.
+
+Verily, a new good and evil is it! Verily, a new deep murmuring, and the
+voice of a new fountain!
+
+Power is it, this new virtue; a ruling thought is it, and around it a
+subtle soul: a golden sun, with the serpent of knowledge around it.
+
+2.
+
+Here paused Zarathustra awhile, and looked lovingly on his disciples.
+Then he continued to speak thus--and his voice had changed:
+
+Remain true to the earth, my brethren, with the power of your virtue!
+Let your bestowing love and your knowledge be devoted to be the meaning
+of the earth! Thus do I pray and conjure you.
+
+Let it not fly away from the earthly and beat against eternal walls with
+its wings! Ah, there hath always been so much flown-away virtue!
+
+Lead, like me, the flown-away virtue back to the earth--yea, back
+to body and life: that it may give to the earth its meaning, a human
+meaning!
+
+A hundred times hitherto hath spirit as well as virtue flown away
+and blundered. Alas! in our body dwelleth still all this delusion and
+blundering: body and will hath it there become.
+
+A hundred times hitherto hath spirit as well as virtue attempted and
+erred. Yea, an attempt hath man been. Alas, much ignorance and error
+hath become embodied in us!
+
+Not only the rationality of millenniums--also their madness, breaketh
+out in us. Dangerous is it to be an heir.
+
+Still fight we step by step with the giant Chance, and over all mankind
+hath hitherto ruled nonsense, the lack-of-sense.
+
+Let your spirit and your virtue be devoted to the sense of the earth,
+my brethren: let the value of everything be determined anew by you!
+Therefore shall ye be fighters! Therefore shall ye be creators!
+
+Intelligently doth the body purify itself; attempting with intelligence
+it exalteth itself; to the discerners all impulses sanctify themselves;
+to the exalted the soul becometh joyful.
+
+Physician, heal thyself: then wilt thou also heal thy patient. Let it be
+his best cure to see with his eyes him who maketh himself whole.
+
+A thousand paths are there which have never yet been trodden; a thousand
+salubrities and hidden islands of life. Unexhausted and undiscovered is
+still man and man’s world.
+
+Awake and hearken, ye lonesome ones! From the future come winds with
+stealthy pinions, and to fine ears good tidings are proclaimed.
+
+Ye lonesome ones of to-day, ye seceding ones, ye shall one day be a
+people: out of you who have chosen yourselves, shall a chosen people
+arise:--and out of it the Superman.
+
+Verily, a place of healing shall the earth become! And already is a new
+odour diffused around it, a salvation-bringing odour--and a new hope!
+
+3.
+
+When Zarathustra had spoken these words, he paused, like one who had not
+said his last word; and long did he balance the staff doubtfully in his
+hand. At last he spake thus--and his voice had changed:
+
+I now go alone, my disciples! Ye also now go away, and alone! So will I
+have it.
+
+Verily, I advise you: depart from me, and guard yourselves against
+Zarathustra! And better still: be ashamed of him! Perhaps he hath
+deceived you.
+
+The man of knowledge must be able not only to love his enemies, but also
+to hate his friends.
+
+One requiteth a teacher badly if one remain merely a scholar. And why
+will ye not pluck at my wreath?
+
+Ye venerate me; but what if your veneration should some day collapse?
+Take heed lest a statue crush you!
+
+Ye say, ye believe in Zarathustra? But of what account is Zarathustra!
+Ye are my believers: but of what account are all believers!
+
+Ye had not yet sought yourselves: then did ye find me. So do all
+believers; therefore all belief is of so little account.
+
+Now do I bid you lose me and find yourselves; and only when ye have all
+denied me, will I return unto you.
+
+Verily, with other eyes, my brethren, shall I then seek my lost ones;
+with another love shall I then love you.
+
+And once again shall ye have become friends unto me, and children of one
+hope: then will I be with you for the third time, to celebrate the great
+noontide with you.
+
+And it is the great noontide, when man is in the middle of his course
+between animal and Superman, and celebrateth his advance to the evening
+as his highest hope: for it is the advance to a new morning.
+
+At such time will the down-goer bless himself, that he should be an
+over-goer; and the sun of his knowledge will be at noontide.
+
+“DEAD ARE ALL THE GODS: NOW DO WE DESIRE THE SUPERMAN TO LIVE.”--Let
+this be our final will at the great noontide!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA. SECOND PART.
+
+“--and only when ye have all denied me, will I return unto you.
+
+Verily, with other eyes, my brethren, shall I then seek my lost ones;
+with another love shall I then love you.”--ZARATHUSTRA, I., “The
+Bestowing Virtue.”
+
+
+
+
+XXIII. THE CHILD WITH THE MIRROR.
+
+After this Zarathustra returned again into the mountains to the solitude
+of his cave, and withdrew himself from men, waiting like a sower who
+hath scattered his seed. His soul, however, became impatient and full of
+longing for those whom he loved: because he had still much to give them.
+For this is hardest of all: to close the open hand out of love, and keep
+modest as a giver.
+
+Thus passed with the lonesome one months and years; his wisdom meanwhile
+increased, and caused him pain by its abundance.
+
+One morning, however, he awoke ere the rosy dawn, and having meditated
+long on his couch, at last spake thus to his heart:
+
+Why did I startle in my dream, so that I awoke? Did not a child come to
+me, carrying a mirror?
+
+“O Zarathustra”--said the child unto me--“look at thyself in the
+mirror!”
+
+But when I looked into the mirror, I shrieked, and my heart throbbed:
+for not myself did I see therein, but a devil’s grimace and derision.
+
+Verily, all too well do I understand the dream’s portent and monition:
+my DOCTRINE is in danger; tares want to be called wheat!
+
+Mine enemies have grown powerful and have disfigured the likeness of
+my doctrine, so that my dearest ones have to blush for the gifts that I
+gave them.
+
+Lost are my friends; the hour hath come for me to seek my lost ones!--
+
+With these words Zarathustra started up, not however like a person in
+anguish seeking relief, but rather like a seer and a singer whom the
+spirit inspireth. With amazement did his eagle and serpent gaze upon
+him: for a coming bliss overspread his countenance like the rosy dawn.
+
+What hath happened unto me, mine animals?--said Zarathustra. Am I not
+transformed? Hath not bliss come unto me like a whirlwind?
+
+Foolish is my happiness, and foolish things will it speak: it is still
+too young--so have patience with it!
+
+Wounded am I by my happiness: all sufferers shall be physicians unto me!
+
+To my friends can I again go down, and also to mine enemies! Zarathustra
+can again speak and bestow, and show his best love to his loved ones!
+
+My impatient love overfloweth in streams,--down towards sunrise and
+sunset. Out of silent mountains and storms of affliction, rusheth my
+soul into the valleys.
+
+Too long have I longed and looked into the distance. Too long hath
+solitude possessed me: thus have I unlearned to keep silence.
+
+Utterance have I become altogether, and the brawling of a brook from
+high rocks: downward into the valleys will I hurl my speech.
+
+And let the stream of my love sweep into unfrequented channels! How
+should a stream not finally find its way to the sea!
+
+Forsooth, there is a lake in me, sequestered and self-sufficing; but the
+stream of my love beareth this along with it, down--to the sea!
+
+New paths do I tread, a new speech cometh unto me; tired have I become--
+like all creators--of the old tongues. No longer will my spirit walk on
+worn-out soles.
+
+Too slowly runneth all speaking for me:--into thy chariot, O storm, do I
+leap! And even thee will I whip with my spite!
+
+Like a cry and an huzza will I traverse wide seas, till I find the Happy
+Isles where my friends sojourn;--
+
+And mine enemies amongst them! How I now love every one unto whom I may
+but speak! Even mine enemies pertain to my bliss.
+
+And when I want to mount my wildest horse, then doth my spear always
+help me up best: it is my foot’s ever ready servant:--
+
+The spear which I hurl at mine enemies! How grateful am I to mine
+enemies that I may at last hurl it!
+
+Too great hath been the tension of my cloud: ‘twixt laughters of
+lightnings will I cast hail-showers into the depths.
+
+Violently will my breast then heave; violently will it blow its storm
+over the mountains: thus cometh its assuagement.
+
+Verily, like a storm cometh my happiness, and my freedom! But mine
+enemies shall think that THE EVIL ONE roareth over their heads.
+
+Yea, ye also, my friends, will be alarmed by my wild wisdom; and perhaps
+ye will flee therefrom, along with mine enemies.
+
+Ah, that I knew how to lure you back with shepherds’ flutes! Ah, that
+my lioness wisdom would learn to roar softly! And much have we already
+learned with one another!
+
+My wild wisdom became pregnant on the lonesome mountains; on the rough
+stones did she bear the youngest of her young.
+
+Now runneth she foolishly in the arid wilderness, and seeketh and
+seeketh the soft sward--mine old, wild wisdom!
+
+On the soft sward of your hearts, my friends!--on your love, would she
+fain couch her dearest one!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXIV. IN THE HAPPY ISLES.
+
+The figs fall from the trees, they are good and sweet; and in falling
+the red skins of them break. A north wind am I to ripe figs.
+
+Thus, like figs, do these doctrines fall for you, my friends: imbibe
+now their juice and their sweet substance! It is autumn all around, and
+clear sky, and afternoon.
+
+Lo, what fullness is around us! And out of the midst of superabundance,
+it is delightful to look out upon distant seas.
+
+Once did people say God, when they looked out upon distant seas; now,
+however, have I taught you to say, Superman.
+
+God is a conjecture: but I do not wish your conjecturing to reach beyond
+your creating will.
+
+Could ye CREATE a God?--Then, I pray you, be silent about all Gods! But
+ye could well create the Superman.
+
+Not perhaps ye yourselves, my brethren! But into fathers and forefathers
+of the Superman could ye transform yourselves: and let that be your best
+creating!--
+
+God is a conjecture: but I should like your conjecturing restricted to
+the conceivable.
+
+Could ye CONCEIVE a God?--But let this mean Will to Truth unto you,
+that everything be transformed into the humanly conceivable, the humanly
+visible, the humanly sensible! Your own discernment shall ye follow out
+to the end!
+
+And what ye have called the world shall but be created by you: your
+reason, your likeness, your will, your love, shall it itself become! And
+verily, for your bliss, ye discerning ones!
+
+And how would ye endure life without that hope, ye discerning ones?
+Neither in the inconceivable could ye have been born, nor in the
+irrational.
+
+But that I may reveal my heart entirely unto you, my friends: IF there
+were gods, how could I endure it to be no God! THEREFORE there are no
+Gods.
+
+Yea, I have drawn the conclusion; now, however, doth it draw me.--
+
+God is a conjecture: but who could drink all the bitterness of this
+conjecture without dying? Shall his faith be taken from the creating
+one, and from the eagle his flights into eagle-heights?
+
+God is a thought--it maketh all the straight crooked, and all that
+standeth reel. What? Time would be gone, and all the perishable would be
+but a lie?
+
+To think this is giddiness and vertigo to human limbs, and even vomiting
+to the stomach: verily, the reeling sickness do I call it, to conjecture
+such a thing.
+
+Evil do I call it and misanthropic: all that teaching about the one, and
+the plenum, and the unmoved, and the sufficient, and the imperishable!
+
+All the imperishable--that’s but a simile, and the poets lie too much.--
+
+But of time and of becoming shall the best similes speak: a praise shall
+they be, and a justification of all perishableness!
+
+Creating--that is the great salvation from suffering, and life’s
+alleviation. But for the creator to appear, suffering itself is needed,
+and much transformation.
+
+Yea, much bitter dying must there be in your life, ye creators! Thus are
+ye advocates and justifiers of all perishableness.
+
+For the creator himself to be the new-born child, he must also
+be willing to be the child-bearer, and endure the pangs of the
+child-bearer.
+
+Verily, through a hundred souls went I my way, and through a hundred
+cradles and birth-throes. Many a farewell have I taken; I know the
+heart-breaking last hours.
+
+But so willeth it my creating Will, my fate. Or, to tell you it more
+candidly: just such a fate--willeth my Will.
+
+All FEELING suffereth in me, and is in prison: but my WILLING ever
+cometh to me as mine emancipator and comforter.
+
+Willing emancipateth: that is the true doctrine of will and
+emancipation--so teacheth you Zarathustra.
+
+No longer willing, and no longer valuing, and no longer creating! Ah,
+that that great debility may ever be far from me!
+
+And also in discerning do I feel only my will’s procreating and evolving
+delight; and if there be innocence in my knowledge, it is because there
+is will to procreation in it.
+
+Away from God and Gods did this will allure me; what would there be to
+create if there were--Gods!
+
+But to man doth it ever impel me anew, my fervent creative will; thus
+impelleth it the hammer to the stone.
+
+Ah, ye men, within the stone slumbereth an image for me, the image of my
+visions! Ah, that it should slumber in the hardest, ugliest stone!
+
+Now rageth my hammer ruthlessly against its prison. From the stone fly
+the fragments: what’s that to me?
+
+I will complete it: for a shadow came unto me--the stillest and lightest
+of all things once came unto me!
+
+The beauty of the Superman came unto me as a shadow. Ah, my brethren! Of
+what account now are--the Gods to me!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXV. THE PITIFUL.
+
+My friends, there hath arisen a satire on your friend: “Behold
+Zarathustra! Walketh he not amongst us as if amongst animals?”
+
+But it is better said in this wise: “The discerning one walketh amongst
+men AS amongst animals.”
+
+Man himself is to the discerning one: the animal with red cheeks.
+
+How hath that happened unto him? Is it not because he hath had to be
+ashamed too oft?
+
+O my friends! Thus speaketh the discerning one: shame, shame,
+shame--that is the history of man!
+
+And on that account doth the noble one enjoin upon himself not to abash:
+bashfulness doth he enjoin on himself in presence of all sufferers.
+
+Verily, I like them not, the merciful ones, whose bliss is in their
+pity: too destitute are they of bashfulness.
+
+If I must be pitiful, I dislike to be called so; and if I be so, it is
+preferably at a distance.
+
+Preferably also do I shroud my head, and flee, before being recognised:
+and thus do I bid you do, my friends!
+
+May my destiny ever lead unafflicted ones like you across my path, and
+those with whom I MAY have hope and repast and honey in common!
+
+Verily, I have done this and that for the afflicted: but something
+better did I always seem to do when I had learned to enjoy myself
+better.
+
+Since humanity came into being, man hath enjoyed himself too little:
+that alone, my brethren, is our original sin!
+
+And when we learn better to enjoy ourselves, then do we unlearn best to
+give pain unto others, and to contrive pain.
+
+Therefore do I wash the hand that hath helped the sufferer; therefore do
+I wipe also my soul.
+
+For in seeing the sufferer suffering--thereof was I ashamed on account
+of his shame; and in helping him, sorely did I wound his pride.
+
+Great obligations do not make grateful, but revengeful; and when a small
+kindness is not forgotten, it becometh a gnawing worm.
+
+“Be shy in accepting! Distinguish by accepting!”--thus do I advise those
+who have naught to bestow.
+
+I, however, am a bestower: willingly do I bestow as friend to friends.
+Strangers, however, and the poor, may pluck for themselves the fruit
+from my tree: thus doth it cause less shame.
+
+Beggars, however, one should entirely do away with! Verily, it annoyeth
+one to give unto them, and it annoyeth one not to give unto them.
+
+And likewise sinners and bad consciences! Believe me, my friends: the
+sting of conscience teacheth one to sting.
+
+The worst things, however, are the petty thoughts. Verily, better to
+have done evilly than to have thought pettily!
+
+To be sure, ye say: “The delight in petty evils spareth one many a great
+evil deed.” But here one should not wish to be sparing.
+
+Like a boil is the evil deed: it itcheth and irritateth and breaketh
+forth--it speaketh honourably.
+
+“Behold, I am disease,” saith the evil deed: that is its honourableness.
+
+But like infection is the petty thought: it creepeth and hideth, and
+wanteth to be nowhere--until the whole body is decayed and withered by
+the petty infection.
+
+To him however, who is possessed of a devil, I would whisper this word
+in the ear: “Better for thee to rear up thy devil! Even for thee there
+is still a path to greatness!”--
+
+Ah, my brethren! One knoweth a little too much about every one! And many
+a one becometh transparent to us, but still we can by no means penetrate
+him.
+
+It is difficult to live among men because silence is so difficult.
+
+And not to him who is offensive to us are we most unfair, but to him who
+doth not concern us at all.
+
+If, however, thou hast a suffering friend, then be a resting-place for
+his suffering; like a hard bed, however, a camp-bed: thus wilt thou
+serve him best.
+
+And if a friend doeth thee wrong, then say: “I forgive thee what thou
+hast done unto me; that thou hast done it unto THYSELF, however--how
+could I forgive that!”
+
+Thus speaketh all great love: it surpasseth even forgiveness and pity.
+
+One should hold fast one’s heart; for when one letteth it go, how
+quickly doth one’s head run away!
+
+Ah, where in the world have there been greater follies than with the
+pitiful? And what in the world hath caused more suffering than the
+follies of the pitiful?
+
+Woe unto all loving ones who have not an elevation which is above their
+pity!
+
+Thus spake the devil unto me, once on a time: “Even God hath his hell:
+it is his love for man.”
+
+And lately, did I hear him say these words: “God is dead: of his pity
+for man hath God died.”--
+
+So be ye warned against pity: FROM THENCE there yet cometh unto men a
+heavy cloud! Verily, I understand weather-signs!
+
+But attend also to this word: All great love is above all its pity: for
+it seeketh--to create what is loved!
+
+“Myself do I offer unto my love, AND MY NEIGHBOUR AS MYSELF”--such is
+the language of all creators.
+
+All creators, however, are hard.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXVI. THE PRIESTS.
+
+And one day Zarathustra made a sign to his disciples, and spake these
+words unto them:
+
+“Here are priests: but although they are mine enemies, pass them quietly
+and with sleeping swords!
+
+Even among them there are heroes; many of them have suffered too much--:
+so they want to make others suffer.
+
+Bad enemies are they: nothing is more revengeful than their meekness.
+And readily doth he soil himself who toucheth them.
+
+But my blood is related to theirs; and I want withal to see my blood
+honoured in theirs.”--
+
+And when they had passed, a pain attacked Zarathustra; but not long had
+he struggled with the pain, when he began to speak thus:
+
+It moveth my heart for those priests. They also go against my taste; but
+that is the smallest matter unto me, since I am among men.
+
+But I suffer and have suffered with them: prisoners are they unto me,
+and stigmatised ones. He whom they call Saviour put them in fetters:--
+
+In fetters of false values and fatuous words! Oh, that some one would
+save them from their Saviour!
+
+On an isle they once thought they had landed, when the sea tossed them
+about; but behold, it was a slumbering monster!
+
+False values and fatuous words: these are the worst monsters for
+mortals--long slumbereth and waiteth the fate that is in them.
+
+But at last it cometh and awaketh and devoureth and engulfeth whatever
+hath built tabernacles upon it.
+
+Oh, just look at those tabernacles which those priests have built
+themselves! Churches, they call their sweet-smelling caves!
+
+Oh, that falsified light, that mustified air! Where the soul--may not
+fly aloft to its height!
+
+But so enjoineth their belief: “On your knees, up the stair, ye
+sinners!”
+
+Verily, rather would I see a shameless one than the distorted eyes of
+their shame and devotion!
+
+Who created for themselves such caves and penitence-stairs? Was it not
+those who sought to conceal themselves, and were ashamed under the clear
+sky?
+
+And only when the clear sky looketh again through ruined roofs, and down
+upon grass and red poppies on ruined walls--will I again turn my heart
+to the seats of this God.
+
+They called God that which opposed and afflicted them: and verily, there
+was much hero-spirit in their worship!
+
+And they knew not how to love their God otherwise than by nailing men to
+the cross!
+
+As corpses they thought to live; in black draped they their corpses;
+even in their talk do I still feel the evil flavour of charnel-houses.
+
+And he who liveth nigh unto them liveth nigh unto black pools, wherein
+the toad singeth his song with sweet gravity.
+
+Better songs would they have to sing, for me to believe in their
+Saviour: more like saved ones would his disciples have to appear unto
+me!
+
+Naked, would I like to see them: for beauty alone should preach
+penitence. But whom would that disguised affliction convince!
+
+Verily, their Saviours themselves came not from freedom and freedom’s
+seventh heaven! Verily, they themselves never trod the carpets of
+knowledge!
+
+Of defects did the spirit of those Saviours consist; but into every
+defect had they put their illusion, their stop-gap, which they called
+God.
+
+In their pity was their spirit drowned; and when they swelled and
+o’erswelled with pity, there always floated to the surface a great
+folly.
+
+Eagerly and with shouts drove they their flock over their foot-bridge;
+as if there were but one foot-bridge to the future! Verily, those
+shepherds also were still of the flock!
+
+Small spirits and spacious souls had those shepherds: but, my brethren,
+what small domains have even the most spacious souls hitherto been!
+
+Characters of blood did they write on the way they went, and their folly
+taught that truth is proved by blood.
+
+But blood is the very worst witness to truth; blood tainteth the purest
+teaching, and turneth it into delusion and hatred of heart.
+
+And when a person goeth through fire for his teaching--what doth that
+prove! It is more, verily, when out of one’s own burning cometh one’s
+own teaching!
+
+Sultry heart and cold head; where these meet, there ariseth the
+blusterer, the “Saviour.”
+
+Greater ones, verily, have there been, and higher-born ones, than those
+whom the people call Saviours, those rapturous blusterers!
+
+And by still greater ones than any of the Saviours must ye be saved, my
+brethren, if ye would find the way to freedom!
+
+Never yet hath there been a Superman. Naked have I seen both of them,
+the greatest man and the smallest man:--
+
+All-too-similar are they still to each other. Verily, even the greatest
+found I--all-too-human!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXVII. THE VIRTUOUS.
+
+With thunder and heavenly fireworks must one speak to indolent and
+somnolent senses.
+
+But beauty’s voice speaketh gently: it appealeth only to the most
+awakened souls.
+
+Gently vibrated and laughed unto me to-day my buckler; it was beauty’s
+holy laughing and thrilling.
+
+At you, ye virtuous ones, laughed my beauty to-day. And thus came its
+voice unto me: “They want--to be paid besides!”
+
+Ye want to be paid besides, ye virtuous ones! Ye want reward for virtue,
+and heaven for earth, and eternity for your to-day?
+
+And now ye upbraid me for teaching that there is no reward-giver,
+nor paymaster? And verily, I do not even teach that virtue is its own
+reward.
+
+Ah! this is my sorrow: into the basis of things have reward and
+punishment been insinuated--and now even into the basis of your souls,
+ye virtuous ones!
+
+But like the snout of the boar shall my word grub up the basis of your
+souls; a ploughshare will I be called by you.
+
+All the secrets of your heart shall be brought to light; and when ye
+lie in the sun, grubbed up and broken, then will also your falsehood be
+separated from your truth.
+
+For this is your truth: ye are TOO PURE for the filth of the words:
+vengeance, punishment, recompense, retribution.
+
+Ye love your virtue as a mother loveth her child; but when did one hear
+of a mother wanting to be paid for her love?
+
+It is your dearest Self, your virtue. The ring’s thirst is in you: to
+reach itself again struggleth every ring, and turneth itself.
+
+And like the star that goeth out, so is every work of your virtue: ever
+is its light on its way and travelling--and when will it cease to be on
+its way?
+
+Thus is the light of your virtue still on its way, even when its work
+is done. Be it forgotten and dead, still its ray of light liveth and
+travelleth.
+
+That your virtue is your Self, and not an outward thing, a skin, or
+a cloak: that is the truth from the basis of your souls, ye virtuous
+ones!--
+
+But sure enough there are those to whom virtue meaneth writhing under
+the lash: and ye have hearkened too much unto their crying!
+
+And others are there who call virtue the slothfulness of their vices;
+and when once their hatred and jealousy relax the limbs, their “justice”
+ becometh lively and rubbeth its sleepy eyes.
+
+And others are there who are drawn downwards: their devils draw them.
+But the more they sink, the more ardently gloweth their eye, and the
+longing for their God.
+
+Ah! their crying also hath reached your ears, ye virtuous ones: “What I
+am NOT, that, that is God to me, and virtue!”
+
+And others are there who go along heavily and creakingly, like carts
+taking stones downhill: they talk much of dignity and virtue--their drag
+they call virtue!
+
+And others are there who are like eight-day clocks when wound up; they
+tick, and want people to call ticking--virtue.
+
+Verily, in those have I mine amusement: wherever I find such clocks I
+shall wind them up with my mockery, and they shall even whirr thereby!
+
+And others are proud of their modicum of righteousness, and for the sake
+of it do violence to all things: so that the world is drowned in their
+unrighteousness.
+
+Ah! how ineptly cometh the word “virtue” out of their mouth! And when
+they say: “I am just,” it always soundeth like: “I am just--revenged!”
+
+With their virtues they want to scratch out the eyes of their enemies;
+and they elevate themselves only that they may lower others.
+
+And again there are those who sit in their swamp, and speak thus from
+among the bulrushes: “Virtue--that is to sit quietly in the swamp.
+
+We bite no one, and go out of the way of him who would bite; and in all
+matters we have the opinion that is given us.”
+
+And again there are those who love attitudes, and think that virtue is a
+sort of attitude.
+
+Their knees continually adore, and their hands are eulogies of virtue,
+but their heart knoweth naught thereof.
+
+And again there are those who regard it as virtue to say: “Virtue
+is necessary”; but after all they believe only that policemen are
+necessary.
+
+And many a one who cannot see men’s loftiness, calleth it virtue to see
+their baseness far too well: thus calleth he his evil eye virtue.--
+
+And some want to be edified and raised up, and call it virtue: and
+others want to be cast down,--and likewise call it virtue.
+
+And thus do almost all think that they participate in virtue; and at
+least every one claimeth to be an authority on “good” and “evil.”
+
+But Zarathustra came not to say unto all those liars and fools: “What do
+YE know of virtue! What COULD ye know of virtue!”--
+
+But that ye, my friends, might become weary of the old words which ye
+have learned from the fools and liars:
+
+That ye might become weary of the words “reward,” “retribution,”
+ “punishment,” “righteous vengeance.”--
+
+That ye might become weary of saying: “That an action is good is because
+it is unselfish.”
+
+Ah! my friends! That YOUR very Self be in your action, as the mother is
+in the child: let that be YOUR formula of virtue!
+
+Verily, I have taken from you a hundred formulae and your virtue’s
+favourite playthings; and now ye upbraid me, as children upbraid.
+
+They played by the sea--then came there a wave and swept their
+playthings into the deep: and now do they cry.
+
+But the same wave shall bring them new playthings, and spread before
+them new speckled shells!
+
+Thus will they be comforted; and like them shall ye also, my friends,
+have your comforting--and new speckled shells!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXVIII. THE RABBLE.
+
+Life is a well of delight; but where the rabble also drink, there all
+fountains are poisoned.
+
+To everything cleanly am I well disposed; but I hate to see the grinning
+mouths and the thirst of the unclean.
+
+They cast their eye down into the fountain: and now glanceth up to me
+their odious smile out of the fountain.
+
+The holy water have they poisoned with their lustfulness; and when they
+called their filthy dreams delight, then poisoned they also the words.
+
+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.
+
+Mawkish and over-mellow becometh the fruit in their hands: unsteady, and
+withered at the top, doth their look make the fruit-tree.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+And it is not the mouthful which hath most choked me, to know that life
+itself requireth enmity and death and torture-crosses:--
+
+But I asked once, and suffocated almost with my question: What? is the
+rabble also NECESSARY for life?
+
+Are poisoned fountains necessary, and stinking fires, and filthy dreams,
+and maggots in the bread of life?
+
+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!
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+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!
+
+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!
+
+Almost too violently dost thou flow for me, thou fountain of delight!
+And often emptiest thou the goblet again, in wanting to fill it!
+
+And yet must I learn to approach thee more modestly: far too violently
+doth my heart still flow towards thee:--
+
+My heart on which my summer burneth, my short, hot, melancholy,
+over-happy summer: how my summer heart longeth for thy coolness!
+
+Past, the lingering distress of my spring! Past, the wickedness of my
+snowflakes in June! Summer have I become entirely, and summer-noontide!
+
+A summer on the loftiest height, with cold fountains and blissful
+stillness: oh, come, my friends, that the stillness may become more
+blissful!
+
+For this is OUR height and our home: too high and steep do we here dwell
+for all uncleanly ones and their thirst.
+
+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.
+
+On the tree of the future build we our nest; eagles shall bring us lone
+ones food in their beaks!
+
+Verily, no food of which the impure could be fellow-partakers! Fire,
+would they think they devoured, and burn their mouths!
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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!”--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXIX. THE TARANTULAS.
+
+Lo, this is the tarantula’s den! Wouldst thou see the tarantula itself?
+Here hangeth its web: touch this, so that it may tremble.
+
+There cometh the tarantula willingly: Welcome, tarantula! Black on thy
+back is thy triangle and symbol; and I know also what is in thy soul.
+
+Revenge is in thy soul: wherever thou bitest, there ariseth black scab;
+with revenge, thy poison maketh the soul giddy!
+
+Thus do I speak unto you in parable, ye who make the soul giddy,
+ye preachers of EQUALITY! Tarantulas are ye unto me, and secretly
+revengeful ones!
+
+But I will soon bring your hiding-places to the light: therefore do I
+laugh in your face my laughter of the height.
+
+Therefore do I tear at your web, that your rage may lure you out of your
+den of lies, and that your revenge may leap forth from behind your word
+“justice.”
+
+Because, FOR MAN TO BE REDEEMED FROM REVENGE--that is for me the bridge
+to the highest hope, and a rainbow after long storms.
+
+Otherwise, however, would the tarantulas have it. “Let it be
+very justice for the world to become full of the storms of our
+vengeance”--thus do they talk to one another.
+
+“Vengeance will we use, and insult, against all who are not like
+us”--thus do the tarantula-hearts pledge themselves.
+
+“And ‘Will to Equality’--that itself shall henceforth be the name of
+virtue; and against all that hath power will we raise an outcry!”
+
+Ye preachers of equality, the tyrant-frenzy of impotence crieth thus in
+you for “equality”: your most secret tyrant-longings disguise themselves
+thus in virtue-words!
+
+Fretted conceit and suppressed envy--perhaps your fathers’ conceit and
+envy: in you break they forth as flame and frenzy of vengeance.
+
+What the father hath hid cometh out in the son; and oft have I found in
+the son the father’s revealed secret.
+
+Inspired ones they resemble: but it is not the heart that inspireth
+them--but vengeance. And when they become subtle and cold, it is not
+spirit, but envy, that maketh them so.
+
+Their jealousy leadeth them also into thinkers’ paths; and this is the
+sign of their jealousy--they always go too far: so that their fatigue
+hath at last to go to sleep on the snow.
+
+In all their lamentations soundeth vengeance, in all their eulogies is
+maleficence; and being judge seemeth to them bliss.
+
+But thus do I counsel you, my friends: distrust all in whom the impulse
+to punish is powerful!
+
+They are people of bad race and lineage; out of their countenances peer
+the hangman and the sleuth-hound.
+
+Distrust all those who talk much of their justice! Verily, in their
+souls not only honey is lacking.
+
+And when they call themselves “the good and just,” forget not, that for
+them to be Pharisees, nothing is lacking but--power!
+
+My friends, I will not be mixed up and confounded with others.
+
+There are those who preach my doctrine of life, and are at the same time
+preachers of equality, and tarantulas.
+
+That they speak in favour of life, though they sit in their den, these
+poison-spiders, and withdrawn from life--is because they would thereby
+do injury.
+
+To those would they thereby do injury who have power at present: for
+with those the preaching of death is still most at home.
+
+Were it otherwise, then would the tarantulas teach otherwise: and they
+themselves were formerly the best world-maligners and heretic-burners.
+
+With these preachers of equality will I not be mixed up and confounded.
+For thus speaketh justice UNTO ME: “Men are not equal.”
+
+And neither shall they become so! What would be my love to the Superman,
+if I spake otherwise?
+
+On a thousand bridges and piers shall they throng to the future, and
+always shall there be more war and inequality among them: thus doth my
+great love make me speak!
+
+Inventors of figures and phantoms shall they be in their hostilities;
+and with those figures and phantoms shall they yet fight with each other
+the supreme fight!
+
+Good and evil, and rich and poor, and high and low, and all names of
+values: weapons shall they be, and sounding signs, that life must again
+and again surpass itself!
+
+Aloft will it build itself with columns and stairs--life itself: into
+remote distances would it gaze, and out towards blissful beauties--
+THEREFORE doth it require elevation!
+
+And because it requireth elevation, therefore doth it require steps, and
+variance of steps and climbers! To rise striveth life, and in rising to
+surpass itself.
+
+And just behold, my friends! Here where the tarantula’s den is, riseth
+aloft an ancient temple’s ruins--just behold it with enlightened eyes!
+
+Verily, he who here towered aloft his thoughts in stone, knew as well as
+the wisest ones about the secret of life!
+
+That there is struggle and inequality even in beauty, and war for power
+and supremacy: that doth he here teach us in the plainest parable.
+
+How divinely do vault and arch here contrast in the struggle: how with
+light and shade they strive against each other, the divinely striving
+ones.--
+
+Thus, steadfast and beautiful, let us also be enemies, my friends!
+Divinely will we strive AGAINST one another!--
+
+Alas! There hath the tarantula bit me myself, mine old enemy! Divinely
+steadfast and beautiful, it hath bit me on the finger!
+
+“Punishment must there be, and justice”--so thinketh it: “not
+gratuitously shall he here sing songs in honour of enmity!”
+
+Yea, it hath revenged itself! And alas! now will it make my soul also
+dizzy with revenge!
+
+That I may NOT turn dizzy, however, bind me fast, my friends, to this
+pillar! Rather will I be a pillar-saint than a whirl of vengeance!
+
+Verily, no cyclone or whirlwind is Zarathustra: and if he be a dancer,
+he is not at all a tarantula-dancer!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXX. THE FAMOUS WISE ONES.
+
+The people have ye served and the people’s superstition--NOT the
+truth!--all ye famous wise ones! And just on that account did they pay
+you reverence.
+
+And on that account also did they tolerate your unbelief, because it
+was a pleasantry and a by-path for the people. Thus doth the master give
+free scope to his slaves, and even enjoyeth their presumptuousness.
+
+But he who is hated by the people, as the wolf by the dogs--is the free
+spirit, the enemy of fetters, the non-adorer, the dweller in the woods.
+
+To hunt him out of his lair--that was always called “sense of right” by
+the people: on him do they still hound their sharpest-toothed dogs.
+
+“For there the truth is, where the people are! Woe, woe to the seeking
+ones!”--thus hath it echoed through all time.
+
+Your people would ye justify in their reverence: that called ye “Will to
+Truth,” ye famous wise ones!
+
+And your heart hath always said to itself: “From the people have I come:
+from thence came to me also the voice of God.”
+
+Stiff-necked and artful, like the ass, have ye always been, as the
+advocates of the people.
+
+And many a powerful one who wanted to run well with the people, hath
+harnessed in front of his horses--a donkey, a famous wise man.
+
+And now, ye famous wise ones, I would have you finally throw off
+entirely the skin of the lion!
+
+The skin of the beast of prey, the speckled skin, and the dishevelled
+locks of the investigator, the searcher, and the conqueror!
+
+Ah! for me to learn to believe in your “conscientiousness,” ye would
+first have to break your venerating will.
+
+Conscientious--so call I him who goeth into God-forsaken wildernesses,
+and hath broken his venerating heart.
+
+In the yellow sands and burnt by the sun, he doubtless peereth thirstily
+at the isles rich in fountains, where life reposeth under shady trees.
+
+But his thirst doth not persuade him to become like those comfortable
+ones: for where there are oases, there are also idols.
+
+Hungry, fierce, lonesome, God-forsaken: so doth the lion-will wish
+itself.
+
+Free from the happiness of slaves, redeemed from Deities and adorations,
+fearless and fear-inspiring, grand and lonesome: so is the will of the
+conscientious.
+
+In the wilderness have ever dwelt the conscientious, the free spirits,
+as lords of the wilderness; but in the cities dwell the well-foddered,
+famous wise ones--the draught-beasts.
+
+For, always, do they draw, as asses--the PEOPLE’S carts!
+
+Not that I on that account upbraid them: but serving ones do they
+remain, and harnessed ones, even though they glitter in golden harness.
+
+And often have they been good servants and worthy of their hire. For
+thus saith virtue: “If thou must be a servant, seek him unto whom thy
+service is most useful!
+
+The spirit and virtue of thy master shall advance by thou being his
+servant: thus wilt thou thyself advance with his spirit and virtue!”
+
+And verily, ye famous wise ones, ye servants of the people! Ye
+yourselves have advanced with the people’s spirit and virtue--and the
+people by you! To your honour do I say it!
+
+But the people ye remain for me, even with your virtues, the people with
+purblind eyes--the people who know not what SPIRIT is!
+
+Spirit is life which itself cutteth into life: by its own torture doth
+it increase its own knowledge,--did ye know that before?
+
+And the spirit’s happiness is this: to be anointed and consecrated with
+tears as a sacrificial victim,--did ye know that before?
+
+And the blindness of the blind one, and his seeking and groping, shall
+yet testify to the power of the sun into which he hath gazed,--did ye
+know that before?
+
+And with mountains shall the discerning one learn to BUILD! It is
+a small thing for the spirit to remove mountains,--did ye know that
+before?
+
+Ye know only the sparks of the spirit: but ye do not see the anvil which
+it is, and the cruelty of its hammer!
+
+Verily, ye know not the spirit’s pride! But still less could ye endure
+the spirit’s humility, should it ever want to speak!
+
+And never yet could ye cast your spirit into a pit of snow: ye are not
+hot enough for that! Thus are ye unaware, also, of the delight of its
+coldness.
+
+In all respects, however, ye make too familiar with the spirit; and out
+of wisdom have ye often made an almshouse and a hospital for bad poets.
+
+Ye are not eagles: thus have ye never experienced the happiness of the
+alarm of the spirit. And he who is not a bird should not camp above
+abysses.
+
+Ye seem to me lukewarm ones: but coldly floweth all deep knowledge.
+Ice-cold are the innermost wells of the spirit: a refreshment to hot
+hands and handlers.
+
+Respectable do ye there stand, and stiff, and with straight backs, ye
+famous wise ones!--no strong wind or will impelleth you.
+
+Have ye ne’er seen a sail crossing the sea, rounded and inflated, and
+trembling with the violence of the wind?
+
+Like the sail trembling with the violence of the spirit, doth my wisdom
+cross the sea--my wild wisdom!
+
+But ye servants of the people, ye famous wise ones--how COULD ye go with
+me!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXXI. THE NIGHT-SONG.
+
+‘Tis night: now do all gushing fountains speak louder. And my soul also
+is a gushing fountain.
+
+‘Tis night: now only do all songs of the loving ones awake. And my soul
+also is the song of a loving one.
+
+Something unappeased, unappeasable, is within me; it longeth to find
+expression. A craving for love is within me, which speaketh itself the
+language of love.
+
+Light am I: ah, that I were night! But it is my lonesomeness to be
+begirt with light!
+
+Ah, that I were dark and nightly! How would I suck at the breasts of
+light!
+
+And you yourselves would I bless, ye twinkling starlets and glow-worms
+aloft!--and would rejoice in the gifts of your light.
+
+But I live in mine own light, I drink again into myself the flames that
+break forth from me.
+
+I know not the happiness of the receiver; and oft have I dreamt that
+stealing must be more blessed than receiving.
+
+It is my poverty that my hand never ceaseth bestowing; it is mine envy
+that I see waiting eyes and the brightened nights of longing.
+
+Oh, the misery of all bestowers! Oh, the darkening of my sun! Oh, the
+craving to crave! Oh, the violent hunger in satiety!
+
+They take from me: but do I yet touch their soul? There is a gap ‘twixt
+giving and receiving; and the smallest gap hath finally to be bridged
+over.
+
+A hunger ariseth out of my beauty: I should like to injure those I
+illumine; I should like to rob those I have gifted:--thus do I hunger
+for wickedness.
+
+Withdrawing my hand when another hand already stretcheth out to it;
+hesitating like the cascade, which hesitateth even in its leap:--thus do
+I hunger for wickedness!
+
+Such revenge doth mine abundance think of: such mischief welleth out of
+my lonesomeness.
+
+My happiness in bestowing died in bestowing; my virtue became weary of
+itself by its abundance!
+
+He who ever bestoweth is in danger of losing his shame; to him who ever
+dispenseth, the hand and heart become callous by very dispensing.
+
+Mine eye no longer overfloweth for the shame of suppliants; my hand hath
+become too hard for the trembling of filled hands.
+
+Whence have gone the tears of mine eye, and the down of my heart? Oh,
+the lonesomeness of all bestowers! Oh, the silence of all shining ones!
+
+Many suns circle in desert space: to all that is dark do they speak with
+their light--but to me they are silent.
+
+Oh, this is the hostility of light to the shining one: unpityingly doth
+it pursue its course.
+
+Unfair to the shining one in its innermost heart, cold to the
+suns:--thus travelleth every sun.
+
+Like a storm do the suns pursue their courses: that is their travelling.
+Their inexorable will do they follow: that is their coldness.
+
+Oh, ye only is it, ye dark, nightly ones, that extract warmth from the
+shining ones! Oh, ye only drink milk and refreshment from the light’s
+udders!
+
+Ah, there is ice around me; my hand burneth with the iciness! Ah, there
+is thirst in me; it panteth after your thirst!
+
+‘Tis night: alas, that I have to be light! And thirst for the nightly!
+And lonesomeness!
+
+‘Tis night: now doth my longing break forth in me as a fountain,--for
+speech do I long.
+
+‘Tis night: now do all gushing fountains speak louder. And my soul also
+is a gushing fountain.
+
+‘Tis night: now do all songs of loving ones awake. And my soul also is
+the song of a loving one.--
+
+Thus sang Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXXII. THE DANCE-SONG.
+
+One evening went Zarathustra and his disciples through the forest; and
+when he sought for a well, lo, he lighted upon a green meadow peacefully
+surrounded with trees and bushes, where maidens were dancing together.
+As soon as the maidens recognised Zarathustra, they ceased dancing;
+Zarathustra, however, approached them with friendly mien and spake these
+words:
+
+Cease not your dancing, ye lovely maidens! No game-spoiler hath come to
+you with evil eye, no enemy of maidens.
+
+God’s advocate am I with the devil: he, however, is the spirit of
+gravity. How could I, ye light-footed ones, be hostile to divine dances?
+Or to maidens’ feet with fine ankles?
+
+To be sure, I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not
+afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses.
+
+And even the little God may he find, who is dearest to maidens: beside
+the well lieth he quietly, with closed eyes.
+
+Verily, in broad daylight did he fall asleep, the sluggard! Had he
+perhaps chased butterflies too much?
+
+Upbraid me not, ye beautiful dancers, when I chasten the little God
+somewhat! He will cry, certainly, and weep--but he is laughable even
+when weeping!
+
+And with tears in his eyes shall he ask you for a dance; and I myself
+will sing a song to his dance:
+
+A dance-song and satire on the spirit of gravity my supremest,
+powerfulest devil, who is said to be “lord of the world.”--
+
+And this is the song that Zarathustra sang when Cupid and the maidens
+danced together:
+
+Of late did I gaze into thine eye, O Life! And into the unfathomable did
+I there seem to sink.
+
+But thou pulledst me out with a golden angle; derisively didst thou
+laugh when I called thee unfathomable.
+
+“Such is the language of all fish,” saidst thou; “what THEY do not
+fathom is unfathomable.
+
+But changeable am I only, and wild, and altogether a woman, and no
+virtuous one:
+
+Though I be called by you men the ‘profound one,’ or the ‘faithful one,’
+‘the eternal one,’ ‘the mysterious one.’
+
+But ye men endow us always with your own virtues--alas, ye virtuous
+ones!”
+
+Thus did she laugh, the unbelievable one; but never do I believe her and
+her laughter, when she speaketh evil of herself.
+
+And when I talked face to face with my wild Wisdom, she said to me
+angrily: “Thou willest, thou cravest, thou lovest; on that account alone
+dost thou PRAISE Life!”
+
+Then had I almost answered indignantly and told the truth to the angry
+one; and one cannot answer more indignantly than when one “telleth the
+truth” to one’s Wisdom.
+
+For thus do things stand with us three. In my heart do I love only
+Life--and verily, most when I hate her!
+
+But that I am fond of Wisdom, and often too fond, is because she
+remindeth me very strongly of Life!
+
+She hath her eye, her laugh, and even her golden angle-rod: am I
+responsible for it that both are so alike?
+
+And when once Life asked me: “Who is she then, this Wisdom?”--then said
+I eagerly: “Ah, yes! Wisdom!
+
+One thirsteth for her and is not satisfied, one looketh through veils,
+one graspeth through nets.
+
+Is she beautiful? What do I know! But the oldest carps are still lured
+by her.
+
+Changeable is she, and wayward; often have I seen her bite her lip, and
+pass the comb against the grain of her hair.
+
+Perhaps she is wicked and false, and altogether a woman; but when she
+speaketh ill of herself, just then doth she seduce most.”
+
+When I had said this unto Life, then laughed she maliciously, and shut
+her eyes. “Of whom dost thou speak?” said she. “Perhaps of me?
+
+And if thou wert right--is it proper to say THAT in such wise to my
+face! But now, pray, speak also of thy Wisdom!”
+
+Ah, and now hast thou again opened thine eyes, O beloved Life! And into
+the unfathomable have I again seemed to sink.--
+
+Thus sang Zarathustra. But when the dance was over and the maidens had
+departed, he became sad.
+
+“The sun hath been long set,” said he at last, “the meadow is damp, and
+from the forest cometh coolness.
+
+An unknown presence is about me, and gazeth thoughtfully. What! Thou
+livest still, Zarathustra?
+
+Why? Wherefore? Whereby? Whither? Where? How? Is it not folly still to
+live?--
+
+Ah, my friends; the evening is it which thus interrogateth in me.
+Forgive me my sadness!
+
+Evening hath come on: forgive me that evening hath come on!”
+
+Thus sang Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXXIII. THE GRAVE-SONG.
+
+“Yonder is the grave-island, the silent isle; yonder also are the graves
+of my youth. Thither will I carry an evergreen wreath of life.”
+
+Resolving thus in my heart, did I sail o’er the sea.--
+
+Oh, ye sights and scenes of my youth! Oh, all ye gleams of love, ye
+divine fleeting gleams! How could ye perish so soon for me! I think of
+you to-day as my dead ones.
+
+From you, my dearest dead ones, cometh unto me a sweet savour,
+heart-opening and melting. Verily, it convulseth and openeth the heart
+of the lone seafarer.
+
+Still am I the richest and most to be envied--I, the lonesomest one!
+For I HAVE POSSESSED you, and ye possess me still. Tell me: to whom hath
+there ever fallen such rosy apples from the tree as have fallen unto me?
+
+Still am I your love’s heir and heritage, blooming to your memory with
+many-hued, wild-growing virtues, O ye dearest ones!
+
+Ah, we were made to remain nigh unto each other, ye kindly strange
+marvels; and not like timid birds did ye come to me and my longing--nay,
+but as trusting ones to a trusting one!
+
+Yea, made for faithfulness, like me, and for fond eternities, must I now
+name you by your faithlessness, ye divine glances and fleeting gleams:
+no other name have I yet learnt.
+
+Verily, too early did ye die for me, ye fugitives. Yet did ye not flee
+from me, nor did I flee from you: innocent are we to each other in our
+faithlessness.
+
+To kill ME, did they strangle you, ye singing birds of my hopes! Yea, at
+you, ye dearest ones, did malice ever shoot its arrows--to hit my heart!
+
+And they hit it! Because ye were always my dearest, my possession and my
+possessedness: ON THAT ACCOUNT had ye to die young, and far too early!
+
+At my most vulnerable point did they shoot the arrow--namely, at you,
+whose skin is like down--or more like the smile that dieth at a glance!
+
+But this word will I say unto mine enemies: What is all manslaughter in
+comparison with what ye have done unto me!
+
+Worse evil did ye do unto me than all manslaughter; the irretrievable
+did ye take from me:--thus do I speak unto you, mine enemies!
+
+Slew ye not my youth’s visions and dearest marvels! My playmates took ye
+from me, the blessed spirits! To their memory do I deposit this wreath
+and this curse.
+
+This curse upon you, mine enemies! Have ye not made mine eternal short,
+as a tone dieth away in a cold night! Scarcely, as the twinkle of divine
+eyes, did it come to me--as a fleeting gleam!
+
+Thus spake once in a happy hour my purity: “Divine shall everything be
+unto me.”
+
+Then did ye haunt me with foul phantoms; ah, whither hath that happy
+hour now fled!
+
+“All days shall be holy unto me”--so spake once the wisdom of my youth:
+verily, the language of a joyous wisdom!
+
+But then did ye enemies steal my nights, and sold them to sleepless
+torture: ah, whither hath that joyous wisdom now fled?
+
+Once did I long for happy auspices: then did ye lead an owl-monster
+across my path, an adverse sign. Ah, whither did my tender longing then
+flee?
+
+All loathing did I once vow to renounce: then did ye change my nigh ones
+and nearest ones into ulcerations. Ah, whither did my noblest vow then
+flee?
+
+As a blind one did I once walk in blessed ways: then did ye cast
+filth on the blind one’s course: and now is he disgusted with the old
+footpath.
+
+And when I performed my hardest task, and celebrated the triumph of
+my victories, then did ye make those who loved me call out that I then
+grieved them most.
+
+Verily, it was always your doing: ye embittered to me my best honey, and
+the diligence of my best bees.
+
+To my charity have ye ever sent the most impudent beggars; around my
+sympathy have ye ever crowded the incurably shameless. Thus have ye
+wounded the faith of my virtue.
+
+And when I offered my holiest as a sacrifice, immediately did your
+“piety” put its fatter gifts beside it: so that my holiest suffocated in
+the fumes of your fat.
+
+And once did I want to dance as I had never yet danced: beyond all
+heavens did I want to dance. Then did ye seduce my favourite minstrel.
+
+And now hath he struck up an awful, melancholy air; alas, he tooted as a
+mournful horn to mine ear!
+
+Murderous minstrel, instrument of evil, most innocent instrument!
+Already did I stand prepared for the best dance: then didst thou slay my
+rapture with thy tones!
+
+Only in the dance do I know how to speak the parable of the highest
+things:--and now hath my grandest parable remained unspoken in my limbs!
+
+Unspoken and unrealised hath my highest hope remained! And there have
+perished for me all the visions and consolations of my youth!
+
+How did I ever bear it? How did I survive and surmount such wounds? How
+did my soul rise again out of those sepulchres?
+
+Yea, something invulnerable, unburiable is with me, something that would
+rend rocks asunder: it is called MY WILL. Silently doth it proceed, and
+unchanged throughout the years.
+
+Its course will it go upon my feet, mine old Will; hard of heart is its
+nature and invulnerable.
+
+Invulnerable am I only in my heel. Ever livest thou there, and art like
+thyself, thou most patient one! Ever hast thou burst all shackles of the
+tomb!
+
+In thee still liveth also the unrealisedness of my youth; and as life
+and youth sittest thou here hopeful on the yellow ruins of graves.
+
+Yea, thou art still for me the demolisher of all graves: Hail to thee,
+my Will! And only where there are graves are there resurrections.--
+
+Thus sang Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXXIV. SELF-SURPASSING.
+
+“Will to Truth” do ye call it, ye wisest ones, that which impelleth you
+and maketh you ardent?
+
+Will for the thinkableness of all being: thus do _I_ call your will!
+
+All being would ye MAKE thinkable: for ye doubt with good reason whether
+it be already thinkable.
+
+But it shall accommodate and bend itself to you! So willeth your will.
+Smooth shall it become and subject to the spirit, as its mirror and
+reflection.
+
+That is your entire will, ye wisest ones, as a Will to Power; and even
+when ye speak of good and evil, and of estimates of value.
+
+Ye would still create a world before which ye can bow the knee: such is
+your ultimate hope and ecstasy.
+
+The ignorant, to be sure, the people--they are like a river on which a
+boat floateth along: and in the boat sit the estimates of value, solemn
+and disguised.
+
+Your will and your valuations have ye put on the river of becoming; it
+betrayeth unto me an old Will to Power, what is believed by the people
+as good and evil.
+
+It was ye, ye wisest ones, who put such guests in this boat, and gave
+them pomp and proud names--ye and your ruling Will!
+
+Onward the river now carrieth your boat: it MUST carry it. A small
+matter if the rough wave foameth and angrily resisteth its keel!
+
+It is not the river that is your danger and the end of your good and
+evil, ye wisest ones: but that Will itself, the Will to Power--the
+unexhausted, procreating life-will.
+
+But that ye may understand my gospel of good and evil, for that purpose
+will I tell you my gospel of life, and of the nature of all living
+things.
+
+The living thing did I follow; I walked in the broadest and narrowest
+paths to learn its nature.
+
+With a hundred-faced mirror did I catch its glance when its mouth was
+shut, so that its eye might speak unto me. And its eye spake unto me.
+
+But wherever I found living things, there heard I also the language of
+obedience. All living things are obeying things.
+
+And this heard I secondly: Whatever cannot obey itself, is commanded.
+Such is the nature of living things.
+
+This, however, is the third thing which I heard--namely, that commanding
+is more difficult than obeying. And not only because the commander
+beareth the burden of all obeyers, and because this burden readily
+crusheth him:--
+
+An attempt and a risk seemed all commanding unto me; and whenever it
+commandeth, the living thing risketh itself thereby.
+
+Yea, even when it commandeth itself, then also must it atone for its
+commanding. Of its own law must it become the judge and avenger and
+victim.
+
+How doth this happen! so did I ask myself. What persuadeth the living
+thing to obey, and command, and even be obedient in commanding?
+
+Hearken now unto my word, ye wisest ones! Test it seriously, whether
+I have crept into the heart of life itself, and into the roots of its
+heart!
+
+Wherever I found a living thing, there found I Will to Power; and even
+in the will of the servant found I the will to be master.
+
+That to the stronger the weaker shall serve--thereto persuadeth he his
+will who would be master over a still weaker one. That delight alone he
+is unwilling to forego.
+
+And as the lesser surrendereth himself to the greater that he may have
+delight and power over the least of all, so doth even the greatest
+surrender himself, and staketh--life, for the sake of power.
+
+It is the surrender of the greatest to run risk and danger, and play
+dice for death.
+
+And where there is sacrifice and service and love-glances, there also
+is the will to be master. By by-ways doth the weaker then slink into
+the fortress, and into the heart of the mightier one--and there stealeth
+power.
+
+And this secret spake Life herself unto me. “Behold,” said she, “I am
+that WHICH MUST EVER SURPASS ITSELF.
+
+To be sure, ye call it will to procreation, or impulse towards a goal,
+towards the higher, remoter, more manifold: but all that is one and the
+same secret.
+
+Rather would I succumb than disown this one thing; and verily, where
+there is succumbing and leaf-falling, lo, there doth Life sacrifice
+itself--for power!
+
+That I have to be struggle, and becoming, and purpose, and
+cross-purpose--ah, he who divineth my will, divineth well also on what
+CROOKED paths it hath to tread!
+
+Whatever I create, and however much I love it,--soon must I be adverse
+to it, and to my love: so willeth my will.
+
+And even thou, discerning one, art only a path and footstep of my will:
+verily, my Will to Power walketh even on the feet of thy Will to Truth!
+
+He certainly did not hit the truth who shot at it the formula: ‘Will to
+existence’: that will--doth not exist!
+
+For what is not, cannot will; that, however, which is in existence--how
+could it still strive for existence!
+
+Only where there is life, is there also will: not, however, Will to
+Life, but--so teach I thee--Will to Power!
+
+Much is reckoned higher than life itself by the living one; but out of
+the very reckoning speaketh--the Will to Power!”--
+
+Thus did Life once teach me: and thereby, ye wisest ones, do I solve you
+the riddle of your hearts.
+
+Verily, I say unto you: good and evil which would be everlasting--it
+doth not exist! Of its own accord must it ever surpass itself anew.
+
+With your values and formulae of good and evil, ye exercise power,
+ye valuing ones: and that is your secret love, and the sparkling,
+trembling, and overflowing of your souls.
+
+But a stronger power groweth out of your values, and a new surpassing:
+by it breaketh egg and egg-shell.
+
+And he who hath to be a creator in good and evil--verily, he hath first
+to be a destroyer, and break values in pieces.
+
+Thus doth the greatest evil pertain to the greatest good: that, however,
+is the creating good.--
+
+Let us SPEAK thereof, ye wisest ones, even though it be bad. To be
+silent is worse; all suppressed truths become poisonous.
+
+And let everything break up which--can break up by our truths! Many a
+house is still to be built!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXXV. THE SUBLIME ONES.
+
+Calm is the bottom of my sea: who would guess that it hideth droll
+monsters!
+
+Unmoved is my depth: but it sparkleth with swimming enigmas and
+laughters.
+
+A sublime one saw I to-day, a solemn one, a penitent of the spirit: Oh,
+how my soul laughed at his ugliness!
+
+With upraised breast, and like those who draw in their breath: thus did
+he stand, the sublime one, and in silence:
+
+O’erhung with ugly truths, the spoil of his hunting, and rich in torn
+raiment; many thorns also hung on him--but I saw no rose.
+
+Not yet had he learned laughing and beauty. Gloomy did this hunter
+return from the forest of knowledge.
+
+From the fight with wild beasts returned he home: but even yet a wild
+beast gazeth out of his seriousness--an unconquered wild beast!
+
+As a tiger doth he ever stand, on the point of springing; but I do not
+like those strained souls; ungracious is my taste towards all those
+self-engrossed ones.
+
+And ye tell me, friends, that there is to be no dispute about taste and
+tasting? But all life is a dispute about taste and tasting!
+
+Taste: that is weight at the same time, and scales and weigher; and alas
+for every living thing that would live without dispute about weight and
+scales and weigher!
+
+Should he become weary of his sublimeness, this sublime one, then only
+will his beauty begin--and then only will I taste him and find him
+savoury.
+
+And only when he turneth away from himself will he o’erleap his own
+shadow--and verily! into HIS sun.
+
+Far too long did he sit in the shade; the cheeks of the penitent of the
+spirit became pale; he almost starved on his expectations.
+
+Contempt is still in his eye, and loathing hideth in his mouth. To be
+sure, he now resteth, but he hath not yet taken rest in the sunshine.
+
+As the ox ought he to do; and his happiness should smell of the earth,
+and not of contempt for the earth.
+
+As a white ox would I like to see him, which, snorting and lowing,
+walketh before the plough-share: and his lowing should also laud all
+that is earthly!
+
+Dark is still his countenance; the shadow of his hand danceth upon it.
+O’ershadowed is still the sense of his eye.
+
+His deed itself is still the shadow upon him: his doing obscureth the
+doer. Not yet hath he overcome his deed.
+
+To be sure, I love in him the shoulders of the ox: but now do I want to
+see also the eye of the angel.
+
+Also his hero-will hath he still to unlearn: an exalted one shall he
+be, and not only a sublime one:--the ether itself should raise him, the
+will-less one!
+
+He hath subdued monsters, he hath solved enigmas. But he should also
+redeem his monsters and enigmas; into heavenly children should he
+transform them.
+
+As yet hath his knowledge not learned to smile, and to be without
+jealousy; as yet hath his gushing passion not become calm in beauty.
+
+Verily, not in satiety shall his longing cease and disappear, but in
+beauty! Gracefulness belongeth to the munificence of the magnanimous.
+
+His arm across his head: thus should the hero repose; thus should he
+also surmount his repose.
+
+But precisely to the hero is BEAUTY the hardest thing of all.
+Unattainable is beauty by all ardent wills.
+
+A little more, a little less: precisely this is much here, it is the
+most here.
+
+To stand with relaxed muscles and with unharnessed will: that is the
+hardest for all of you, ye sublime ones!
+
+When power becometh gracious and descendeth into the visible--I call
+such condescension, beauty.
+
+And from no one do I want beauty so much as from thee, thou powerful
+one: let thy goodness be thy last self-conquest.
+
+All evil do I accredit to thee: therefore do I desire of thee the good.
+
+Verily, I have often laughed at the weaklings, who think themselves good
+because they have crippled paws!
+
+The virtue of the pillar shalt thou strive after: more beautiful doth
+it ever become, and more graceful--but internally harder and more
+sustaining--the higher it riseth.
+
+Yea, thou sublime one, one day shalt thou also be beautiful, and hold up
+the mirror to thine own beauty.
+
+Then will thy soul thrill with divine desires; and there will be
+adoration even in thy vanity!
+
+For this is the secret of the soul: when the hero hath abandoned it,
+then only approacheth it in dreams--the superhero.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXXVI. THE LAND OF CULTURE.
+
+Too far did I fly into the future: a horror seized upon me.
+
+And when I looked around me, lo! there time was my sole contemporary.
+
+Then did I fly backwards, homewards--and always faster. Thus did I come
+unto you, ye present-day men, and into the land of culture.
+
+For the first time brought I an eye to see you, and good desire: verily,
+with longing in my heart did I come.
+
+But how did it turn out with me? Although so alarmed--I had yet to
+laugh! Never did mine eye see anything so motley-coloured!
+
+I laughed and laughed, while my foot still trembled, and my heart as
+well. “Here forsooth, is the home of all the paintpots,”--said I.
+
+With fifty patches painted on faces and limbs--so sat ye there to mine
+astonishment, ye present-day men!
+
+And with fifty mirrors around you, which flattered your play of colours,
+and repeated it!
+
+Verily, ye could wear no better masks, ye present-day men, than your own
+faces! Who could--RECOGNISE you!
+
+Written all over with the characters of the past, and these characters
+also pencilled over with new characters--thus have ye concealed
+yourselves well from all decipherers!
+
+And though one be a trier of the reins, who still believeth that ye have
+reins! Out of colours ye seem to be baked, and out of glued scraps.
+
+All times and peoples gaze divers-coloured out of your veils; all
+customs and beliefs speak divers-coloured out of your gestures.
+
+He who would strip you of veils and wrappers, and paints and gestures,
+would just have enough left to scare the crows.
+
+Verily, I myself am the scared crow that once saw you naked, and without
+paint; and I flew away when the skeleton ogled at me.
+
+Rather would I be a day-labourer in the nether-world, and among the
+shades of the by-gone!--Fatter and fuller than ye, are forsooth the
+nether-worldlings!
+
+This, yea this, is bitterness to my bowels, that I can neither endure
+you naked nor clothed, ye present-day men!
+
+All that is unhomelike in the future, and whatever maketh strayed birds
+shiver, is verily more homelike and familiar than your “reality.”
+
+For thus speak ye: “Real are we wholly, and without faith and
+superstition”: thus do ye plume yourselves--alas! even without plumes!
+
+Indeed, how would ye be ABLE to believe, ye divers-coloured ones!--ye
+who are pictures of all that hath ever been believed!
+
+Perambulating refutations are ye, of belief itself, and a dislocation of
+all thought. UNTRUSTWORTHY ONES: thus do _I_ call you, ye real ones!
+
+All periods prate against one another in your spirits; and the dreams
+and pratings of all periods were even realer than your awakeness!
+
+Unfruitful are ye: THEREFORE do ye lack belief. But he who had to
+create, had always his presaging dreams and astral premonitions--and
+believed in believing!--
+
+Half-open doors are ye, at which grave-diggers wait. And this is YOUR
+reality: “Everything deserveth to perish.”
+
+Alas, how ye stand there before me, ye unfruitful ones; how lean your
+ribs! And many of you surely have had knowledge thereof.
+
+Many a one hath said: “There hath surely a God filched something from
+me secretly whilst I slept? Verily, enough to make a girl for himself
+therefrom!
+
+“Amazing is the poverty of my ribs!” thus hath spoken many a present-day
+man.
+
+Yea, ye are laughable unto me, ye present-day men! And especially when
+ye marvel at yourselves!
+
+And woe unto me if I could not laugh at your marvelling, and had to
+swallow all that is repugnant in your platters!
+
+As it is, however, I will make lighter of you, since I have to carry
+_what is heavy;_ and what matter if beetles and May-bugs also alight on
+my load!
+
+Verily, it shall not on that account become heavier to me! And not from
+you, ye present-day men, shall my great weariness arise.--
+
+Ah, whither shall I now ascend with my longing! From all mountains do I
+look out for fatherlands and motherlands.
+
+But a home have I found nowhere: unsettled am I in all cities, and
+decamping at all gates.
+
+Alien to me, and a mockery, are the present-day men, to whom of late my
+heart impelled me; and exiled am I from fatherlands and motherlands.
+
+Thus do I love only my CHILDREN’S LAND, the undiscovered in the remotest
+sea: for it do I bid my sails search and search.
+
+Unto my children will I make amends for being the child of my fathers:
+and unto all the future--for THIS present-day!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXXVII. IMMACULATE PERCEPTION.
+
+When yester-eve the moon arose, then did I fancy it about to bear a sun:
+so broad and teeming did it lie on the horizon.
+
+But it was a liar with its pregnancy; and sooner will I believe in the
+man in the moon than in the woman.
+
+To be sure, little of a man is he also, that timid night-reveller.
+Verily, with a bad conscience doth he stalk over the roofs.
+
+For he is covetous and jealous, the monk in the moon; covetous of the
+earth, and all the joys of lovers.
+
+Nay, I like him not, that tom-cat on the roofs! Hateful unto me are all
+that slink around half-closed windows!
+
+Piously and silently doth he stalk along on the star-carpets:--but I
+like no light-treading human feet, on which not even a spur jingleth.
+
+Every honest one’s step speaketh; the cat however, stealeth along over
+the ground. Lo! cat-like doth the moon come along, and dishonestly.--
+
+This parable speak I unto you sentimental dissemblers, unto you, the
+“pure discerners!” You do _I_ call--covetous ones!
+
+Also ye love the earth, and the earthly: I have divined you well!--but
+shame is in your love, and a bad conscience--ye are like the moon!
+
+To despise the earthly hath your spirit been persuaded, but not your
+bowels: these, however, are the strongest in you!
+
+And now is your spirit ashamed to be at the service of your bowels, and
+goeth by-ways and lying ways to escape its own shame.
+
+“That would be the highest thing for me”--so saith your lying spirit
+unto itself--“to gaze upon life without desire, and not like the dog,
+with hanging-out tongue:
+
+To be happy in gazing: with dead will, free from the grip and greed
+of selfishness--cold and ashy-grey all over, but with intoxicated
+moon-eyes!
+
+That would be the dearest thing to me”--thus doth the seduced one seduce
+himself,--“to love the earth as the moon loveth it, and with the eye
+only to feel its beauty.
+
+And this do I call IMMACULATE perception of all things: to want nothing
+else from them, but to be allowed to lie before them as a mirror with a
+hundred facets.”--
+
+Oh, ye sentimental dissemblers, ye covetous ones! Ye lack innocence in
+your desire: and now do ye defame desiring on that account!
+
+Verily, not as creators, as procreators, or as jubilators do ye love the
+earth!
+
+Where is innocence? Where there is will to procreation. And he who
+seeketh to create beyond himself, hath for me the purest will.
+
+Where is beauty? Where I MUST WILL with my whole Will; where I will love
+and perish, that an image may not remain merely an image.
+
+Loving and perishing: these have rhymed from eternity. Will to love:
+that is to be ready also for death. Thus do I speak unto you cowards!
+
+But now doth your emasculated ogling profess to be “contemplation!”
+ And that which can be examined with cowardly eyes is to be christened
+“beautiful!” Oh, ye violators of noble names!
+
+But it shall be your curse, ye immaculate ones, ye pure discerners, that
+ye shall never bring forth, even though ye lie broad and teeming on the
+horizon!
+
+Verily, ye fill your mouth with noble words: and we are to believe that
+your heart overfloweth, ye cozeners?
+
+But MY words are poor, contemptible, stammering words: gladly do I pick
+up what falleth from the table at your repasts.
+
+Yet still can I say therewith the truth--to dissemblers! Yea, my
+fish-bones, shells, and prickly leaves shall--tickle the noses of
+dissemblers!
+
+Bad air is always about you and your repasts: your lascivious thoughts,
+your lies, and secrets are indeed in the air!
+
+Dare only to believe in yourselves--in yourselves and in your inward
+parts! He who doth not believe in himself always lieth.
+
+A God’s mask have ye hung in front of you, ye “pure ones”: into a God’s
+mask hath your execrable coiling snake crawled.
+
+Verily ye deceive, ye “contemplative ones!” Even Zarathustra was once
+the dupe of your godlike exterior; he did not divine the serpent’s coil
+with which it was stuffed.
+
+A God’s soul, I once thought I saw playing in your games, ye pure
+discerners! No better arts did I once dream of than your arts!
+
+Serpents’ filth and evil odour, the distance concealed from me: and that
+a lizard’s craft prowled thereabouts lasciviously.
+
+But I came NIGH unto you: then came to me the day,--and now cometh it to
+you,--at an end is the moon’s love affair!
+
+See there! Surprised and pale doth it stand--before the rosy dawn!
+
+For already she cometh, the glowing one,--HER love to the earth cometh!
+Innocence and creative desire, is all solar love!
+
+See there, how she cometh impatiently over the sea! Do ye not feel the
+thirst and the hot breath of her love?
+
+At the sea would she suck, and drink its depths to her height: now
+riseth the desire of the sea with its thousand breasts.
+
+Kissed and sucked WOULD it be by the thirst of the sun; vapour WOULD it
+become, and height, and path of light, and light itself!
+
+Verily, like the sun do I love life, and all deep seas.
+
+And this meaneth TO ME knowledge: all that is deep shall ascend--to my
+height!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXXVIII. SCHOLARS.
+
+When I lay asleep, then did a sheep eat at the ivy-wreath on my
+head,--it ate, and said thereby: “Zarathustra is no longer a scholar.”
+
+It said this, and went away clumsily and proudly. A child told it to me.
+
+I like to lie here where the children play, beside the ruined wall,
+among thistles and red poppies.
+
+A scholar am I still to the children, and also to the thistles and red
+poppies. Innocent are they, even in their wickedness.
+
+But to the sheep I am no longer a scholar: so willeth my lot--blessings
+upon it!
+
+For this is the truth: I have departed from the house of the scholars,
+and the door have I also slammed behind me.
+
+Too long did my soul sit hungry at their table: not like them have I got
+the knack of investigating, as the knack of nut-cracking.
+
+Freedom do I love, and the air over fresh soil; rather would I sleep on
+ox-skins than on their honours and dignities.
+
+I am too hot and scorched with mine own thought: often is it ready to
+take away my breath. Then have I to go into the open air, and away from
+all dusty rooms.
+
+But they sit cool in the cool shade: they want in everything to be
+merely spectators, and they avoid sitting where the sun burneth on the
+steps.
+
+Like those who stand in the street and gape at the passers-by: thus do
+they also wait, and gape at the thoughts which others have thought.
+
+Should one lay hold of them, then do they raise a dust like flour-sacks,
+and involuntarily: but who would divine that their dust came from corn,
+and from the yellow delight of the summer fields?
+
+When they give themselves out as wise, then do their petty sayings and
+truths chill me: in their wisdom there is often an odour as if it came
+from the swamp; and verily, I have even heard the frog croak in it!
+
+Clever are they--they have dexterous fingers: what doth MY simplicity
+pretend to beside their multiplicity! All threading and knitting and
+weaving do their fingers understand: thus do they make the hose of the
+spirit!
+
+Good clockworks are they: only be careful to wind them up properly!
+Then do they indicate the hour without mistake, and make a modest noise
+thereby.
+
+Like millstones do they work, and like pestles: throw only seed-corn
+unto them!--they know well how to grind corn small, and make white dust
+out of it.
+
+They keep a sharp eye on one another, and do not trust each other the
+best. Ingenious in little artifices, they wait for those whose knowledge
+walketh on lame feet,--like spiders do they wait.
+
+I saw them always prepare their poison with precaution; and always did
+they put glass gloves on their fingers in doing so.
+
+They also know how to play with false dice; and so eagerly did I find
+them playing, that they perspired thereby.
+
+We are alien to each other, and their virtues are even more repugnant to
+my taste than their falsehoods and false dice.
+
+And when I lived with them, then did I live above them. Therefore did
+they take a dislike to me.
+
+They want to hear nothing of any one walking above their heads; and so
+they put wood and earth and rubbish betwixt me and their heads.
+
+Thus did they deafen the sound of my tread: and least have I hitherto
+been heard by the most learned.
+
+All mankind’s faults and weaknesses did they put betwixt themselves and
+me:--they call it “false ceiling” in their houses.
+
+But nevertheless I walk with my thoughts ABOVE their heads; and even
+should I walk on mine own errors, still would I be above them and their
+heads.
+
+For men are NOT equal: so speaketh justice. And what I will, THEY may
+not will!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXXIX. POETS.
+
+“Since I have known the body better”--said Zarathustra to one of his
+disciples--“the spirit hath only been to me symbolically spirit; and all
+the ‘imperishable’--that is also but a simile.”
+
+“So have I heard thee say once before,” answered the disciple, “and then
+thou addedst: ‘But the poets lie too much.’ Why didst thou say that the
+poets lie too much?”
+
+“Why?” said Zarathustra. “Thou askest why? I do not belong to those who
+may be asked after their Why.
+
+Is my experience but of yesterday? It is long ago that I experienced the
+reasons for mine opinions.
+
+Should I not have to be a cask of memory, if I also wanted to have my
+reasons with me?
+
+It is already too much for me even to retain mine opinions; and many a
+bird flieth away.
+
+And sometimes, also, do I find a fugitive creature in my dovecote, which
+is alien to me, and trembleth when I lay my hand upon it.
+
+But what did Zarathustra once say unto thee? That the poets lie too
+much?--But Zarathustra also is a poet.
+
+Believest thou that he there spake the truth? Why dost thou believe it?”
+
+The disciple answered: “I believe in Zarathustra.” But Zarathustra shook
+his head and smiled.--
+
+Belief doth not sanctify me, said he, least of all the belief in myself.
+
+But granting that some one did say in all seriousness that the poets lie
+too much: he was right--WE do lie too much.
+
+We also know too little, and are bad learners: so we are obliged to lie.
+
+And which of us poets hath not adulterated his wine? Many a poisonous
+hotchpotch hath evolved in our cellars: many an indescribable thing hath
+there been done.
+
+And because we know little, therefore are we pleased from the heart with
+the poor in spirit, especially when they are young women!
+
+And even of those things are we desirous, which old women tell one
+another in the evening. This do we call the eternally feminine in us.
+
+And as if there were a special secret access to knowledge, which CHOKETH
+UP for those who learn anything, so do we believe in the people and in
+their “wisdom.”
+
+This, however, do all poets believe: that whoever pricketh up his ears
+when lying in the grass or on lonely slopes, learneth something of the
+things that are betwixt heaven and earth.
+
+And if there come unto them tender emotions, then do the poets always
+think that nature herself is in love with them:
+
+And that she stealeth to their ear to whisper secrets into it, and
+amorous flatteries: of this do they plume and pride themselves, before
+all mortals!
+
+Ah, there are so many things betwixt heaven and earth of which only the
+poets have dreamed!
+
+And especially ABOVE the heavens: for all Gods are poet-symbolisations,
+poet-sophistications!
+
+Verily, ever are we drawn aloft--that is, to the realm of the clouds:
+on these do we set our gaudy puppets, and then call them Gods and
+Supermen:--
+
+Are not they light enough for those chairs!--all these Gods and
+Supermen?--
+
+Ah, how I am weary of all the inadequate that is insisted on as actual!
+Ah, how I am weary of the poets!
+
+When Zarathustra so spake, his disciple resented it, but was silent. And
+Zarathustra also was silent; and his eye directed itself inwardly, as if
+it gazed into the far distance. At last he sighed and drew breath.--
+
+I am of to-day and heretofore, said he thereupon; but something is in me
+that is of the morrow, and the day following, and the hereafter.
+
+I became weary of the poets, of the old and of the new: superficial are
+they all unto me, and shallow seas.
+
+They did not think sufficiently into the depth; therefore their feeling
+did not reach to the bottom.
+
+Some sensation of voluptuousness and some sensation of tedium: these
+have as yet been their best contemplation.
+
+Ghost-breathing and ghost-whisking, seemeth to me all the
+jingle-jangling of their harps; what have they known hitherto of the
+fervour of tones!--
+
+They are also not pure enough for me: they all muddle their water that
+it may seem deep.
+
+And fain would they thereby prove themselves reconcilers: but mediaries
+and mixers are they unto me, and half-and-half, and impure!--
+
+Ah, I cast indeed my net into their sea, and meant to catch good fish;
+but always did I draw up the head of some ancient God.
+
+Thus did the sea give a stone to the hungry one. And they themselves may
+well originate from the sea.
+
+Certainly, one findeth pearls in them: thereby they are the more like
+hard molluscs. And instead of a soul, I have often found in them salt
+slime.
+
+They have learned from the sea also its vanity: is not the sea the
+peacock of peacocks?
+
+Even before the ugliest of all buffaloes doth it spread out its tail;
+never doth it tire of its lace-fan of silver and silk.
+
+Disdainfully doth the buffalo glance thereat, nigh to the sand with its
+soul, nigher still to the thicket, nighest, however, to the swamp.
+
+What is beauty and sea and peacock-splendour to it! This parable I speak
+unto the poets.
+
+Verily, their spirit itself is the peacock of peacocks, and a sea of
+vanity!
+
+Spectators, seeketh the spirit of the poet--should they even be
+buffaloes!--
+
+But of this spirit became I weary; and I see the time coming when it
+will become weary of itself.
+
+Yea, changed have I seen the poets, and their glance turned towards
+themselves.
+
+Penitents of the spirit have I seen appearing; they grew out of the
+poets.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XL. GREAT EVENTS.
+
+There is an isle in the sea--not far from the Happy Isles of
+Zarathustra--on which a volcano ever smoketh; of which isle the people,
+and especially the old women amongst them, say that it is placed as a
+rock before the gate of the nether-world; but that through the volcano
+itself the narrow way leadeth downwards which conducteth to this gate.
+
+Now about the time that Zarathustra sojourned on the Happy Isles, it
+happened that a ship anchored at the isle on which standeth the smoking
+mountain, and the crew went ashore to shoot rabbits. About the noontide
+hour, however, when the captain and his men were together again, they
+saw suddenly a man coming towards them through the air, and a voice said
+distinctly: “It is time! It is the highest time!” But when the figure
+was nearest to them (it flew past quickly, however, like a shadow, in
+the direction of the volcano), then did they recognise with the greatest
+surprise that it was Zarathustra; for they had all seen him before
+except the captain himself, and they loved him as the people love: in
+such wise that love and awe were combined in equal degree.
+
+“Behold!” said the old helmsman, “there goeth Zarathustra to hell!”
+
+About the same time that these sailors landed on the fire-isle, there
+was a rumour that Zarathustra had disappeared; and when his friends were
+asked about it, they said that he had gone on board a ship by night,
+without saying whither he was going.
+
+Thus there arose some uneasiness. After three days, however, there came
+the story of the ship’s crew in addition to this uneasiness--and
+then did all the people say that the devil had taken Zarathustra. His
+disciples laughed, sure enough, at this talk; and one of them said even:
+“Sooner would I believe that Zarathustra hath taken the devil.” But at
+the bottom of their hearts they were all full of anxiety and longing: so
+their joy was great when on the fifth day Zarathustra appeared amongst
+them.
+
+And this is the account of Zarathustra’s interview with the fire-dog:
+
+The earth, said he, hath a skin; and this skin hath diseases. One of
+these diseases, for example, is called “man.”
+
+And another of these diseases is called “the fire-dog”: concerning HIM
+men have greatly deceived themselves, and let themselves be deceived.
+
+To fathom this mystery did I go o’er the sea; and I have seen the truth
+naked, verily! barefooted up to the neck.
+
+Now do I know how it is concerning the fire-dog; and likewise concerning
+all the spouting and subversive devils, of which not only old women are
+afraid.
+
+“Up with thee, fire-dog, out of thy depth!” cried I, “and confess how
+deep that depth is! Whence cometh that which thou snortest up?
+
+Thou drinkest copiously at the sea: that doth thine embittered eloquence
+betray! In sooth, for a dog of the depth, thou takest thy nourishment
+too much from the surface!
+
+At the most, I regard thee as the ventriloquist of the earth: and ever,
+when I have heard subversive and spouting devils speak, I have found
+them like thee: embittered, mendacious, and shallow.
+
+Ye understand how to roar and obscure with ashes! Ye are the best
+braggarts, and have sufficiently learned the art of making dregs boil.
+
+Where ye are, there must always be dregs at hand, and much that is
+spongy, hollow, and compressed: it wanteth to have freedom.
+
+‘Freedom’ ye all roar most eagerly: but I have unlearned the belief in
+‘great events,’ when there is much roaring and smoke about them.
+
+And believe me, friend Hullabaloo! The greatest events--are not our
+noisiest, but our stillest hours.
+
+Not around the inventors of new noise, but around the inventors of new
+values, doth the world revolve; INAUDIBLY it revolveth.
+
+And just own to it! Little had ever taken place when thy noise and smoke
+passed away. What, if a city did become a mummy, and a statue lay in the
+mud!
+
+And this do I say also to the o’erthrowers of statues: It is certainly
+the greatest folly to throw salt into the sea, and statues into the mud.
+
+In the mud of your contempt lay the statue: but it is just its law, that
+out of contempt, its life and living beauty grow again!
+
+With diviner features doth it now arise, seducing by its suffering; and
+verily! it will yet thank you for o’erthrowing it, ye subverters!
+
+This counsel, however, do I counsel to kings and churches, and to all
+that is weak with age or virtue--let yourselves be o’erthrown! That ye
+may again come to life, and that virtue--may come to you!--”
+
+Thus spake I before the fire-dog: then did he interrupt me sullenly, and
+asked: “Church? What is that?”
+
+“Church?” answered I, “that is a kind of state, and indeed the most
+mendacious. But remain quiet, thou dissembling dog! Thou surely knowest
+thine own species best!
+
+Like thyself the state is a dissembling dog; like thee doth it like
+to speak with smoke and roaring--to make believe, like thee, that it
+speaketh out of the heart of things.
+
+For it seeketh by all means to be the most important creature on earth,
+the state; and people think it so.”
+
+When I had said this, the fire-dog acted as if mad with envy. “What!”
+ cried he, “the most important creature on earth? And people think it
+so?” And so much vapour and terrible voices came out of his throat, that
+I thought he would choke with vexation and envy.
+
+At last he became calmer and his panting subsided; as soon, however, as
+he was quiet, I said laughingly:
+
+“Thou art angry, fire-dog: so I am in the right about thee!
+
+And that I may also maintain the right, hear the story of another
+fire-dog; he speaketh actually out of the heart of the earth.
+
+Gold doth his breath exhale, and golden rain: so doth his heart desire.
+What are ashes and smoke and hot dregs to him!
+
+Laughter flitteth from him like a variegated cloud; adverse is he to thy
+gargling and spewing and grips in the bowels!
+
+The gold, however, and the laughter--these doth he take out of the heart
+of the earth: for, that thou mayst know it,--THE HEART OF THE EARTH IS
+OF GOLD.”
+
+When the fire-dog heard this, he could no longer endure to listen to me.
+Abashed did he draw in his tail, said “bow-wow!” in a cowed voice, and
+crept down into his cave.--
+
+Thus told Zarathustra. His disciples, however, hardly listened to him:
+so great was their eagerness to tell him about the sailors, the rabbits,
+and the flying man.
+
+“What am I to think of it!” said Zarathustra. “Am I indeed a ghost?
+
+But it may have been my shadow. Ye have surely heard something of the
+Wanderer and his Shadow?
+
+One thing, however, is certain: I must keep a tighter hold of it;
+otherwise it will spoil my reputation.”
+
+And once more Zarathustra shook his head and wondered. “What am I to
+think of it!” said he once more.
+
+“Why did the ghost cry: ‘It is time! It is the highest time!’
+
+_For what_ is it then--the highest time?”--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XLI. THE SOOTHSAYER.
+
+“-And I saw a great sadness come over mankind. The best turned weary of
+their works.
+
+A doctrine appeared, a faith ran beside it: ‘All is empty, all is alike,
+all hath been!’
+
+And from all hills there re-echoed: ‘All is empty, all is alike, all
+hath been!’
+
+To be sure we have harvested: but why have all our fruits become rotten
+and brown? What was it fell last night from the evil moon?
+
+In vain was all our labour, poison hath our wine become, the evil eye
+hath singed yellow our fields and hearts.
+
+Arid have we all become; and fire falling upon us, then do we turn dust
+like ashes:--yea, the fire itself have we made aweary.
+
+All our fountains have dried up, even the sea hath receded. All the
+ground trieth to gape, but the depth will not swallow!
+
+‘Alas! where is there still a sea in which one could be drowned?’ so
+soundeth our plaint--across shallow swamps.
+
+Verily, even for dying have we become too weary; now do we keep awake
+and live on--in sepulchres.”
+
+Thus did Zarathustra hear a soothsayer speak; and the foreboding touched
+his heart and transformed him. Sorrowfully did he go about and wearily;
+and he became like unto those of whom the soothsayer had spoken.--
+
+Verily, said he unto his disciples, a little while, and there cometh the
+long twilight. Alas, how shall I preserve my light through it!
+
+That it may not smother in this sorrowfulness! To remoter worlds shall
+it be a light, and also to remotest nights!
+
+Thus did Zarathustra go about grieved in his heart, and for three days
+he did not take any meat or drink: he had no rest, and lost his speech.
+At last it came to pass that he fell into a deep sleep. His disciples,
+however, sat around him in long night-watches, and waited anxiously to
+see if he would awake, and speak again, and recover from his affliction.
+
+And this is the discourse that Zarathustra spake when he awoke; his
+voice, however, came unto his disciples as from afar:
+
+Hear, I pray you, the dream that I dreamed, my friends, and help me to
+divine its meaning!
+
+A riddle is it still unto me, this dream; the meaning is hidden in it
+and encaged, and doth not yet fly above it on free pinions.
+
+All life had I renounced, so I dreamed. Night-watchman and
+grave-guardian had I become, aloft, in the lone mountain-fortress of
+Death.
+
+There did I guard his coffins: full stood the musty vaults of those
+trophies of victory. Out of glass coffins did vanquished life gaze upon
+me.
+
+The odour of dust-covered eternities did I breathe: sultry and
+dust-covered lay my soul. And who could have aired his soul there!
+
+Brightness of midnight was ever around me; lonesomeness cowered beside
+her; and as a third, death-rattle stillness, the worst of my female
+friends.
+
+Keys did I carry, the rustiest of all keys; and I knew how to open with
+them the most creaking of all gates.
+
+Like a bitterly angry croaking ran the sound through the long corridors
+when the leaves of the gate opened: ungraciously did this bird cry,
+unwillingly was it awakened.
+
+But more frightful even, and more heart-strangling was it, when it again
+became silent and still all around, and I alone sat in that malignant
+silence.
+
+Thus did time pass with me, and slip by, if time there still was: what
+do I know thereof! But at last there happened that which awoke me.
+
+Thrice did there peal peals at the gate like thunders, thrice did the
+vaults resound and howl again: then did I go to the gate.
+
+Alpa! cried I, who carrieth his ashes unto the mountain? Alpa! Alpa! who
+carrieth his ashes unto the mountain?
+
+And I pressed the key, and pulled at the gate, and exerted myself. But
+not a finger’s-breadth was it yet open:
+
+Then did a roaring wind tear the folds apart: whistling, whizzing, and
+piercing, it threw unto me a black coffin.
+
+And in the roaring, and whistling, and whizzing the coffin burst up, and
+spouted out a thousand peals of laughter.
+
+And a thousand caricatures of children, angels, owls, fools, and
+child-sized butterflies laughed and mocked, and roared at me.
+
+Fearfully was I terrified thereby: it prostrated me. And I cried with
+horror as I ne’er cried before.
+
+But mine own crying awoke me:--and I came to myself.--
+
+Thus did Zarathustra relate his dream, and then was silent: for as yet
+he knew not the interpretation thereof. But the disciple whom he loved
+most arose quickly, seized Zarathustra’s hand, and said:
+
+“Thy life itself interpreteth unto us this dream, O Zarathustra!
+
+Art thou not thyself the wind with shrill whistling, which bursteth open
+the gates of the fortress of Death?
+
+Art thou not thyself the coffin full of many-hued malices and
+angel-caricatures of life?
+
+Verily, like a thousand peals of children’s laughter cometh
+Zarathustra into all sepulchres, laughing at those night-watchmen and
+grave-guardians, and whoever else rattleth with sinister keys.
+
+With thy laughter wilt thou frighten and prostrate them: fainting and
+recovering will demonstrate thy power over them.
+
+And when the long twilight cometh and the mortal weariness, even then
+wilt thou not disappear from our firmament, thou advocate of life!
+
+New stars hast thou made us see, and new nocturnal glories: verily,
+laughter itself hast thou spread out over us like a many-hued canopy.
+
+Now will children’s laughter ever from coffins flow; now will a strong
+wind ever come victoriously unto all mortal weariness: of this thou art
+thyself the pledge and the prophet!
+
+Verily, THEY THEMSELVES DIDST THOU DREAM, thine enemies: that was thy
+sorest dream.
+
+But as thou awokest from them and camest to thyself, so shall they
+awaken from themselves--and come unto thee!”
+
+Thus spake the disciple; and all the others then thronged around
+Zarathustra, grasped him by the hands, and tried to persuade him to
+leave his bed and his sadness, and return unto them. Zarathustra,
+however, sat upright on his couch, with an absent look. Like one
+returning from long foreign sojourn did he look on his disciples, and
+examined their features; but still he knew them not. When, however, they
+raised him, and set him upon his feet, behold, all on a sudden his eye
+changed; he understood everything that had happened, stroked his beard,
+and said with a strong voice:
+
+“Well! this hath just its time; but see to it, my disciples, that we
+have a good repast; and without delay! Thus do I mean to make amends for
+bad dreams!
+
+The soothsayer, however, shall eat and drink at my side: and verily, I
+will yet show him a sea in which he can drown himself!”--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra. Then did he gaze long into the face of the
+disciple who had been the dream-interpreter, and shook his head.--
+
+
+
+
+XLII. REDEMPTION.
+
+When Zarathustra went one day over the great bridge, then did the
+cripples and beggars surround him, and a hunchback spake thus unto him:
+
+“Behold, Zarathustra! Even the people learn from thee, and acquire faith
+in thy teaching: but for them to believe fully in thee, one thing is
+still needful--thou must first of all convince us cripples! Here hast
+thou now a fine selection, and verily, an opportunity with more than one
+forelock! The blind canst thou heal, and make the lame run; and from
+him who hath too much behind, couldst thou well, also, take away a
+little;--that, I think, would be the right method to make the cripples
+believe in Zarathustra!”
+
+Zarathustra, however, answered thus unto him who so spake: When one
+taketh his hump from the hunchback, then doth one take from him his
+spirit--so do the people teach. And when one giveth the blind man eyes,
+then doth he see too many bad things on the earth: so that he curseth
+him who healed him. He, however, who maketh the lame man run, inflicteth
+upon him the greatest injury; for hardly can he run, when his vices
+run away with him--so do the people teach concerning cripples. And why
+should not Zarathustra also learn from the people, when the people learn
+from Zarathustra?
+
+It is, however, the smallest thing unto me since I have been amongst
+men, to see one person lacking an eye, another an ear, and a third a
+leg, and that others have lost the tongue, or the nose, or the head.
+
+I see and have seen worse things, and divers things so hideous, that I
+should neither like to speak of all matters, nor even keep silent about
+some of them: namely, men who lack everything, except that they have
+too much of one thing--men who are nothing more than a big eye, or a big
+mouth, or a big belly, or something else big,--reversed cripples, I call
+such men.
+
+And when I came out of my solitude, and for the first time passed over
+this bridge, then I could not trust mine eyes, but looked again and
+again, and said at last: “That is an ear! An ear as big as a man!” I
+looked still more attentively--and actually there did move under the ear
+something that was pitiably small and poor and slim. And in truth this
+immense ear was perched on a small thin stalk--the stalk, however, was a
+man! A person putting a glass to his eyes, could even recognise further
+a small envious countenance, and also that a bloated soullet dangled at
+the stalk. The people told me, however, that the big ear was not only a
+man, but a great man, a genius. But I never believed in the people when
+they spake of great men--and I hold to my belief that it was a reversed
+cripple, who had too little of everything, and too much of one thing.
+
+When Zarathustra had spoken thus unto the hunchback, and unto those of
+whom the hunchback was the mouthpiece and advocate, then did he turn to
+his disciples in profound dejection, and said:
+
+Verily, my friends, I walk amongst men as amongst the fragments and
+limbs of human beings!
+
+This is the terrible thing to mine eye, that I find man broken up, and
+scattered about, as on a battle- and butcher-ground.
+
+And when mine eye fleeth from the present to the bygone, it findeth ever
+the same: fragments and limbs and fearful chances--but no men!
+
+The present and the bygone upon earth--ah! my friends--that is MY most
+unbearable trouble; and I should not know how to live, if I were not a
+seer of what is to come.
+
+A seer, a purposer, a creator, a future itself, and a bridge to the
+future--and alas! also as it were a cripple on this bridge: all that is
+Zarathustra.
+
+And ye also asked yourselves often: “Who is Zarathustra to us? What
+shall he be called by us?” And like me, did ye give yourselves questions
+for answers.
+
+Is he a promiser? Or a fulfiller? A conqueror? Or an inheritor? A
+harvest? Or a ploughshare? A physician? Or a healed one?
+
+Is he a poet? Or a genuine one? An emancipator? Or a subjugator? A good
+one? Or an evil one?
+
+I walk amongst men as the fragments of the future: that future which I
+contemplate.
+
+And it is all my poetisation and aspiration to compose and collect into
+unity what is fragment and riddle and fearful chance.
+
+And how could I endure to be a man, if man were not also the composer,
+and riddle-reader, and redeemer of chance!
+
+To redeem what is past, and to transform every “It was” into “Thus would
+I have it!”--that only do I call redemption!
+
+Will--so is the emancipator and joy-bringer called: thus have I taught
+you, my friends! But now learn this likewise: the Will itself is still a
+prisoner.
+
+Willing emancipateth: but what is that called which still putteth the
+emancipator in chains?
+
+“It was”: thus is the Will’s teeth-gnashing and lonesomest tribulation
+called. Impotent towards what hath been done--it is a malicious
+spectator of all that is past.
+
+Not backward can the Will will; that it cannot break time and time’s
+desire--that is the Will’s lonesomest tribulation.
+
+Willing emancipateth: what doth Willing itself devise in order to get
+free from its tribulation and mock at its prison?
+
+Ah, a fool becometh every prisoner! Foolishly delivereth itself also the
+imprisoned Will.
+
+That time doth not run backward--that is its animosity: “That which
+was”: so is the stone which it cannot roll called.
+
+And thus doth it roll stones out of animosity and ill-humour, and taketh
+revenge on whatever doth not, like it, feel rage and ill-humour.
+
+Thus did the Will, the emancipator, become a torturer; and on all
+that is capable of suffering it taketh revenge, because it cannot go
+backward.
+
+This, yea, this alone is REVENGE itself: the Will’s antipathy to time,
+and its “It was.”
+
+Verily, a great folly dwelleth in our Will; and it became a curse unto
+all humanity, that this folly acquired spirit!
+
+THE SPIRIT OF REVENGE: my friends, that hath hitherto been man’s best
+contemplation; and where there was suffering, it was claimed there was
+always penalty.
+
+“Penalty,” so calleth itself revenge. With a lying word it feigneth a
+good conscience.
+
+And because in the willer himself there is suffering, because he cannot
+will backwards--thus was Willing itself, and all life, claimed--to be
+penalty!
+
+And then did cloud after cloud roll over the spirit, until at last
+madness preached: “Everything perisheth, therefore everything deserveth
+to perish!”
+
+“And this itself is justice, the law of time--that he must devour his
+children:” thus did madness preach.
+
+“Morally are things ordered according to justice and penalty. Oh, where
+is there deliverance from the flux of things and from the ‘existence’ of
+penalty?” Thus did madness preach.
+
+“Can there be deliverance when there is eternal justice? Alas,
+unrollable is the stone, ‘It was’: eternal must also be all penalties!”
+ Thus did madness preach.
+
+“No deed can be annihilated: how could it be undone by the penalty!
+This, this is what is eternal in the ‘existence’ of penalty, that
+existence also must be eternally recurring deed and guilt!
+
+Unless the Will should at last deliver itself, and Willing become
+non-Willing--:” but ye know, my brethren, this fabulous song of madness!
+
+Away from those fabulous songs did I lead you when I taught you: “The
+Will is a creator.”
+
+All “It was” is a fragment, a riddle, a fearful chance--until the
+creating Will saith thereto: “But thus would I have it.”--
+
+Until the creating Will saith thereto: “But thus do I will it! Thus
+shall I will it!”
+
+But did it ever speak thus? And when doth this take place? Hath the Will
+been unharnessed from its own folly?
+
+Hath the Will become its own deliverer and joy-bringer? Hath it
+unlearned the spirit of revenge and all teeth-gnashing?
+
+And who hath taught it reconciliation with time, and something higher
+than all reconciliation?
+
+Something higher than all reconciliation must the Will will which is the
+Will to Power--: but how doth that take place? Who hath taught it also
+to will backwards?
+
+--But at this point in his discourse it chanced that Zarathustra
+suddenly paused, and looked like a person in the greatest alarm. With
+terror in his eyes did he gaze on his disciples; his glances pierced as
+with arrows their thoughts and arrear-thoughts. But after a brief space
+he again laughed, and said soothedly:
+
+“It is difficult to live amongst men, because silence is so difficult--
+especially for a babbler.”--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra. The hunchback, however, had listened to the
+conversation and had covered his face during the time; but when he heard
+Zarathustra laugh, he looked up with curiosity, and said slowly:
+
+“But why doth Zarathustra speak otherwise unto us than unto his
+disciples?”
+
+Zarathustra answered: “What is there to be wondered at! With hunchbacks
+one may well speak in a hunchbacked way!”
+
+“Very good,” said the hunchback; “and with pupils one may well tell
+tales out of school.
+
+But why doth Zarathustra speak otherwise unto his pupils--than unto
+himself?”--
+
+
+
+
+XLIII. MANLY PRUDENCE.
+
+Not the height, it is the declivity that is terrible!
+
+The declivity, where the gaze shooteth DOWNWARDS, and the hand graspeth
+UPWARDS. There doth the heart become giddy through its double will.
+
+Ah, friends, do ye divine also my heart’s double will?
+
+This, this is MY declivity and my danger, that my gaze shooteth towards
+the summit, and my hand would fain clutch and lean--on the depth!
+
+To man clingeth my will; with chains do I bind myself to man, because
+I am pulled upwards to the Superman: for thither doth mine other will
+tend.
+
+And THEREFORE do I live blindly among men, as if I knew them not: that
+my hand may not entirely lose belief in firmness.
+
+I know not you men: this gloom and consolation is often spread around
+me.
+
+I sit at the gateway for every rogue, and ask: Who wisheth to deceive
+me?
+
+This is my first manly prudence, that I allow myself to be deceived, so
+as not to be on my guard against deceivers.
+
+Ah, if I were on my guard against man, how could man be an anchor to my
+ball! Too easily would I be pulled upwards and away!
+
+This providence is over my fate, that I have to be without foresight.
+
+And he who would not languish amongst men, must learn to drink out of
+all glasses; and he who would keep clean amongst men, must know how to
+wash himself even with dirty water.
+
+And thus spake I often to myself for consolation: “Courage! Cheer up!
+old heart! An unhappiness hath failed to befall thee: enjoy that as
+thy--happiness!”
+
+This, however, is mine other manly prudence: I am more forbearing to the
+VAIN than to the proud.
+
+Is not wounded vanity the mother of all tragedies? Where, however, pride
+is wounded, there there groweth up something better than pride.
+
+That life may be fair to behold, its game must be well played; for that
+purpose, however, it needeth good actors.
+
+Good actors have I found all the vain ones: they play, and wish people
+to be fond of beholding them--all their spirit is in this wish.
+
+They represent themselves, they invent themselves; in their
+neighbourhood I like to look upon life--it cureth of melancholy.
+
+Therefore am I forbearing to the vain, because they are the physicians
+of my melancholy, and keep me attached to man as to a drama.
+
+And further, who conceiveth the full depth of the modesty of the vain
+man! I am favourable to him, and sympathetic on account of his modesty.
+
+From you would he learn his belief in himself; he feedeth upon your
+glances, he eateth praise out of your hands.
+
+Your lies doth he even believe when you lie favourably about him: for in
+its depths sigheth his heart: “What am _I_?”
+
+And if that be the true virtue which is unconscious of itself--well, the
+vain man is unconscious of his modesty!--
+
+This is, however, my third manly prudence: I am not put out of conceit
+with the WICKED by your timorousness.
+
+I am happy to see the marvels the warm sun hatcheth: tigers and palms
+and rattle-snakes.
+
+Also amongst men there is a beautiful brood of the warm sun, and much
+that is marvellous in the wicked.
+
+In truth, as your wisest did not seem to me so very wise, so found I
+also human wickedness below the fame of it.
+
+And oft did I ask with a shake of the head: Why still rattle, ye
+rattle-snakes?
+
+Verily, there is still a future even for evil! And the warmest south is
+still undiscovered by man.
+
+How many things are now called the worst wickedness, which are only
+twelve feet broad and three months long! Some day, however, will greater
+dragons come into the world.
+
+For that the Superman may not lack his dragon, the superdragon that
+is worthy of him, there must still much warm sun glow on moist virgin
+forests!
+
+Out of your wild cats must tigers have evolved, and out of your
+poison-toads, crocodiles: for the good hunter shall have a good hunt!
+
+And verily, ye good and just! In you there is much to be laughed at, and
+especially your fear of what hath hitherto been called “the devil!”
+
+So alien are ye in your souls to what is great, that to you the Superman
+would be FRIGHTFUL in his goodness!
+
+And ye wise and knowing ones, ye would flee from the solar-glow of the
+wisdom in which the Superman joyfully batheth his nakedness!
+
+Ye highest men who have come within my ken! this is my doubt of you, and
+my secret laughter: I suspect ye would call my Superman--a devil!
+
+Ah, I became tired of those highest and best ones: from their “height”
+ did I long to be up, out, and away to the Superman!
+
+A horror came over me when I saw those best ones naked: then there grew
+for me the pinions to soar away into distant futures.
+
+Into more distant futures, into more southern souths than ever artist
+dreamed of: thither, where Gods are ashamed of all clothes!
+
+But disguised do I want to see YOU, ye neighbours and fellowmen, and
+well-attired and vain and estimable, as “the good and just;”--
+
+And disguised will I myself sit amongst you--that I may MISTAKE you and
+myself: for that is my last manly prudence.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XLIV. THE STILLEST HOUR.
+
+What hath happened unto me, my friends? Ye see me troubled, driven
+forth, unwillingly obedient, ready to go--alas, to go away from YOU!
+
+Yea, once more must Zarathustra retire to his solitude: but unjoyously
+this time doth the bear go back to his cave!
+
+What hath happened unto me? Who ordereth this?--Ah, mine angry mistress
+wisheth it so; she spake unto me. Have I ever named her name to you?
+
+Yesterday towards evening there spake unto me MY STILLEST HOUR: that is
+the name of my terrible mistress.
+
+And thus did it happen--for everything must I tell you, that your heart
+may not harden against the suddenly departing one!
+
+Do ye know the terror of him who falleth asleep?--
+
+To the very toes he is terrified, because the ground giveth way under
+him, and the dream beginneth.
+
+This do I speak unto you in parable. Yesterday at the stillest hour did
+the ground give way under me: the dream began.
+
+The hour-hand moved on, the timepiece of my life drew breath--never did
+I hear such stillness around me, so that my heart was terrified.
+
+Then was there spoken unto me without voice: “THOU KNOWEST IT,
+ZARATHUSTRA?”--
+
+And I cried in terror at this whispering, and the blood left my face:
+but I was silent.
+
+Then was there once more spoken unto me without voice: “Thou knowest it,
+Zarathustra, but thou dost not speak it!”--
+
+And at last I answered, like one defiant: “Yea, I know it, but I will
+not speak it!”
+
+Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: “Thou WILT not,
+Zarathustra? Is this true? Conceal thyself not behind thy defiance!”--
+
+And I wept and trembled like a child, and said: “Ah, I would indeed, but
+how can I do it! Exempt me only from this! It is beyond my power!”
+
+Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: “What matter about
+thyself, Zarathustra! Speak thy word, and succumb!”
+
+And I answered: “Ah, is it MY word? Who am _I_? I await the worthier
+one; I am not worthy even to succumb by it.”
+
+Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: “What matter about
+thyself? Thou art not yet humble enough for me. Humility hath the
+hardest skin.”--
+
+And I answered: “What hath not the skin of my humility endured! At the
+foot of my height do I dwell: how high are my summits, no one hath yet
+told me. But well do I know my valleys.”
+
+Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: “O Zarathustra, he
+who hath to remove mountains removeth also valleys and plains.”--
+
+And I answered: “As yet hath my word not removed mountains, and what I
+have spoken hath not reached man. I went, indeed, unto men, but not yet
+have I attained unto them.”
+
+Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: “What knowest thou
+THEREOF! The dew falleth on the grass when the night is most silent.”--
+
+And I answered: “They mocked me when I found and walked in mine own
+path; and certainly did my feet then tremble.
+
+And thus did they speak unto me: Thou forgottest the path before, now
+dost thou also forget how to walk!”
+
+Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: “What matter about
+their mockery! Thou art one who hast unlearned to obey: now shalt thou
+command!
+
+Knowest thou not who is most needed by all? He who commandeth great
+things.
+
+To execute great things is difficult: but the more difficult task is to
+command great things.
+
+This is thy most unpardonable obstinacy: thou hast the power, and thou
+wilt not rule.”--
+
+And I answered: “I lack the lion’s voice for all commanding.”
+
+Then was there again spoken unto me as a whispering: “It is the stillest
+words which bring the storm. Thoughts that come with doves’ footsteps
+guide the world.
+
+O Zarathustra, thou shalt go as a shadow of that which is to come: thus
+wilt thou command, and in commanding go foremost.”--
+
+And I answered: “I am ashamed.”
+
+Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: “Thou must yet become
+a child, and be without shame.
+
+The pride of youth is still upon thee; late hast thou become young: but
+he who would become a child must surmount even his youth.”--
+
+And I considered a long while, and trembled. At last, however, did I say
+what I had said at first. “I will not.”
+
+Then did a laughing take place all around me. Alas, how that laughing
+lacerated my bowels and cut into my heart!
+
+And there was spoken unto me for the last time: “O Zarathustra, thy
+fruits are ripe, but thou art not ripe for thy fruits!
+
+So must thou go again into solitude: for thou shalt yet become
+mellow.”--
+
+And again was there a laughing, and it fled: then did it become still
+around me, as with a double stillness. I lay, however, on the ground,
+and the sweat flowed from my limbs.
+
+--Now have ye heard all, and why I have to return into my solitude.
+Nothing have I kept hidden from you, my friends.
+
+But even this have ye heard from me, WHO is still the most reserved of
+men--and will be so!
+
+Ah, my friends! I should have something more to say unto you! I should
+have something more to give unto you! Why do I not give it? Am I then a
+niggard?--
+
+When, however, Zarathustra had spoken these words, the violence of his
+pain, and a sense of the nearness of his departure from his friends came
+over him, so that he wept aloud; and no one knew how to console him. In
+the night, however, he went away alone and left his friends.
+
+
+
+
+
+THIRD PART.
+
+“Ye look aloft when ye long for exaltation, and I look downward because
+I am exalted.
+
+“Who among you can at the same time laugh and be exalted?
+
+“He who climbeth on the highest mountains, laugheth at all tragic plays
+and tragic realities.”--ZARATHUSTRA, I., “Reading and Writing.”
+
+
+
+
+XLV. THE WANDERER.
+
+Then, when it was about midnight, Zarathustra went his way over the
+ridge of the isle, that he might arrive early in the morning at the
+other coast; because there he meant to embark. For there was a good
+roadstead there, in which foreign ships also liked to anchor: those
+ships took many people with them, who wished to cross over from the
+Happy Isles. So when Zarathustra thus ascended the mountain, he thought
+on the way of his many solitary wanderings from youth onwards, and how
+many mountains and ridges and summits he had already climbed.
+
+I am a wanderer and mountain-climber, said he to his heart, I love not
+the plains, and it seemeth I cannot long sit still.
+
+And whatever may still overtake me as fate and experience--a wandering
+will be therein, and a mountain-climbing: in the end one experienceth
+only oneself.
+
+The time is now past when accidents could befall me; and what COULD now
+fall to my lot which would not already be mine own!
+
+It returneth only, it cometh home to me at last--mine own Self, and
+such of it as hath been long abroad, and scattered among things and
+accidents.
+
+And one thing more do I know: I stand now before my last summit, and
+before that which hath been longest reserved for me. Ah, my hardest path
+must I ascend! Ah, I have begun my lonesomest wandering!
+
+He, however, who is of my nature doth not avoid such an hour: the hour
+that saith unto him: Now only dost thou go the way to thy greatness!
+Summit and abyss--these are now comprised together!
+
+Thou goest the way to thy greatness: now hath it become thy last refuge,
+what was hitherto thy last danger!
+
+Thou goest the way to thy greatness: it must now be thy best courage
+that there is no longer any path behind thee!
+
+Thou goest the way to thy greatness: here shall no one steal after thee!
+Thy foot itself hath effaced the path behind thee, and over it standeth
+written: Impossibility.
+
+And if all ladders henceforth fail thee, then must thou learn to mount
+upon thine own head: how couldst thou mount upward otherwise?
+
+Upon thine own head, and beyond thine own heart! Now must the gentlest
+in thee become the hardest.
+
+He who hath always much-indulged himself, sickeneth at last by his
+much-indulgence. Praises on what maketh hardy! I do not praise the land
+where butter and honey--flow!
+
+To learn TO LOOK AWAY FROM oneself, is necessary in order to see MANY
+THINGS:--this hardiness is needed by every mountain-climber.
+
+He, however, who is obtrusive with his eyes as a discerner, how can he
+ever see more of anything than its foreground!
+
+But thou, O Zarathustra, wouldst view the ground of everything, and its
+background: thus must thou mount even above thyself--up, upwards, until
+thou hast even thy stars UNDER thee!
+
+Yea! To look down upon myself, and even upon my stars: that only would I
+call my SUMMIT, that hath remained for me as my LAST summit!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra to himself while ascending, comforting his heart
+with harsh maxims: for he was sore at heart as he had never been before.
+And when he had reached the top of the mountain-ridge, behold, there
+lay the other sea spread out before him: and he stood still and was
+long silent. The night, however, was cold at this height, and clear and
+starry.
+
+I recognise my destiny, said he at last, sadly. Well! I am ready. Now
+hath my last lonesomeness begun.
+
+Ah, this sombre, sad sea, below me! Ah, this sombre nocturnal vexation!
+Ah, fate and sea! To you must I now GO DOWN!
+
+Before my highest mountain do I stand, and before my longest wandering:
+therefore must I first go deeper down than I ever ascended:
+
+--Deeper down into pain than I ever ascended, even into its darkest
+flood! So willeth my fate. Well! I am ready.
+
+Whence come the highest mountains? so did I once ask. Then did I learn
+that they come out of the sea.
+
+That testimony is inscribed on their stones, and on the walls of their
+summits. Out of the deepest must the highest come to its height.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra on the ridge of the mountain where it was cold:
+when, however, he came into the vicinity of the sea, and at last stood
+alone amongst the cliffs, then had he become weary on his way, and
+eagerer than ever before.
+
+Everything as yet sleepeth, said he; even the sea sleepeth. Drowsily and
+strangely doth its eye gaze upon me.
+
+But it breatheth warmly--I feel it. And I feel also that it dreameth. It
+tosseth about dreamily on hard pillows.
+
+Hark! Hark! How it groaneth with evil recollections! Or evil
+expectations?
+
+Ah, I am sad along with thee, thou dusky monster, and angry with myself
+even for thy sake.
+
+Ah, that my hand hath not strength enough! Gladly, indeed, would I free
+thee from evil dreams!--
+
+And while Zarathustra thus spake, he laughed at himself with melancholy
+and bitterness. What! Zarathustra, said he, wilt thou even sing
+consolation to the sea?
+
+Ah, thou amiable fool, Zarathustra, thou too-blindly confiding one! But
+thus hast thou ever been: ever hast thou approached confidently all that
+is terrible.
+
+Every monster wouldst thou caress. A whiff of warm breath, a little soft
+tuft on its paw--: and immediately wert thou ready to love and lure it.
+
+LOVE is the danger of the lonesomest one, love to anything, IF IT ONLY
+LIVE! Laughable, verily, is my folly and my modesty in love!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, and laughed thereby a second time. Then,
+however, he thought of his abandoned friends--and as if he had done them
+a wrong with his thoughts, he upbraided himself because of his thoughts.
+And forthwith it came to pass that the laugher wept--with anger and
+longing wept Zarathustra bitterly.
+
+
+
+
+XLVI. THE VISION AND THE ENIGMA.
+
+1.
+
+When it got abroad among the sailors that Zarathustra was on board the
+ship--for a man who came from the Happy Isles had gone on board along
+with him,--there was great curiosity and expectation. But Zarathustra
+kept silent for two days, and was cold and deaf with sadness; so that he
+neither answered looks nor questions. On the evening of the second day,
+however, he again opened his ears, though he still kept silent: for
+there were many curious and dangerous things to be heard on board the
+ship, which came from afar, and was to go still further. Zarathustra,
+however, was fond of all those who make distant voyages, and dislike to
+live without danger. And behold! when listening, his own tongue was
+at last loosened, and the ice of his heart broke. Then did he begin to
+speak thus:
+
+To you, the daring venturers and adventurers, and whoever hath embarked
+with cunning sails upon frightful seas,--
+
+To you the enigma-intoxicated, the twilight-enjoyers, whose souls are
+allured by flutes to every treacherous gulf:
+
+--For ye dislike to grope at a thread with cowardly hand; and where ye
+can DIVINE, there do ye hate to CALCULATE--
+
+To you only do I tell the enigma that I SAW--the vision of the
+lonesomest one.--
+
+Gloomily walked I lately in corpse-coloured twilight--gloomily and
+sternly, with compressed lips. Not only one sun had set for me.
+
+A path which ascended daringly among boulders, an evil, lonesome path,
+which neither herb nor shrub any longer cheered, a mountain-path,
+crunched under the daring of my foot.
+
+Mutely marching over the scornful clinking of pebbles, trampling the
+stone that let it slip: thus did my foot force its way upwards.
+
+Upwards:--in spite of the spirit that drew it downwards, towards the
+abyss, the spirit of gravity, my devil and arch-enemy.
+
+Upwards:--although it sat upon me, half-dwarf, half-mole; paralysed,
+paralysing; dripping lead in mine ear, and thoughts like drops of lead
+into my brain.
+
+“O Zarathustra,” it whispered scornfully, syllable by syllable, “thou
+stone of wisdom! Thou threwest thyself high, but every thrown stone
+must--fall!
+
+O Zarathustra, thou stone of wisdom, thou sling-stone, thou
+star-destroyer! Thyself threwest thou so high,--but every thrown
+stone--must fall!
+
+Condemned of thyself, and to thine own stoning: O Zarathustra, far
+indeed threwest thou thy stone--but upon THYSELF will it recoil!”
+
+Then was the dwarf silent; and it lasted long. The silence, however,
+oppressed me; and to be thus in pairs, one is verily lonesomer than when
+alone!
+
+I ascended, I ascended, I dreamt, I thought,--but everything oppressed
+me. A sick one did I resemble, whom bad torture wearieth, and a worse
+dream reawakeneth out of his first sleep.--
+
+But there is something in me which I call courage: it hath hitherto
+slain for me every dejection. This courage at last bade me stand still
+and say: “Dwarf! Thou! Or I!”--
+
+For courage is the best slayer,--courage which ATTACKETH: for in every
+attack there is sound of triumph.
+
+Man, however, is the most courageous animal: thereby hath he overcome
+every animal. With sound of triumph hath he overcome every pain; human
+pain, however, is the sorest pain.
+
+Courage slayeth also giddiness at abysses: and where doth man not stand
+at abysses! Is not seeing itself--seeing abysses?
+
+Courage is the best slayer: courage slayeth also fellow-suffering.
+Fellow-suffering, however, is the deepest abyss: as deeply as man
+looketh into life, so deeply also doth he look into suffering.
+
+Courage, however, is the best slayer, courage which attacketh: it
+slayeth even death itself; for it saith: “WAS THAT life? Well! Once
+more!”
+
+In such speech, however, there is much sound of triumph. He who hath
+ears to hear, let him hear.--
+
+2.
+
+“Halt, dwarf!” said I. “Either I--or thou! I, however, am the stronger
+of the two:--thou knowest not mine abysmal thought! IT--couldst thou not
+endure!”
+
+Then happened that which made me lighter: for the dwarf sprang from my
+shoulder, the prying sprite! And it squatted on a stone in front of me.
+There was however a gateway just where we halted.
+
+“Look at this gateway! Dwarf!” I continued, “it hath two faces. Two
+roads come together here: these hath no one yet gone to the end of.
+
+This long lane backwards: it continueth for an eternity. And that long
+lane forward--that is another eternity.
+
+They are antithetical to one another, these roads; they directly abut on
+one another:--and it is here, at this gateway, that they come together.
+The name of the gateway is inscribed above: ‘This Moment.’
+
+But should one follow them further--and ever further and further
+on, thinkest thou, dwarf, that these roads would be eternally
+antithetical?”--
+
+“Everything straight lieth,” murmured the dwarf, contemptuously. “All
+truth is crooked; time itself is a circle.”
+
+“Thou spirit of gravity!” said I wrathfully, “do not take it too
+lightly! Or I shall let thee squat where thou squattest, Haltfoot,--and
+I carried thee HIGH!”
+
+“Observe,” continued I, “This Moment! From the gateway, This Moment,
+there runneth a long eternal lane BACKWARDS: behind us lieth an
+eternity.
+
+Must not whatever CAN run its course of all things, have already run
+along that lane? Must not whatever CAN happen of all things have already
+happened, resulted, and gone by?
+
+And if everything have already existed, what thinkest thou, dwarf, of
+This Moment? Must not this gateway also--have already existed?
+
+And are not all things closely bound together in such wise that This
+Moment draweth all coming things after it? CONSEQUENTLY--itself also?
+
+For whatever CAN run its course of all things, also in this long lane
+OUTWARD--MUST it once more run!--
+
+And this slow spider which creepeth in the moonlight, and this moonlight
+itself, and thou and I in this gateway whispering together, whispering
+of eternal things--must we not all have already existed?
+
+--And must we not return and run in that other lane out before us, that
+long weird lane--must we not eternally return?”--
+
+Thus did I speak, and always more softly: for I was afraid of mine own
+thoughts, and arrear-thoughts. Then, suddenly did I hear a dog HOWL near
+me.
+
+Had I ever heard a dog howl thus? My thoughts ran back. Yes! When I was
+a child, in my most distant childhood:
+
+--Then did I hear a dog howl thus. And saw it also, with hair bristling,
+its head upwards, trembling in the stillest midnight, when even dogs
+believe in ghosts:
+
+--So that it excited my commiseration. For just then went the full moon,
+silent as death, over the house; just then did it stand still, a glowing
+globe--at rest on the flat roof, as if on some one’s property:--
+
+Thereby had the dog been terrified: for dogs believe in thieves and
+ghosts. And when I again heard such howling, then did it excite my
+commiseration once more.
+
+Where was now the dwarf? And the gateway? And the spider? And all the
+whispering? Had I dreamt? Had I awakened? ‘Twixt rugged rocks did I
+suddenly stand alone, dreary in the dreariest moonlight.
+
+BUT THERE LAY A MAN! And there! The dog leaping, bristling, whining--now
+did it see me coming--then did it howl again, then did it CRY:--had I
+ever heard a dog cry so for help?
+
+And verily, what I saw, the like had I never seen. A young shepherd did
+I see, writhing, choking, quivering, with distorted countenance, and
+with a heavy black serpent hanging out of his mouth.
+
+Had I ever seen so much loathing and pale horror on one countenance?
+He had perhaps gone to sleep? Then had the serpent crawled into his
+throat--there had it bitten itself fast.
+
+My hand pulled at the serpent, and pulled:--in vain! I failed to pull
+the serpent out of his throat. Then there cried out of me: “Bite! Bite!
+
+Its head off! Bite!”--so cried it out of me; my horror, my hatred, my
+loathing, my pity, all my good and my bad cried with one voice out of
+me.--
+
+Ye daring ones around me! Ye venturers and adventurers, and whoever
+of you have embarked with cunning sails on unexplored seas! Ye
+enigma-enjoyers!
+
+Solve unto me the enigma that I then beheld, interpret unto me the
+vision of the lonesomest one!
+
+For it was a vision and a foresight:--WHAT did I then behold in parable?
+And WHO is it that must come some day?
+
+WHO is the shepherd into whose throat the serpent thus crawled? WHO is
+the man into whose throat all the heaviest and blackest will thus crawl?
+
+--The shepherd however bit as my cry had admonished him; he bit with a
+strong bite! Far away did he spit the head of the serpent--: and sprang
+up.--
+
+No longer shepherd, no longer man--a transfigured being, a
+light-surrounded being, that LAUGHED! Never on earth laughed a man as HE
+laughed!
+
+O my brethren, I heard a laughter which was no human laughter,--and now
+gnaweth a thirst at me, a longing that is never allayed.
+
+My longing for that laughter gnaweth at me: oh, how can I still endure
+to live! And how could I endure to die at present!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XLVII. INVOLUNTARY BLISS.
+
+With such enigmas and bitterness in his heart did Zarathustra sail o’er
+the sea. When, however, he was four day-journeys from the Happy
+Isles and from his friends, then had he surmounted all his pain--:
+triumphantly and with firm foot did he again accept his fate. And then
+talked Zarathustra in this wise to his exulting conscience:
+
+Alone am I again, and like to be so, alone with the pure heaven, and the
+open sea; and again is the afternoon around me.
+
+On an afternoon did I find my friends for the first time; on an
+afternoon, also, did I find them a second time:--at the hour when all
+light becometh stiller.
+
+For whatever happiness is still on its way ‘twixt heaven and earth, now
+seeketh for lodging a luminous soul: WITH HAPPINESS hath all light now
+become stiller.
+
+O afternoon of my life! Once did my happiness also descend to the valley
+that it might seek a lodging: then did it find those open hospitable
+souls.
+
+O afternoon of my life! What did I not surrender that I might have
+one thing: this living plantation of my thoughts, and this dawn of my
+highest hope!
+
+Companions did the creating one once seek, and children of HIS hope: and
+lo, it turned out that he could not find them, except he himself should
+first create them.
+
+Thus am I in the midst of my work, to my children going, and from
+them returning: for the sake of his children must Zarathustra perfect
+himself.
+
+For in one’s heart one loveth only one’s child and one’s work; and where
+there is great love to oneself, then is it the sign of pregnancy: so
+have I found it.
+
+Still are my children verdant in their first spring, standing nigh one
+another, and shaken in common by the winds, the trees of my garden and
+of my best soil.
+
+And verily, where such trees stand beside one another, there ARE Happy
+Isles!
+
+But one day will I take them up, and put each by itself alone: that it
+may learn lonesomeness and defiance and prudence.
+
+Gnarled and crooked and with flexible hardness shall it then stand by
+the sea, a living lighthouse of unconquerable life.
+
+Yonder where the storms rush down into the sea, and the snout of the
+mountain drinketh water, shall each on a time have his day and night
+watches, for HIS testing and recognition.
+
+Recognised and tested shall each be, to see if he be of my type and
+lineage:--if he be master of a long will, silent even when he speaketh,
+and giving in such wise that he TAKETH in giving:--
+
+--So that he may one day become my companion, a fellow-creator and
+fellow-enjoyer with Zarathustra:--such a one as writeth my will on my
+tables, for the fuller perfection of all things.
+
+And for his sake and for those like him, must I perfect MYSELF:
+therefore do I now avoid my happiness, and present myself to every
+misfortune--for MY final testing and recognition.
+
+And verily, it were time that I went away; and the wanderer’s shadow and
+the longest tedium and the stillest hour--have all said unto me: “It is
+the highest time!”
+
+The word blew to me through the keyhole and said “Come!” The door sprang
+subtlely open unto me, and said “Go!”
+
+But I lay enchained to my love for my children: desire spread this
+snare for me--the desire for love--that I should become the prey of my
+children, and lose myself in them.
+
+Desiring--that is now for me to have lost myself. I POSSESS YOU, MY
+CHILDREN! In this possessing shall everything be assurance and nothing
+desire.
+
+But brooding lay the sun of my love upon me, in his own juice stewed
+Zarathustra,--then did shadows and doubts fly past me.
+
+For frost and winter I now longed: “Oh, that frost and winter would
+again make me crack and crunch!” sighed I:--then arose icy mist out of
+me.
+
+My past burst its tomb, many pains buried alive woke up--: fully slept
+had they merely, concealed in corpse-clothes.
+
+So called everything unto me in signs: “It is time!” But I--heard not,
+until at last mine abyss moved, and my thought bit me.
+
+Ah, abysmal thought, which art MY thought! When shall I find strength to
+hear thee burrowing, and no longer tremble?
+
+To my very throat throbbeth my heart when I hear thee burrowing! Thy
+muteness even is like to strangle me, thou abysmal mute one!
+
+As yet have I never ventured to call thee UP; it hath been enough that
+I--have carried thee about with me! As yet have I not been strong
+enough for my final lion-wantonness and playfulness.
+
+Sufficiently formidable unto me hath thy weight ever been: but one day
+shall I yet find the strength and the lion’s voice which will call thee
+up!
+
+When I shall have surmounted myself therein, then will I surmount myself
+also in that which is greater; and a VICTORY shall be the seal of my
+perfection!--
+
+Meanwhile do I sail along on uncertain seas; chance flattereth me,
+smooth-tongued chance; forward and backward do I gaze--, still see I no
+end.
+
+As yet hath the hour of my final struggle not come to me--or doth it
+come to me perhaps just now? Verily, with insidious beauty do sea and
+life gaze upon me round about:
+
+O afternoon of my life! O happiness before eventide! O haven upon high
+seas! O peace in uncertainty! How I distrust all of you!
+
+Verily, distrustful am I of your insidious beauty! Like the lover am I,
+who distrusteth too sleek smiling.
+
+As he pusheth the best-beloved before him--tender even in severity, the
+jealous one--, so do I push this blissful hour before me.
+
+Away with thee, thou blissful hour! With thee hath there come to me an
+involuntary bliss! Ready for my severest pain do I here stand:--at the
+wrong time hast thou come!
+
+Away with thee, thou blissful hour! Rather harbour there--with my
+children! Hasten! and bless them before eventide with MY happiness!
+
+There, already approacheth eventide: the sun sinketh. Away--my
+happiness!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra. And he waited for his misfortune the whole
+night; but he waited in vain. The night remained clear and calm, and
+happiness itself came nigher and nigher unto him. Towards morning,
+however, Zarathustra laughed to his heart, and said mockingly:
+“Happiness runneth after me. That is because I do not run after women.
+Happiness, however, is a woman.”
+
+
+
+
+XLVIII. BEFORE SUNRISE.
+
+O heaven above me, thou pure, thou deep heaven! Thou abyss of light!
+Gazing on thee, I tremble with divine desires.
+
+Up to thy height to toss myself--that is MY depth! In thy purity to hide
+myself--that is MINE innocence!
+
+The God veileth his beauty: thus hidest thou thy stars. Thou speakest
+not: THUS proclaimest thou thy wisdom unto me.
+
+Mute o’er the raging sea hast thou risen for me to-day; thy love and thy
+modesty make a revelation unto my raging soul.
+
+In that thou camest unto me beautiful, veiled in thy beauty, in that
+thou spakest unto me mutely, obvious in thy wisdom:
+
+Oh, how could I fail to divine all the modesty of thy soul! BEFORE the
+sun didst thou come unto me--the lonesomest one.
+
+We have been friends from the beginning: to us are grief, gruesomeness,
+and ground common; even the sun is common to us.
+
+We do not speak to each other, because we know too much--: we keep
+silent to each other, we smile our knowledge to each other.
+
+Art thou not the light of my fire? Hast thou not the sister-soul of mine
+insight?
+
+Together did we learn everything; together did we learn to ascend beyond
+ourselves to ourselves, and to smile uncloudedly:--
+
+--Uncloudedly to smile down out of luminous eyes and out of miles of
+distance, when under us constraint and purpose and guilt steam like
+rain.
+
+And wandered I alone, for WHAT did my soul hunger by night and in
+labyrinthine paths? And climbed I mountains, WHOM did I ever seek, if
+not thee, upon mountains?
+
+And all my wandering and mountain-climbing: a necessity was it merely,
+and a makeshift of the unhandy one:--to FLY only, wanteth mine entire
+will, to fly into THEE!
+
+And what have I hated more than passing clouds, and whatever tainteth
+thee? And mine own hatred have I even hated, because it tainted thee!
+
+The passing clouds I detest--those stealthy cats of prey: they take
+from thee and me what is common to us--the vast unbounded Yea- and
+Amen-saying.
+
+These mediators and mixers we detest--the passing clouds: those
+half-and-half ones, that have neither learned to bless nor to curse from
+the heart.
+
+Rather will I sit in a tub under a closed heaven, rather will I sit in
+the abyss without heaven, than see thee, thou luminous heaven, tainted
+with passing clouds!
+
+And oft have I longed to pin them fast with the jagged gold-wires of
+lightning, that I might, like the thunder, beat the drum upon their
+kettle-bellies:--
+
+--An angry drummer, because they rob me of thy Yea and Amen!--thou
+heaven above me, thou pure, thou luminous heaven! Thou abyss of
+light!--because they rob thee of MY Yea and Amen.
+
+For rather will I have noise and thunders and tempest-blasts, than this
+discreet, doubting cat-repose; and also amongst men do I hate most
+of all the soft-treaders, and half-and-half ones, and the doubting,
+hesitating, passing clouds.
+
+And “he who cannot bless shall LEARN to curse!”--this clear teaching
+dropt unto me from the clear heaven; this star standeth in my heaven
+even in dark nights.
+
+I, however, am a blesser and a Yea-sayer, if thou be but around me, thou
+pure, thou luminous heaven! Thou abyss of light!--into all abysses do I
+then carry my beneficent Yea-saying.
+
+A blesser have I become and a Yea-sayer: and therefore strove I long and
+was a striver, that I might one day get my hands free for blessing.
+
+This, however, is my blessing: to stand above everything as its own
+heaven, its round roof, its azure bell and eternal security: and blessed
+is he who thus blesseth!
+
+For all things are baptized at the font of eternity, and beyond good and
+evil; good and evil themselves, however, are but fugitive shadows and
+damp afflictions and passing clouds.
+
+Verily, it is a blessing and not a blasphemy when I teach that “above
+all things there standeth the heaven of chance, the heaven of innocence,
+the heaven of hazard, the heaven of wantonness.”
+
+“Of Hazard”--that is the oldest nobility in the world; that gave I back
+to all things; I emancipated them from bondage under purpose.
+
+This freedom and celestial serenity did I put like an azure bell above
+all things, when I taught that over them and through them, no “eternal
+Will”--willeth.
+
+This wantonness and folly did I put in place of that Will, when I taught
+that “In everything there is one thing impossible--rationality!”
+
+A LITTLE reason, to be sure, a germ of wisdom scattered from star to
+star--this leaven is mixed in all things: for the sake of folly, wisdom
+is mixed in all things!
+
+A little wisdom is indeed possible; but this blessed security have I
+found in all things, that they prefer--_to dance_ on the feet of chance.
+
+O heaven above me! thou pure, thou lofty heaven! This is now thy purity
+unto me, that there is no eternal reason-spider and reason-cobweb:--
+
+--That thou art to me a dancing-floor for divine chances, that thou art
+to me a table of the Gods, for divine dice and dice-players!--
+
+But thou blushest? Have I spoken unspeakable things? Have I abused, when
+I meant to bless thee?
+
+Or is it the shame of being two of us that maketh thee blush!--Dost thou
+bid me go and be silent, because now--DAY cometh?
+
+The world is deep:--and deeper than e’er the day could read. Not
+everything may be uttered in presence of day. But day cometh: so let us
+part!
+
+O heaven above me, thou modest one! thou glowing one! O thou, my
+happiness before sunrise! The day cometh: so let us part!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XLIX. THE BEDWARFING VIRTUE.
+
+1.
+
+When Zarathustra was again on the continent, he did not go straightway
+to his mountains and his cave, but made many wanderings and
+questionings, and ascertained this and that; so that he said of himself
+jestingly: “Lo, a river that floweth back unto its source in many
+windings!” For he wanted to learn what had taken place AMONG MEN during
+the interval: whether they had become greater or smaller. And once, when
+he saw a row of new houses, he marvelled, and said:
+
+“What do these houses mean? Verily, no great soul put them up as its
+simile!
+
+Did perhaps a silly child take them out of its toy-box? Would that
+another child put them again into the box!
+
+And these rooms and chambers--can MEN go out and in there? They seem to
+be made for silk dolls; or for dainty-eaters, who perhaps let others eat
+with them.”
+
+And Zarathustra stood still and meditated. At last he said sorrowfully:
+“There hath EVERYTHING become smaller!
+
+Everywhere do I see lower doorways: he who is of MY type can still go
+therethrough, but--he must stoop!
+
+Oh, when shall I arrive again at my home, where I shall no longer have
+to stoop--shall no longer have to stoop BEFORE THE SMALL ONES!”--And
+Zarathustra sighed, and gazed into the distance.--
+
+The same day, however, he gave his discourse on the bedwarfing virtue.
+
+2.
+
+I pass through this people and keep mine eyes open: they do not forgive
+me for not envying their virtues.
+
+They bite at me, because I say unto them that for small people, small
+virtues are necessary--and because it is hard for me to understand that
+small people are NECESSARY!
+
+Here am I still like a cock in a strange farm-yard, at which even the
+hens peck: but on that account I am not unfriendly to the hens.
+
+I am courteous towards them, as towards all small annoyances; to be
+prickly towards what is small, seemeth to me wisdom for hedgehogs.
+
+They all speak of me when they sit around their fire in the
+evening--they speak of me, but no one thinketh--of me!
+
+This is the new stillness which I have experienced: their noise around
+me spreadeth a mantle over my thoughts.
+
+They shout to one another: “What is this gloomy cloud about to do to us?
+Let us see that it doth not bring a plague upon us!”
+
+And recently did a woman seize upon her child that was coming unto
+me: “Take the children away,” cried she, “such eyes scorch children’s
+souls.”
+
+They cough when I speak: they think coughing an objection to strong
+winds--they divine nothing of the boisterousness of my happiness!
+
+“We have not yet time for Zarathustra”--so they object; but what matter
+about a time that “hath no time” for Zarathustra?
+
+And if they should altogether praise me, how could I go to sleep on
+THEIR praise? A girdle of spines is their praise unto me: it scratcheth
+me even when I take it off.
+
+And this also did I learn among them: the praiser doeth as if he gave
+back; in truth, however, he wanteth more to be given him!
+
+Ask my foot if their lauding and luring strains please it! Verily,
+to such measure and ticktack, it liketh neither to dance nor to stand
+still.
+
+To small virtues would they fain lure and laud me; to the ticktack of
+small happiness would they fain persuade my foot.
+
+I pass through this people and keep mine eyes open; they have become
+SMALLER, and ever become smaller:--THE REASON THEREOF IS THEIR DOCTRINE
+OF HAPPINESS AND VIRTUE.
+
+For they are moderate also in virtue,--because they want comfort. With
+comfort, however, moderate virtue only is compatible.
+
+To be sure, they also learn in their way to stride on and stride
+forward: that, I call their HOBBLING.--Thereby they become a hindrance
+to all who are in haste.
+
+And many of them go forward, and look backwards thereby, with stiffened
+necks: those do I like to run up against.
+
+Foot and eye shall not lie, nor give the lie to each other. But there is
+much lying among small people.
+
+Some of them WILL, but most of them are WILLED. Some of them are
+genuine, but most of them are bad actors.
+
+There are actors without knowing it amongst them, and actors without
+intending it--, the genuine ones are always rare, especially the genuine
+actors.
+
+Of man there is little here: therefore do their women masculinise
+themselves. For only he who is man enough, will--SAVE THE WOMAN in
+woman.
+
+And this hypocrisy found I worst amongst them, that even those who
+command feign the virtues of those who serve.
+
+“I serve, thou servest, we serve”--so chanteth here even the hypocrisy
+of the rulers--and alas! if the first lord be ONLY the first servant!
+
+Ah, even upon their hypocrisy did mine eyes’ curiosity alight; and well
+did I divine all their fly-happiness, and their buzzing around sunny
+window-panes.
+
+So much kindness, so much weakness do I see. So much justice and pity,
+so much weakness.
+
+Round, fair, and considerate are they to one another, as grains of sand
+are round, fair, and considerate to grains of sand.
+
+Modestly to embrace a small happiness--that do they call “submission”!
+and at the same time they peer modestly after a new small happiness.
+
+In their hearts they want simply one thing most of all: that no one hurt
+them. Thus do they anticipate every one’s wishes and do well unto every
+one.
+
+That, however, is COWARDICE, though it be called “virtue.”--
+
+And when they chance to speak harshly, those small people, then do _I_
+hear therein only their hoarseness--every draught of air maketh them
+hoarse.
+
+Shrewd indeed are they, their virtues have shrewd fingers. But they lack
+fists: their fingers do not know how to creep behind fists.
+
+Virtue for them is what maketh modest and tame: therewith have they made
+the wolf a dog, and man himself man’s best domestic animal.
+
+“We set our chair in the MIDST”--so saith their smirking unto me--“and
+as far from dying gladiators as from satisfied swine.”
+
+That, however, is--MEDIOCRITY, though it be called moderation.--
+
+3.
+
+I pass through this people and let fall many words: but they know
+neither how to take nor how to retain them.
+
+They wonder why I came not to revile venery and vice; and verily, I came
+not to warn against pickpockets either!
+
+They wonder why I am not ready to abet and whet their wisdom: as if they
+had not yet enough of wiseacres, whose voices grate on mine ear like
+slate-pencils!
+
+And when I call out: “Curse all the cowardly devils in you, that
+would fain whimper and fold the hands and adore”--then do they shout:
+“Zarathustra is godless.”
+
+And especially do their teachers of submission shout this;--but
+precisely in their ears do I love to cry: “Yea! I AM Zarathustra, the
+godless!”
+
+Those teachers of submission! Wherever there is aught puny, or sickly,
+or scabby, there do they creep like lice; and only my disgust preventeth
+me from cracking them.
+
+Well! This is my sermon for THEIR ears: I am Zarathustra the godless,
+who saith: “Who is more godless than I, that I may enjoy his teaching?”
+
+I am Zarathustra the godless: where do I find mine equal? And all
+those are mine equals who give unto themselves their Will, and divest
+themselves of all submission.
+
+I am Zarathustra the godless! I cook every chance in MY pot. And only
+when it hath been quite cooked do I welcome it as MY food.
+
+And verily, many a chance came imperiously unto me: but still more
+imperiously did my WILL speak unto it,--then did it lie imploringly upon
+its knees--
+
+--Imploring that it might find home and heart with me, and saying
+flatteringly: “See, O Zarathustra, how friend only cometh unto
+friend!”--
+
+But why talk I, when no one hath MINE ears! And so will I shout it out
+unto all the winds:
+
+Ye ever become smaller, ye small people! Ye crumble away, ye comfortable
+ones! Ye will yet perish--
+
+--By your many small virtues, by your many small omissions, and by your
+many small submissions!
+
+Too tender, too yielding: so is your soil! But for a tree to become
+GREAT, it seeketh to twine hard roots around hard rocks!
+
+Also what ye omit weaveth at the web of all the human future; even your
+naught is a cobweb, and a spider that liveth on the blood of the future.
+
+And when ye take, then is it like stealing, ye small virtuous ones;
+but even among knaves HONOUR saith that “one shall only steal when one
+cannot rob.”
+
+“It giveth itself”--that is also a doctrine of submission. But I say
+unto you, ye comfortable ones, that IT TAKETH TO ITSELF, and will ever
+take more and more from you!
+
+Ah, that ye would renounce all HALF-willing, and would decide for
+idleness as ye decide for action!
+
+Ah, that ye understood my word: “Do ever what ye will--but first be such
+as CAN WILL.
+
+Love ever your neighbour as yourselves--but first be such as LOVE
+THEMSELVES--
+
+--Such as love with great love, such as love with great contempt!” Thus
+speaketh Zarathustra the godless.--
+
+But why talk I, when no one hath MINE ears! It is still an hour too
+early for me here.
+
+Mine own forerunner am I among this people, mine own cockcrow in dark
+lanes.
+
+But THEIR hour cometh! And there cometh also mine! Hourly do they become
+smaller, poorer, unfruitfuller,--poor herbs! poor earth!
+
+And SOON shall they stand before me like dry grass and prairie, and
+verily, weary of themselves--and panting for FIRE, more than for water!
+
+O blessed hour of the lightning! O mystery before noontide!--Running
+fires will I one day make of them, and heralds with flaming tongues:--
+
+--Herald shall they one day with flaming tongues: It cometh, it is nigh,
+THE GREAT NOONTIDE!
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+L. ON THE OLIVE-MOUNT.
+
+Winter, a bad guest, sitteth with me at home; blue are my hands with his
+friendly hand-shaking.
+
+I honour him, that bad guest, but gladly leave him alone. Gladly do I
+run away from him; and when one runneth WELL, then one escapeth him!
+
+With warm feet and warm thoughts do I run where the wind is calm--to the
+sunny corner of mine olive-mount.
+
+There do I laugh at my stern guest, and am still fond of him; because he
+cleareth my house of flies, and quieteth many little noises.
+
+For he suffereth it not if a gnat wanteth to buzz, or even two of them;
+also the lanes maketh he lonesome, so that the moonlight is afraid there
+at night.
+
+A hard guest is he,--but I honour him, and do not worship, like the
+tenderlings, the pot-bellied fire-idol.
+
+Better even a little teeth-chattering than idol-adoration!--so willeth
+my nature. And especially have I a grudge against all ardent, steaming,
+steamy fire-idols.
+
+Him whom I love, I love better in winter than in summer; better do I
+now mock at mine enemies, and more heartily, when winter sitteth in my
+house.
+
+Heartily, verily, even when I CREEP into bed--: there, still laugheth
+and wantoneth my hidden happiness; even my deceptive dream laugheth.
+
+I, a--creeper? Never in my life did I creep before the powerful; and if
+ever I lied, then did I lie out of love. Therefore am I glad even in my
+winter-bed.
+
+A poor bed warmeth me more than a rich one, for I am jealous of my
+poverty. And in winter she is most faithful unto me.
+
+With a wickedness do I begin every day: I mock at the winter with a cold
+bath: on that account grumbleth my stern house-mate.
+
+Also do I like to tickle him with a wax-taper, that he may finally let
+the heavens emerge from ashy-grey twilight.
+
+For especially wicked am I in the morning: at the early hour when the
+pail rattleth at the well, and horses neigh warmly in grey lanes:--
+
+Impatiently do I then wait, that the clear sky may finally dawn for me,
+the snow-bearded winter-sky, the hoary one, the white-head,--
+
+--The winter-sky, the silent winter-sky, which often stifleth even its
+sun!
+
+Did I perhaps learn from it the long clear silence? Or did it learn it
+from me? Or hath each of us devised it himself?
+
+Of all good things the origin is a thousandfold,--all good roguish
+things spring into existence for joy: how could they always do so--for
+once only!
+
+A good roguish thing is also the long silence, and to look, like the
+winter-sky, out of a clear, round-eyed countenance:--
+
+--Like it to stifle one’s sun, and one’s inflexible solar will: verily,
+this art and this winter-roguishness have I learnt WELL!
+
+My best-loved wickedness and art is it, that my silence hath learned not
+to betray itself by silence.
+
+Clattering with diction and dice, I outwit the solemn assistants: all
+those stern watchers, shall my will and purpose elude.
+
+That no one might see down into my depth and into mine ultimate
+will--for that purpose did I devise the long clear silence.
+
+Many a shrewd one did I find: he veiled his countenance and made his
+water muddy, that no one might see therethrough and thereunder.
+
+But precisely unto him came the shrewder distrusters and nut-crackers:
+precisely from him did they fish his best-concealed fish!
+
+But the clear, the honest, the transparent--these are for me the wisest
+silent ones: in them, so PROFOUND is the depth that even the clearest
+water doth not--betray it.--
+
+Thou snow-bearded, silent, winter-sky, thou round-eyed whitehead above
+me! Oh, thou heavenly simile of my soul and its wantonness!
+
+And MUST I not conceal myself like one who hath swallowed gold--lest my
+soul should be ripped up?
+
+MUST I not wear stilts, that they may OVERLOOK my long legs--all those
+enviers and injurers around me?
+
+Those dingy, fire-warmed, used-up, green-tinted, ill-natured souls--how
+COULD their envy endure my happiness!
+
+Thus do I show them only the ice and winter of my peaks--and NOT that my
+mountain windeth all the solar girdles around it!
+
+They hear only the whistling of my winter-storms: and know NOT that I
+also travel over warm seas, like longing, heavy, hot south-winds.
+
+They commiserate also my accidents and chances:--but MY word saith:
+“Suffer the chance to come unto me: innocent is it as a little child!”
+
+How COULD they endure my happiness, if I did not put around it
+accidents, and winter-privations, and bear-skin caps, and enmantling
+snowflakes!
+
+--If I did not myself commiserate their PITY, the pity of those enviers
+and injurers!
+
+--If I did not myself sigh before them, and chatter with cold, and
+patiently LET myself be swathed in their pity!
+
+This is the wise waggish-will and good-will of my soul, that it
+CONCEALETH NOT its winters and glacial storms; it concealeth not its
+chilblains either.
+
+To one man, lonesomeness is the flight of the sick one; to another, it
+is the flight FROM the sick ones.
+
+Let them HEAR me chattering and sighing with winter-cold, all those poor
+squinting knaves around me! With such sighing and chattering do I flee
+from their heated rooms.
+
+Let them sympathise with me and sigh with me on account of my
+chilblains: “At the ice of knowledge will he yet FREEZE TO DEATH!”--so
+they mourn.
+
+Meanwhile do I run with warm feet hither and thither on mine
+olive-mount: in the sunny corner of mine olive-mount do I sing, and mock
+at all pity.--
+
+Thus sang Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+LI. ON 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:
+
+O Zarathustra, here is the great city: here hast thou nothing to seek
+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!
+
+Here is the hell for anchorites’ thoughts: here are great thoughts
+seethed alive and boiled small.
+
+Here do all great sentiments decay: here may only rattle-boned
+sensations rattle!
+
+Smellest thou not already the shambles and cookshops of the spirit?
+Steameth not this city 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!
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+All lusts and vices are here at home; but here there are also the
+virtuous; there is much appointable appointed virtue:--
+
+Much appointable virtue with scribe-fingers, and hardy sitting-flesh and
+waiting-flesh, blessed with small breast-stars, and padded, haunchless
+daughters.
+
+There is here also much piety, and much faithful spittle-licking and
+spittle-backing, before the God of Hosts.
+
+“From on high,” drippeth the star, and the gracious spittle; for the
+high, longeth every starless bosom.
+
+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.
+
+“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!
+
+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.
+
+The God of the Hosts of war is not the God of the golden bar; the prince
+proposeth, but the shopman--disposeth!
+
+By all that is luminous and strong and good in thee, O Zarathustra! Spit
+on this city of shopmen and return 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!
+
+Spit on the city of compressed souls and slender breasts, of pointed
+eyes and sticky fingers--
+
+--On the city of the obtrusive, the brazen-faced, the pen-demagogues and
+tongue-demagogues, the overheated ambitious:--
+
+Where everything maimed, ill-famed, lustful, untrustful, over-mellow,
+sickly-yellow and seditious, festereth pernicious:--
+
+--Spit on the great city and turn back!--
+
+Here, however, did Zarathustra interrupt the foaming fool, and shut his
+mouth.--
+
+Stop this at once! called out Zarathustra, long have thy speech and thy
+species disgusted me!
+
+Why didst thou live so long by the swamp, that thou thyself hadst to
+become a frog and a toad?
+
+Floweth there not a tainted, frothy, swamp-blood in thine own veins,
+when thou hast thus learned to croak and revile?
+
+Why wentest thou not into the forest? Or why didst thou not till the
+ground? Is the sea not full of green islands?
+
+I despise thy contempt; and when thou warnedst me--why didst thou not
+warn thyself?
+
+Out of love alone shall my contempt and my warning bird take wing; but
+not out of 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.
+
+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,--
+
+--That thou mightest have cause for much VENGEANCE! For vengeance, thou
+vain fool, is all thy foaming; I have divined thee well!
+
+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!
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra. Then did he look on the great city and sighed,
+and was long silent. At last he spake thus:
+
+I loathe also this great city, and not only this fool. Here and there--
+there is nothing to better, nothing to worsen.
+
+Woe to this great city!--And I would that I already saw the pillar of
+fire in which it will be consumed!
+
+For such pillars of fire must precede the great noontide. But this hath
+its 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!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, and passed by the fool and the great city.
+
+
+
+
+LII. THE APOSTATES.
+
+1.
+
+Ah, lieth everything already withered and grey which but lately stood
+green and many-hued on this meadow! And how much honey of hope did I
+carry hence into my beehives!
+
+Those young hearts have already all become old--and not old even! only
+weary, ordinary, comfortable:--they declare it: “We have again become
+pious.”
+
+Of late did I see them run forth at early morn with valorous steps: but
+the feet of their knowledge became weary, and now do they malign even
+their morning valour!
+
+Verily, many of them once lifted their legs like the dancer; to them
+winked the laughter of my wisdom:--then did they bethink themselves.
+Just now have I seen them bent down--to creep to the cross.
+
+Around light and liberty did they once flutter like gnats and young
+poets. A little older, a little colder: and already are they mystifiers,
+and mumblers and mollycoddles.
+
+Did perhaps their hearts despond, because lonesomeness had swallowed me
+like a whale? Did their ear perhaps hearken yearningly-long for me IN
+VAIN, and for my trumpet-notes and herald-calls?
+
+--Ah! Ever are there but few of those whose hearts have persistent
+courage and exuberance; and in such remaineth also the spirit patient.
+The rest, however, are COWARDLY.
+
+The rest: these are always the great majority, the common-place, the
+superfluous, the far-too many--those all are cowardly!--
+
+Him who is of my type, will also the experiences of my type meet on the
+way: so that his first companions must be corpses and buffoons.
+
+His second companions, however--they will call themselves his
+BELIEVERS,--will be a living host, with much love, much folly, much
+unbearded veneration.
+
+To those believers shall he who is of my type among men not bind his
+heart; in those spring-times and many-hued meadows shall he not believe,
+who knoweth the fickly faint-hearted human species!
+
+COULD they do otherwise, then would they also WILL otherwise. The
+half-and-half spoil every whole. That leaves become withered,--what is
+there to lament about that!
+
+Let them go and fall away, O Zarathustra, and do not lament! Better even
+to blow amongst them with rustling winds,--
+
+--Blow amongst those leaves, O Zarathustra, that everything WITHERED may
+run away from thee the faster!--
+
+2.
+
+“We have again become pious”--so do those apostates confess; and some of
+them are still too pusillanimous thus to confess.
+
+Unto them I look into the eye,--before them I say it unto their face and
+unto the blush on their cheeks: Ye are those who again PRAY!
+
+It is however a shame to pray! Not for all, but for thee, and me, and
+whoever hath his conscience in his head. For THEE it is a shame to pray!
+
+Thou knowest it well: the faint-hearted devil in thee, which would
+fain fold its arms, and place its hands in its bosom, and take it
+easier:--this faint-hearted devil persuadeth thee that “there IS a God!”
+
+THEREBY, however, dost thou belong to the light-dreading type, to whom
+light never permitteth repose: now must thou daily thrust thy head
+deeper into obscurity and vapour!
+
+And verily, thou choosest the hour well: for just now do the nocturnal
+birds again fly abroad. The hour hath come for all light-dreading
+people, the vesper hour and leisure hour, when they do not--“take
+leisure.”
+
+I hear it and smell it: it hath come--their hour for hunt and
+procession, not indeed for a wild hunt, but for a tame, lame, snuffling,
+soft-treaders’, soft-prayers’ hunt,--
+
+--For a hunt after susceptible simpletons: all mouse-traps for the heart
+have again been set! And whenever I lift a curtain, a night-moth rusheth
+out of it.
+
+Did it perhaps squat there along with another night-moth? For everywhere
+do I smell small concealed communities; and wherever there are closets
+there are new devotees therein, and the atmosphere of devotees.
+
+They sit for long evenings beside one another, and say: “Let us again
+become like little children and say, ‘good God!’”--ruined in mouths and
+stomachs by the pious confectioners.
+
+Or they look for long evenings at a crafty, lurking cross-spider, that
+preacheth prudence to the spiders themselves, and teacheth that “under
+crosses it is good for cobweb-spinning!”
+
+Or they sit all day at swamps with angle-rods, and on that account think
+themselves PROFOUND; but whoever fisheth where there are no fish, I do
+not even call him superficial!
+
+Or they learn in godly-gay style to play the harp with a hymn-poet,
+who would fain harp himself into the heart of young girls:--for he hath
+tired of old girls and their praises.
+
+Or they learn to shudder with a learned semi-madcap, who waiteth in
+darkened rooms for spirits to come to him--and the spirit runneth away
+entirely!
+
+Or they listen to an old roving howl- and growl-piper, who hath learnt
+from the sad winds the sadness of sounds; now pipeth he as the wind, and
+preacheth sadness in sad strains.
+
+And some of them have even become night-watchmen: they know now how to
+blow horns, and go about at night and awaken old things which have long
+fallen asleep.
+
+Five words about old things did I hear yester-night at the garden-wall:
+they came from such old, sorrowful, arid night-watchmen.
+
+“For a father he careth not sufficiently for his children: human fathers
+do this better!”--
+
+“He is too old! He now careth no more for his children,”--answered the
+other night-watchman.
+
+“HATH he then children? No one can prove it unless he himself prove it!
+I have long wished that he would for once prove it thoroughly.”
+
+“Prove? As if HE had ever proved anything! Proving is difficult to him;
+he layeth great stress on one’s BELIEVING him.”
+
+“Ay! Ay! Belief saveth him; belief in him. That is the way with old
+people! So it is with us also!”--
+
+--Thus spake to each other the two old night-watchmen and light-scarers,
+and tooted thereupon sorrowfully on their horns: so did it happen
+yester-night at the garden-wall.
+
+To me, however, did the heart writhe with laughter, and was like to
+break; it knew not where to go, and sunk into the midriff.
+
+Verily, it will be my death yet--to choke with laughter when I see asses
+drunken, and hear night-watchmen thus doubt about God.
+
+Hath the time not LONG since passed for all such doubts? Who may
+nowadays awaken such old slumbering, light-shunning things!
+
+With the old Deities hath it long since come to an end:--and verily, a
+good joyful Deity-end had they!
+
+They did not “begloom” themselves to death--that do people fabricate! On
+the contrary, they--LAUGHED themselves to death once on a time!
+
+That took place when the unGodliest utterance came from a God
+himself--the utterance: “There is but one God! Thou shalt have no other
+Gods before me!”--
+
+--An old grim-beard of a God, a jealous one, forgot himself in such
+wise:--
+
+And all the Gods then laughed, and shook upon their thrones, and
+exclaimed: “Is it not just divinity that there are Gods, but no God?”
+
+He that hath an ear let him hear.--
+
+Thus talked Zarathustra in the city he loved, which is surnamed “The
+Pied Cow.” For from here he had but two days to travel to reach once
+more his cave and his animals; his soul, however, rejoiced unceasingly
+on account of the nighness of his return home.
+
+
+
+
+LIII. THE RETURN HOME.
+
+O lonesomeness! My HOME, lonesomeness! Too long have I lived wildly in
+wild remoteness, to return to thee without tears!
+
+Now threaten me with the finger as mothers threaten; now smile upon me
+as mothers smile; now say just: “Who was it that like a whirlwind once
+rushed away from me?--
+
+--Who when departing called out: ‘Too long have I sat with lonesomeness;
+there have I unlearned silence!’ THAT hast thou learned now--surely?
+
+O Zarathustra, everything do I know; and that thou wert MORE FORSAKEN
+amongst the many, thou unique one, than thou ever wert with me!
+
+One thing is forsakenness, another matter is lonesomeness: THAT hast
+thou now learned! And that amongst men thou wilt ever be wild and
+strange:
+
+--Wild and strange even when they love thee: for above all they want to
+be TREATED INDULGENTLY!
+
+Here, however, art thou at home and house with thyself; here canst thou
+utter everything, and unbosom all motives; nothing is here ashamed of
+concealed, congealed feelings.
+
+Here do all things come caressingly to thy talk and flatter thee: for
+they want to ride upon thy back. On every simile dost thou here ride to
+every truth.
+
+Uprightly and openly mayest thou here talk to all things: and verily,
+it soundeth as praise in their ears, for one to talk to all
+things--directly!
+
+Another matter, however, is forsakenness. For, dost thou remember, O
+Zarathustra? When thy bird screamed overhead, when thou stoodest in the
+forest, irresolute, ignorant where to go, beside a corpse:--
+
+--When thou spakest: ‘Let mine animals lead me! More dangerous have I
+found it among men than among animals:’--THAT was forsakenness!
+
+And dost thou remember, O Zarathustra? When thou sattest in thine isle,
+a well of wine giving and granting amongst empty buckets, bestowing and
+distributing amongst the thirsty:
+
+--Until at last thou alone sattest thirsty amongst the drunken ones, and
+wailedst nightly: ‘Is taking not more blessed than giving? And stealing
+yet more blessed than taking?’--THAT was forsakenness!
+
+And dost thou remember, O Zarathustra? When thy stillest hour came and
+drove thee forth from thyself, when with wicked whispering it said:
+‘Speak and succumb!’--
+
+--When it disgusted thee with all thy waiting and silence, and
+discouraged thy humble courage: THAT was forsakenness!”--
+
+O lonesomeness! My home, lonesomeness! How blessedly and tenderly
+speaketh thy voice unto me!
+
+We do not question each other, we do not complain to each other; we go
+together openly through open doors.
+
+For all is open with thee and clear; and even the hours run here on
+lighter feet. For in the dark, time weigheth heavier upon one than in
+the light.
+
+Here fly open unto me all being’s words and word-cabinets: here all
+being wanteth to become words, here all becoming wanteth to learn of me
+how to talk.
+
+Down there, however--all talking is in vain! There, forgetting and
+passing-by are the best wisdom: THAT have I learned now!
+
+He who would understand everything in man must handle everything. But
+for that I have too clean hands.
+
+I do not like even to inhale their breath; alas! that I have lived so
+long among their noise and bad breaths!
+
+O blessed stillness around me! O pure odours around me! How from a deep
+breast this stillness fetcheth pure breath! How it hearkeneth, this
+blessed stillness!
+
+But down there--there speaketh everything, there is everything misheard.
+If one announce one’s wisdom with bells, the shopmen in the market-place
+will out-jingle it with pennies!
+
+Everything among them talketh; no one knoweth any longer how to
+understand. Everything falleth into the water; nothing falleth any
+longer into deep wells.
+
+Everything among them talketh, nothing succeedeth any longer and
+accomplisheth itself. Everything cackleth, but who will still sit
+quietly on the nest and hatch eggs?
+
+Everything among them talketh, everything is out-talked. And that which
+yesterday was still too hard for time itself and its tooth, hangeth
+to-day, outchamped and outchewed, from the mouths of the men of to-day.
+
+Everything among them talketh, everything is betrayed. And what was once
+called the secret and secrecy of profound souls, belongeth to-day to the
+street-trumpeters and other butterflies.
+
+O human hubbub, thou wonderful thing! Thou noise in dark streets! Now
+art thou again behind me:--my greatest danger lieth behind me!
+
+In indulging and pitying lay ever my greatest danger; and all human
+hubbub wisheth to be indulged and tolerated.
+
+With suppressed truths, with fool’s hand and befooled heart, and rich in
+petty lies of pity:--thus have I ever lived among men.
+
+Disguised did I sit amongst them, ready to misjudge MYSELF that I might
+endure THEM, and willingly saying to myself: “Thou fool, thou dost not
+know men!”
+
+One unlearneth men when one liveth amongst them: there is too much
+foreground in all men--what can far-seeing, far-longing eyes do THERE!
+
+And, fool that I was, when they misjudged me, I indulged them on that
+account more than myself, being habitually hard on myself, and often
+even taking revenge on myself for the indulgence.
+
+Stung all over by poisonous flies, and hollowed like the stone by
+many drops of wickedness: thus did I sit among them, and still said to
+myself: “Innocent is everything petty of its pettiness!”
+
+Especially did I find those who call themselves “the good,” the most
+poisonous flies; they sting in all innocence, they lie in all innocence;
+how COULD they--be just towards me!
+
+He who liveth amongst the good--pity teacheth him to lie. Pity maketh
+stifling air for all free souls. For the stupidity of the good is
+unfathomable.
+
+To conceal myself and my riches--THAT did I learn down there: for every
+one did I still find poor in spirit. It was the lie of my pity, that I
+knew in every one,
+
+--That I saw and scented in every one, what was ENOUGH of spirit for
+him, and what was TOO MUCH!
+
+Their stiff wise men: I call them wise, not stiff--thus did I learn to
+slur over words.
+
+The grave-diggers dig for themselves diseases. Under old rubbish rest
+bad vapours. One should not stir up the marsh. One should live on
+mountains.
+
+With blessed nostrils do I again breathe mountain-freedom. Freed at last
+is my nose from the smell of all human hubbub!
+
+With sharp breezes tickled, as with sparkling wine, SNEEZETH my soul--
+sneezeth, and shouteth self-congratulatingly: “Health to thee!”
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+LIV. THE THREE EVIL THINGS.
+
+1.
+
+In my dream, in my last morning-dream, I stood to-day on a promontory--
+beyond the world; I held a pair of scales, and WEIGHED the world.
+
+Alas, that the rosy dawn came too early to me: she glowed me awake, the
+jealous one! Jealous is she always of the glows of my morning-dream.
+
+Measurable by him who hath time, weighable by a good weigher, attainable
+by strong pinions, divinable by divine nut-crackers: thus did my dream
+find the world:--
+
+My dream, a bold sailor, half-ship, half-hurricane, silent as the
+butterfly, impatient as the falcon: how had it the patience and leisure
+to-day for world-weighing!
+
+Did my wisdom perhaps speak secretly to it, my laughing, wide-awake
+day-wisdom, which mocketh at all “infinite worlds”? For it saith: “Where
+force is, there becometh NUMBER the master: it hath more force.”
+
+How confidently did my dream contemplate this finite world, not
+new-fangledly, not old-fangledly, not timidly, not entreatingly:--
+
+--As if a big round apple presented itself to my hand, a ripe golden
+apple, with a coolly-soft, velvety skin:--thus did the world present
+itself unto me:--
+
+--As if a tree nodded unto me, a broad-branched, strong-willed tree,
+curved as a recline and a foot-stool for weary travellers: thus did the
+world stand on my promontory:--
+
+--As if delicate hands carried a casket towards me--a casket open for
+the delectation of modest adoring eyes: thus did the world present
+itself before me to-day:--
+
+--Not riddle enough to scare human love from it, not solution enough
+to put to sleep human wisdom:--a humanly good thing was the world to me
+to-day, of which such bad things are said!
+
+How I thank my morning-dream that I thus at to-day’s dawn, weighed
+the world! As a humanly good thing did it come unto me, this dream and
+heart-comforter!
+
+And that I may do the like by day, and imitate and copy its best, now
+will I put the three worst things on the scales, and weigh them humanly
+well.--
+
+He who taught to bless taught also to curse: what are the three best
+cursed things in the world? These will I put on the scales.
+
+VOLUPTUOUSNESS, PASSION FOR POWER, and SELFISHNESS: these three things
+have hitherto been best cursed, and have been in worst and falsest
+repute--these three things will I weigh humanly well.
+
+Well! Here is my promontory, and there is the sea--IT rolleth hither
+unto me, shaggily and fawningly, the old, faithful, hundred-headed
+dog-monster that I love!--
+
+Well! Here will I hold the scales over the weltering sea: and also a
+witness do I choose to look on--thee, the anchorite-tree, thee, the
+strong-odoured, broad-arched tree that I love!--
+
+On what bridge goeth the now to the hereafter? By what constraint doth
+the high stoop to the low? And what enjoineth even the highest still--to
+grow upwards?--
+
+Now stand the scales poised and at rest: three heavy questions have I
+thrown in; three heavy answers carrieth the other scale.
+
+2.
+
+Voluptuousness: unto all hair-shirted despisers of the body, a sting and
+stake; and, cursed as “the world,” by all backworldsmen: for it mocketh
+and befooleth all erring, misinferring teachers.
+
+Voluptuousness: to the rabble, the slow fire at which it is burnt;
+to all wormy wood, to all stinking rags, the prepared heat and stew
+furnace.
+
+Voluptuousness: to free hearts, a thing innocent and free, the
+garden-happiness of the earth, all the future’s thanks-overflow to the
+present.
+
+Voluptuousness: only to the withered a sweet poison; to the lion-willed,
+however, the great cordial, and the reverently saved wine of wines.
+
+Voluptuousness: the great symbolic happiness of a higher happiness
+and highest hope. For to many is marriage promised, and more than
+marriage,--
+
+--To many that are more unknown to each other than man and woman:--and
+who hath fully understood HOW UNKNOWN to each other are man and woman!
+
+Voluptuousness:--but I will have hedges around my thoughts, and
+even around my words, lest swine and libertine should break into my
+gardens!--
+
+Passion for power: the glowing scourge of the hardest of the heart-hard;
+the cruel torture reserved for the cruellest themselves; the gloomy
+flame of living pyres.
+
+Passion for power: the wicked gadfly which is mounted on the vainest
+peoples; the scorner of all uncertain virtue; which rideth on every
+horse and on every pride.
+
+Passion for power: the earthquake which breaketh and upbreaketh all
+that is rotten and hollow; the rolling, rumbling, punitive demolisher
+of whited sepulchres; the flashing interrogative-sign beside premature
+answers.
+
+Passion for power: before whose glance man creepeth and croucheth and
+drudgeth, and becometh lower than the serpent and the swine:--until at
+last great contempt crieth out of him--,
+
+Passion for power: the terrible teacher of great contempt, which
+preacheth to their face to cities and empires: “Away with thee!”--until
+a voice crieth out of themselves: “Away with ME!”
+
+Passion for power: which, however, mounteth alluringly even to the pure
+and lonesome, and up to self-satisfied elevations, glowing like a love
+that painteth purple felicities alluringly on earthly heavens.
+
+Passion for power: but who would call it PASSION, when the height
+longeth to stoop for power! Verily, nothing sick or diseased is there in
+such longing and descending!
+
+That the lonesome height may not for ever remain lonesome and
+self-sufficing; that the mountains may come to the valleys and the winds
+of the heights to the plains:--
+
+Oh, who could find the right prenomen and honouring name for such
+longing! “Bestowing virtue”--thus did Zarathustra once name the
+unnamable.
+
+And then it happened also,--and verily, it happened for the first
+time!--that his word blessed SELFISHNESS, the wholesome, healthy
+selfishness, that springeth from the powerful soul:--
+
+--From the powerful soul, to which the high body appertaineth, the
+handsome, triumphing, refreshing body, around which everything becometh
+a mirror:
+
+--The pliant, persuasive body, the dancer, whose symbol and epitome
+is the self-enjoying soul. Of such bodies and souls the self-enjoyment
+calleth itself “virtue.”
+
+With its words of good and bad doth such self-enjoyment shelter itself
+as with sacred groves; with the names of its happiness doth it banish
+from itself everything contemptible.
+
+Away from itself doth it banish everything cowardly; it saith:
+“Bad--THAT IS cowardly!” Contemptible seem to it the ever-solicitous,
+the sighing, the complaining, and whoever pick up the most trifling
+advantage.
+
+It despiseth also all bitter-sweet wisdom: for verily, there is also
+wisdom that bloometh in the dark, a night-shade wisdom, which ever
+sigheth: “All is vain!”
+
+Shy distrust is regarded by it as base, and every one who wanteth oaths
+instead of looks and hands: also all over-distrustful wisdom,--for such
+is the mode of cowardly souls.
+
+Baser still it regardeth the obsequious, doggish one, who immediately
+lieth on his back, the submissive one; and there is also wisdom that is
+submissive, and doggish, and pious, and obsequious.
+
+Hateful to it altogether, and a loathing, is he who will never defend
+himself, he who swalloweth down poisonous spittle and bad looks, the
+all-too-patient one, the all-endurer, the all-satisfied one: for that is
+the mode of slaves.
+
+Whether they be servile before Gods and divine spurnings, or before men
+and stupid human opinions: at ALL kinds of slaves doth it spit, this
+blessed selfishness!
+
+Bad: thus doth it call all that is spirit-broken, and
+sordidly-servile--constrained, blinking eyes, depressed hearts, and the
+false submissive style, which kisseth with broad cowardly lips.
+
+And spurious wisdom: so doth it call all the wit that slaves, and
+hoary-headed and weary ones affect; and especially all the cunning,
+spurious-witted, curious-witted foolishness of priests!
+
+The spurious wise, however, all the priests, the world-weary, and those
+whose souls are of feminine and servile nature--oh, how hath their game
+all along abused selfishness!
+
+And precisely THAT was to be virtue and was to be called virtue--to
+abuse selfishness! And “selfless”--so did they wish themselves with good
+reason, all those world-weary cowards and cross-spiders!
+
+But to all those cometh now the day, the change, the sword of judgment,
+THE GREAT NOONTIDE: then shall many things be revealed!
+
+And he who proclaimeth the EGO wholesome and holy, and selfishness
+blessed, verily, he, the prognosticator, speaketh also what he knoweth:
+“BEHOLD, IT COMETH, IT IS NIGH, THE GREAT NOONTIDE!”
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+LV. THE SPIRIT OF GRAVITY.
+
+1.
+
+My mouthpiece--is of the people: too coarsely and cordially do I
+talk for Angora rabbits. And still stranger soundeth my word unto all
+ink-fish and pen-foxes.
+
+My hand--is a fool’s hand: woe unto all tables and walls, and whatever
+hath room for fool’s sketching, fool’s scrawling!
+
+My foot--is a horse-foot; therewith do I trample and trot over stick and
+stone, in the fields up and down, and am bedevilled with delight in all
+fast racing.
+
+My stomach--is surely an eagle’s stomach? For it preferreth lamb’s
+flesh. Certainly it is a bird’s stomach.
+
+Nourished with innocent things, and with few, ready and impatient
+to fly, to fly away--that is now my nature: why should there not be
+something of bird-nature therein!
+
+And especially that I am hostile to the spirit of gravity, that is
+bird-nature:--verily, deadly hostile, supremely hostile, originally
+hostile! Oh, whither hath my hostility not flown and misflown!
+
+Thereof could I sing a song--and WILL sing it: though I be alone in an
+empty house, and must sing it to mine own ears.
+
+Other singers are there, to be sure, to whom only the full house
+maketh the voice soft, the hand eloquent, the eye expressive, the heart
+wakeful:--those do I not resemble.--
+
+2.
+
+He who one day teacheth men to fly will have shifted all landmarks; to
+him will all landmarks themselves fly into the air; the earth will he
+christen anew--as “the light body.”
+
+The ostrich runneth faster than the fastest horse, but it also thrusteth
+its head heavily into the heavy earth: thus is it with the man who
+cannot yet fly.
+
+Heavy unto him are earth and life, and so WILLETH the spirit of gravity!
+But he who would become light, and be a bird, must love himself:--thus
+do _I_ teach.
+
+Not, to be sure, with the love of the sick and infected, for with them
+stinketh even self-love!
+
+One must learn to love oneself--thus do I teach--with a wholesome and
+healthy love: that one may endure to be with oneself, and not go roving
+about.
+
+Such roving about christeneth itself “brotherly love”; with these words
+hath there hitherto been the best lying and dissembling, and especially
+by those who have been burdensome to every one.
+
+And verily, it is no commandment for to-day and to-morrow to LEARN to
+love oneself. Rather is it of all arts the finest, subtlest, last and
+patientest.
+
+For to its possessor is all possession well concealed, and of all
+treasure-pits one’s own is last excavated--so causeth the spirit of
+gravity.
+
+Almost in the cradle are we apportioned with heavy words and worths:
+“good” and “evil”--so calleth itself this dowry. For the sake of it we
+are forgiven for living.
+
+And therefore suffereth one little children to come unto one, to forbid
+them betimes to love themselves--so causeth the spirit of gravity.
+
+And we--we bear loyally what is apportioned unto us, on hard shoulders,
+over rugged mountains! And when we sweat, then do people say to us:
+“Yea, life is hard to bear!”
+
+But man himself only is hard to bear! The reason thereof is that he
+carrieth too many extraneous things on his shoulders. Like the camel
+kneeleth he down, and letteth himself be well laden.
+
+Especially the strong load-bearing man in whom reverence resideth. Too
+many EXTRANEOUS heavy words and worths loadeth he upon himself--then
+seemeth life to him a desert!
+
+And verily! Many a thing also that is OUR OWN is hard to bear! And many
+internal things in man are like the oyster--repulsive and slippery and
+hard to grasp;--
+
+So that an elegant shell, with elegant adornment, must plead for
+them. But this art also must one learn: to HAVE a shell, and a fine
+appearance, and sagacious blindness!
+
+Again, it deceiveth about many things in man, that many a shell is poor
+and pitiable, and too much of a shell. Much concealed goodness and power
+is never dreamt of; the choicest dainties find no tasters!
+
+Women know that, the choicest of them: a little fatter a little leaner--
+oh, how much fate is in so little!
+
+Man is difficult to discover, and unto himself most difficult of all;
+often lieth the spirit concerning the soul. So causeth the spirit of
+gravity.
+
+He, however, hath discovered himself who saith: This is MY good and
+evil: therewith hath he silenced the mole and the dwarf, who say: “Good
+for all, evil for all.”
+
+Verily, neither do I like those who call everything good, and this world
+the best of all. Those do I call the all-satisfied.
+
+All-satisfiedness, which knoweth how to taste everything,--that is
+not the best taste! I honour the refractory, fastidious tongues and
+stomachs, which have learned to say “I” and “Yea” and “Nay.”
+
+To chew and digest everything, however--that is the genuine
+swine-nature! Ever to say YE-A--that hath only the ass learnt, and those
+like it!--
+
+Deep yellow and hot red--so wanteth MY taste--it mixeth blood with all
+colours. He, however, who whitewasheth his house, betrayeth unto me a
+whitewashed soul.
+
+With mummies, some fall in love; others with phantoms: both alike
+hostile to all flesh and blood--oh, how repugnant are both to my taste!
+For I love blood.
+
+And there will I not reside and abide where every one spitteth and
+speweth: that is now MY taste,--rather would I live amongst thieves and
+perjurers. Nobody carrieth gold in his mouth.
+
+Still more repugnant unto me, however, are all lickspittles; and the
+most repugnant animal of man that I found, did I christen “parasite”: it
+would not love, and would yet live by love.
+
+Unhappy do I call all those who have only one choice: either to become
+evil beasts, or evil beast-tamers. Amongst such would I not build my
+tabernacle.
+
+Unhappy do I also call those who have ever to WAIT,--they are repugnant
+to my taste--all the toll-gatherers and traders, and kings, and other
+landkeepers and shopkeepers.
+
+Verily, I learned waiting also, and thoroughly so,--but only waiting for
+MYSELF. And above all did I learn standing and walking and running and
+leaping and climbing and dancing.
+
+This however is my teaching: he who wisheth one day to fly, must first
+learn standing and walking and running and climbing and dancing:--one
+doth not fly into flying!
+
+With rope-ladders learned I to reach many a window, with nimble legs did
+I climb high masts: to sit on high masts of perception seemed to me no
+small bliss;--
+
+--To flicker like small flames on high masts: a small light, certainly,
+but a great comfort to cast-away sailors and ship-wrecked ones!
+
+By divers ways and wendings did I arrive at my truth; not by one ladder
+did I mount to the height where mine eye roveth into my remoteness.
+
+And unwillingly only did I ask my way--that was always counter to my
+taste! Rather did I question and test the ways themselves.
+
+A testing and a questioning hath been all my travelling:--and verily,
+one must also LEARN to answer such questioning! That, however,--is my
+taste:
+
+--Neither a good nor a bad taste, but MY taste, of which I have no
+longer either shame or secrecy.
+
+“This--is now MY way,--where is yours?” Thus did I answer those who
+asked me “the way.” For THE way--it doth not exist!
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+LVI. OLD AND NEW TABLES.
+
+1.
+
+Here do I sit and wait, old broken tables around me and also new
+half-written tables. When cometh mine hour?
+
+--The hour of my descent, of my down-going: for once more will I go unto
+men.
+
+For that hour do I now wait: for first must the signs come unto me that
+it is MINE hour--namely, the laughing lion with the flock of doves.
+
+Meanwhile do I talk to myself as one who hath time. No one telleth me
+anything new, so I tell myself mine own story.
+
+2.
+
+When I came unto men, then found I them resting on an old infatuation:
+all of them thought they had long known what was good and bad for men.
+
+An old wearisome business seemed to them all discourse about virtue; and
+he who wished to sleep well spake of “good” and “bad” ere retiring to
+rest.
+
+This somnolence did I disturb when I taught that NO ONE YET KNOWETH what
+is good and bad:--unless it be the creating one!
+
+--It is he, however, who createth man’s goal, and giveth to the earth
+its meaning and its future: he only EFFECTETH it THAT aught is good or
+bad.
+
+And I bade them upset their old academic chairs, and wherever that old
+infatuation had sat; I bade them laugh at their great moralists, their
+saints, their poets, and their Saviours.
+
+At their gloomy sages did I bid them laugh, and whoever had sat
+admonishing as a black scarecrow on the tree of life.
+
+On their great grave-highway did I seat myself, and even beside the
+carrion and vultures--and I laughed at all their bygone and its mellow
+decaying glory.
+
+Verily, like penitential preachers and fools did I cry wrath and shame
+on all their greatness and smallness. Oh, that their best is so very
+small! Oh, that their worst is so very small! Thus did I laugh.
+
+Thus did my wise longing, born in the mountains, cry and laugh in me; a
+wild wisdom, verily!--my great pinion-rustling longing.
+
+And oft did it carry me off and up and away and in the midst of
+laughter; then flew I quivering like an arrow with sun-intoxicated
+rapture:
+
+--Out into distant futures, which no dream hath yet seen, into warmer
+souths than ever sculptor conceived,--where gods in their dancing are
+ashamed of all clothes:
+
+(That I may speak in parables and halt and stammer like the poets: and
+verily I am ashamed that I have still to be a poet!)
+
+Where all becoming seemed to me dancing of Gods, and wantoning of Gods,
+and the world unloosed and unbridled and fleeing back to itself:--
+
+--As an eternal self-fleeing and re-seeking of one another of many Gods,
+as the blessed self-contradicting, recommuning, and refraternising with
+one another of many Gods:--
+
+Where all time seemed to me a blessed mockery of moments, where
+necessity was freedom itself, which played happily with the goad of
+freedom:--
+
+Where I also found again mine old devil and arch-enemy, the spirit
+of gravity, and all that it created: constraint, law, necessity and
+consequence and purpose and will and good and evil:--
+
+For must there not be that which is danced OVER, danced beyond? Must
+there not, for the sake of the nimble, the nimblest,--be moles and
+clumsy dwarfs?--
+
+3.
+
+There was it also where I picked up from the path the word “Superman,”
+ and that man is something that must be surpassed.
+
+--That man is a bridge and not a goal--rejoicing over his noontides and
+evenings, as advances to new rosy dawns:
+
+--The Zarathustra word of the great noontide, and whatever else I have
+hung up over men like purple evening-afterglows.
+
+Verily, also new stars did I make them see, along with new nights;
+and over cloud and day and night, did I spread out laughter like a
+gay-coloured canopy.
+
+I taught them all MY poetisation and aspiration: to compose and collect
+into unity what is fragment in man, and riddle and fearful chance;--
+
+--As composer, riddle-reader, and redeemer of chance, did I teach them
+to create the future, and all that HATH BEEN--to redeem by creating.
+
+The past of man to redeem, and every “It was” to transform, until the
+Will saith: “But so did I will it! So shall I will it--”
+
+--This did I call redemption; this alone taught I them to call
+redemption.--
+
+Now do I await MY redemption--that I may go unto them for the last time.
+
+For once more will I go unto men: AMONGST them will my sun set; in dying
+will I give them my choicest gift!
+
+From the sun did I learn this, when it goeth down, the exuberant one:
+gold doth it then pour into the sea, out of inexhaustible riches,--
+
+--So that the poorest fisherman roweth even with GOLDEN oars! For this
+did I once see, and did not tire of weeping in beholding it.--
+
+Like the sun will also Zarathustra go down: now sitteth he here
+and waiteth, old broken tables around him, and also new
+tables--half-written.
+
+4.
+
+Behold, here is a new table; but where are my brethren who will carry it
+with me to the valley and into hearts of flesh?--
+
+Thus demandeth my great love to the remotest ones: BE NOT CONSIDERATE OF
+THY NEIGHBOUR! Man is something that must be surpassed.
+
+There are many divers ways and modes of surpassing: see THOU thereto!
+But only a buffoon thinketh: “man can also be OVERLEAPT.”
+
+Surpass thyself even in thy neighbour: and a right which thou canst
+seize upon, shalt thou not allow to be given thee!
+
+What thou doest can no one do to thee again. Lo, there is no requital.
+
+He who cannot command himself shall obey. And many a one CAN command
+himself, but still sorely lacketh self-obedience!
+
+5.
+
+Thus wisheth the type of noble souls: they desire to have nothing
+GRATUITOUSLY, least of all, life.
+
+He who is of the populace wisheth to live gratuitously; we others,
+however, to whom life hath given itself--we are ever considering WHAT we
+can best give IN RETURN!
+
+And verily, it is a noble dictum which saith: “What life promiseth US,
+that promise will WE keep--to life!”
+
+One should not wish to enjoy where one doth not contribute to the
+enjoyment. And one should not WISH to enjoy!
+
+For enjoyment and innocence are the most bashful things. Neither like
+to be sought for. One should HAVE them,--but one should rather SEEK for
+guilt and pain!--
+
+6.
+
+O my brethren, he who is a firstling is ever sacrificed. Now, however,
+are we firstlings!
+
+We all bleed on secret sacrificial altars, we all burn and broil in
+honour of ancient idols.
+
+Our best is still young: this exciteth old palates. Our flesh is tender,
+our skin is only lambs’ skin:--how could we not excite old idol-priests!
+
+IN OURSELVES dwelleth he still, the old idol-priest, who broileth our
+best for his banquet. Ah, my brethren, how could firstlings fail to be
+sacrifices!
+
+But so wisheth our type; and I love those who do not wish to preserve
+themselves, the down-going ones do I love with mine entire love: for
+they go beyond.--
+
+7.
+
+To be true--that CAN few be! And he who can, will not! Least of all,
+however, can the good be true.
+
+Oh, those good ones! GOOD MEN NEVER SPEAK THE TRUTH. For the spirit,
+thus to be good, is a malady.
+
+They yield, those good ones, they submit themselves; their heart
+repeateth, their soul obeyeth: HE, however, who obeyeth, DOTH NOT LISTEN
+TO HIMSELF!
+
+All that is called evil by the good, must come together in order that
+one truth may be born. O my brethren, are ye also evil enough for THIS
+truth?
+
+The daring venture, the prolonged distrust, the cruel Nay, the tedium,
+the cutting-into-the-quick--how seldom do THESE come together! Out of
+such seed, however--is truth produced!
+
+BESIDE the bad conscience hath hitherto grown all KNOWLEDGE! Break up,
+break up, ye discerning ones, the old tables!
+
+8.
+
+When the water hath planks, when gangways and railings o’erspan the
+stream, verily, he is not believed who then saith: “All is in flux.”
+
+But even the simpletons contradict him. “What?” say the simpletons, “all
+in flux? Planks and railings are still OVER the stream!
+
+“OVER the stream all is stable, all the values of things, the bridges
+and bearings, all ‘good’ and ‘evil’: these are all STABLE!”--
+
+Cometh, however, the hard winter, the stream-tamer, then learn even the
+wittiest distrust, and verily, not only the simpletons then say: “Should
+not everything--STAND STILL?”
+
+“Fundamentally standeth everything still”--that is an appropriate winter
+doctrine, good cheer for an unproductive period, a great comfort for
+winter-sleepers and fireside-loungers.
+
+“Fundamentally standeth everything still”--: but CONTRARY thereto,
+preacheth the thawing wind!
+
+The thawing wind, a bullock, which is no ploughing bullock--a furious
+bullock, a destroyer, which with angry horns breaketh the ice! The ice
+however--BREAKETH GANGWAYS!
+
+O my brethren, is not everything AT PRESENT IN FLUX? Have not all
+railings and gangways fallen into the water? Who would still HOLD ON to
+“good” and “evil”?
+
+“Woe to us! Hail to us! The thawing wind bloweth!”--Thus preach, my
+brethren, through all the streets!
+
+9.
+
+There is an old illusion--it is called good and evil. Around soothsayers
+and astrologers hath hitherto revolved the orbit of this illusion.
+
+Once did one BELIEVE in soothsayers and astrologers; and THEREFORE did
+one believe, “Everything is fate: thou shalt, for thou must!”
+
+Then again did one distrust all soothsayers and astrologers; and
+THEREFORE did one believe, “Everything is freedom: thou canst, for thou
+willest!”
+
+O my brethren, concerning the stars and the future there hath hitherto
+been only illusion, and not knowledge; and THEREFORE concerning good and
+evil there hath hitherto been only illusion and not knowledge!
+
+10.
+
+“Thou shalt not rob! Thou shalt not slay!”--such precepts were once
+called holy; before them did one bow the knee and the head, and take off
+one’s shoes.
+
+But I ask you: Where have there ever been better robbers and slayers in
+the world than such holy precepts?
+
+Is there not even in all life--robbing and slaying? And for such
+precepts to be called holy, was not TRUTH itself thereby--slain?
+
+--Or was it a sermon of death that called holy what contradicted and
+dissuaded from life?--O my brethren, break up, break up for me the old
+tables!
+
+11.
+
+It is my sympathy with all the past that I see it is abandoned,--
+
+--Abandoned to the favour, the spirit and the madness of every
+generation that cometh, and reinterpreteth all that hath been as its
+bridge!
+
+A great potentate might arise, an artful prodigy, who with approval and
+disapproval could strain and constrain all the past, until it became for
+him a bridge, a harbinger, a herald, and a cock-crowing.
+
+This however is the other danger, and mine other sympathy:--he who is
+of the populace, his thoughts go back to his grandfather,--with his
+grandfather, however, doth time cease.
+
+Thus is all the past abandoned: for it might some day happen for the
+populace to become master, and drown all time in shallow waters.
+
+Therefore, O my brethren, a NEW NOBILITY is needed, which shall be the
+adversary of all populace and potentate rule, and shall inscribe anew
+the word “noble” on new tables.
+
+For many noble ones are needed, and many kinds of noble ones, FOR A NEW
+NOBILITY! Or, as I once said in parable: “That is just divinity, that
+there are Gods, but no God!”
+
+12.
+
+O my brethren, I consecrate you and point you to a new nobility: ye
+shall become procreators and cultivators and sowers of the future;--
+
+--Verily, not to a nobility which ye could purchase like traders with
+traders’ gold; for little worth is all that hath its price.
+
+Let it not be your honour henceforth whence ye come, but whither ye go!
+Your Will and your feet which seek to surpass you--let these be your new
+honour!
+
+Verily, not that ye have served a prince--of what account are princes
+now!--nor that ye have become a bulwark to that which standeth, that it
+may stand more firmly.
+
+Not that your family have become courtly at courts, and that ye have
+learned--gay-coloured, like the flamingo--to stand long hours in shallow
+pools:
+
+(For ABILITY-to-stand is a merit in courtiers; and all courtiers believe
+that unto blessedness after death pertaineth--PERMISSION-to-sit!)
+
+Nor even that a Spirit called Holy, led your forefathers into promised
+lands, which I do not praise: for where the worst of all trees grew--the
+cross,--in that land there is nothing to praise!--
+
+--And verily, wherever this “Holy Spirit” led its knights, always in
+such campaigns did--goats and geese, and wryheads and guyheads run
+FOREMOST!--
+
+O my brethren, not backward shall your nobility gaze, but OUTWARD!
+Exiles shall ye be from all fatherlands and forefather-lands!
+
+Your CHILDREN’S LAND shall ye love: let this love be your new
+nobility,--the undiscovered in the remotest seas! For it do I bid your
+sails search and search!
+
+Unto your children shall ye MAKE AMENDS for being the children of your
+fathers: all the past shall ye THUS redeem! This new table do I place
+over you!
+
+13.
+
+“Why should one live? All is vain! To live--that is to thrash straw; to
+live--that is to burn oneself and yet not get warm.”--
+
+Such ancient babbling still passeth for “wisdom”; because it is old,
+however, and smelleth mustily, THEREFORE is it the more honoured. Even
+mould ennobleth.--
+
+Children might thus speak: they SHUN the fire because it hath burnt
+them! There is much childishness in the old books of wisdom.
+
+And he who ever “thrasheth straw,” why should he be allowed to rail at
+thrashing! Such a fool one would have to muzzle!
+
+Such persons sit down to the table and bring nothing with them, not even
+good hunger:--and then do they rail: “All is vain!”
+
+But to eat and drink well, my brethren, is verily no vain art! Break up,
+break up for me the tables of the never-joyous ones!
+
+14.
+
+“To the clean are all things clean”--thus say the people. I, however,
+say unto you: To the swine all things become swinish!
+
+Therefore preach the visionaries and bowed-heads (whose hearts are also
+bowed down): “The world itself is a filthy monster.”
+
+For these are all unclean spirits; especially those, however, who have
+no peace or rest, unless they see the world FROM THE BACKSIDE--the
+backworldsmen!
+
+TO THOSE do I say it to the face, although it sound unpleasantly: the
+world resembleth man, in that it hath a backside,--SO MUCH is true!
+
+There is in the world much filth: SO MUCH is true! But the world itself
+is not therefore a filthy monster!
+
+There is wisdom in the fact that much in the world smelleth badly:
+loathing itself createth wings, and fountain-divining powers!
+
+In the best there is still something to loathe; and the best is still
+something that must be surpassed!--
+
+O my brethren, there is much wisdom in the fact that much filth is in
+the world!--
+
+15.
+
+Such sayings did I hear pious backworldsmen speak to their consciences,
+and verily without wickedness or guile,--although there is nothing more
+guileful in the world, or more wicked.
+
+“Let the world be as it is! Raise not a finger against it!”
+
+“Let whoever will choke and stab and skin and scrape the people: raise
+not a finger against it! Thereby will they learn to renounce the world.”
+
+“And thine own reason--this shalt thou thyself stifle and choke; for it
+is a reason of this world,--thereby wilt thou learn thyself to renounce
+the world.”--
+
+--Shatter, shatter, O my brethren, those old tables of the pious! Tatter
+the maxims of the world-maligners!--
+
+16.
+
+“He who learneth much unlearneth all violent cravings”--that do people
+now whisper to one another in all the dark lanes.
+
+“Wisdom wearieth, nothing is worth while; thou shalt not crave!”--this
+new table found I hanging even in the public markets.
+
+Break up for me, O my brethren, break up also that NEW table! The
+weary-o’-the-world put it up, and the preachers of death and the jailer:
+for lo, it is also a sermon for slavery:--
+
+Because they learned badly and not the best, and everything too early
+and everything too fast; because they ATE badly: from thence hath
+resulted their ruined stomach;--
+
+--For a ruined stomach, is their spirit: IT persuadeth to death! For
+verily, my brethren, the spirit IS a stomach!
+
+Life is a well of delight, but to him in whom the ruined stomach
+speaketh, the father of affliction, all fountains are poisoned.
+
+To discern: that is DELIGHT to the lion-willed! But he who hath become
+weary, is himself merely “willed”; with him play all the waves.
+
+And such is always the nature of weak men: they lose themselves on their
+way. And at last asketh their weariness: “Why did we ever go on the way?
+All is indifferent!”
+
+TO THEM soundeth it pleasant to have preached in their ears: “Nothing is
+worth while! Ye shall not will!” That, however, is a sermon for slavery.
+
+O my brethren, a fresh blustering wind cometh Zarathustra unto all
+way-weary ones; many noses will he yet make sneeze!
+
+Even through walls bloweth my free breath, and in into prisons and
+imprisoned spirits!
+
+Willing emancipateth: for willing is creating: so do I teach. And ONLY
+for creating shall ye learn!
+
+And also the learning shall ye LEARN only from me, the learning
+well!--He who hath ears let him hear!
+
+17.
+
+There standeth the boat--thither goeth it over, perhaps into vast
+nothingness--but who willeth to enter into this “Perhaps”?
+
+None of you want to enter into the death-boat! How should ye then be
+WORLD-WEARY ones!
+
+World-weary ones! And have not even withdrawn from the earth! Eager
+did I ever find you for the earth, amorous still of your own
+earth-weariness!
+
+Not in vain doth your lip hang down:--a small worldly wish still sitteth
+thereon! And in your eye--floateth there not a cloudlet of unforgotten
+earthly bliss?
+
+There are on the earth many good inventions, some useful, some pleasant:
+for their sake is the earth to be loved.
+
+And many such good inventions are there, that they are like woman’s
+breasts: useful at the same time, and pleasant.
+
+Ye world-weary ones, however! Ye earth-idlers! You, shall one beat with
+stripes! With stripes shall one again make you sprightly limbs.
+
+For if ye be not invalids, or decrepit creatures, of whom the earth is
+weary, then are ye sly sloths, or dainty, sneaking pleasure-cats. And if
+ye will not again RUN gaily, then shall ye--pass away!
+
+To the incurable shall one not seek to be a physician: thus teacheth
+Zarathustra:--so shall ye pass away!
+
+But more COURAGE is needed to make an end than to make a new verse: that
+do all physicians and poets know well.--
+
+18.
+
+O my brethren, there are tables which weariness framed, and tables
+which slothfulness framed, corrupt slothfulness: although they speak
+similarly, they want to be heard differently.--
+
+See this languishing one! Only a span-breadth is he from his goal; but
+from weariness hath he lain down obstinately in the dust, this brave
+one!
+
+From weariness yawneth he at the path, at the earth, at the goal, and at
+himself: not a step further will he go,--this brave one!
+
+Now gloweth the sun upon him, and the dogs lick at his sweat: but he
+lieth there in his obstinacy and preferreth to languish:--
+
+--A span-breadth from his goal, to languish! Verily, ye will have to
+drag him into his heaven by the hair of his head--this hero!
+
+Better still that ye let him lie where he hath lain down, that sleep may
+come unto him, the comforter, with cooling patter-rain.
+
+Let him lie, until of his own accord he awakeneth,--until of his own
+accord he repudiateth all weariness, and what weariness hath taught
+through him!
+
+Only, my brethren, see that ye scare the dogs away from him, the idle
+skulkers, and all the swarming vermin:--
+
+--All the swarming vermin of the “cultured,” that--feast on the sweat of
+every hero!--
+
+19.
+
+I form circles around me and holy boundaries; ever fewer ascend with
+me ever higher mountains: I build a mountain-range out of ever holier
+mountains.--
+
+But wherever ye would ascend with me, O my brethren, take care lest a
+PARASITE ascend with you!
+
+A parasite: that is a reptile, a creeping, cringing reptile, that trieth
+to fatten on your infirm and sore places.
+
+And THIS is its art: it divineth where ascending souls are weary, in
+your trouble and dejection, in your sensitive modesty, doth it build its
+loathsome nest.
+
+Where the strong are weak, where the noble are all-too-gentle--there
+buildeth it its loathsome nest; the parasite liveth where the great have
+small sore-places.
+
+What is the highest of all species of being, and what is the lowest?
+The parasite is the lowest species; he, however, who is of the highest
+species feedeth most parasites.
+
+For the soul which hath the longest ladder, and can go deepest down: how
+could there fail to be most parasites upon it?--
+
+--The most comprehensive soul, which can run and stray and rove furthest
+in itself; the most necessary soul, which out of joy flingeth itself
+into chance:--
+
+--The soul in Being, which plungeth into Becoming; the possessing soul,
+which SEEKETH to attain desire and longing:--
+
+--The soul fleeing from itself, which overtaketh itself in the widest
+circuit; the wisest soul, unto which folly speaketh most sweetly:--
+
+--The soul most self-loving, in which all things have their current and
+counter-current, their ebb and their flow:--oh, how could THE LOFTIEST
+SOUL fail to have the worst parasites?
+
+20.
+
+O my brethren, am I then cruel? But I say: What falleth, that shall one
+also push!
+
+Everything of to-day--it falleth, it decayeth; who would preserve it!
+But I--I wish also to push it!
+
+Know ye the delight which rolleth stones into precipitous depths?--Those
+men of to-day, see just how they roll into my depths!
+
+A prelude am I to better players, O my brethren! An example! DO
+according to mine example!
+
+And him whom ye do not teach to fly, teach I pray you--TO FALL FASTER!--
+
+21.
+
+I love the brave: but it is not enough to be a swordsman,--one must also
+know WHEREON to use swordsmanship!
+
+And often is it greater bravery to keep quiet and pass by, that THEREBY
+one may reserve oneself for a worthier foe!
+
+Ye shall only have foes to be hated; but not foes to be despised: ye
+must be proud of your foes. Thus have I already taught.
+
+For the worthier foe, O my brethren, shall ye reserve yourselves:
+therefore must ye pass by many a one,--
+
+--Especially many of the rabble, who din your ears with noise about
+people and peoples.
+
+Keep your eye clear of their For and Against! There is there much right,
+much wrong: he who looketh on becometh wroth.
+
+Therein viewing, therein hewing--they are the same thing: therefore
+depart into the forests and lay your sword to sleep!
+
+Go YOUR ways! and let the people and peoples go theirs!--gloomy ways,
+verily, on which not a single hope glinteth any more!
+
+Let there the trader rule, where all that still glittereth is--traders’
+gold. It is the time of kings no longer: that which now calleth itself
+the people is unworthy of kings.
+
+See how these peoples themselves now do just like the traders: they pick
+up the smallest advantage out of all kinds of rubbish!
+
+They lay lures for one another, they lure things out of one
+another,--that they call “good neighbourliness.” O blessed remote period
+when a people said to itself: “I will be--MASTER over peoples!”
+
+For, my brethren, the best shall rule, the best also WILLETH to rule!
+And where the teaching is different, there--the best is LACKING.
+
+22.
+
+If THEY had--bread for nothing, alas! for what would THEY cry! Their
+maintainment--that is their true entertainment; and they shall have it
+hard!
+
+Beasts of prey, are they: in their “working”--there is even plundering,
+in their “earning”--there is even overreaching! Therefore shall they
+have it hard!
+
+Better beasts of prey shall they thus become, subtler, cleverer, MORE
+MAN-LIKE: for man is the best beast of prey.
+
+All the animals hath man already robbed of their virtues: that is why of
+all animals it hath been hardest for man.
+
+Only the birds are still beyond him. And if man should yet learn to fly,
+alas! TO WHAT HEIGHT--would his rapacity fly!
+
+23.
+
+Thus would I have man and woman: fit for war, the one; fit for
+maternity, the other; both, however, fit for dancing with head and legs.
+
+And lost be the day to us in which a measure hath not been danced. And
+false be every truth which hath not had laughter along with it!
+
+24.
+
+Your marriage-arranging: see that it be not a bad ARRANGING! Ye have
+arranged too hastily: so there FOLLOWETH therefrom--marriage-breaking!
+
+And better marriage-breaking than marriage-bending,
+marriage-lying!--Thus spake a woman unto me: “Indeed, I broke the
+marriage, but first did the marriage break--me!”
+
+The badly paired found I ever the most revengeful: they make every one
+suffer for it that they no longer run singly.
+
+On that account want I the honest ones to say to one another: “We love
+each other: let us SEE TO IT that we maintain our love! Or shall our
+pledging be blundering?”
+
+--“Give us a set term and a small marriage, that we may see if we are
+fit for the great marriage! It is a great matter always to be twain.”
+
+Thus do I counsel all honest ones; and what would be my love to the
+Superman, and to all that is to come, if I should counsel and speak
+otherwise!
+
+Not only to propagate yourselves onwards but UPWARDS--thereto, O my
+brethren, may the garden of marriage help you!
+
+25.
+
+He who hath grown wise concerning old origins, lo, he will at last seek
+after the fountains of the future and new origins.--
+
+O my brethren, not long will it be until NEW PEOPLES shall arise and new
+fountains shall rush down into new depths.
+
+For the earthquake--it choketh up many wells, it causeth much
+languishing: but it bringeth also to light inner powers and secrets.
+
+The earthquake discloseth new fountains. In the earthquake of old
+peoples new fountains burst forth.
+
+And whoever calleth out: “Lo, here is a well for many thirsty ones, one
+heart for many longing ones, one will for many instruments”:--around him
+collecteth a PEOPLE, that is to say, many attempting ones.
+
+Who can command, who must obey--THAT IS THERE ATTEMPTED! Ah, with what
+long seeking and solving and failing and learning and re-attempting!
+
+Human society: it is an attempt--so I teach--a long seeking: it seeketh
+however the ruler!--
+
+--An attempt, my brethren! And NO “contract”! Destroy, I pray you,
+destroy that word of the soft-hearted and half-and-half!
+
+26.
+
+O my brethren! With whom lieth the greatest danger to the whole human
+future? Is it not with the good and just?--
+
+--As those who say and feel in their hearts: “We already know what
+is good and just, we possess it also; woe to those who still seek
+thereafter!”
+
+And whatever harm the wicked may do, the harm of the good is the
+harmfulest harm!
+
+And whatever harm the world-maligners may do, the harm of the good is
+the harmfulest harm!
+
+O my brethren, into the hearts of the good and just looked some one
+once on a time, who said: “They are the Pharisees.” But people did not
+understand him.
+
+The good and just themselves were not free to understand him; their
+spirit was imprisoned in their good conscience. The stupidity of the
+good is unfathomably wise.
+
+It is the truth, however, that the good MUST be Pharisees--they have no
+choice!
+
+The good MUST crucify him who deviseth his own virtue! That IS the
+truth!
+
+The second one, however, who discovered their country--the country,
+heart and soil of the good and just,--it was he who asked: “Whom do they
+hate most?”
+
+The CREATOR, hate they most, him who breaketh the tables and old values,
+the breaker,--him they call the law-breaker.
+
+For the good--they CANNOT create; they are always the beginning of the
+end:--
+
+--They crucify him who writeth new values on new tables, they sacrifice
+UNTO THEMSELVES the future--they crucify the whole human future!
+
+The good--they have always been the beginning of the end.--
+
+27.
+
+O my brethren, have ye also understood this word? And what I once said
+of the “last man”?--
+
+With whom lieth the greatest danger to the whole human future? Is it not
+with the good and just?
+
+BREAK UP, BREAK UP, I PRAY YOU, THE GOOD AND JUST!--O my brethren, have
+ye understood also this word?
+
+28.
+
+Ye flee from me? Ye are frightened? Ye tremble at this word?
+
+O my brethren, when I enjoined you to break up the good, and the tables
+of the good, then only did I embark man on his high seas.
+
+And now only cometh unto him the great terror, the great outlook, the
+great sickness, the great nausea, the great sea-sickness.
+
+False shores and false securities did the good teach you; in the lies of
+the good were ye born and bred. Everything hath been radically contorted
+and distorted by the good.
+
+But he who discovered the country of “man,” discovered also the country
+of “man’s future.” Now shall ye be sailors for me, brave, patient!
+
+Keep yourselves up betimes, my brethren, learn to keep yourselves up!
+The sea stormeth: many seek to raise themselves again by you.
+
+The sea stormeth: all is in the sea. Well! Cheer up! Ye old
+seaman-hearts!
+
+What of fatherland! THITHER striveth our helm where our CHILDREN’S LAND
+is! Thitherwards, stormier than the sea, stormeth our great longing!--
+
+29.
+
+“Why so hard!”--said to the diamond one day the charcoal; “are we then
+not near relatives?”--
+
+Why so soft? O my brethren; thus do _I_ ask you: are ye then not--my
+brethren?
+
+Why so soft, so submissive and yielding? Why is there so much negation
+and abnegation in your hearts? Why is there so little fate in your
+looks?
+
+And if ye will not be fates and inexorable ones, how can ye one day--
+conquer with me?
+
+And if your hardness will not glance and cut and chip to pieces, how can
+ye one day--create with me?
+
+For the creators are hard. And blessedness must it seem to you to press
+your hand upon millenniums as upon wax,--
+
+--Blessedness to write upon the will of millenniums as upon
+brass,--harder than brass, nobler than brass. Entirely hard is only the
+noblest.
+
+This new table, O my brethren, put I up over you: BECOME HARD!--
+
+30.
+
+O thou, my Will! Thou change of every need, MY needfulness! Preserve me
+from all small victories!
+
+Thou fatedness of my soul, which I call fate! Thou In-me! Over-me!
+Preserve and spare me for one great fate!
+
+And thy last greatness, my Will, spare it for thy last--that thou mayest
+be inexorable IN thy victory! Ah, who hath not succumbed to his victory!
+
+Ah, whose eye hath not bedimmed in this intoxicated twilight! Ah, whose
+foot hath not faltered and forgotten in victory--how to stand!--
+
+--That I may one day be ready and ripe in the great noontide: ready and
+ripe like the glowing ore, the lightning-bearing cloud, and the swelling
+milk-udder:--
+
+--Ready for myself and for my most hidden Will: a bow eager for its
+arrow, an arrow eager for its star:--
+
+--A star, ready and ripe in its noontide, glowing, pierced, blessed, by
+annihilating sun-arrows:--
+
+--A sun itself, and an inexorable sun-will, ready for annihilation in
+victory!
+
+O Will, thou change of every need, MY needfulness! Spare me for one
+great victory!---
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+LVII. THE CONVALESCENT.
+
+1.
+
+One morning, not long after his return to his cave, Zarathustra sprang
+up from his couch like a madman, crying with a frightful voice, and
+acting as if some one still lay on the couch who did not wish to rise.
+Zarathustra’s voice also resounded in such a manner that his animals
+came to him frightened, and out of all the neighbouring caves and
+lurking-places all the creatures slipped away--flying, fluttering,
+creeping or leaping, according to their variety of foot or wing.
+Zarathustra, however, spake these words:
+
+Up, abysmal thought out of my depth! I am thy cock and morning dawn,
+thou overslept reptile: Up! Up! My voice shall soon crow thee awake!
+
+Unbind the fetters of thine ears: listen! For I wish to hear thee! Up!
+Up! There is thunder enough to make the very graves listen!
+
+And rub the sleep and all the dimness and blindness out of thine eyes!
+Hear me also with thine eyes: my voice is a medicine even for those born
+blind.
+
+And once thou art awake, then shalt thou ever remain awake. It is not
+MY custom to awake great-grandmothers out of their sleep that I may bid
+them--sleep on!
+
+Thou stirrest, stretchest thyself, wheezest? Up! Up! Not wheeze, shalt
+thou,--but speak unto me! Zarathustra calleth thee, Zarathustra the
+godless!
+
+I, Zarathustra, the advocate of living, the advocate of suffering, the
+advocate of the circuit--thee do I call, my most abysmal thought!
+
+Joy to me! Thou comest,--I hear thee! Mine abyss SPEAKETH, my lowest
+depth have I turned over into the light!
+
+Joy to me! Come hither! Give me thy hand--ha! let be! aha!--Disgust,
+disgust, disgust--alas to me!
+
+2.
+
+Hardly, however, had Zarathustra spoken these words, when he fell down
+as one dead, and remained long as one dead. When however he again came
+to himself, then was he pale and trembling, and remained lying; and for
+long he would neither eat nor drink. This condition continued for seven
+days; his animals, however, did not leave him day nor night, except that
+the eagle flew forth to fetch food. And what it fetched and foraged,
+it laid on Zarathustra’s couch: so that Zarathustra at last lay among
+yellow and red berries, grapes, rosy apples, sweet-smelling herbage, and
+pine-cones. At his feet, however, two lambs were stretched, which the
+eagle had with difficulty carried off from their shepherds.
+
+At last, after seven days, Zarathustra raised himself upon his couch,
+took a rosy apple in his hand, smelt it and found its smell pleasant.
+Then did his animals think the time had come to speak unto him.
+
+“O Zarathustra,” said they, “now hast thou lain thus for seven days with
+heavy eyes: wilt thou not set thyself again upon thy feet?
+
+Step out of thy cave: the world waiteth for thee as a garden. The wind
+playeth with heavy fragrance which seeketh for thee; and all brooks
+would like to run after thee.
+
+All things long for thee, since thou hast remained alone for seven
+days--step forth out of thy cave! All things want to be thy physicians!
+
+Did perhaps a new knowledge come to thee, a bitter, grievous knowledge?
+Like leavened dough layest thou, thy soul arose and swelled beyond all
+its bounds.--”
+
+--O mine animals, answered Zarathustra, talk on thus and let me listen!
+It refresheth me so to hear your talk: where there is talk, there is the
+world as a garden unto me.
+
+How charming it is that there are words and tones; are not words and
+tones rainbows and seeming bridges ‘twixt the eternally separated?
+
+To each soul belongeth another world; to each soul is every other soul a
+back-world.
+
+Among the most alike doth semblance deceive most delightfully: for the
+smallest gap is most difficult to bridge over.
+
+For me--how could there be an outside-of-me? There is no outside! But
+this we forget on hearing tones; how delightful it is that we forget!
+
+Have not names and tones been given unto things that man may refresh
+himself with them? It is a beautiful folly, speaking; therewith danceth
+man over everything.
+
+How lovely is all speech and all falsehoods of tones! With tones danceth
+our love on variegated rainbows.--
+
+--“O Zarathustra,” said then his animals, “to those who think like us,
+things all dance themselves: they come and hold out the hand and laugh
+and flee--and return.
+
+Everything goeth, everything returneth; eternally rolleth the wheel
+of existence. Everything dieth, everything blossometh forth again;
+eternally runneth on the year of existence.
+
+Everything breaketh, everything is integrated anew; eternally buildeth
+itself the same house of existence. All things separate, all things
+again greet one another; eternally true to itself remaineth the ring of
+existence.
+
+Every moment beginneth existence, around every ‘Here’ rolleth the ball
+‘There.’ The middle is everywhere. Crooked is the path of eternity.”--
+
+--O ye wags and barrel-organs! answered Zarathustra, and smiled once
+more, how well do ye know what had to be fulfilled in seven days:--
+
+--And how that monster crept into my throat and choked me! But I bit off
+its head and spat it away from me.
+
+And ye--ye have made a lyre-lay out of it? Now, however, do I lie here,
+still exhausted with that biting and spitting-away, still sick with mine
+own salvation.
+
+AND YE LOOKED ON AT IT ALL? O mine animals, are ye also cruel? Did
+ye like to look at my great pain as men do? For man is the cruellest
+animal.
+
+At tragedies, bull-fights, and crucifixions hath he hitherto been
+happiest on earth; and when he invented his hell, behold, that was his
+heaven on earth.
+
+When the great man crieth--: immediately runneth the little man thither,
+and his tongue hangeth out of his mouth for very lusting. He, however,
+calleth it his “pity.”
+
+The little man, especially the poet--how passionately doth he accuse
+life in words! Hearken to him, but do not fail to hear the delight which
+is in all accusation!
+
+Such accusers of life--them life overcometh with a glance of the eye.
+“Thou lovest me?” saith the insolent one; “wait a little, as yet have I
+no time for thee.”
+
+Towards himself man is the cruellest animal; and in all who call
+themselves “sinners” and “bearers of the cross” and “penitents,” do not
+overlook the voluptuousness in their plaints and accusations!
+
+And I myself--do I thereby want to be man’s accuser? Ah, mine animals,
+this only have I learned hitherto, that for man his baddest is necessary
+for his best,--
+
+--That all that is baddest is the best POWER, and the hardest stone for
+the highest creator; and that man must become better AND badder:--
+
+Not to THIS torture-stake was I tied, that I know man is bad,--but I
+cried, as no one hath yet cried:
+
+“Ah, that his baddest is so very small! Ah, that his best is so very
+small!”
+
+The great disgust at man--IT strangled me and had crept into my throat:
+and what the soothsayer had presaged: “All is alike, nothing is worth
+while, knowledge strangleth.”
+
+A long twilight limped on before me, a fatally weary, fatally
+intoxicated sadness, which spake with yawning mouth.
+
+“Eternally he returneth, the man of whom thou art weary, the small
+man”--so yawned my sadness, and dragged its foot and could not go to
+sleep.
+
+A cavern, became the human earth to me; its breast caved in; everything
+living became to me human dust and bones and mouldering past.
+
+My sighing sat on all human graves, and could no longer arise: my
+sighing and questioning croaked and choked, and gnawed and nagged day
+and night:
+
+--“Ah, man returneth eternally! The small man returneth eternally!”
+
+Naked had I once seen both of them, the greatest man and the smallest
+man: all too like one another--all too human, even the greatest man!
+
+All too small, even the greatest man!--that was my disgust at man! And
+the eternal return also of the smallest man!--that was my disgust at all
+existence!
+
+Ah, Disgust! Disgust! Disgust!--Thus spake Zarathustra, and sighed and
+shuddered; for he remembered his sickness. Then did his animals prevent
+him from speaking further.
+
+“Do not speak further, thou convalescent!”--so answered his animals,
+“but go out where the world waiteth for thee like a garden.
+
+Go out unto the roses, the bees, and the flocks of doves! Especially,
+however, unto the singing-birds, to learn SINGING from them!
+
+For singing is for the convalescent; the sound ones may talk. And
+when the sound also want songs, then want they other songs than the
+convalescent.”
+
+--“O ye wags and barrel-organs, do be silent!” answered Zarathustra, and
+smiled at his animals. “How well ye know what consolation I devised for
+myself in seven days!
+
+That I have to sing once more--THAT consolation did I devise for myself,
+and THIS convalescence: would ye also make another lyre-lay thereof?”
+
+--“Do not talk further,” answered his animals once more; “rather, thou
+convalescent, prepare for thyself first a lyre, a new lyre!
+
+For behold, O Zarathustra! For thy new lays there are needed new lyres.
+
+Sing and bubble over, O Zarathustra, heal thy soul with new lays: that
+thou mayest bear thy great fate, which hath not yet been any one’s fate!
+
+For thine animals know it well, O Zarathustra, who thou art and must
+become: behold, THOU ART THE TEACHER OF THE ETERNAL RETURN,--that is now
+THY fate!
+
+That thou must be the first to teach this teaching--how could this great
+fate not be thy greatest danger and infirmity!
+
+Behold, we know what thou teachest: that all things eternally return,
+and ourselves with them, and that we have already existed times without
+number, and all things with us.
+
+Thou teachest that there is a great year of Becoming, a prodigy of a
+great year; it must, like a sand-glass, ever turn up anew, that it may
+anew run down and run out:--
+
+--So that all those years are like one another in the greatest and also
+in the smallest, so that we ourselves, in every great year, are like
+ourselves in the greatest and also in the smallest.
+
+And if thou wouldst now die, O Zarathustra, behold, we know also how
+thou wouldst then speak to thyself:--but thine animals beseech thee not
+to die yet!
+
+Thou wouldst speak, and without trembling, buoyant rather with bliss,
+for a great weight and worry would be taken from thee, thou patientest
+one!--
+
+‘Now do I die and disappear,’ wouldst thou say, ‘and in a moment I am
+nothing. Souls are as mortal as bodies.
+
+But the plexus of causes returneth in which I am intertwined,--it will
+again create me! I myself pertain to the causes of the eternal return.
+
+I come again with this sun, with this earth, with this eagle, with this
+serpent--NOT to a new life, or a better life, or a similar life:
+
+--I come again eternally to this identical and selfsame life, in its
+greatest and its smallest, to teach again the eternal return of all
+things,--
+
+--To speak again the word of the great noontide of earth and man, to
+announce again to man the Superman.
+
+I have spoken my word. I break down by my word: so willeth mine eternal
+fate--as announcer do I succumb!
+
+The hour hath now come for the down-goer to bless himself. Thus--ENDETH
+Zarathustra’s down-going.’”--
+
+When the animals had spoken these words they were silent and waited, so
+that Zarathustra might say something to them: but Zarathustra did not
+hear that they were silent. On the contrary, he lay quietly with closed
+eyes like a person sleeping, although he did not sleep; for he communed
+just then with his soul. The serpent, however, and the eagle, when they
+found him silent in such wise, respected the great stillness around him,
+and prudently retired.
+
+
+
+
+LVIII. THE GREAT LONGING.
+
+O my soul, I have taught thee to say “to-day” as “once on a time” and
+“formerly,” and to dance thy measure over every Here and There and
+Yonder.
+
+O my soul, I delivered thee from all by-places, I brushed down from thee
+dust and spiders and twilight.
+
+O my soul, I washed the petty shame and the by-place virtue from thee,
+and persuaded thee to stand naked before the eyes of the sun.
+
+With the storm that is called “spirit” did I blow over thy surging
+sea; all clouds did I blow away from it; I strangled even the strangler
+called “sin.”
+
+O my soul, I gave thee the right to say Nay like the storm, and to say
+Yea as the open heaven saith Yea: calm as the light remainest thou, and
+now walkest through denying storms.
+
+O my soul, I restored to thee liberty over the created and the
+uncreated; and who knoweth, as thou knowest, the voluptuousness of the
+future?
+
+O my soul, I taught thee the contempt which doth not come like
+worm-eating, the great, the loving contempt, which loveth most where it
+contemneth most.
+
+O my soul, I taught thee so to persuade that thou persuadest even the
+grounds themselves to thee: like the sun, which persuadeth even the sea
+to its height.
+
+O my soul, I have taken from thee all obeying and knee-bending and
+homage-paying; I have myself given thee the names, “Change of need” and
+“Fate.”
+
+O my soul, I have given thee new names and gay-coloured playthings,
+I have called thee “Fate” and “the Circuit of circuits” and “the
+Navel-string of time” and “the Azure bell.”
+
+O my soul, to thy domain gave I all wisdom to drink, all new wines, and
+also all immemorially old strong wines of wisdom.
+
+O my soul, every sun shed I upon thee, and every night and every silence
+and every longing:--then grewest thou up for me as a vine.
+
+O my soul, exuberant and heavy dost thou now stand forth, a vine with
+swelling udders and full clusters of brown golden grapes:--
+
+--Filled and weighted by thy happiness, waiting from superabundance, and
+yet ashamed of thy waiting.
+
+O my soul, there is nowhere a soul which could be more loving and more
+comprehensive and more extensive! Where could future and past be closer
+together than with thee?
+
+O my soul, I have given thee everything, and all my hands have become
+empty by thee:--and now! Now sayest thou to me, smiling and full of
+melancholy: “Which of us oweth thanks?--
+
+--Doth the giver not owe thanks because the receiver received? Is
+bestowing not a necessity? Is receiving not--pitying?”--
+
+O my soul, I understand the smiling of thy melancholy: thine
+over-abundance itself now stretcheth out longing hands!
+
+Thy fulness looketh forth over raging seas, and seeketh and waiteth: the
+longing of over-fulness looketh forth from the smiling heaven of thine
+eyes!
+
+And verily, O my soul! Who could see thy smiling and not melt
+into tears? The angels themselves melt into tears through the
+over-graciousness of thy smiling.
+
+Thy graciousness and over-graciousness, is it which will not complain
+and weep: and yet, O my soul, longeth thy smiling for tears, and thy
+trembling mouth for sobs.
+
+“Is not all weeping complaining? And all complaining, accusing?” Thus
+speakest thou to thyself; and therefore, O my soul, wilt thou rather
+smile than pour forth thy grief--
+
+--Than in gushing tears pour forth all thy grief concerning thy
+fulness, and concerning the craving of the vine for the vintager and
+vintage-knife!
+
+But wilt thou not weep, wilt thou not weep forth thy purple melancholy,
+then wilt thou have to SING, O my soul!--Behold, I smile myself, who
+foretell thee this:
+
+--Thou wilt have to sing with passionate song, until all seas turn calm
+to hearken unto thy longing,--
+
+--Until over calm longing seas the bark glideth, the golden marvel,
+around the gold of which all good, bad, and marvellous things frisk:--
+
+--Also many large and small animals, and everything that hath light
+marvellous feet, so that it can run on violet-blue paths,--
+
+--Towards the golden marvel, the spontaneous bark, and its master: he,
+however, is the vintager who waiteth with the diamond vintage-knife,--
+
+--Thy great deliverer, O my soul, the nameless one--for whom future
+songs only will find names! And verily, already hath thy breath the
+fragrance of future songs,--
+
+--Already glowest thou and dreamest, already drinkest thou thirstily at
+all deep echoing wells of consolation, already reposeth thy melancholy
+in the bliss of future songs!--
+
+O my soul, now have I given thee all, and even my last possession, and
+all my hands have become empty by thee:--THAT I BADE THEE SING, behold,
+that was my last thing to give!
+
+That I bade thee sing,--say now, say: WHICH of us now--oweth thanks?--
+Better still, however: sing unto me, sing, O my soul! And let me thank
+thee!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+LIX. THE SECOND DANCE-SONG.
+
+1.
+
+“Into thine eyes gazed I lately, O Life: gold saw I gleam in thy
+night-eyes,--my heart stood still with delight:
+
+--A golden bark saw I gleam on darkened waters, a sinking, drinking,
+reblinking, golden swing-bark!
+
+At my dance-frantic foot, dost thou cast a glance, a laughing,
+questioning, melting, thrown glance:
+
+Twice only movedst thou thy rattle with thy little hands--then did my
+feet swing with dance-fury.--
+
+My heels reared aloft, my toes they hearkened,--thee they would know:
+hath not the dancer his ear--in his toe!
+
+Unto thee did I spring: then fledst thou back from my bound; and towards
+me waved thy fleeing, flying tresses round!
+
+Away from thee did I spring, and from thy snaky tresses: then stoodst
+thou there half-turned, and in thine eye caresses.
+
+With crooked glances--dost thou teach me crooked courses; on crooked
+courses learn my feet--crafty fancies!
+
+I fear thee near, I love thee far; thy flight allureth me, thy seeking
+secureth me:--I suffer, but for thee, what would I not gladly bear!
+
+For thee, whose coldness inflameth, whose hatred misleadeth, whose
+flight enchaineth, whose mockery--pleadeth:
+
+--Who would not hate thee, thou great bindress, inwindress, temptress,
+seekress, findress! Who would not love thee, thou innocent, impatient,
+wind-swift, child-eyed sinner!
+
+Whither pullest thou me now, thou paragon and tomboy? And now foolest
+thou me fleeing; thou sweet romp dost annoy!
+
+I dance after thee, I follow even faint traces lonely. Where art thou?
+Give me thy hand! Or thy finger only!
+
+Here are caves and thickets: we shall go astray!--Halt! Stand still!
+Seest thou not owls and bats in fluttering fray?
+
+Thou bat! Thou owl! Thou wouldst play me foul? Where are we? From the
+dogs hast thou learned thus to bark and howl.
+
+Thou gnashest on me sweetly with little white teeth; thine evil eyes
+shoot out upon me, thy curly little mane from underneath!
+
+This is a dance over stock and stone: I am the hunter,--wilt thou be my
+hound, or my chamois anon?
+
+Now beside me! And quickly, wickedly springing! Now up! And over!--Alas!
+I have fallen myself overswinging!
+
+Oh, see me lying, thou arrogant one, and imploring grace! Gladly would I
+walk with thee--in some lovelier place!
+
+--In the paths of love, through bushes variegated, quiet, trim! Or there
+along the lake, where gold-fishes dance and swim!
+
+Thou art now a-weary? There above are sheep and sun-set stripes: is it
+not sweet to sleep--the shepherd pipes?
+
+Thou art so very weary? I carry thee thither; let just thine arm sink!
+And art thou thirsty--I should have something; but thy mouth would not
+like it to drink!--
+
+--Oh, that cursed, nimble, supple serpent and lurking-witch! Where art
+thou gone? But in my face do I feel through thy hand, two spots and red
+blotches itch!
+
+I am verily weary of it, ever thy sheepish shepherd to be. Thou witch,
+if I have hitherto sung unto thee, now shalt THOU--cry unto me!
+
+To the rhythm of my whip shalt thou dance and cry! I forget not my
+whip?--Not I!”--
+
+2.
+
+Then did Life answer me thus, and kept thereby her fine ears closed:
+
+“O Zarathustra! Crack not so terribly with thy whip! Thou knowest surely
+that noise killeth thought,--and just now there came to me such delicate
+thoughts.
+
+We are both of us genuine ne’er-do-wells and ne’er-do-ills. Beyond
+good and evil found we our island and our green meadow--we two alone!
+Therefore must we be friendly to each other!
+
+And even should we not love each other from the bottom of our
+hearts,--must we then have a grudge against each other if we do not love
+each other perfectly?
+
+And that I am friendly to thee, and often too friendly, that knowest
+thou: and the reason is that I am envious of thy Wisdom. Ah, this mad
+old fool, Wisdom!
+
+If thy Wisdom should one day run away from thee, ah! then would also my
+love run away from thee quickly.”--
+
+Thereupon did Life look thoughtfully behind and around, and said softly:
+“O Zarathustra, thou art not faithful enough to me!
+
+Thou lovest me not nearly so much as thou sayest; I know thou thinkest
+of soon leaving me.
+
+There is an old heavy, heavy, booming-clock: it boometh by night up to
+thy cave:--
+
+--When thou hearest this clock strike the hours at midnight, then
+thinkest thou between one and twelve thereon--
+
+--Thou thinkest thereon, O Zarathustra, I know it--of soon leaving
+me!”--
+
+“Yea,” answered I, hesitatingly, “but thou knowest it also”--And I
+said something into her ear, in amongst her confused, yellow, foolish
+tresses.
+
+“Thou KNOWEST that, O Zarathustra? That knoweth no one--”
+
+And we gazed at each other, and looked at the green meadow o’er which
+the cool evening was just passing, and we wept together.--Then, however,
+was Life dearer unto me than all my Wisdom had ever been.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+3.
+
+_One!_
+
+O man! Take heed!
+
+_Two!_
+
+What saith deep midnight’s voice indeed?
+
+_Three!_
+
+“I slept my sleep--
+
+_Four!_
+
+“From deepest dream I’ve woke and plead:--
+
+_Five!_
+
+“The world is deep,
+
+_Six!_
+
+“And deeper than the day could read.
+
+_Seven!_
+
+“Deep is its woe--
+
+_Eight!_
+
+“Joy--deeper still than grief can be:
+
+_Nine!_
+
+“Woe saith: Hence! Go!
+
+_Ten!_
+
+“But joys all want eternity--
+
+_Eleven!_
+
+“Want deep profound eternity!”
+
+_Twelve!_
+
+
+
+
+LX. THE SEVEN SEALS.
+
+(OR THE YEA AND AMEN LAY.)
+
+1.
+
+If I be a diviner and full of the divining spirit which wandereth on
+high mountain-ridges, ‘twixt two seas,--
+
+Wandereth ‘twixt the past and the future as a heavy cloud--hostile to
+sultry plains, and to all that is weary and can neither die nor live:
+
+Ready for lightning in its dark bosom, and for the redeeming flash of
+light, charged with lightnings which say Yea! which laugh Yea! ready for
+divining flashes of lightning:--
+
+--Blessed, however, is he who is thus charged! And verily, long must he
+hang like a heavy tempest on the mountain, who shall one day kindle the
+light of the future!--
+
+Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity and for the marriage-ring of
+rings--the ring of the return?
+
+Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
+
+FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!
+
+2.
+
+If ever my wrath hath burst graves, shifted landmarks, or rolled old
+shattered tables into precipitous depths:
+
+If ever my scorn hath scattered mouldered words to the winds, and if I
+have come like a besom to cross-spiders, and as a cleansing wind to old
+charnel-houses:
+
+If ever I have sat rejoicing where old Gods lie buried, world-blessing,
+world-loving, beside the monuments of old world-maligners:--
+
+--For even churches and Gods’-graves do I love, if only heaven looketh
+through their ruined roofs with pure eyes; gladly do I sit like grass
+and red poppies on ruined churches--
+
+Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of
+rings--the ring of the return?
+
+Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
+
+FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!
+
+3.
+
+If ever a breath hath come to me of the creative breath, and of the
+heavenly necessity which compelleth even chances to dance star-dances:
+
+If ever I have laughed with the laughter of the creative lightning,
+to which the long thunder of the deed followeth, grumblingly, but
+obediently:
+
+If ever I have played dice with the Gods at the divine table of
+the earth, so that the earth quaked and ruptured, and snorted forth
+fire-streams:--
+
+--For a divine table is the earth, and trembling with new creative
+dictums and dice-casts of the Gods:
+
+Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of
+rings--the ring of the return?
+
+Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
+
+FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!
+
+4.
+
+If ever I have drunk a full draught of the foaming spice- and
+confection-bowl in which all things are well mixed:
+
+If ever my hand hath mingled the furthest with the nearest, fire with
+spirit, joy with sorrow, and the harshest with the kindest:
+
+If I myself am a grain of the saving salt which maketh everything in the
+confection-bowl mix well:--
+
+--For there is a salt which uniteth good with evil; and even the evilest
+is worthy, as spicing and as final over-foaming:--
+
+Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of
+rings--the ring of the return?
+
+Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
+
+FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!
+
+5.
+
+If I be fond of the sea, and all that is sealike, and fondest of it when
+it angrily contradicteth me:
+
+If the exploring delight be in me, which impelleth sails to the
+undiscovered, if the seafarer’s delight be in my delight:
+
+If ever my rejoicing hath called out: “The shore hath vanished,--now
+hath fallen from me the last chain--
+
+The boundless roareth around me, far away sparkle for me space and
+time,--well! cheer up! old heart!”--
+
+Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of
+rings--the ring of the return?
+
+Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
+
+FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!
+
+6.
+
+If my virtue be a dancer’s virtue, and if I have often sprung with both
+feet into golden-emerald rapture:
+
+If my wickedness be a laughing wickedness, at home among rose-banks and
+hedges of lilies:
+
+--For in laughter is all evil present, but it is sanctified and absolved
+by its own bliss:--
+
+And if it be my Alpha and Omega that everything heavy shall become
+light, every body a dancer, and every spirit a bird: and verily, that is
+my Alpha and Omega!--
+
+Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of
+rings--the ring of the return?
+
+Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
+
+FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!
+
+7.
+
+If ever I have spread out a tranquil heaven above me, and have flown
+into mine own heaven with mine own pinions:
+
+If I have swum playfully in profound luminous distances, and if my
+freedom’s avian wisdom hath come to me:--
+
+--Thus however speaketh avian wisdom:--“Lo, there is no above and no
+below! Throw thyself about,--outward, backward, thou light one! Sing!
+speak no more!
+
+--Are not all words made for the heavy? Do not all words lie to the
+light ones? Sing! speak no more!”--
+
+Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of
+rings--the ring of the return?
+
+Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
+
+FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!
+
+
+
+
+FOURTH AND LAST PART.
+
+Ah, where in the world have there been greater follies than with the
+pitiful? And what in the world hath caused more suffering than the
+follies of the pitiful?
+
+Woe unto all loving ones who have not an elevation which is above their
+pity!
+
+Thus spake the devil unto me, once on a time: “Even God hath his hell:
+it is his love for man.”
+
+And lately did I hear him say these words: “God is dead: of his pity for
+man hath God died.”--ZARATHUSTRA, II., “The Pitiful.”
+
+
+
+
+LXI. THE HONEY SACRIFICE.
+
+--And again passed moons and years over Zarathustra’s soul, and he
+heeded it not; his hair, however, became white. One day when he sat on
+a stone in front of his cave, and gazed calmly into the distance--one
+there gazeth out on the sea, and away beyond sinuous abysses,--then went
+his animals thoughtfully round about him, and at last set themselves in
+front of him.
+
+“O Zarathustra,” said they, “gazest thou out perhaps for thy
+happiness?”--“Of what account is my happiness!” answered he, “I have
+long ceased to strive any more for happiness, I strive for my work.”--“O
+Zarathustra,” said the animals once more, “that sayest thou as one
+who hath overmuch of good things. Liest thou not in a sky-blue lake of
+happiness?”--“Ye wags,” answered Zarathustra, and smiled, “how well did
+ye choose the simile! But ye know also that my happiness is heavy, and
+not like a fluid wave of water: it presseth me and will not leave me,
+and is like molten pitch.”--
+
+Then went his animals again thoughtfully around him, and placed
+themselves once more in front of him. “O Zarathustra,” said they, “it is
+consequently FOR THAT REASON that thou thyself always becometh yellower
+and darker, although thy hair looketh white and flaxen? Lo, thou sittest
+in thy pitch!”--“What do ye say, mine animals?” said Zarathustra,
+laughing; “verily I reviled when I spake of pitch. As it happeneth with
+me, so is it with all fruits that turn ripe. It is the HONEY in my veins
+that maketh my blood thicker, and also my soul stiller.”--“So will it
+be, O Zarathustra,” answered his animals, and pressed up to him; “but
+wilt thou not to-day ascend a high mountain? The air is pure, and to-day
+one seeth more of the world than ever.”--“Yea, mine animals,” answered
+he, “ye counsel admirably and according to my heart: I will to-day
+ascend a high mountain! But see that honey is there ready to hand,
+yellow, white, good, ice-cool, golden-comb-honey. For know that when
+aloft I will make the honey-sacrifice.”--
+
+When Zarathustra, however, was aloft on the summit, he sent his animals
+home that had accompanied him, and found that he was now alone:--then he
+laughed from the bottom of his heart, looked around him, and spake thus:
+
+That I spake of sacrifices and honey-sacrifices, it was merely a ruse
+in talking and verily, a useful folly! Here aloft can I now speak freer
+than in front of mountain-caves and anchorites’ domestic animals.
+
+What to sacrifice! I squander what is given me, a squanderer with a
+thousand hands: how could I call that--sacrificing?
+
+And when I desired honey I only desired bait, and sweet mucus and
+mucilage, for which even the mouths of growling bears, and strange,
+sulky, evil birds, water:
+
+--The best bait, as huntsmen and fishermen require it. For if the world
+be as a gloomy forest of animals, and a pleasure-ground for all wild
+huntsmen, it seemeth to me rather--and preferably--a fathomless, rich
+sea;
+
+--A sea full of many-hued fishes and crabs, for which even the Gods
+might long, and might be tempted to become fishers in it, and casters of
+nets,--so rich is the world in wonderful things, great and small!
+
+Especially the human world, the human sea:--towards IT do I now throw
+out my golden angle-rod and say: Open up, thou human abyss!
+
+Open up, and throw unto me thy fish and shining crabs! With my best bait
+shall I allure to myself to-day the strangest human fish!
+
+--My happiness itself do I throw out into all places far and wide ‘twixt
+orient, noontide, and occident, to see if many human fish will not learn
+to hug and tug at my happiness;--
+
+Until, biting at my sharp hidden hooks, they have to come up unto MY
+height, the motleyest abyss-groundlings, to the wickedest of all fishers
+of men.
+
+For THIS am I from the heart and from the beginning--drawing,
+hither-drawing, upward-drawing, upbringing; a drawer, a trainer, a
+training-master, who not in vain counselled himself once on a time:
+“Become what thou art!”
+
+Thus may men now come UP to me; for as yet do I await the signs that it
+is time for my down-going; as yet do I not myself go down, as I must do,
+amongst men.
+
+Therefore do I here wait, crafty and scornful upon high mountains,
+no impatient one, no patient one; rather one who hath even unlearnt
+patience,--because he no longer “suffereth.”
+
+For my fate giveth me time: it hath forgotten me perhaps? Or doth it sit
+behind a big stone and catch flies?
+
+And verily, I am well-disposed to mine eternal fate, because it doth not
+hound and hurry me, but leaveth me time for merriment and mischief; so
+that I have to-day ascended this high mountain to catch fish.
+
+Did ever any one catch fish upon high mountains? And though it be a
+folly what I here seek and do, it is better so than that down below I
+should become solemn with waiting, and green and yellow--
+
+--A posturing wrath-snorter with waiting, a holy howl-storm from
+the mountains, an impatient one that shouteth down into the valleys:
+“Hearken, else I will scourge you with the scourge of God!”
+
+Not that I would have a grudge against such wrathful ones on that
+account: they are well enough for laughter to me! Impatient must they
+now be, those big alarm-drums, which find a voice now or never!
+
+Myself, however, and my fate--we do not talk to the Present, neither
+do we talk to the Never: for talking we have patience and time and more
+than time. For one day must it yet come, and may not pass by.
+
+What must one day come and may not pass by? Our great Hazar, that is
+to say, our great, remote human-kingdom, the Zarathustra-kingdom of a
+thousand years--
+
+How remote may such “remoteness” be? What doth it concern me? But on
+that account it is none the less sure unto me--, with both feet stand I
+secure on this ground;
+
+--On an eternal ground, on hard primary rock, on this highest, hardest,
+primary mountain-ridge, unto which all winds come, as unto the
+storm-parting, asking Where? and Whence? and Whither?
+
+Here laugh, laugh, my hearty, healthy wickedness! From high mountains
+cast down thy glittering scorn-laughter! Allure for me with thy
+glittering the finest human fish!
+
+And whatever belongeth unto ME in all seas, my in-and-for-me in all
+things--fish THAT out for me, bring THAT up to me: for that do I wait,
+the wickedest of all fish-catchers.
+
+Out! out! my fishing-hook! In and down, thou bait of my happiness! Drip
+thy sweetest dew, thou honey of my heart! Bite, my fishing-hook, into
+the belly of all black affliction!
+
+Look out, look out, mine eye! Oh, how many seas round about me, what
+dawning human futures! And above me--what rosy red stillness! What
+unclouded silence!
+
+
+
+
+LXII. THE CRY OF DISTRESS.
+
+The next day sat Zarathustra again on the stone in front of his cave,
+whilst his animals roved about in the world outside to bring home new
+food,--also new honey: for Zarathustra had spent and wasted the old
+honey to the very last particle. When he thus sat, however, with a
+stick in his hand, tracing the shadow of his figure on the earth, and
+reflecting--verily! not upon himself and his shadow,--all at once he
+startled and shrank back: for he saw another shadow beside his own.
+And when he hastily looked around and stood up, behold, there stood the
+soothsayer beside him, the same whom he had once given to eat and drink
+at his table, the proclaimer of the great weariness, who taught: “All is
+alike, nothing is worth while, the world is without meaning, knowledge
+strangleth.” But his face had changed since then; and when Zarathustra
+looked into his eyes, his heart was startled once more: so much evil
+announcement and ashy-grey lightnings passed over that countenance.
+
+The soothsayer, who had perceived what went on in Zarathustra’s soul,
+wiped his face with his hand, as if he would wipe out the impression;
+the same did also Zarathustra. And when both of them had thus silently
+composed and strengthened themselves, they gave each other the hand, as
+a token that they wanted once more to recognise each other.
+
+“Welcome hither,” said Zarathustra, “thou soothsayer of the great
+weariness, not in vain shalt thou once have been my messmate and guest.
+Eat and drink also with me to-day, and forgive it that a cheerful old
+man sitteth with thee at table!”--“A cheerful old man?” answered the
+soothsayer, shaking his head, “but whoever thou art, or wouldst be, O
+Zarathustra, thou hast been here aloft the longest time,--in a little
+while thy bark shall no longer rest on dry land!”--“Do I then rest
+on dry land?”--asked Zarathustra, laughing.--“The waves around thy
+mountain,” answered the soothsayer, “rise and rise, the waves of great
+distress and affliction: they will soon raise thy bark also and carry
+thee away.”--Thereupon was Zarathustra silent and wondered.--“Dost thou
+still hear nothing?” continued the soothsayer: “doth it not rush and
+roar out of the depth?”--Zarathustra was silent once more and listened:
+then heard he a long, long cry, which the abysses threw to one another
+and passed on; for none of them wished to retain it: so evil did it
+sound.
+
+“Thou ill announcer,” said Zarathustra at last, “that is a cry of
+distress, and the cry of a man; it may come perhaps out of a black sea.
+But what doth human distress matter to me! My last sin which hath been
+reserved for me,--knowest thou what it is called?”
+
+--“PITY!” answered the soothsayer from an overflowing heart, and raised
+both his hands aloft--“O Zarathustra, I have come that I may seduce thee
+to thy last sin!”--
+
+And hardly had those words been uttered when there sounded the cry
+once more, and longer and more alarming than before--also much nearer.
+“Hearest thou? Hearest thou, O Zarathustra?” called out the soothsayer,
+“the cry concerneth thee, it calleth thee: Come, come, come; it is time,
+it is the highest time!”--
+
+Zarathustra was silent thereupon, confused and staggered; at last he
+asked, like one who hesitateth in himself: “And who is it that there
+calleth me?”
+
+“But thou knowest it, certainly,” answered the soothsayer warmly, “why
+dost thou conceal thyself? It is THE HIGHER MAN that crieth for thee!”
+
+“The higher man?” cried Zarathustra, horror-stricken: “what wanteth HE?
+What wanteth HE? The higher man! What wanteth he here?”--and his skin
+covered with perspiration.
+
+The soothsayer, however, did not heed Zarathustra’s alarm, but listened
+and listened in the downward direction. When, however, it had been still
+there for a long while, he looked behind, and saw Zarathustra standing
+trembling.
+
+“O Zarathustra,” he began, with sorrowful voice, “thou dost not stand
+there like one whose happiness maketh him giddy: thou wilt have to dance
+lest thou tumble down!
+
+But although thou shouldst dance before me, and leap all thy side-leaps,
+no one may say unto me: ‘Behold, here danceth the last joyous man!’
+
+In vain would any one come to this height who sought HIM here: caves
+would he find, indeed, and back-caves, hiding-places for hidden ones;
+but not lucky mines, nor treasure-chambers, nor new gold-veins of
+happiness.
+
+Happiness--how indeed could one find happiness among such buried-alive
+and solitary ones! Must I yet seek the last happiness on the Happy
+Isles, and far away among forgotten seas?
+
+But all is alike, nothing is worth while, no seeking is of service,
+there are no longer any Happy Isles!”--
+
+Thus sighed the soothsayer; with his last sigh, however, Zarathustra
+again became serene and assured, like one who hath come out of a deep
+chasm into the light. “Nay! Nay! Three times Nay!” exclaimed he with a
+strong voice, and stroked his beard--“THAT do I know better! There are
+still Happy Isles! Silence THEREON, thou sighing sorrow-sack!
+
+Cease to splash THEREON, thou rain-cloud of the forenoon! Do I not
+already stand here wet with thy misery, and drenched like a dog?
+
+Now do I shake myself and run away from thee, that I may again become
+dry: thereat mayest thou not wonder! Do I seem to thee discourteous?
+Here however is MY court.
+
+But as regards the higher man: well! I shall seek him at once in those
+forests: FROM THENCE came his cry. Perhaps he is there hard beset by an
+evil beast.
+
+He is in MY domain: therein shall he receive no scath! And verily, there
+are many evil beasts about me.”--
+
+With those words Zarathustra turned around to depart. Then said the
+soothsayer: “O Zarathustra, thou art a rogue!
+
+I know it well: thou wouldst fain be rid of me! Rather wouldst thou run
+into the forest and lay snares for evil beasts!
+
+But what good will it do thee? In the evening wilt thou have me again:
+in thine own cave will I sit, patient and heavy like a block--and wait
+for thee!”
+
+“So be it!” shouted back Zarathustra, as he went away: “and what is mine
+in my cave belongeth also unto thee, my guest!
+
+Shouldst thou however find honey therein, well! just lick it up, thou
+growling bear, and sweeten thy soul! For in the evening we want both to
+be in good spirits;
+
+--In good spirits and joyful, because this day hath come to an end! And
+thou thyself shalt dance to my lays, as my dancing-bear.
+
+Thou dost not believe this? Thou shakest thy head? Well! Cheer up, old
+bear! But I also--am a soothsayer.”
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+LXIII. TALK WITH THE KINGS.
+
+1.
+
+Ere Zarathustra had been an hour on his way in the mountains and
+forests, he saw all at once a strange procession. Right on the path
+which he was about to descend came two kings walking, bedecked with
+crowns and purple girdles, and variegated like flamingoes: they drove
+before them a laden ass. “What do these kings want in my domain?” said
+Zarathustra in astonishment to his heart, and hid himself hastily behind
+a thicket. When however the kings approached to him, he said half-aloud,
+like one speaking only to himself: “Strange! Strange! How doth this
+harmonise? Two kings do I see--and only one ass!”
+
+Thereupon the two kings made a halt; they smiled and looked towards the
+spot whence the voice proceeded, and afterwards looked into each other’s
+faces. “Such things do we also think among ourselves,” said the king on
+the right, “but we do not utter them.”
+
+The king on the left, however, shrugged his shoulders and answered:
+“That may perhaps be a goat-herd. Or an anchorite who hath lived too
+long among rocks and trees. For no society at all spoileth also good
+manners.”
+
+“Good manners?” replied angrily and bitterly the other king: “what
+then do we run out of the way of? Is it not ‘good manners’? Our ‘good
+society’?
+
+Better, verily, to live among anchorites and goat-herds, than with
+our gilded, false, over-rouged populace--though it call itself ‘good
+society.’
+
+--Though it call itself ‘nobility.’ But there all is false and foul,
+above all the blood--thanks to old evil diseases and worse curers.
+
+The best and dearest to me at present is still a sound peasant, coarse,
+artful, obstinate and enduring: that is at present the noblest type.
+
+The peasant is at present the best; and the peasant type should be
+master! But it is the kingdom of the populace--I no longer allow
+anything to be imposed upon me. The populace, however--that meaneth,
+hodgepodge.
+
+Populace-hodgepodge: therein is everything mixed with everything, saint
+and swindler, gentleman and Jew, and every beast out of Noah’s ark.
+
+Good manners! Everything is false and foul with us. No one knoweth any
+longer how to reverence: it is THAT precisely that we run away from.
+They are fulsome obtrusive dogs; they gild palm-leaves.
+
+This loathing choketh me, that we kings ourselves have become false,
+draped and disguised with the old faded pomp of our ancestors,
+show-pieces for the stupidest, the craftiest, and whosoever at present
+trafficketh for power.
+
+We ARE NOT the first men--and have nevertheless to STAND FOR them: of
+this imposture have we at last become weary and disgusted.
+
+From the rabble have we gone out of the way, from all those bawlers and
+scribe-blowflies, from the trader-stench, the ambition-fidgeting, the
+bad breath--: fie, to live among the rabble;
+
+--Fie, to stand for the first men among the rabble! Ah, loathing!
+Loathing! Loathing! What doth it now matter about us kings!”--
+
+“Thine old sickness seizeth thee,” said here the king on the left, “thy
+loathing seizeth thee, my poor brother. Thou knowest, however, that some
+one heareth us.”
+
+Immediately thereupon, Zarathustra, who had opened ears and eyes to this
+talk, rose from his hiding-place, advanced towards the kings, and thus
+began:
+
+“He who hearkeneth unto you, he who gladly hearkeneth unto you, is
+called Zarathustra.
+
+I am Zarathustra who once said: ‘What doth it now matter about kings!’
+Forgive me; I rejoiced when ye said to each other: ‘What doth it matter
+about us kings!’
+
+Here, however, is MY domain and jurisdiction: what may ye be seeking in
+my domain? Perhaps, however, ye have FOUND on your way what _I_ seek:
+namely, the higher man.”
+
+When the kings heard this, they beat upon their breasts and said with
+one voice: “We are recognised!
+
+With the sword of thine utterance severest thou the thickest darkness of
+our hearts. Thou hast discovered our distress; for lo! we are on our way
+to find the higher man--
+
+--The man that is higher than we, although we are kings. To him do we
+convey this ass. For the highest man shall also be the highest lord on
+earth.
+
+There is no sorer misfortune in all human destiny, than when the mighty
+of the earth are not also the first men. Then everything becometh false
+and distorted and monstrous.
+
+And when they are even the last men, and more beast than man, then
+riseth and riseth the populace in honour, and at last saith even the
+populace-virtue: ‘Lo, I alone am virtue!’”--
+
+What have I just heard? answered Zarathustra. What wisdom in kings! I
+am enchanted, and verily, I have already promptings to make a rhyme
+thereon:--
+
+--Even if it should happen to be a rhyme not suited for every one’s
+ears. I unlearned long ago to have consideration for long ears. Well
+then! Well now!
+
+(Here, however, it happened that the ass also found utterance: it said
+distinctly and with malevolence, Y-E-A.)
+
+‘Twas once--methinks year one of our blessed Lord,--Drunk without wine,
+the Sybil thus deplored:--“How ill things go! Decline! Decline! Ne’er
+sank the world so low! Rome now hath turned harlot and harlot-stew,
+Rome’s Caesar a beast, and God--hath turned Jew!”
+
+2.
+
+With those rhymes of Zarathustra the kings were delighted; the king on
+the right, however, said: “O Zarathustra, how well it was that we set
+out to see thee!
+
+For thine enemies showed us thy likeness in their mirror: there lookedst
+thou with the grimace of a devil, and sneeringly: so that we were afraid
+of thee.
+
+But what good did it do! Always didst thou prick us anew in heart and
+ear with thy sayings. Then did we say at last: What doth it matter how
+he look!
+
+We must HEAR him; him who teacheth: ‘Ye shall love peace as a means to
+new wars, and the short peace more than the long!’
+
+No one ever spake such warlike words: ‘What is good? To be brave is
+good. It is the good war that halloweth every cause.’
+
+O Zarathustra, our fathers’ blood stirred in our veins at such words: it
+was like the voice of spring to old wine-casks.
+
+When the swords ran among one another like red-spotted serpents, then
+did our fathers become fond of life; the sun of every peace seemed to
+them languid and lukewarm, the long peace, however, made them ashamed.
+
+How they sighed, our fathers, when they saw on the wall brightly
+furbished, dried-up swords! Like those they thirsted for war. For a
+sword thirsteth to drink blood, and sparkleth with desire.”--
+
+--When the kings thus discoursed and talked eagerly of the happiness of
+their fathers, there came upon Zarathustra no little desire to mock at
+their eagerness: for evidently they were very peaceable kings whom he
+saw before him, kings with old and refined features. But he restrained
+himself. “Well!” said he, “thither leadeth the way, there lieth the
+cave of Zarathustra; and this day is to have a long evening! At present,
+however, a cry of distress calleth me hastily away from you.
+
+It will honour my cave if kings want to sit and wait in it: but, to be
+sure, ye will have to wait long!
+
+Well! What of that! Where doth one at present learn better to wait
+than at courts? And the whole virtue of kings that hath remained unto
+them--is it not called to-day: ABILITY to wait?”
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+LXIV. THE LEECH.
+
+And Zarathustra went thoughtfully on, further and lower down, through
+forests and past moory bottoms; as it happeneth, however, to every one
+who meditateth upon hard matters, he trod thereby unawares upon a man.
+And lo, there spurted into his face all at once a cry of pain, and two
+curses and twenty bad invectives, so that in his fright he raised his
+stick and also struck the trodden one. Immediately afterwards, however,
+he regained his composure, and his heart laughed at the folly he had
+just committed.
+
+“Pardon me,” said he to the trodden one, who had got up enraged, and had
+seated himself, “pardon me, and hear first of all a parable.
+
+As a wanderer who dreameth of remote things on a lonesome highway,
+runneth unawares against a sleeping dog, a dog which lieth in the sun:
+
+--As both of them then start up and snap at each other, like deadly
+enemies, those two beings mortally frightened--so did it happen unto us.
+
+And yet! And yet--how little was lacking for them to caress each other,
+that dog and that lonesome one! Are they not both--lonesome ones!”
+
+--“Whoever thou art,” said the trodden one, still enraged, “thou
+treadest also too nigh me with thy parable, and not only with thy foot!
+
+Lo! am I then a dog?”--And thereupon the sitting one got up, and pulled
+his naked arm out of the swamp. For at first he had lain outstretched
+on the ground, hidden and indiscernible, like those who lie in wait for
+swamp-game.
+
+“But whatever art thou about!” called out Zarathustra in alarm, for he
+saw a deal of blood streaming over the naked arm,--“what hath hurt thee?
+Hath an evil beast bit thee, thou unfortunate one?”
+
+The bleeding one laughed, still angry, “What matter is it to thee!” said
+he, and was about to go on. “Here am I at home and in my province.
+Let him question me whoever will: to a dolt, however, I shall hardly
+answer.”
+
+“Thou art mistaken,” said Zarathustra sympathetically, and held him
+fast; “thou art mistaken. Here thou art not at home, but in my domain,
+and therein shall no one receive any hurt.
+
+Call me however what thou wilt--I am who I must be. I call myself
+Zarathustra.
+
+Well! Up thither is the way to Zarathustra’s cave: it is not far,--wilt
+thou not attend to thy wounds at my home?
+
+It hath gone badly with thee, thou unfortunate one, in this life: first
+a beast bit thee, and then--a man trod upon thee!”--
+
+When however the trodden one had heard the name of Zarathustra he was
+transformed. “What happeneth unto me!” he exclaimed, “WHO preoccupieth
+me so much in this life as this one man, namely Zarathustra, and that
+one animal that liveth on blood, the leech?
+
+For the sake of the leech did I lie here by this swamp, like a fisher,
+and already had mine outstretched arm been bitten ten times, when there
+biteth a still finer leech at my blood, Zarathustra himself!
+
+O happiness! O miracle! Praised be this day which enticed me into the
+swamp! Praised be the best, the livest cupping-glass, that at present
+liveth; praised be the great conscience-leech Zarathustra!”--
+
+Thus spake the trodden one, and Zarathustra rejoiced at his words and
+their refined reverential style. “Who art thou?” asked he, and gave
+him his hand, “there is much to clear up and elucidate between us, but
+already methinketh pure clear day is dawning.”
+
+“I am THE SPIRITUALLY CONSCIENTIOUS ONE,” answered he who was asked,
+“and in matters of the spirit it is difficult for any one to take it
+more rigorously, more restrictedly, and more severely than I, except him
+from whom I learnt it, Zarathustra himself.
+
+Better know nothing than half-know many things! Better be a fool on
+one’s own account, than a sage on other people’s approbation! I--go to
+the basis:
+
+--What matter if it be great or small? If it be called swamp or sky?
+A handbreadth of basis is enough for me, if it be actually basis and
+ground!
+
+--A handbreadth of basis: thereon can one stand. In the true
+knowing-knowledge there is nothing great and nothing small.”
+
+“Then thou art perhaps an expert on the leech?” asked Zarathustra; “and
+thou investigatest the leech to its ultimate basis, thou conscientious
+one?”
+
+“O Zarathustra,” answered the trodden one, “that would be something
+immense; how could I presume to do so!
+
+That, however, of which I am master and knower, is the BRAIN of the
+leech:--that is MY world!
+
+And it is also a world! Forgive it, however, that my pride here findeth
+expression, for here I have not mine equal. Therefore said I: ‘here am I
+at home.’
+
+How long have I investigated this one thing, the brain of the leech, so
+that here the slippery truth might no longer slip from me! Here is MY
+domain!
+
+--For the sake of this did I cast everything else aside, for the sake of
+this did everything else become indifferent to me; and close beside my
+knowledge lieth my black ignorance.
+
+My spiritual conscience requireth from me that it should be so--that I
+should know one thing, and not know all else: they are a loathing unto
+me, all the semi-spiritual, all the hazy, hovering, and visionary.
+
+Where mine honesty ceaseth, there am I blind, and want also to be blind.
+Where I want to know, however, there want I also to be honest--namely,
+severe, rigorous, restricted, cruel and inexorable.
+
+Because THOU once saidest, O Zarathustra: ‘Spirit is life which itself
+cutteth into life’;--that led and allured me to thy doctrine. And
+verily, with mine own blood have I increased mine own knowledge!”
+
+--“As the evidence indicateth,” broke in Zarathustra; for still was the
+blood flowing down on the naked arm of the conscientious one. For there
+had ten leeches bitten into it.
+
+“O thou strange fellow, how much doth this very evidence teach
+me--namely, thou thyself! And not all, perhaps, might I pour into thy
+rigorous ear!
+
+Well then! We part here! But I would fain find thee again. Up thither is
+the way to my cave: to-night shalt thou there be my welcome guest!
+
+Fain would I also make amends to thy body for Zarathustra treading upon
+thee with his feet: I think about that. Just now, however, a cry of
+distress calleth me hastily away from thee.”
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+LXV. THE MAGICIAN.
+
+1.
+
+When however Zarathustra had gone round a rock, then saw he on the same
+path, not far below him, a man who threw his limbs about like a maniac,
+and at last tumbled to the ground on his belly. “Halt!” said then
+Zarathustra to his heart, “he there must surely be the higher man, from
+him came that dreadful cry of distress,--I will see if I can help him.”
+ When, however, he ran to the spot where the man lay on the ground,
+he found a trembling old man, with fixed eyes; and in spite of all
+Zarathustra’s efforts to lift him and set him again on his feet, it was
+all in vain. The unfortunate one, also, did not seem to notice that some
+one was beside him; on the contrary, he continually looked around with
+moving gestures, like one forsaken and isolated from all the world.
+At last, however, after much trembling, and convulsion, and
+curling-himself-up, he began to lament thus:
+
+     Who warm’th me, who lov’th me still?
+     Give ardent fingers!
+     Give heartening charcoal-warmers!
+     Prone, outstretched, trembling,
+     Like him, half dead and cold, whose feet one warm’th--
+     And shaken, ah! by unfamiliar fevers,
+     Shivering with sharpened, icy-cold frost-arrows,
+     By thee pursued, my fancy!
+     Ineffable!  Recondite!  Sore-frightening!
+     Thou huntsman ’hind the cloud-banks!
+     Now lightning-struck by thee,
+     Thou mocking eye that me in darkness watcheth:
+     --Thus do I lie,
+     Bend myself, twist myself, convulsed
+     With all eternal torture,
+     And smitten
+     By thee, cruellest huntsman,
+     Thou unfamiliar--GOD...
+
+     Smite deeper!
+     Smite yet once more!
+     Pierce through and rend my heart!
+     What mean’th this torture
+     With dull, indented arrows?
+     Why look’st thou hither,
+     Of human pain not weary,
+     With mischief-loving, godly flash-glances?
+     Not murder wilt thou,
+     But torture, torture?
+     For why--ME torture,
+     Thou mischief-loving, unfamiliar God?--
+
+     Ha!  Ha!
+     Thou stealest nigh
+     In midnight’s gloomy hour?...
+     What wilt thou?
+     Speak!
+     Thou crowdst me, pressest--
+     Ha! now far too closely!
+     Thou hearst me breathing,
+     Thou o’erhearst my heart,
+     Thou ever jealous one!
+     --Of what, pray, ever jealous?
+     Off!  Off!
+     For why the ladder?
+     Wouldst thou GET IN?
+     To heart in-clamber?
+     To mine own secretest
+     Conceptions in-clamber?
+     Shameless one!  Thou unknown one!--Thief!
+     What seekst thou by thy stealing?
+     What seekst thou by thy hearkening?
+     What seekst thou by thy torturing?
+     Thou torturer!
+     Thou--hangman-God!
+     Or shall I, as the mastiffs do,
+     Roll me before thee?
+     And cringing, enraptured, frantical,
+     My tail friendly--waggle!
+
+     In vain!
+     Goad further!
+     Cruellest goader!
+     No dog--thy game just am I,
+     Cruellest huntsman!
+     Thy proudest of captives,
+     Thou robber ‘hind the cloud-banks...
+     Speak finally!
+     Thou lightning-veiled one!  Thou unknown one!  Speak!
+     What wilt thou, highway-ambusher, from--ME?
+     What WILT thou, unfamiliar--God?
+     What?
+     Ransom-gold?
+     How much of ransom-gold?
+     Solicit much--that bid’th my pride!
+     And be concise--that bid’th mine other pride!
+
+     Ha!  Ha!
+     ME--wantst thou?  me?
+     --Entire?...
+
+     Ha!  Ha!
+     And torturest me, fool that thou art,
+     Dead-torturest quite my pride?
+     Give LOVE to me--who warm’th me still?
+     Who lov’th me still?--
+     Give ardent fingers,
+     Give heartening charcoal-warmers,
+     Give me, the lonesomest,
+     The ice (ah! seven-fold frozen ice,
+     For very enemies,
+     For foes, doth make one thirst),
+     Give, yield to me,
+     Cruellest foe,
+     --THYSELF!--
+
+     Away!
+     There fled he surely,
+     My final, only comrade,
+     My greatest foe,
+     Mine unfamiliar--
+     My hangman-God!...
+
+     --Nay!
+     Come thou back!
+     WITH all of thy great tortures!
+     To me the last of lonesome ones,
+     Oh, come thou back!
+     All my hot tears in streamlets trickle
+     Their course to thee!
+     And all my final hearty fervour--
+     Up-glow’th to THEE!
+     Oh, come thou back,
+     Mine unfamiliar God! my PAIN!
+     My final bliss!
+
+2.
+
+--Here, however, Zarathustra could no longer restrain himself; he took
+his staff and struck the wailer with all his might. “Stop this,” cried
+he to him with wrathful laughter, “stop this, thou stage-player! Thou
+false coiner! Thou liar from the very heart! I know thee well!
+
+I will soon make warm legs to thee, thou evil magician: I know well
+how--to make it hot for such as thou!”
+
+--“Leave off,” said the old man, and sprang up from the ground, “strike
+me no more, O Zarathustra! I did it only for amusement!
+
+That kind of thing belongeth to mine art. Thee thyself, I wanted to put
+to the proof when I gave this performance. And verily, thou hast well
+detected me!
+
+But thou thyself--hast given me no small proof of thyself: thou art
+HARD, thou wise Zarathustra! Hard strikest thou with thy ‘truths,’ thy
+cudgel forceth from me--THIS truth!”
+
+--“Flatter not,” answered Zarathustra, still excited and frowning,
+“thou stage-player from the heart! Thou art false: why speakest thou--of
+truth!
+
+Thou peacock of peacocks, thou sea of vanity; WHAT didst thou represent
+before me, thou evil magician; WHOM was I meant to believe in when thou
+wailedst in such wise?”
+
+“THE PENITENT IN SPIRIT,” said the old man, “it was him--I represented;
+thou thyself once devisedst this expression--
+
+--The poet and magician who at last turneth his spirit against himself,
+the transformed one who freezeth to death by his bad science and
+conscience.
+
+And just acknowledge it: it was long, O Zarathustra, before thou
+discoveredst my trick and lie! Thou BELIEVEDST in my distress when thou
+heldest my head with both thy hands,--
+
+--I heard thee lament ‘we have loved him too little, loved him too
+little!’ Because I so far deceived thee, my wickedness rejoiced in me.”
+
+“Thou mayest have deceived subtler ones than I,” said Zarathustra
+sternly. “I am not on my guard against deceivers; I HAVE TO BE without
+precaution: so willeth my lot.
+
+Thou, however,--MUST deceive: so far do I know thee! Thou must ever be
+equivocal, trivocal, quadrivocal, and quinquivocal! Even what thou hast
+now confessed, is not nearly true enough nor false enough for me!
+
+Thou bad false coiner, how couldst thou do otherwise! Thy very malady
+wouldst thou whitewash if thou showed thyself naked to thy physician.
+
+Thus didst thou whitewash thy lie before me when thou saidst: ‘I did
+so ONLY for amusement!’ There was also SERIOUSNESS therein, thou ART
+something of a penitent-in-spirit!
+
+I divine thee well: thou hast become the enchanter of all the world; but
+for thyself thou hast no lie or artifice left,--thou art disenchanted to
+thyself!
+
+Thou hast reaped disgust as thy one truth. No word in thee is any longer
+genuine, but thy mouth is so: that is to say, the disgust that cleaveth
+unto thy mouth.”--
+
+--“Who art thou at all!” cried here the old magician with defiant voice,
+“who dareth to speak thus unto ME, the greatest man now living?”--and a
+green flash shot from his eye at Zarathustra. But immediately after he
+changed, and said sadly:
+
+“O Zarathustra, I am weary of it, I am disgusted with mine arts, I am
+not GREAT, why do I dissemble! But thou knowest it well--I sought for
+greatness!
+
+A great man I wanted to appear, and persuaded many; but the lie hath
+been beyond my power. On it do I collapse.
+
+O Zarathustra, everything is a lie in me; but that I collapse--this my
+collapsing is GENUINE!”--
+
+“It honoureth thee,” said Zarathustra gloomily, looking down with
+sidelong glance, “it honoureth thee that thou soughtest for greatness,
+but it betrayeth thee also. Thou art not great.
+
+Thou bad old magician, THAT is the best and the honestest thing I honour
+in thee, that thou hast become weary of thyself, and hast expressed it:
+‘I am not great.’
+
+THEREIN do I honour thee as a penitent-in-spirit, and although only for
+the twinkling of an eye, in that one moment wast thou--genuine.
+
+But tell me, what seekest thou here in MY forests and rocks? And if thou
+hast put thyself in MY way, what proof of me wouldst thou have?--
+
+--Wherein didst thou put ME to the test?”
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, and his eyes sparkled. But the old magician kept
+silence for a while; then said he: “Did I put thee to the test? I--seek
+only.
+
+O Zarathustra, I seek a genuine one, a right one, a simple one, an
+unequivocal one, a man of perfect honesty, a vessel of wisdom, a saint
+of knowledge, a great man!
+
+Knowest thou it not, O Zarathustra? I SEEK ZARATHUSTRA.”
+
+--And here there arose a long silence between them: Zarathustra,
+however, became profoundly absorbed in thought, so that he shut his
+eyes. But afterwards coming back to the situation, he grasped the hand
+of the magician, and said, full of politeness and policy:
+
+“Well! Up thither leadeth the way, there is the cave of Zarathustra. In
+it mayest thou seek him whom thou wouldst fain find.
+
+And ask counsel of mine animals, mine eagle and my serpent: they shall
+help thee to seek. My cave however is large.
+
+I myself, to be sure--I have as yet seen no great man. That which is
+great, the acutest eye is at present insensible to it. It is the kingdom
+of the populace.
+
+Many a one have I found who stretched and inflated himself, and the
+people cried: ‘Behold; a great man!’ But what good do all bellows do!
+The wind cometh out at last.
+
+At last bursteth the frog which hath inflated itself too long: then
+cometh out the wind. To prick a swollen one in the belly, I call good
+pastime. Hear that, ye boys!
+
+Our to-day is of the populace: who still KNOWETH what is great and what
+is small! Who could there seek successfully for greatness! A fool only:
+it succeedeth with fools.
+
+Thou seekest for great men, thou strange fool? Who TAUGHT that to thee?
+Is to-day the time for it? Oh, thou bad seeker, why dost thou--tempt
+me?”--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, comforted in his heart, and went laughing on his
+way.
+
+
+
+
+LXVI. OUT OF SERVICE.
+
+Not long, however, after Zarathustra had freed himself from the
+magician, he again saw a person sitting beside the path which he
+followed, namely a tall, black man, with a haggard, pale countenance:
+THIS MAN grieved him exceedingly. “Alas,” said he to his heart, “there
+sitteth disguised affliction; methinketh he is of the type of the
+priests: what do THEY want in my domain?
+
+What! Hardly have I escaped from that magician, and must another
+necromancer again run across my path,--
+
+--Some sorcerer with laying-on-of-hands, some sombre wonder-worker by
+the grace of God, some anointed world-maligner, whom, may the devil
+take!
+
+But the devil is never at the place which would be his right place: he
+always cometh too late, that cursed dwarf and club-foot!”--
+
+Thus cursed Zarathustra impatiently in his heart, and considered how
+with averted look he might slip past the black man. But behold, it came
+about otherwise. For at the same moment had the sitting one already
+perceived him; and not unlike one whom an unexpected happiness
+overtaketh, he sprang to his feet, and went straight towards
+Zarathustra.
+
+“Whoever thou art, thou traveller,” said he, “help a strayed one, a
+seeker, an old man, who may here easily come to grief!
+
+The world here is strange to me, and remote; wild beasts also did I hear
+howling; and he who could have given me protection--he is himself no
+more.
+
+I was seeking the pious man, a saint and an anchorite, who, alone in his
+forest, had not yet heard of what all the world knoweth at present.”
+
+“WHAT doth all the world know at present?” asked Zarathustra. “Perhaps
+that the old God no longer liveth, in whom all the world once believed?”
+
+“Thou sayest it,” answered the old man sorrowfully. “And I served that
+old God until his last hour.
+
+Now, however, am I out of service, without master, and yet not free;
+likewise am I no longer merry even for an hour, except it be in
+recollections.
+
+Therefore did I ascend into these mountains, that I might finally have
+a festival for myself once more, as becometh an old pope and
+church-father: for know it, that I am the last pope!--a festival of
+pious recollections and divine services.
+
+Now, however, is he himself dead, the most pious of men, the saint in
+the forest, who praised his God constantly with singing and mumbling.
+
+He himself found I no longer when I found his cot--but two wolves found
+I therein, which howled on account of his death,--for all animals loved
+him. Then did I haste away.
+
+Had I thus come in vain into these forests and mountains? Then did my
+heart determine that I should seek another, the most pious of all
+those who believe not in God--, my heart determined that I should seek
+Zarathustra!”
+
+Thus spake the hoary man, and gazed with keen eyes at him who stood
+before him. Zarathustra however seized the hand of the old pope and
+regarded it a long while with admiration.
+
+“Lo! thou venerable one,” said he then, “what a fine and long hand! That
+is the hand of one who hath ever dispensed blessings. Now, however, doth
+it hold fast him whom thou seekest, me, Zarathustra.
+
+It is I, the ungodly Zarathustra, who saith: ‘Who is ungodlier than I,
+that I may enjoy his teaching?’”--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, and penetrated with his glances the thoughts and
+arrear-thoughts of the old pope. At last the latter began:
+
+“He who most loved and possessed him hath now also lost him most--:
+
+--Lo, I myself am surely the most godless of us at present? But who
+could rejoice at that!”--
+
+--“Thou servedst him to the last?” asked Zarathustra thoughtfully, after
+a deep silence, “thou knowest HOW he died? Is it true what they say,
+that sympathy choked him;
+
+--That he saw how MAN hung on the cross, and could not endure it;--that
+his love to man became his hell, and at last his death?”--
+
+The old pope however did not answer, but looked aside timidly, with a
+painful and gloomy expression.
+
+“Let him go,” said Zarathustra, after prolonged meditation, still
+looking the old man straight in the eye.
+
+“Let him go, he is gone. And though it honoureth thee that thou speakest
+only in praise of this dead one, yet thou knowest as well as I WHO he
+was, and that he went curious ways.”
+
+“To speak before three eyes,” said the old pope cheerfully (he was blind
+of one eye), “in divine matters I am more enlightened than Zarathustra
+himself--and may well be so.
+
+My love served him long years, my will followed all his will. A good
+servant, however, knoweth everything, and many a thing even which a
+master hideth from himself.
+
+He was a hidden God, full of secrecy. Verily, he did not come by his
+son otherwise than by secret ways. At the door of his faith standeth
+adultery.
+
+Whoever extolleth him as a God of love, doth not think highly enough of
+love itself. Did not that God want also to be judge? But the loving one
+loveth irrespective of reward and requital.
+
+When he was young, that God out of the Orient, then was he harsh and
+revengeful, and built himself a hell for the delight of his favourites.
+
+At last, however, he became old and soft and mellow and pitiful,
+more like a grandfather than a father, but most like a tottering old
+grandmother.
+
+There did he sit shrivelled in his chimney-corner, fretting on account
+of his weak legs, world-weary, will-weary, and one day he suffocated of
+his all-too-great pity.”--
+
+“Thou old pope,” said here Zarathustra interposing, “hast thou seen THAT
+with thine eyes? It could well have happened in that way: in that way,
+AND also otherwise. When Gods die they always die many kinds of death.
+
+Well! At all events, one way or other--he is gone! He was counter to the
+taste of mine ears and eyes; worse than that I should not like to say
+against him.
+
+I love everything that looketh bright and speaketh honestly. But
+he--thou knowest it, forsooth, thou old priest, there was something of
+thy type in him, the priest-type--he was equivocal.
+
+He was also indistinct. How he raged at us, this wrath-snorter, because
+we understood him badly! But why did he not speak more clearly?
+
+And if the fault lay in our ears, why did he give us ears that heard him
+badly? If there was dirt in our ears, well! who put it in them?
+
+Too much miscarried with him, this potter who had not learned
+thoroughly! That he took revenge on his pots and creations, however,
+because they turned out badly--that was a sin against GOOD TASTE.
+
+There is also good taste in piety: THIS at last said: ‘Away with SUCH
+a God! Better to have no God, better to set up destiny on one’s own
+account, better to be a fool, better to be God oneself!’”
+
+--“What do I hear!” said then the old pope, with intent ears; “O
+Zarathustra, thou art more pious than thou believest, with such an
+unbelief! Some God in thee hath converted thee to thine ungodliness.
+
+Is it not thy piety itself which no longer letteth thee believe in a
+God? And thine over-great honesty will yet lead thee even beyond good
+and evil!
+
+Behold, what hath been reserved for thee? Thou hast eyes and hands and
+mouth, which have been predestined for blessing from eternity. One doth
+not bless with the hand alone.
+
+Nigh unto thee, though thou professest to be the ungodliest one, I feel
+a hale and holy odour of long benedictions: I feel glad and grieved
+thereby.
+
+Let me be thy guest, O Zarathustra, for a single night! Nowhere on earth
+shall I now feel better than with thee!”--
+
+“Amen! So shall it be!” said Zarathustra, with great astonishment; “up
+thither leadeth the way, there lieth the cave of Zarathustra.
+
+Gladly, forsooth, would I conduct thee thither myself, thou venerable
+one; for I love all pious men. But now a cry of distress calleth me
+hastily away from thee.
+
+In my domain shall no one come to grief; my cave is a good haven. And
+best of all would I like to put every sorrowful one again on firm land
+and firm legs.
+
+Who, however, could take THY melancholy off thy shoulders? For that I am
+too weak. Long, verily, should we have to wait until some one re-awoke
+thy God for thee.
+
+For that old God liveth no more: he is indeed dead.”--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+LXVII. THE UGLIEST MAN.
+
+--And again did Zarathustra’s feet run through mountains and forests,
+and his eyes sought and sought, but nowhere was he to be seen whom they
+wanted to see--the sorely distressed sufferer and crier. On the whole
+way, however, he rejoiced in his heart and was full of gratitude. “What
+good things,” said he, “hath this day given me, as amends for its bad
+beginning! What strange interlocutors have I found!
+
+At their words will I now chew a long while as at good corn; small
+shall my teeth grind and crush them, until they flow like milk into my
+soul!”--
+
+When, however, the path again curved round a rock, all at once the
+landscape changed, and Zarathustra entered into a realm of death. Here
+bristled aloft black and red cliffs, without any grass, tree, or bird’s
+voice. For it was a valley which all animals avoided, even the beasts of
+prey, except that a species of ugly, thick, green serpent came here to
+die when they became old. Therefore the shepherds called this valley:
+“Serpent-death.”
+
+Zarathustra, however, became absorbed in dark recollections, for it
+seemed to him as if he had once before stood in this valley. And much
+heaviness settled on his mind, so that he walked slowly and always more
+slowly, and at last stood still. Then, however, when he opened his eyes,
+he saw something sitting by the wayside shaped like a man, and hardly
+like a man, something nondescript. And all at once there came over
+Zarathustra a great shame, because he had gazed on such a thing.
+Blushing up to the very roots of his white hair, he turned aside his
+glance, and raised his foot that he might leave this ill-starred place.
+Then, however, became the dead wilderness vocal: for from the ground a
+noise welled up, gurgling and rattling, as water gurgleth and rattleth
+at night through stopped-up water-pipes; and at last it turned into
+human voice and human speech:--it sounded thus:
+
+“Zarathustra! Zarathustra! Read my riddle! Say, say! WHAT IS THE REVENGE
+ON THE WITNESS?
+
+I entice thee back; here is smooth ice! See to it, see to it, that thy
+pride doth not here break its legs!
+
+Thou thinkest thyself wise, thou proud Zarathustra! Read then the
+riddle, thou hard nut-cracker,--the riddle that I am! Say then: who am
+_I_!”
+
+--When however Zarathustra had heard these words,--what think ye then
+took place in his soul? PITY OVERCAME HIM; and he sank down all at
+once, like an oak that hath long withstood many tree-fellers,--heavily,
+suddenly, to the terror even of those who meant to fell it. But
+immediately he got up again from the ground, and his countenance became
+stern.
+
+“I know thee well,” said he, with a brazen voice, “THOU ART THE MURDERER
+OF GOD! Let me go.
+
+Thou couldst not ENDURE him who beheld THEE,--who ever beheld thee
+through and through, thou ugliest man. Thou tookest revenge on this
+witness!”
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra and was about to go; but the nondescript grasped
+at a corner of his garment and began anew to gurgle and seek for words.
+“Stay,” said he at last--
+
+--“Stay! Do not pass by! I have divined what axe it was that struck thee
+to the ground: hail to thee, O Zarathustra, that thou art again upon thy
+feet!
+
+Thou hast divined, I know it well, how the man feeleth who killed
+him,--the murderer of God. Stay! Sit down here beside me; it is not to
+no purpose.
+
+To whom would I go but unto thee? Stay, sit down! Do not however look at
+me! Honour thus--mine ugliness!
+
+They persecute me: now art THOU my last refuge. NOT with their hatred,
+NOT with their bailiffs;--Oh, such persecution would I mock at, and be
+proud and cheerful!
+
+Hath not all success hitherto been with the well-persecuted ones? And
+he who persecuteth well learneth readily to be OBSEQUENT--when once he
+is--put behind! But it is their PITY--
+
+--Their pity is it from which I flee away and flee to thee. O
+Zarathustra, protect me, thou, my last refuge, thou sole one who
+divinedst me:
+
+--Thou hast divined how the man feeleth who killed HIM. Stay! And if
+thou wilt go, thou impatient one, go not the way that I came. THAT way
+is bad.
+
+Art thou angry with me because I have already racked language too long?
+Because I have already counselled thee? But know that it is I, the
+ugliest man,
+
+--Who have also the largest, heaviest feet. Where _I_ have gone, the way
+is bad. I tread all paths to death and destruction.
+
+But that thou passedst me by in silence, that thou blushedst--I saw it
+well: thereby did I know thee as Zarathustra.
+
+Every one else would have thrown to me his alms, his pity, in look and
+speech. But for that--I am not beggar enough: that didst thou divine.
+
+For that I am too RICH, rich in what is great, frightful, ugliest, most
+unutterable! Thy shame, O Zarathustra, HONOURED me!
+
+With difficulty did I get out of the crowd of the pitiful,--that I might
+find the only one who at present teacheth that ‘pity is obtrusive’--
+thyself, O Zarathustra!
+
+--Whether it be the pity of a God, or whether it be human pity, it is
+offensive to modesty. And unwillingness to help may be nobler than the
+virtue that rusheth to do so.
+
+THAT however--namely, pity--is called virtue itself at present by
+all petty people:--they have no reverence for great misfortune, great
+ugliness, great failure.
+
+Beyond all these do I look, as a dog looketh over the backs of thronging
+flocks of sheep. They are petty, good-wooled, good-willed, grey people.
+
+As the heron looketh contemptuously at shallow pools, with backward-bent
+head, so do I look at the throng of grey little waves and wills and
+souls.
+
+Too long have we acknowledged them to be right, those petty people: SO
+we have at last given them power as well;--and now do they teach that
+‘good is only what petty people call good.’
+
+And ‘truth’ is at present what the preacher spake who himself sprang
+from them, that singular saint and advocate of the petty people, who
+testified of himself: ‘I--am the truth.’
+
+That immodest one hath long made the petty people greatly puffed up,--he
+who taught no small error when he taught: ‘I--am the truth.’
+
+Hath an immodest one ever been answered more courteously?--Thou,
+however, O Zarathustra, passedst him by, and saidst: ‘Nay! Nay! Three
+times Nay!’
+
+Thou warnedst against his error; thou warnedst--the first to do
+so--against pity:--not every one, not none, but thyself and thy type.
+
+Thou art ashamed of the shame of the great sufferer; and verily when
+thou sayest: ‘From pity there cometh a heavy cloud; take heed, ye men!’
+
+--When thou teachest: ‘All creators are hard, all great love is beyond
+their pity:’ O Zarathustra, how well versed dost thou seem to me in
+weather-signs!
+
+Thou thyself, however,--warn thyself also against THY pity! For many are
+on their way to thee, many suffering, doubting, despairing, drowning,
+freezing ones--
+
+I warn thee also against myself. Thou hast read my best, my worst
+riddle, myself, and what I have done. I know the axe that felleth thee.
+
+But he--HAD TO die: he looked with eyes which beheld EVERYTHING,--he
+beheld men’s depths and dregs, all his hidden ignominy and ugliness.
+
+His pity knew no modesty: he crept into my dirtiest corners. This most
+prying, over-intrusive, over-pitiful one had to die.
+
+He ever beheld ME: on such a witness I would have revenge--or not live
+myself.
+
+The God who beheld everything, AND ALSO MAN: that God had to die! Man
+cannot ENDURE it that such a witness should live.”
+
+Thus spake the ugliest man. Zarathustra however got up, and prepared to
+go on: for he felt frozen to the very bowels.
+
+“Thou nondescript,” said he, “thou warnedst me against thy path. As
+thanks for it I praise mine to thee. Behold, up thither is the cave of
+Zarathustra.
+
+My cave is large and deep and hath many corners; there findeth he
+that is most hidden his hiding-place. And close beside it, there are
+a hundred lurking-places and by-places for creeping, fluttering, and
+hopping creatures.
+
+Thou outcast, who hast cast thyself out, thou wilt not live amongst men
+and men’s pity? Well then, do like me! Thus wilt thou learn also from
+me; only the doer learneth.
+
+And talk first and foremost to mine animals! The proudest animal and the
+wisest animal--they might well be the right counsellors for us both!”--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra and went his way, more thoughtfully and slowly
+even than before: for he asked himself many things, and hardly knew what
+to answer.
+
+“How poor indeed is man,” thought he in his heart, “how ugly, how
+wheezy, how full of hidden shame!
+
+They tell me that man loveth himself. Ah, how great must that self-love
+be! How much contempt is opposed to it!
+
+Even this man hath loved himself, as he hath despised himself,--a great
+lover methinketh he is, and a great despiser.
+
+No one have I yet found who more thoroughly despised himself: even THAT
+is elevation. Alas, was THIS perhaps the higher man whose cry I heard?
+
+I love the great despisers. Man is something that hath to be
+surpassed.”--
+
+
+
+
+LXVIII. THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR.
+
+When Zarathustra had left the ugliest man, he was chilled and felt
+lonesome: for much coldness and lonesomeness came over his spirit, so
+that even his limbs became colder thereby. When, however, he wandered
+on and on, uphill and down, at times past green meadows, though also
+sometimes over wild stony couches where formerly perhaps an impatient
+brook had made its bed, then he turned all at once warmer and heartier
+again.
+
+“What hath happened unto me?” he asked himself, “something warm and
+living quickeneth me; it must be in the neighbourhood.
+
+Already am I less alone; unconscious companions and brethren rove around
+me; their warm breath toucheth my soul.”
+
+When, however, he spied about and sought for the comforters of his
+lonesomeness, behold, there were kine there standing together on an
+eminence, whose proximity and smell had warmed his heart. The kine,
+however, seemed to listen eagerly to a speaker, and took no heed of him
+who approached. When, however, Zarathustra was quite nigh unto them,
+then did he hear plainly that a human voice spake in the midst of the
+kine, and apparently all of them had turned their heads towards the
+speaker.
+
+Then ran Zarathustra up speedily and drove the animals aside; for he
+feared that some one had here met with harm, which the pity of the
+kine would hardly be able to relieve. But in this he was deceived; for
+behold, there sat a man on the ground who seemed to be persuading
+the animals to have no fear of him, a peaceable man and
+Preacher-on-the-Mount, out of whose eyes kindness itself preached. “What
+dost thou seek here?” called out Zarathustra in astonishment.
+
+“What do I here seek?” answered he: “the same that thou seekest, thou
+mischief-maker; that is to say, happiness upon earth.
+
+To that end, however, I would fain learn of these kine. For I tell thee
+that I have already talked half a morning unto them, and just now were
+they about to give me their answer. Why dost thou disturb them?
+
+Except we be converted and become as kine, we shall in no wise enter
+into the kingdom of heaven. For we ought to learn from them one thing:
+ruminating.
+
+And verily, although a man should gain the whole world, and yet not
+learn one thing, ruminating, what would it profit him! He would not be
+rid of his affliction,
+
+--His great affliction: that, however, is at present called DISGUST. Who
+hath not at present his heart, his mouth and his eyes full of disgust?
+Thou also! Thou also! But behold these kine!”--
+
+Thus spake the Preacher-on-the-Mount, and turned then his own look
+towards Zarathustra--for hitherto it had rested lovingly on the kine--:
+then, however, he put on a different expression. “Who is this with whom
+I talk?” he exclaimed frightened, and sprang up from the ground.
+
+“This is the man without disgust, this is Zarathustra himself, the
+surmounter of the great disgust, this is the eye, this is the mouth,
+this is the heart of Zarathustra himself.”
+
+And whilst he thus spake he kissed with o’erflowing eyes the hands
+of him with whom he spake, and behaved altogether like one to whom a
+precious gift and jewel hath fallen unawares from heaven. The kine,
+however, gazed at it all and wondered.
+
+“Speak not of me, thou strange one; thou amiable one!” said Zarathustra,
+and restrained his affection, “speak to me firstly of thyself! Art thou
+not the voluntary beggar who once cast away great riches,--
+
+--Who was ashamed of his riches and of the rich, and fled to the poorest
+to bestow upon them his abundance and his heart? But they received him
+not.”
+
+“But they received me not,” said the voluntary beggar, “thou knowest it,
+forsooth. So I went at last to the animals and to those kine.”
+
+“Then learnedst thou,” interrupted Zarathustra, “how much harder it is
+to give properly than to take properly, and that bestowing well is an
+ART--the last, subtlest master-art of kindness.”
+
+“Especially nowadays,” answered the voluntary beggar: “at present, that
+is to say, when everything low hath become rebellious and exclusive and
+haughty in its manner--in the manner of the populace.
+
+For the hour hath come, thou knowest it forsooth, for the great, evil,
+long, slow mob-and-slave-insurrection: it extendeth and extendeth!
+
+Now doth it provoke the lower classes, all benevolence and petty giving;
+and the overrich may be on their guard!
+
+Whoever at present drip, like bulgy bottles out of all-too-small
+necks:--of such bottles at present one willingly breaketh the necks.
+
+Wanton avidity, bilious envy, careworn revenge, populace-pride: all
+these struck mine eye. It is no longer true that the poor are blessed.
+The kingdom of heaven, however, is with the kine.”
+
+“And why is it not with the rich?” asked Zarathustra temptingly, while
+he kept back the kine which sniffed familiarly at the peaceful one.
+
+“Why dost thou tempt me?” answered the other. “Thou knowest it thyself
+better even than I. What was it drove me to the poorest, O Zarathustra?
+Was it not my disgust at the richest?
+
+--At the culprits of riches, with cold eyes and rank thoughts, who pick
+up profit out of all kinds of rubbish--at this rabble that stinketh to
+heaven,
+
+--At this gilded, falsified populace, whose fathers were pickpockets,
+or carrion-crows, or rag-pickers, with wives compliant, lewd and
+forgetful:--for they are all of them not far different from harlots--
+
+Populace above, populace below! What are ‘poor’ and ‘rich’ at present!
+That distinction did I unlearn,--then did I flee away further and ever
+further, until I came to those kine.”
+
+Thus spake the peaceful one, and puffed himself and perspired with
+his words: so that the kine wondered anew. Zarathustra, however, kept
+looking into his face with a smile, all the time the man talked so
+severely--and shook silently his head.
+
+“Thou doest violence to thyself, thou Preacher-on-the-Mount, when thou
+usest such severe words. For such severity neither thy mouth nor thine
+eye have been given thee.
+
+Nor, methinketh, hath thy stomach either: unto IT all such rage and
+hatred and foaming-over is repugnant. Thy stomach wanteth softer things:
+thou art not a butcher.
+
+Rather seemest thou to me a plant-eater and a root-man. Perhaps thou
+grindest corn. Certainly, however, thou art averse to fleshly joys, and
+thou lovest honey.”
+
+“Thou hast divined me well,” answered the voluntary beggar, with
+lightened heart. “I love honey, I also grind corn; for I have sought out
+what tasteth sweetly and maketh pure breath:
+
+--Also what requireth a long time, a day’s-work and a mouth’s-work for
+gentle idlers and sluggards.
+
+Furthest, to be sure, have those kine carried it: they have devised
+ruminating and lying in the sun. They also abstain from all heavy
+thoughts which inflate the heart.”
+
+--“Well!” said Zarathustra, “thou shouldst also see MINE animals, mine
+eagle and my serpent,--their like do not at present exist on earth.
+
+Behold, thither leadeth the way to my cave: be to-night its guest. And
+talk to mine animals of the happiness of animals,--
+
+--Until I myself come home. For now a cry of distress calleth me hastily
+away from thee. Also, shouldst thou find new honey with me, ice-cold,
+golden-comb-honey, eat it!
+
+Now, however, take leave at once of thy kine, thou strange one! thou
+amiable one! though it be hard for thee. For they are thy warmest
+friends and preceptors!”--
+
+--“One excepted, whom I hold still dearer,” answered the voluntary
+beggar. “Thou thyself art good, O Zarathustra, and better even than a
+cow!”
+
+“Away, away with thee! thou evil flatterer!” cried Zarathustra
+mischievously, “why dost thou spoil me with such praise and
+flattery-honey?
+
+“Away, away from me!” cried he once more, and heaved his stick at the
+fond beggar, who, however, ran nimbly away.
+
+
+
+
+LXIX. THE SHADOW.
+
+Scarcely however was the voluntary beggar gone in haste, and Zarathustra
+again alone, when he heard behind him a new voice which called out:
+“Stay! Zarathustra! Do wait! It is myself, forsooth, O Zarathustra,
+myself, thy shadow!” But Zarathustra did not wait; for a sudden
+irritation came over him on account of the crowd and the crowding in his
+mountains. “Whither hath my lonesomeness gone?” spake he.
+
+“It is verily becoming too much for me; these mountains swarm; my
+kingdom is no longer of THIS world; I require new mountains.
+
+My shadow calleth me? What matter about my shadow! Let it run after me!
+I--run away from it.”
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra to his heart and ran away. But the one behind
+followed after him, so that immediately there were three runners,
+one after the other--namely, foremost the voluntary beggar, then
+Zarathustra, and thirdly, and hindmost, his shadow. But not long had
+they run thus when Zarathustra became conscious of his folly, and shook
+off with one jerk all his irritation and detestation.
+
+“What!” said he, “have not the most ludicrous things always happened to
+us old anchorites and saints?
+
+Verily, my folly hath grown big in the mountains! Now do I hear six old
+fools’ legs rattling behind one another!
+
+But doth Zarathustra need to be frightened by his shadow? Also,
+methinketh that after all it hath longer legs than mine.”
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, and, laughing with eyes and entrails, he stood
+still and turned round quickly--and behold, he almost thereby threw his
+shadow and follower to the ground, so closely had the latter followed at
+his heels, and so weak was he. For when Zarathustra scrutinised him
+with his glance he was frightened as by a sudden apparition, so slender,
+swarthy, hollow and worn-out did this follower appear.
+
+“Who art thou?” asked Zarathustra vehemently, “what doest thou here? And
+why callest thou thyself my shadow? Thou art not pleasing unto me.”
+
+“Forgive me,” answered the shadow, “that it is I; and if I please thee
+not--well, O Zarathustra! therein do I admire thee and thy good taste.
+
+A wanderer am I, who have walked long at thy heels; always on the way,
+but without a goal, also without a home: so that verily, I lack little
+of being the eternally Wandering Jew, except that I am not eternal and
+not a Jew.
+
+What? Must I ever be on the way? Whirled by every wind, unsettled,
+driven about? O earth, thou hast become too round for me!
+
+On every surface have I already sat, like tired dust have I fallen
+asleep on mirrors and window-panes: everything taketh from me, nothing
+giveth; I become thin--I am almost equal to a shadow.
+
+After thee, however, O Zarathustra, did I fly and hie longest; and
+though I hid myself from thee, I was nevertheless thy best shadow:
+wherever thou hast sat, there sat I also.
+
+With thee have I wandered about in the remotest, coldest worlds, like a
+phantom that voluntarily haunteth winter roofs and snows.
+
+With thee have I pushed into all the forbidden, all the worst and the
+furthest: and if there be anything of virtue in me, it is that I have
+had no fear of any prohibition.
+
+With thee have I broken up whatever my heart revered; all
+boundary-stones and statues have I o’erthrown; the most dangerous wishes
+did I pursue,--verily, beyond every crime did I once go.
+
+With thee did I unlearn the belief in words and worths and in great
+names. When the devil casteth his skin, doth not his name also fall
+away? It is also skin. The devil himself is perhaps--skin.
+
+‘Nothing is true, all is permitted’: so said I to myself. Into the
+coldest water did I plunge with head and heart. Ah, how oft did I stand
+there naked on that account, like a red crab!
+
+Ah, where have gone all my goodness and all my shame and all my belief
+in the good! Ah, where is the lying innocence which I once possessed,
+the innocence of the good and of their noble lies!
+
+Too oft, verily, did I follow close to the heels of truth: then did it
+kick me on the face. Sometimes I meant to lie, and behold! then only did
+I hit--the truth.
+
+Too much hath become clear unto me: now it doth not concern me any more.
+Nothing liveth any longer that I love,--how should I still love myself?
+
+‘To live as I incline, or not to live at all’: so do I wish; so wisheth
+also the holiest. But alas! how have _I_ still--inclination?
+
+Have _I_--still a goal? A haven towards which MY sail is set?
+
+A good wind? Ah, he only who knoweth WHITHER he saileth, knoweth what
+wind is good, and a fair wind for him.
+
+What still remaineth to me? A heart weary and flippant; an unstable
+will; fluttering wings; a broken backbone.
+
+This seeking for MY home: O Zarathustra, dost thou know that this
+seeking hath been MY home-sickening; it eateth me up.
+
+‘WHERE is--MY home?’ For it do I ask and seek, and have sought, but
+have not found it. O eternal everywhere, O eternal nowhere, O
+eternal--in-vain!”
+
+Thus spake the shadow, and Zarathustra’s countenance lengthened at his
+words. “Thou art my shadow!” said he at last sadly.
+
+“Thy danger is not small, thou free spirit and wanderer! Thou hast had a
+bad day: see that a still worse evening doth not overtake thee!
+
+To such unsettled ones as thou, seemeth at last even a prisoner blessed.
+Didst thou ever see how captured criminals sleep? They sleep quietly,
+they enjoy their new security.
+
+Beware lest in the end a narrow faith capture thee, a hard, rigorous
+delusion! For now everything that is narrow and fixed seduceth and
+tempteth thee.
+
+Thou hast lost thy goal. Alas, how wilt thou forego and forget that
+loss? Thereby--hast thou also lost thy way!
+
+Thou poor rover and rambler, thou tired butterfly! wilt thou have a rest
+and a home this evening? Then go up to my cave!
+
+Thither leadeth the way to my cave. And now will I run quickly away from
+thee again. Already lieth as it were a shadow upon me.
+
+I will run alone, so that it may again become bright around me.
+Therefore must I still be a long time merrily upon my legs. In the
+evening, however, there will be--dancing with me!”--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+LXX. NOONTIDE.
+
+--And Zarathustra ran and ran, but he found no one else, and was alone
+and ever found himself again; he enjoyed and quaffed his solitude, and
+thought of good things--for hours. About the hour of noontide, however,
+when the sun stood exactly over Zarathustra’s head, he passed an old,
+bent and gnarled tree, which was encircled round by the ardent love of
+a vine, and hidden from itself; from this there hung yellow grapes in
+abundance, confronting the wanderer. Then he felt inclined to quench a
+little thirst, and to break off for himself a cluster of grapes. When,
+however, he had already his arm out-stretched for that purpose, he felt
+still more inclined for something else--namely, to lie down beside the
+tree at the hour of perfect noontide and sleep.
+
+This Zarathustra did; and no sooner had he laid himself on the ground in
+the stillness and secrecy of the variegated grass, than he had forgotten
+his little thirst, and fell asleep. For as the proverb of Zarathustra
+saith: “One thing is more necessary than the other.” Only that his eyes
+remained open:--for they never grew weary of viewing and admiring the
+tree and the love of the vine. In falling asleep, however, Zarathustra
+spake thus to his heart:
+
+“Hush! Hush! Hath not the world now become perfect? What hath happened
+unto me?
+
+As a delicate wind danceth invisibly upon parqueted seas, light,
+feather-light, so--danceth sleep upon me.
+
+No eye doth it close to me, it leaveth my soul awake. Light is it,
+verily, feather-light.
+
+It persuadeth me, I know not how, it toucheth me inwardly with a
+caressing hand, it constraineth me. Yea, it constraineth me, so that my
+soul stretcheth itself out:--
+
+--How long and weary it becometh, my strange soul! Hath a seventh-day
+evening come to it precisely at noontide? Hath it already wandered too
+long, blissfully, among good and ripe things?
+
+It stretcheth itself out, long--longer! it lieth still, my strange
+soul. Too many good things hath it already tasted; this golden sadness
+oppresseth it, it distorteth its mouth.
+
+--As a ship that putteth into the calmest cove:--it now draweth up to
+the land, weary of long voyages and uncertain seas. Is not the land more
+faithful?
+
+As such a ship huggeth the shore, tuggeth the shore:--then it sufficeth
+for a spider to spin its thread from the ship to the land. No stronger
+ropes are required there.
+
+As such a weary ship in the calmest cove, so do I also now repose, nigh
+to the earth, faithful, trusting, waiting, bound to it with the lightest
+threads.
+
+O happiness! O happiness! Wilt thou perhaps sing, O my soul? Thou liest
+in the grass. But this is the secret, solemn hour, when no shepherd
+playeth his pipe.
+
+Take care! Hot noontide sleepeth on the fields. Do not sing! Hush! The
+world is perfect.
+
+Do not sing, thou prairie-bird, my soul! Do not even whisper! Lo--hush!
+The old noontide sleepeth, it moveth its mouth: doth it not just now
+drink a drop of happiness--
+
+--An old brown drop of golden happiness, golden wine? Something whisketh
+over it, its happiness laugheth. Thus--laugheth a God. Hush!--
+
+--‘For happiness, how little sufficeth for happiness!’ Thus spake I
+once and thought myself wise. But it was a blasphemy: THAT have I now
+learned. Wise fools speak better.
+
+The least thing precisely, the gentlest thing, the lightest thing, a
+lizard’s rustling, a breath, a whisk, an eye-glance--LITTLE maketh up
+the BEST happiness. Hush!
+
+--What hath befallen me: Hark! Hath time flown away? Do I not fall? Have
+I not fallen--hark! into the well of eternity?
+
+--What happeneth to me? Hush! It stingeth me--alas--to the heart? To
+the heart! Oh, break up, break up, my heart, after such happiness, after
+such a sting!
+
+--What? Hath not the world just now become perfect? Round and ripe? Oh,
+for the golden round ring--whither doth it fly? Let me run after it!
+Quick!
+
+Hush--” (and here Zarathustra stretched himself, and felt that he was
+asleep.)
+
+“Up!” said he to himself, “thou sleeper! Thou noontide sleeper! Well
+then, up, ye old legs! It is time and more than time; many a good
+stretch of road is still awaiting you--
+
+Now have ye slept your fill; for how long a time? A half-eternity! Well
+then, up now, mine old heart! For how long after such a sleep mayest
+thou--remain awake?”
+
+(But then did he fall asleep anew, and his soul spake against him and
+defended itself, and lay down again)--“Leave me alone! Hush! Hath not
+the world just now become perfect? Oh, for the golden round ball!--
+
+“Get up,” said Zarathustra, “thou little thief, thou sluggard! What!
+Still stretching thyself, yawning, sighing, falling into deep wells?
+
+Who art thou then, O my soul!” (and here he became frightened, for a
+sunbeam shot down from heaven upon his face.)
+
+“O heaven above me,” said he sighing, and sat upright, “thou gazest at
+me? Thou hearkenest unto my strange soul?
+
+When wilt thou drink this drop of dew that fell down upon all earthly
+things,--when wilt thou drink this strange soul--
+
+--When, thou well of eternity! thou joyous, awful, noontide abyss! when
+wilt thou drink my soul back into thee?”
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, and rose from his couch beside the tree, as if
+awakening from a strange drunkenness: and behold! there stood the
+sun still exactly above his head. One might, however, rightly infer
+therefrom that Zarathustra had not then slept long.
+
+
+
+
+LXXI. THE GREETING.
+
+It was late in the afternoon only when Zarathustra, after long useless
+searching and strolling about, again came home to his cave. When,
+however, he stood over against it, not more than twenty paces therefrom,
+the thing happened which he now least of all expected: he heard anew the
+great CRY OF DISTRESS. And extraordinary! this time the cry came out
+of his own cave. It was a long, manifold, peculiar cry, and Zarathustra
+plainly distinguished that it was composed of many voices: although
+heard at a distance it might sound like the cry out of a single mouth.
+
+Thereupon Zarathustra rushed forward to his cave, and behold! what a
+spectacle awaited him after that concert! For there did they all sit
+together whom he had passed during the day: the king on the right and
+the king on the left, the old magician, the pope, the voluntary
+beggar, the shadow, the intellectually conscientious one, the sorrowful
+soothsayer, and the ass; the ugliest man, however, had set a crown on
+his head, and had put round him two purple girdles,--for he liked, like
+all ugly ones, to disguise himself and play the handsome person. In the
+midst, however, of that sorrowful company stood Zarathustra’s eagle,
+ruffled and disquieted, for it had been called upon to answer too much
+for which its pride had not any answer; the wise serpent however hung
+round its neck.
+
+All this did Zarathustra behold with great astonishment; then however he
+scrutinised each individual guest with courteous curiosity, read their
+souls and wondered anew. In the meantime the assembled ones had risen
+from their seats, and waited with reverence for Zarathustra to speak.
+Zarathustra however spake thus:
+
+“Ye despairing ones! Ye strange ones! So it was YOUR cry of distress
+that I heard? And now do I know also where he is to be sought, whom I
+have sought for in vain to-day: THE HIGHER MAN--:
+
+--In mine own cave sitteth he, the higher man! But why do I wonder! Have
+not I myself allured him to me by honey-offerings and artful lure-calls
+of my happiness?
+
+But it seemeth to me that ye are badly adapted for company: ye make
+one another’s hearts fretful, ye that cry for help, when ye sit here
+together? There is one that must first come,
+
+--One who will make you laugh once more, a good jovial buffoon, a
+dancer, a wind, a wild romp, some old fool:--what think ye?
+
+Forgive me, however, ye despairing ones, for speaking such trivial words
+before you, unworthy, verily, of such guests! But ye do not divine WHAT
+maketh my heart wanton:--
+
+--Ye yourselves do it, and your aspect, forgive it me! For every one
+becometh courageous who beholdeth a despairing one. To encourage a
+despairing one--every one thinketh himself strong enough to do so.
+
+To myself have ye given this power,--a good gift, mine honourable
+guests! An excellent guest’s-present! Well, do not then upbraid when I
+also offer you something of mine.
+
+This is mine empire and my dominion: that which is mine, however, shall
+this evening and tonight be yours. Mine animals shall serve you: let my
+cave be your resting-place!
+
+At house and home with me shall no one despair: in my purlieus do I
+protect every one from his wild beasts. And that is the first thing
+which I offer you: security!
+
+The second thing, however, is my little finger. And when ye have THAT,
+then take the whole hand also, yea, and the heart with it! Welcome here,
+welcome to you, my guests!”
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, and laughed with love and mischief. After this
+greeting his guests bowed once more and were reverentially silent; the
+king on the right, however, answered him in their name.
+
+“O Zarathustra, by the way in which thou hast given us thy hand and thy
+greeting, we recognise thee as Zarathustra. Thou hast humbled thyself
+before us; almost hast thou hurt our reverence--:
+
+--Who however could have humbled himself as thou hast done, with such
+pride? THAT uplifteth us ourselves; a refreshment is it, to our eyes and
+hearts.
+
+To behold this, merely, gladly would we ascend higher mountains than
+this. For as eager beholders have we come; we wanted to see what
+brighteneth dim eyes.
+
+And lo! now is it all over with our cries of distress. Now are our minds
+and hearts open and enraptured. Little is lacking for our spirits to
+become wanton.
+
+There is nothing, O Zarathustra, that groweth more pleasingly on earth
+than a lofty, strong will: it is the finest growth. An entire landscape
+refresheth itself at one such tree.
+
+To the pine do I compare him, O Zarathustra, which groweth up like
+thee--tall, silent, hardy, solitary, of the best, supplest wood,
+stately,--
+
+--In the end, however, grasping out for ITS dominion with strong, green
+branches, asking weighty questions of the wind, the storm, and whatever
+is at home on high places;
+
+--Answering more weightily, a commander, a victor! Oh! who should not
+ascend high mountains to behold such growths?
+
+At thy tree, O Zarathustra, the gloomy and ill-constituted also refresh
+themselves; at thy look even the wavering become steady and heal their
+hearts.
+
+And verily, towards thy mountain and thy tree do many eyes turn to-day;
+a great longing hath arisen, and many have learned to ask: ‘Who is
+Zarathustra?’
+
+And those into whose ears thou hast at any time dripped thy song and thy
+honey: all the hidden ones, the lone-dwellers and the twain-dwellers,
+have simultaneously said to their hearts:
+
+‘Doth Zarathustra still live? It is no longer worth while to live,
+everything is indifferent, everything is useless: or else--we must live
+with Zarathustra!’
+
+‘Why doth he not come who hath so long announced himself?’ thus do many
+people ask; ‘hath solitude swallowed him up? Or should we perhaps go to
+him?’
+
+Now doth it come to pass that solitude itself becometh fragile and
+breaketh open, like a grave that breaketh open and can no longer hold
+its dead. Everywhere one seeth resurrected ones.
+
+Now do the waves rise and rise around thy mountain, O Zarathustra. And
+however high be thy height, many of them must rise up to thee: thy boat
+shall not rest much longer on dry ground.
+
+And that we despairing ones have now come into thy cave, and already no
+longer despair:--it is but a prognostic and a presage that better ones
+are on the way to thee,--
+
+--For they themselves are on the way to thee, the last remnant of
+God among men--that is to say, all the men of great longing, of great
+loathing, of great satiety,
+
+--All who do not want to live unless they learn again to HOPE--unless
+they learn from thee, O Zarathustra, the GREAT hope!”
+
+Thus spake the king on the right, and seized the hand of Zarathustra in
+order to kiss it; but Zarathustra checked his veneration, and stepped
+back frightened, fleeing as it were, silently and suddenly into the far
+distance. After a little while, however, he was again at home with his
+guests, looked at them with clear scrutinising eyes, and said:
+
+“My guests, ye higher men, I will speak plain language and plainly with
+you. It is not for YOU that I have waited here in these mountains.”
+
+(“‘Plain language and plainly?’ Good God!” said here the king on the
+left to himself; “one seeth he doth not know the good Occidentals, this
+sage out of the Orient!
+
+But he meaneth ‘blunt language and bluntly’--well! That is not the worst
+taste in these days!”)
+
+“Ye may, verily, all of you be higher men,” continued Zarathustra; “but
+for me--ye are neither high enough, nor strong enough.
+
+For me, that is to say, for the inexorable which is now silent in me,
+but will not always be silent. And if ye appertain to me, still it is
+not as my right arm.
+
+For he who himself standeth, like you, on sickly and tender legs,
+wisheth above all to be TREATED INDULGENTLY, whether he be conscious of
+it or hide it from himself.
+
+My arms and my legs, however, I do not treat indulgently, I DO NOT TREAT
+MY WARRIORS INDULGENTLY: how then could ye be fit for MY warfare?
+
+With you I should spoil all my victories. And many of you would tumble
+over if ye but heard the loud beating of my drums.
+
+Moreover, ye are not sufficiently beautiful and well-born for me. I
+require pure, smooth mirrors for my doctrines; on your surface even mine
+own likeness is distorted.
+
+On your shoulders presseth many a burden, many a recollection; many a
+mischievous dwarf squatteth in your corners. There is concealed populace
+also in you.
+
+And though ye be high and of a higher type, much in you is crooked and
+misshapen. There is no smith in the world that could hammer you right
+and straight for me.
+
+Ye are only bridges: may higher ones pass over upon you! Ye signify
+steps: so do not upbraid him who ascendeth beyond you into HIS height!
+
+Out of your seed there may one day arise for me a genuine son and
+perfect heir: but that time is distant. Ye yourselves are not those unto
+whom my heritage and name belong.
+
+Not for you do I wait here in these mountains; not with you may I
+descend for the last time. Ye have come unto me only as a presage that
+higher ones are on the way to me,--
+
+--NOT the men of great longing, of great loathing, of great satiety, and
+that which ye call the remnant of God;
+
+--Nay! Nay! Three times Nay! For OTHERS do I wait here in these
+mountains, and will not lift my foot from thence without them;
+
+--For higher ones, stronger ones, triumphanter ones, merrier ones, for
+such as are built squarely in body and soul: LAUGHING LIONS must come!
+
+O my guests, ye strange ones--have ye yet heard nothing of my children?
+And that they are on the way to me?
+
+Do speak unto me of my gardens, of my Happy Isles, of my new beautiful
+race--why do ye not speak unto me thereof?
+
+This guests’-present do I solicit of your love, that ye speak unto me of
+my children. For them am I rich, for them I became poor: what have I not
+surrendered,
+
+--What would I not surrender that I might have one thing: THESE
+children, THIS living plantation, THESE life-trees of my will and of my
+highest hope!”
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, and stopped suddenly in his discourse: for his
+longing came over him, and he closed his eyes and his mouth, because
+of the agitation of his heart. And all his guests also were silent, and
+stood still and confounded: except only that the old soothsayer made
+signs with his hands and his gestures.
+
+
+
+
+LXXII. THE SUPPER.
+
+For at this point the soothsayer interrupted the greeting of Zarathustra
+and his guests: he pressed forward as one who had no time to lose,
+seized Zarathustra’s hand and exclaimed: “But Zarathustra!
+
+One thing is more necessary than the other, so sayest thou thyself:
+well, one thing is now more necessary UNTO ME than all others.
+
+A word at the right time: didst thou not invite me to TABLE? And here
+are many who have made long journeys. Thou dost not mean to feed us
+merely with discourses?
+
+Besides, all of you have thought too much about freezing, drowning,
+suffocating, and other bodily dangers: none of you, however, have
+thought of MY danger, namely, perishing of hunger--”
+
+(Thus spake the soothsayer. When Zarathustra’s animals, however, heard
+these words, they ran away in terror. For they saw that all they
+had brought home during the day would not be enough to fill the one
+soothsayer.)
+
+“Likewise perishing of thirst,” continued the soothsayer. “And although
+I hear water splashing here like words of wisdom--that is to say,
+plenteously and unweariedly, I--want WINE!
+
+Not every one is a born water-drinker like Zarathustra. Neither doth
+water suit weary and withered ones: WE deserve wine--IT alone giveth
+immediate vigour and improvised health!”
+
+On this occasion, when the soothsayer was longing for wine, it happened
+that the king on the left, the silent one, also found expression for
+once. “WE took care,” said he, “about wine, I, along with my brother the
+king on the right: we have enough of wine,--a whole ass-load of it. So
+there is nothing lacking but bread.”
+
+“Bread,” replied Zarathustra, laughing when he spake, “it is precisely
+bread that anchorites have not. But man doth not live by bread alone,
+but also by the flesh of good lambs, of which I have two:
+
+--THESE shall we slaughter quickly, and cook spicily with sage: it is
+so that I like them. And there is also no lack of roots and fruits,
+good enough even for the fastidious and dainty,--nor of nuts and other
+riddles for cracking.
+
+Thus will we have a good repast in a little while. But whoever wish to
+eat with us must also give a hand to the work, even the kings. For with
+Zarathustra even a king may be a cook.”
+
+This proposal appealed to the hearts of all of them, save that the
+voluntary beggar objected to the flesh and wine and spices.
+
+“Just hear this glutton Zarathustra!” said he jokingly: “doth one go
+into caves and high mountains to make such repasts?
+
+Now indeed do I understand what he once taught us: Blessed be moderate
+poverty!’ And why he wisheth to do away with beggars.”
+
+“Be of good cheer,” replied Zarathustra, “as I am. Abide by thy
+customs, thou excellent one: grind thy corn, drink thy water, praise thy
+cooking,--if only it make thee glad!
+
+I am a law only for mine own; I am not a law for all. He, however, who
+belongeth unto me must be strong of bone and light of foot,--
+
+--Joyous in fight and feast, no sulker, no John o’ Dreams, ready for the
+hardest task as for the feast, healthy and hale.
+
+The best belongeth unto mine and me; and if it be not given us, then do
+we take it:--the best food, the purest sky, the strongest thoughts, the
+fairest women!”--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra; the king on the right however answered and said:
+“Strange! Did one ever hear such sensible things out of the mouth of a
+wise man?
+
+And verily, it is the strangest thing in a wise man, if over and above,
+he be still sensible, and not an ass.”
+
+Thus spake the king on the right and wondered; the ass however, with
+ill-will, said YE-A to his remark. This however was the beginning of
+that long repast which is called “The Supper” in the history-books. At
+this there was nothing else spoken of but THE HIGHER MAN.
+
+
+
+
+LXXIII. THE HIGHER MAN.
+
+1.
+
+When I came unto men for the first time, then did I commit the anchorite
+folly, the great folly: I appeared on the market-place.
+
+And when I spake unto all, I spake unto none. In the evening, however,
+rope-dancers were my companions, and corpses; and I myself almost a
+corpse.
+
+With the new morning, however, there came unto me a new truth: then did
+I learn to say: “Of what account to me are market-place and populace and
+populace-noise and long populace-ears!”
+
+Ye higher men, learn THIS from me: On the market-place no one believeth
+in higher men. But if ye will speak there, very well! The populace,
+however, blinketh: “We are all equal.”
+
+“Ye higher men,”--so blinketh the populace--“there are no higher men, we
+are all equal; man is man, before God--we are all equal!”
+
+Before God!--Now, however, this God hath died. Before the populace,
+however, we will not be equal. Ye higher men, away from the
+market-place!
+
+2.
+
+Before God!--Now however this God hath died! Ye higher men, this God was
+your greatest danger.
+
+Only since he lay in the grave have ye again arisen. Now only cometh the
+great noontide, now only doth the higher man become--master!
+
+Have ye understood this word, O my brethren? Ye are frightened: do your
+hearts turn giddy? Doth the abyss here yawn for you? Doth the hell-hound
+here yelp at you?
+
+Well! Take heart! ye higher men! Now only travaileth the mountain of the
+human future. God hath died: now do WE desire--the Superman to live.
+
+3.
+
+The most careful ask to-day: “How is man to be maintained?” Zarathustra
+however asketh, as the first and only one: “How is man to be SURPASSED?”
+
+The Superman, I have at heart; THAT is the first and only thing to
+me--and NOT man: not the neighbour, not the poorest, not the sorriest,
+not the best.--
+
+O my brethren, what I can love in man is that he is an over-going and a
+down-going. And also in you there is much that maketh me love and hope.
+
+In that ye have despised, ye higher men, that maketh me hope. For the
+great despisers are the great reverers.
+
+In that ye have despaired, there is much to honour. For ye have not
+learned to submit yourselves, ye have not learned petty policy.
+
+For to-day have the petty people become master: they all preach
+submission and humility and policy and diligence and consideration and
+the long et cetera of petty virtues.
+
+Whatever is of the effeminate type, whatever originateth from the
+servile type, and especially the populace-mishmash:--THAT wisheth now to
+be master of all human destiny--O disgust! Disgust! Disgust!
+
+THAT asketh and asketh and never tireth: “How is man to maintain himself
+best, longest, most pleasantly?” Thereby--are they the masters of
+to-day.
+
+These masters of to-day--surpass them, O my brethren--these petty
+people: THEY are the Superman’s greatest danger!
+
+Surpass, ye higher men, the petty virtues, the petty policy, the
+sand-grain considerateness, the ant-hill trumpery, the pitiable
+comfortableness, the “happiness of the greatest number”--!
+
+And rather despair than submit yourselves. And verily, I love you,
+because ye know not to-day how to live, ye higher men! For thus do YE
+live--best!
+
+4.
+
+Have ye courage, O my brethren? Are ye stout-hearted? NOT the courage
+before witnesses, but anchorite and eagle courage, which not even a God
+any longer beholdeth?
+
+Cold souls, mules, the blind and the drunken, I do not call
+stout-hearted. He hath heart who knoweth fear, but VANQUISHETH it; who
+seeth the abyss, but with PRIDE.
+
+He who seeth the abyss, but with eagle’s eyes,--he who with eagle’s
+talons GRASPETH the abyss: he hath courage.--
+
+5.
+
+“Man is evil”--so said to me for consolation, all the wisest ones. Ah,
+if only it be still true to-day! For the evil is man’s best force.
+
+“Man must become better and eviler”--so do _I_ teach. The evilest is
+necessary for the Superman’s best.
+
+It may have been well for the preacher of the petty people to suffer and
+be burdened by men’s sin. I, however, rejoice in great sin as my great
+CONSOLATION.--
+
+Such things, however, are not said for long ears. Every word, also,
+is not suited for every mouth. These are fine far-away things: at them
+sheep’s claws shall not grasp!
+
+6.
+
+Ye higher men, think ye that I am here to put right what ye have put
+wrong?
+
+Or that I wished henceforth to make snugger couches for you sufferers?
+Or show you restless, miswandering, misclimbing ones, new and easier
+footpaths?
+
+Nay! Nay! Three times Nay! Always more, always better ones of your
+type shall succumb,--for ye shall always have it worse and harder. Thus
+only--
+
+--Thus only groweth man aloft to the height where the lightning striketh
+and shattereth him: high enough for the lightning!
+
+Towards the few, the long, the remote go forth my soul and my seeking:
+of what account to me are your many little, short miseries!
+
+Ye do not yet suffer enough for me! For ye suffer from yourselves, ye
+have not yet suffered FROM MAN. Ye would lie if ye spake otherwise! None
+of you suffereth from what _I_ have suffered.--
+
+7.
+
+It is not enough for me that the lightning no longer doeth harm. I do
+not wish to conduct it away: it shall learn--to work for ME.--
+
+My wisdom hath accumulated long like a cloud, it becometh stiller and
+darker. So doeth all wisdom which shall one day bear LIGHTNINGS.--
+
+Unto these men of to-day will I not be LIGHT, nor be called light.
+THEM--will I blind: lightning of my wisdom! put out their eyes!
+
+8.
+
+Do not will anything beyond your power: there is a bad falseness in
+those who will beyond their power.
+
+Especially when they will great things! For they awaken distrust in
+great things, these subtle false-coiners and stage-players:--
+
+--Until at last they are false towards themselves, squint-eyed, whited
+cankers, glossed over with strong words, parade virtues and brilliant
+false deeds.
+
+Take good care there, ye higher men! For nothing is more precious to me,
+and rarer, than honesty.
+
+Is this to-day not that of the populace? The populace however knoweth
+not what is great and what is small, what is straight and what is
+honest: it is innocently crooked, it ever lieth.
+
+9.
+
+Have a good distrust to-day ye, higher men, ye enheartened ones! Ye
+open-hearted ones! And keep your reasons secret! For this to-day is that
+of the populace.
+
+What the populace once learned to believe without reasons, who could--
+refute it to them by means of reasons?
+
+And on the market-place one convinceth with gestures. But reasons make
+the populace distrustful.
+
+And when truth hath once triumphed there, then ask yourselves with good
+distrust: “What strong error hath fought for it?”
+
+Be on your guard also against the learned! They hate you, because they
+are unproductive! They have cold, withered eyes before which every bird
+is unplumed.
+
+Such persons vaunt about not lying: but inability to lie is still far
+from being love to truth. Be on your guard!
+
+Freedom from fever is still far from being knowledge! Refrigerated
+spirits I do not believe in. He who cannot lie, doth not know what truth
+is.
+
+10.
+
+If ye would go up high, then use your own legs! Do not get yourselves
+CARRIED aloft; do not seat yourselves on other people’s backs and heads!
+
+Thou hast mounted, however, on horseback? Thou now ridest briskly up
+to thy goal? Well, my friend! But thy lame foot is also with thee on
+horseback!
+
+When thou reachest thy goal, when thou alightest from thy horse:
+precisely on thy HEIGHT, thou higher man,--then wilt thou stumble!
+
+11.
+
+Ye creating ones, ye higher men! One is only pregnant with one’s own
+child.
+
+Do not let yourselves be imposed upon or put upon! Who then is YOUR
+neighbour? Even if ye act “for your neighbour”--ye still do not create
+for him!
+
+Unlearn, I pray you, this “for,” ye creating ones: your very virtue
+wisheth you to have naught to do with “for” and “on account of” and
+“because.” Against these false little words shall ye stop your ears.
+
+“For one’s neighbour,” is the virtue only of the petty people: there it
+is said “like and like,” and “hand washeth hand”:--they have neither the
+right nor the power for YOUR self-seeking!
+
+In your self-seeking, ye creating ones, there is the foresight and
+foreseeing of the pregnant! What no one’s eye hath yet seen, namely, the
+fruit--this, sheltereth and saveth and nourisheth your entire love.
+
+Where your entire love is, namely, with your child, there is also your
+entire virtue! Your work, your will is YOUR “neighbour”: let no false
+values impose upon you!
+
+12.
+
+Ye creating ones, ye higher men! Whoever hath to give birth is sick;
+whoever hath given birth, however, is unclean.
+
+Ask women: one giveth birth, not because it giveth pleasure. The pain
+maketh hens and poets cackle.
+
+Ye creating ones, in you there is much uncleanliness. That is because ye
+have had to be mothers.
+
+A new child: oh, how much new filth hath also come into the world! Go
+apart! He who hath given birth shall wash his soul!
+
+13.
+
+Be not virtuous beyond your powers! And seek nothing from yourselves
+opposed to probability!
+
+Walk in the footsteps in which your fathers’ virtue hath already walked!
+How would ye rise high, if your fathers’ will should not rise with you?
+
+He, however, who would be a firstling, let him take care lest he also
+become a lastling! And where the vices of your fathers are, there should
+ye not set up as saints!
+
+He whose fathers were inclined for women, and for strong wine and flesh
+of wildboar swine; what would it be if he demanded chastity of himself?
+
+A folly would it be! Much, verily, doth it seem to me for such a one, if
+he should be the husband of one or of two or of three women.
+
+And if he founded monasteries, and inscribed over their portals: “The
+way to holiness,”--I should still say: What good is it! it is a new
+folly!
+
+He hath founded for himself a penance-house and refuge-house: much good
+may it do! But I do not believe in it.
+
+In solitude there groweth what any one bringeth into it--also the brute
+in one’s nature. Thus is solitude inadvisable unto many.
+
+Hath there ever been anything filthier on earth than the saints of
+the wilderness? AROUND THEM was not only the devil loose--but also the
+swine.
+
+14.
+
+Shy, ashamed, awkward, like the tiger whose spring hath failed--thus, ye
+higher men, have I often seen you slink aside. A CAST which ye made had
+failed.
+
+But what doth it matter, ye dice-players! Ye had not learned to play and
+mock, as one must play and mock! Do we not ever sit at a great table of
+mocking and playing?
+
+And if great things have been a failure with you, have ye yourselves
+therefore--been a failure? And if ye yourselves have been a failure,
+hath man therefore--been a failure? If man, however, hath been a
+failure: well then! never mind!
+
+15.
+
+The higher its type, always the seldomer doth a thing succeed. Ye higher
+men here, have ye not all--been failures?
+
+Be of good cheer; what doth it matter? How much is still possible! Learn
+to laugh at yourselves, as ye ought to laugh!
+
+What wonder even that ye have failed and only half-succeeded, ye
+half-shattered ones! Doth not--man’s FUTURE strive and struggle in you?
+
+Man’s furthest, profoundest, star-highest issues, his prodigious
+powers--do not all these foam through one another in your vessel?
+
+What wonder that many a vessel shattereth! Learn to laugh at yourselves,
+as ye ought to laugh! Ye higher men, O, how much is still possible!
+
+And verily, how much hath already succeeded! How rich is this earth in
+small, good, perfect things, in well-constituted things!
+
+Set around you small, good, perfect things, ye higher men. Their golden
+maturity healeth the heart. The perfect teacheth one to hope.
+
+16.
+
+What hath hitherto been the greatest sin here on earth? Was it not the
+word of him who said: “Woe unto them that laugh now!”
+
+Did he himself find no cause for laughter on the earth? Then he sought
+badly. A child even findeth cause for it.
+
+He--did not love sufficiently: otherwise would he also have loved
+us, the laughing ones! But he hated and hooted us; wailing and
+teeth-gnashing did he promise us.
+
+Must one then curse immediately, when one doth not love? That--seemeth
+to me bad taste. Thus did he, however, this absolute one. He sprang from
+the populace.
+
+And he himself just did not love sufficiently; otherwise would he have
+raged less because people did not love him. All great love doth not SEEK
+love:--it seeketh more.
+
+Go out of the way of all such absolute ones! They are a poor sickly
+type, a populace-type: they look at this life with ill-will, they have
+an evil eye for this earth.
+
+Go out of the way of all such absolute ones! They have heavy feet and
+sultry hearts:--they do not know how to dance. How could the earth be
+light to such ones!
+
+17.
+
+Tortuously do all good things come nigh to their goal. Like cats
+they curve their backs, they purr inwardly with their approaching
+happiness,--all good things laugh.
+
+His step betrayeth whether a person already walketh on HIS OWN path:
+just see me walk! He, however, who cometh nigh to his goal, danceth.
+
+And verily, a statue have I not become, not yet do I stand there stiff,
+stupid and stony, like a pillar; I love fast racing.
+
+And though there be on earth fens and dense afflictions, he who hath
+light feet runneth even across the mud, and danceth, as upon well-swept
+ice.
+
+Lift up your hearts, my brethren, high, higher! And do not forget your
+legs! Lift up also your legs, ye good dancers, and better still, if ye
+stand upon your heads!
+
+18.
+
+This crown of the laughter, this rose-garland crown: I myself have put
+on this crown, I myself have consecrated my laughter. No one else have I
+found to-day potent enough for this.
+
+Zarathustra the dancer, Zarathustra the light one, who beckoneth with
+his pinions, one ready for flight, beckoning unto all birds, ready and
+prepared, a blissfully light-spirited one:--
+
+Zarathustra the soothsayer, Zarathustra the sooth-laugher, no impatient
+one, no absolute one, one who loveth leaps and side-leaps; I myself have
+put on this crown!
+
+19.
+
+Lift up your hearts, my brethren, high, higher! And do not forget your
+legs! Lift up also your legs, ye good dancers, and better still if ye
+stand upon your heads!
+
+There are also heavy animals in a state of happiness, there are
+club-footed ones from the beginning. Curiously do they exert themselves,
+like an elephant which endeavoureth to stand upon its head.
+
+Better, however, to be foolish with happiness than foolish with
+misfortune, better to dance awkwardly than walk lamely. So learn, I
+pray you, my wisdom, ye higher men: even the worst thing hath two good
+reverse sides,--
+
+--Even the worst thing hath good dancing-legs: so learn, I pray you, ye
+higher men, to put yourselves on your proper legs!
+
+So unlearn, I pray you, the sorrow-sighing, and all the
+populace-sadness! Oh, how sad the buffoons of the populace seem to me
+to-day! This to-day, however, is that of the populace.
+
+20.
+
+Do like unto the wind when it rusheth forth from its mountain-caves:
+unto its own piping will it dance; the seas tremble and leap under its
+footsteps.
+
+That which giveth wings to asses, that which milketh the lionesses:--
+praised be that good, unruly spirit, which cometh like a hurricane unto
+all the present and unto all the populace,--
+
+--Which is hostile to thistle-heads and puzzle-heads, and to all
+withered leaves and weeds:--praised be this wild, good, free spirit of
+the storm, which danceth upon fens and afflictions, as upon meadows!
+
+Which hateth the consumptive populace-dogs, and all the ill-constituted,
+sullen brood:--praised be this spirit of all free spirits, the laughing
+storm, which bloweth dust into the eyes of all the melanopic and
+melancholic!
+
+Ye higher men, the worst thing in you is that ye have none of you
+learned to dance as ye ought to dance--to dance beyond yourselves! What
+doth it matter that ye have failed!
+
+How many things are still possible! So LEARN to laugh beyond yourselves!
+Lift up your hearts, ye good dancers, high! higher! And do not forget
+the good laughter!
+
+This crown of the laughter, this rose-garland crown: to you my brethren
+do I cast this crown! Laughing have I consecrated; ye higher men, LEARN,
+I pray you--to laugh!
+
+
+
+
+LXXIV. THE SONG OF MELANCHOLY.
+
+1.
+
+When Zarathustra spake these sayings, he stood nigh to the entrance of
+his cave; with the last words, however, he slipped away from his guests,
+and fled for a little while into the open air.
+
+“O pure odours around me,” cried he, “O blessed stillness around me! But
+where are mine animals? Hither, hither, mine eagle and my serpent!
+
+Tell me, mine animals: these higher men, all of them--do they perhaps
+not SMELL well? O pure odours around me! Now only do I know and feel how
+I love you, mine animals.”
+
+--And Zarathustra said once more: “I love you, mine animals!” The eagle,
+however, and the serpent pressed close to him when he spake these
+words, and looked up to him. In this attitude were they all three silent
+together, and sniffed and sipped the good air with one another. For the
+air here outside was better than with the higher men.
+
+2.
+
+Hardly, however, had Zarathustra left the cave when the old magician got
+up, looked cunningly about him, and said: “He is gone!
+
+And already, ye higher men--let me tickle you with this complimentary
+and flattering name, as he himself doeth--already doth mine evil spirit
+of deceit and magic attack me, my melancholy devil,
+
+--Which is an adversary to this Zarathustra from the very heart: forgive
+it for this! Now doth it wish to conjure before you, it hath just ITS
+hour; in vain do I struggle with this evil spirit.
+
+Unto all of you, whatever honours ye like to assume in your names,
+whether ye call yourselves ‘the free spirits’ or ‘the conscientious,’
+or ‘the penitents of the spirit,’ or ‘the unfettered,’ or ‘the great
+longers,’--
+
+--Unto all of you, who like me suffer FROM THE GREAT LOATHING, to
+whom the old God hath died, and as yet no new God lieth in cradles and
+swaddling clothes--unto all of you is mine evil spirit and magic-devil
+favourable.
+
+I know you, ye higher men, I know him,--I know also this fiend whom I
+love in spite of me, this Zarathustra: he himself often seemeth to me
+like the beautiful mask of a saint,
+
+--Like a new strange mummery in which mine evil spirit, the melancholy
+devil, delighteth:--I love Zarathustra, so doth it often seem to me, for
+the sake of mine evil spirit.--
+
+But already doth IT attack me and constrain me, this spirit of
+melancholy, this evening-twilight devil: and verily, ye higher men, it
+hath a longing--
+
+--Open your eyes!--it hath a longing to come NAKED, whether male or
+female, I do not yet know: but it cometh, it constraineth me, alas! open
+your wits!
+
+The day dieth out, unto all things cometh now the evening, also unto
+the best things; hear now, and see, ye higher men, what devil--man or
+woman--this spirit of evening-melancholy is!”
+
+Thus spake the old magician, looked cunningly about him, and then seized
+his harp.
+
+3.
+
+     In evening’s limpid air,
+     What time the dew’s soothings
+     Unto the earth downpour,
+     Invisibly and unheard--
+     For tender shoe-gear wear
+     The soothing dews, like all that’s kind-gentle--:
+     Bethinkst thou then, bethinkst thou, burning heart,
+     How once thou thirstedest
+     For heaven’s kindly teardrops and dew’s down-droppings,
+     All singed and weary thirstedest,
+     What time on yellow grass-pathways
+     Wicked, occidental sunny glances
+     Through sombre trees about thee sported,
+     Blindingly sunny glow-glances, gladly-hurting?
+
+     “Of TRUTH the wooer?  Thou?”--so taunted they--
+     “Nay!  Merely poet!
+     A brute insidious, plundering, grovelling,
+     That aye must lie,
+     That wittingly, wilfully, aye must lie:
+     For booty lusting,
+     Motley masked,
+     Self-hidden, shrouded,
+     Himself his booty--
+     HE--of truth the wooer?
+     Nay!  Mere fool!  Mere poet!
+     Just motley speaking,
+     From mask of fool confusedly shouting,
+     Circumambling on fabricated word-bridges,
+     On motley rainbow-arches,
+     ‘Twixt the spurious heavenly,
+     And spurious earthly,
+     Round us roving, round us soaring,--
+     MERE FOOL!  MERE POET!
+
+     HE--of truth the wooer?
+     Not still, stiff, smooth and cold,
+     Become an image,
+     A godlike statue,
+     Set up in front of temples,
+     As a God’s own door-guard:
+     Nay! hostile to all such truthfulness-statues,
+     In every desert homelier than at temples,
+     With cattish wantonness,
+     Through every window leaping
+     Quickly into chances,
+     Every wild forest a-sniffing,
+     Greedily-longingly, sniffing,
+     That thou, in wild forests,
+     ’Mong the motley-speckled fierce creatures,
+     Shouldest rove, sinful-sound and fine-coloured,
+     With longing lips smacking,
+     Blessedly mocking, blessedly hellish, blessedly bloodthirsty,
+     Robbing, skulking, lying--roving:--
+
+     Or unto eagles like which fixedly,
+     Long adown the precipice look,
+     Adown THEIR precipice:--
+     Oh, how they whirl down now,
+     Thereunder, therein,
+     To ever deeper profoundness whirling!--
+     Then,
+     Sudden,
+     With aim aright,
+     With quivering flight,
+     On LAMBKINS pouncing,
+     Headlong down, sore-hungry,
+     For lambkins longing,
+     Fierce ’gainst all lamb-spirits,
+     Furious-fierce ’gainst all that look
+     Sheeplike, or lambeyed, or crisp-woolly,
+     --Grey, with lambsheep kindliness!
+
+     Even thus,
+     Eaglelike, pantherlike,
+     Are the poet’s desires,
+     Are THINE OWN desires ‘neath a thousand guises,
+     Thou fool!  Thou poet!
+     Thou who all mankind viewedst--
+     So God, as sheep--:
+     The God TO REND within mankind,
+     As the sheep in mankind,
+     And in rending LAUGHING--
+
+     THAT, THAT is thine own blessedness!
+     Of a panther and eagle--blessedness!
+     Of a poet and fool--the blessedness!--
+
+     In evening’s limpid air,
+     What time the moon’s sickle,
+     Green, ‘twixt the purple-glowings,
+     And jealous, steal’th forth:
+     --Of day the foe,
+     With every step in secret,
+     The rosy garland-hammocks
+     Downsickling, till they’ve sunken
+     Down nightwards, faded, downsunken:--
+
+     Thus had I sunken one day
+     From mine own truth-insanity,
+     From mine own fervid day-longings,
+     Of day aweary, sick of sunshine,
+     --Sunk downwards, evenwards, shadowwards:
+     By one sole trueness
+     All scorched and thirsty:
+     --Bethinkst thou still, bethinkst thou, burning heart,
+     How then thou thirstedest?--
+     THAT I SHOULD BANNED BE
+     FROM ALL THE TRUENESS!
+     MERE FOOL!  MERE POET!
+
+
+
+
+LXXV. SCIENCE.
+
+Thus sang the magician; and all who were present went like birds
+unawares into the net of his artful and melancholy voluptuousness.
+Only the spiritually conscientious one had not been caught: he at once
+snatched the harp from the magician and called out: “Air! Let in good
+air! Let in Zarathustra! Thou makest this cave sultry and poisonous,
+thou bad old magician!
+
+Thou seducest, thou false one, thou subtle one, to unknown desires and
+deserts. And alas, that such as thou should talk and make ado about the
+TRUTH!
+
+Alas, to all free spirits who are not on their guard against SUCH
+magicians! It is all over with their freedom: thou teachest and temptest
+back into prisons,--
+
+--Thou old melancholy devil, out of thy lament soundeth a lurement: thou
+resemblest those who with their praise of chastity secretly invite to
+voluptuousness!”
+
+Thus spake the conscientious one; the old magician, however, looked
+about him, enjoying his triumph, and on that account put up with the
+annoyance which the conscientious one caused him. “Be still!” said he
+with modest voice, “good songs want to re-echo well; after good songs
+one should be long silent.
+
+Thus do all those present, the higher men. Thou, however, hast perhaps
+understood but little of my song? In thee there is little of the magic
+spirit..”
+
+“Thou praisest me,” replied the conscientious one, “in that thou
+separatest me from thyself; very well! But, ye others, what do I see? Ye
+still sit there, all of you, with lusting eyes--:
+
+Ye free spirits, whither hath your freedom gone! Ye almost seem to me
+to resemble those who have long looked at bad girls dancing naked: your
+souls themselves dance!
+
+In you, ye higher men, there must be more of that which the magician
+calleth his evil spirit of magic and deceit:--we must indeed be
+different.
+
+And verily, we spake and thought long enough together ere Zarathustra
+came home to his cave, for me not to be unaware that we ARE different.
+
+We SEEK different things even here aloft, ye and I. For I seek more
+SECURITY; on that account have I come to Zarathustra. For he is still
+the most steadfast tower and will--
+
+--To-day, when everything tottereth, when all the earth quaketh. Ye,
+however, when I see what eyes ye make, it almost seemeth to me that ye
+seek MORE INSECURITY,
+
+--More horror, more danger, more earthquake. Ye long (it almost seemeth
+so to me--forgive my presumption, ye higher men)--
+
+--Ye long for the worst and dangerousest life, which frighteneth ME
+most,--for the life of wild beasts, for forests, caves, steep mountains
+and labyrinthine gorges.
+
+And it is not those who lead OUT OF danger that please you best, but
+those who lead you away from all paths, the misleaders. But if
+such longing in you be ACTUAL, it seemeth to me nevertheless to be
+IMPOSSIBLE.
+
+For fear--that is man’s original and fundamental feeling; through fear
+everything is explained, original sin and original virtue. Through fear
+there grew also MY virtue, that is to say: Science.
+
+For fear of wild animals--that hath been longest fostered in
+man, inclusive of the animal which he concealeth and feareth in
+himself:--Zarathustra calleth it ‘the beast inside.’
+
+Such prolonged ancient fear, at last become subtle, spiritual and
+intellectual--at present, me thinketh, it is called SCIENCE.”--
+
+Thus spake the conscientious one; but Zarathustra, who had just come
+back into his cave and had heard and divined the last discourse, threw a
+handful of roses to the conscientious one, and laughed on account of
+his “truths.” “Why!” he exclaimed, “what did I hear just now? Verily, it
+seemeth to me, thou art a fool, or else I myself am one: and quietly and
+quickly will I put thy ‘truth’ upside down.
+
+For FEAR--is an exception with us. Courage, however, and adventure, and
+delight in the uncertain, in the unattempted--COURAGE seemeth to me the
+entire primitive history of man.
+
+The wildest and most courageous animals hath he envied and robbed of all
+their virtues: thus only did he become--man.
+
+THIS courage, at last become subtle, spiritual and intellectual, this
+human courage, with eagle’s pinions and serpent’s wisdom: THIS, it
+seemeth to me, is called at present--”
+
+“ZARATHUSTRA!” cried all of them there assembled, as if with one voice,
+and burst out at the same time into a great laughter; there arose,
+however, from them as it were a heavy cloud. Even the magician laughed,
+and said wisely: “Well! It is gone, mine evil spirit!
+
+And did I not myself warn you against it when I said that it was a
+deceiver, a lying and deceiving spirit?
+
+Especially when it showeth itself naked. But what can _I_ do with regard
+to its tricks! Have _I_ created it and the world?
+
+Well! Let us be good again, and of good cheer! And although Zarathustra
+looketh with evil eye--just see him! he disliketh me--:
+
+--Ere night cometh will he again learn to love and laud me; he cannot
+live long without committing such follies.
+
+HE--loveth his enemies: this art knoweth he better than any one I have
+seen. But he taketh revenge for it--on his friends!”
+
+Thus spake the old magician, and the higher men applauded him; so that
+Zarathustra went round, and mischievously and lovingly shook hands with
+his friends,--like one who hath to make amends and apologise to every
+one for something. When however he had thereby come to the door of his
+cave, lo, then had he again a longing for the good air outside, and for
+his animals,--and wished to steal out.
+
+
+
+
+LXXVI. AMONG DAUGHTERS OF THE DESERT.
+
+1.
+
+“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.
+
+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.
+
+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,--
+
+--The bad game of drifting clouds, of damp melancholy, of curtained
+heavens, of stolen suns, of 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!
+
+Thou hast nourished us with strong food for men, and powerful proverbs:
+do not let the weakly, womanly spirits attack us anew 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?
+
+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!
+
+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:--
+
+For with them was there equally good, clear, Oriental air; there was I
+furthest 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.
+
+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--
+
+Many-hued and foreign, forsooth! but without clouds: riddles which
+can be guessed: to please such maidens I then 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.
+
+2.
+
+THE DESERTS GROW: WOE HIM WHO DOTH THEM HIDE!
+
+     --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!
+
+THE DESERTS GROW: WOE HIM WHO DOTH THEM HIDE!
+
+
+
+
+LXXVII. THE AWAKENING.
+
+1.
+
+After the song of the wanderer and shadow, the cave became all at once
+full of noise and laughter: and since the assembled guests all spake
+simultaneously, and even the ass, encouraged thereby, no longer
+remained silent, a little aversion and scorn for his visitors came over
+Zarathustra, although he rejoiced at their gladness. For it seemed to
+him a sign of convalescence. So he slipped out into the open air and
+spake to his animals.
+
+“Whither hath their distress now gone?” said he, and already did he
+himself feel relieved of his petty disgust--“with me, it seemeth that
+they have unlearned their cries of distress!
+
+--Though, alas! not yet their crying.” And Zarathustra stopped his
+ears, for just then did the YE-A of the ass mix strangely with the noisy
+jubilation of those higher men.
+
+“They are merry,” he began again, “and who knoweth? perhaps at their
+host’s expense; and if they have learned of me to laugh, still it is not
+MY laughter they have learned.
+
+But what matter about that! They are old people: they recover in their
+own way, they laugh in their own way; mine ears have already endured
+worse and have not become peevish.
+
+This day is a victory: he already yieldeth, he fleeth, THE SPIRIT OF
+GRAVITY, mine old arch-enemy! How well this day is about to end, which
+began so badly and gloomily!
+
+And it is ABOUT TO end. Already cometh the evening: over the sea
+rideth it hither, the good rider! How it bobbeth, the blessed one, the
+home-returning one, in its purple saddles!
+
+The sky gazeth brightly thereon, the world lieth deep. Oh, all ye
+strange ones who have come to me, it is already worth while to have
+lived with me!”
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra. And again came the cries and laughter of the
+higher men out of the cave: then began he anew:
+
+“They bite at it, my bait taketh, there departeth also from them their
+enemy, the spirit of gravity. Now do they learn to laugh at themselves:
+do I hear rightly?
+
+My virile food taketh effect, my strong and savoury sayings: and verily,
+I did not nourish them with flatulent vegetables! But with warrior-food,
+with conqueror-food: new desires did I awaken.
+
+New hopes are in their arms and legs, their hearts expand. They find new
+words, soon will their spirits breathe wantonness.
+
+Such food may sure enough not be proper for children, nor even for
+longing girls old and young. One persuadeth their bowels otherwise; I am
+not their physician and teacher.
+
+The DISGUST departeth from these higher men; well! that is my victory.
+In my domain they become assured; all stupid shame fleeth away; they
+empty themselves.
+
+They empty their hearts, good times return unto them, they keep holiday
+and ruminate,--they become THANKFUL.
+
+THAT do I take as the best sign: they become thankful. Not long will it
+be ere they devise festivals, and put up memorials to their old joys.
+
+They are CONVALESCENTS!” Thus spake Zarathustra joyfully to his heart
+and gazed outward; his animals, however, pressed up to him, and honoured
+his happiness and his silence.
+
+2.
+
+All on a sudden however, Zarathustra’s ear was frightened: for the cave
+which had hitherto been full of noise and laughter, became all at once
+still as death;--his nose, however, smelt a sweet-scented vapour and
+incense-odour, as if from burning pine-cones.
+
+“What happeneth? What are they about?” he asked himself, and stole up
+to the entrance, that he might be able unobserved to see his guests.
+But wonder upon wonder! what was he then obliged to behold with his own
+eyes!
+
+“They have all of them become PIOUS again, they PRAY, they are
+mad!”--said he, and was astonished beyond measure. And forsooth! all
+these higher men, the two kings, the pope out of service, the evil
+magician, the voluntary beggar, the wanderer and shadow, the old
+soothsayer, the spiritually conscientious one, and the ugliest man--they
+all lay on their knees like children and credulous old women, and
+worshipped the ass. And just then began the ugliest man to gurgle and
+snort, as if something unutterable in him tried to find expression;
+when, however, he had actually found words, behold! it was a pious,
+strange litany in praise of the adored and censed ass. And the litany
+sounded thus:
+
+Amen! And glory and honour and wisdom and thanks and praise and strength
+be to our God, from everlasting to everlasting!
+
+--The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+
+He carrieth our burdens, he hath taken upon him the form of a servant,
+he is patient of heart and never saith Nay; and he who loveth his God
+chastiseth him.
+
+--The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+
+He speaketh not: except that he ever saith Yea to the world which
+he created: thus doth he extol his world. It is his artfulness that
+speaketh not: thus is he rarely found wrong.
+
+--The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+
+Uncomely goeth he through the world. Grey is the favourite colour in
+which he wrappeth his virtue. Hath he spirit, then doth he conceal it;
+every one, however, believeth in his long ears.
+
+--The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+
+What hidden wisdom it is to wear long ears, and only to say Yea and
+never Nay! Hath he not created the world in his own image, namely, as
+stupid as possible?
+
+--The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+
+Thou goest straight and crooked ways; it concerneth thee little what
+seemeth straight or crooked unto us men. Beyond good and evil is thy
+domain. It is thine innocence not to know what innocence is.
+
+--The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+
+Lo! how thou spurnest none from thee, neither beggars nor kings. Thou
+sufferest little children to come unto thee, and when the bad boys decoy
+thee, then sayest thou simply, YE-A.
+
+--The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+
+Thou lovest she-asses and fresh figs, thou art no food-despiser. A
+thistle tickleth thy heart when thou chancest to be hungry. There is the
+wisdom of a God therein.
+
+--The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+
+
+
+
+LXXVIII. THE ASS-FESTIVAL.
+
+1.
+
+At this place in the litany, however, Zarathustra could no longer
+control himself; he himself cried out YE-A, louder even than the ass,
+and sprang into the midst of his maddened guests. “Whatever are you
+about, ye grown-up children?” he exclaimed, pulling up the praying ones
+from the ground. “Alas, if any one else, except Zarathustra, had seen
+you:
+
+Every one would think you the worst blasphemers, or the very foolishest
+old women, with your new belief!
+
+And thou thyself, thou old pope, how is it in accordance with thee, to
+adore an ass in such a manner as God?”--
+
+“O Zarathustra,” answered the pope, “forgive me, but in divine matters
+I am more enlightened even than thou. And it is right that it should be
+so.
+
+Better to adore God so, in this form, than in no form at all! Think over
+this saying, mine exalted friend: thou wilt readily divine that in such
+a saying there is wisdom.
+
+He who said ‘God is a Spirit’--made the greatest stride and slide
+hitherto made on earth towards unbelief: such a dictum is not easily
+amended again on earth!
+
+Mine old heart leapeth and boundeth because there is still something
+to adore on earth. Forgive it, O Zarathustra, to an old, pious
+pontiff-heart!--”
+
+--“And thou,” said Zarathustra to the wanderer and shadow, “thou callest
+and thinkest thyself a free spirit? And thou here practisest such
+idolatry and hierolatry?
+
+Worse verily, doest thou here than with thy bad brown girls, thou bad,
+new believer!”
+
+“It is sad enough,” answered the wanderer and shadow, “thou art right:
+but how can I help it! The old God liveth again, O Zarathustra, thou
+mayst say what thou wilt.
+
+The ugliest man is to blame for it all: he hath reawakened him. And
+if he say that he once killed him, with Gods DEATH is always just a
+prejudice.”
+
+--“And thou,” said Zarathustra, “thou bad old magician, what didst thou
+do! Who ought to believe any longer in thee in this free age, when THOU
+believest in such divine donkeyism?
+
+It was a stupid thing that thou didst; how couldst thou, a shrewd man,
+do such a stupid thing!”
+
+“O Zarathustra,” answered the shrewd magician, “thou art right, it was a
+stupid thing,--it was also repugnant to me.”
+
+--“And thou even,” said Zarathustra to the spiritually conscientious
+one, “consider, and put thy finger to thy nose! Doth nothing go against
+thy conscience here? Is thy spirit not too cleanly for this praying and
+the fumes of those devotees?”
+
+“There is something therein,” said the spiritually conscientious one,
+and put his finger to his nose, “there is something in this spectacle
+which even doeth good to my conscience.
+
+Perhaps I dare not believe in God: certain it is however, that God
+seemeth to me most worthy of belief in this form.
+
+God is said to be eternal, according to the testimony of the most pious:
+he who hath so much time taketh his time. As slow and as stupid as
+possible: THEREBY can such a one nevertheless go very far.
+
+And he who hath too much spirit might well become infatuated with
+stupidity and folly. Think of thyself, O Zarathustra!
+
+Thou thyself--verily! even thou couldst well become an ass through
+superabundance of wisdom.
+
+Doth not the true sage willingly walk on the crookedest paths? The
+evidence teacheth it, O Zarathustra,--THINE OWN evidence!”
+
+--“And thou thyself, finally,” said Zarathustra, and turned towards the
+ugliest man, who still lay on the ground stretching up his arm to the
+ass (for he gave it wine to drink). “Say, thou nondescript, what hast
+thou been about!
+
+Thou seemest to me transformed, thine eyes glow, the mantle of the
+sublime covereth thine ugliness: WHAT didst thou do?
+
+Is it then true what they say, that thou hast again awakened him? And
+why? Was he not for good reasons killed and made away with?
+
+Thou thyself seemest to me awakened: what didst thou do? why didst THOU
+turn round? Why didst THOU get converted? Speak, thou nondescript!”
+
+“O Zarathustra,” answered the ugliest man, “thou art a rogue!
+
+Whether HE yet liveth, or again liveth, or is thoroughly dead--which of
+us both knoweth that best? I ask thee.
+
+One thing however do I know,--from thyself did I learn it once, O
+Zarathustra: he who wanteth to kill most thoroughly, LAUGHETH.
+
+‘Not by wrath but by laughter doth one kill’--thus spakest thou once,
+O Zarathustra, thou hidden one, thou destroyer without wrath, thou
+dangerous saint,--thou art a rogue!”
+
+2.
+
+Then, however, did it come to pass that Zarathustra, astonished at such
+merely roguish answers, jumped back to the door of his cave, and turning
+towards all his guests, cried out with a strong voice:
+
+“O ye wags, all of you, ye buffoons! Why do ye dissemble and disguise
+yourselves before me!
+
+How the hearts of all of you convulsed with delight and wickedness,
+because ye had at last become again like little children--namely,
+pious,--
+
+--Because ye at last did again as children do--namely, prayed, folded
+your hands and said ‘good God’!
+
+But now leave, I pray you, THIS nursery, mine own cave, where to-day
+all childishness is carried on. Cool down, here outside, your hot
+child-wantonness and heart-tumult!
+
+To be sure: except ye become as little children ye shall not enter into
+THAT kingdom of heaven.” (And Zarathustra pointed aloft with his hands.)
+
+“But we do not at all want to enter into the kingdom of heaven: we have
+become men,--SO WE WANT THE KINGDOM OF EARTH.”
+
+3.
+
+And once more began Zarathustra to speak. “O my new friends,” said he,--
+“ye strange ones, ye higher men, how well do ye now please me,--
+
+--Since ye have again become joyful! Ye have, verily, all blossomed
+forth: it seemeth to me that for such flowers as you, NEW FESTIVALS are
+required.
+
+--A little valiant nonsense, some divine service and ass-festival, some
+old joyful Zarathustra fool, some blusterer to blow your souls bright.
+
+Forget not this night and this ass-festival, ye higher men! THAT did ye
+devise when with me, that do I take as a good omen,--such things only
+the convalescents devise!
+
+And should ye celebrate it again, this ass-festival, do it from love to
+yourselves, do it also from love to me! And in remembrance of me!”
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+LXXIX. THE DRUNKEN SONG.
+
+1.
+
+Meanwhile one after another had gone out into the open air, and into the
+cool, thoughtful night; Zarathustra himself, however, led the ugliest
+man by the hand, that he might show him his night-world, and the great
+round moon, and the silvery water-falls near his cave. There they at
+last stood still beside one another; all of them old people, but with
+comforted, brave hearts, and astonished in themselves that it was so
+well with them on earth; the mystery of the night, however, came nigher
+and nigher to their hearts. And anew Zarathustra thought to himself:
+“Oh, how well do they now please me, these higher men!”--but he did not
+say it aloud, for he respected their happiness and their silence.--
+
+Then, however, there happened that which in this astonishing long day
+was most astonishing: the ugliest man began once more and for the last
+time to gurgle and snort, and when he had at length found expression,
+behold! there sprang a question plump and plain out of his mouth, a
+good, deep, clear question, which moved the hearts of all who listened
+to him.
+
+“My friends, all of you,” said the ugliest man, “what think ye? For the
+sake of this day--_I_ am for the first time content to have lived mine
+entire life.
+
+And that I testify so much is still not enough for me. It is worth while
+living on the earth: one day, one festival with Zarathustra, hath taught
+me to love the earth.
+
+‘Was THAT--life?’ will I say unto death. ‘Well! Once more!’
+
+My friends, what think ye? Will ye not, like me, say unto death: ‘Was
+THAT--life? For the sake of Zarathustra, well! Once more!’”--
+
+Thus spake the ugliest man; it was not, however, far from midnight.
+And what took place then, think ye? As soon as the higher men heard his
+question, they became all at once conscious of their transformation and
+convalescence, and of him who was the cause thereof: then did they rush
+up to Zarathustra, thanking, honouring, caressing him, and kissing his
+hands, each in his own peculiar way; so that some laughed and some wept.
+The old soothsayer, however, danced with delight; and though he was
+then, as some narrators suppose, full of sweet wine, he was certainly
+still fuller of sweet life, and had renounced all weariness. There are
+even those who narrate that the ass then danced: for not in vain had the
+ugliest man previously given it wine to drink. That may be the case, or
+it may be otherwise; and if in truth the ass did not dance that evening,
+there nevertheless happened then greater and rarer wonders than
+the dancing of an ass would have been. In short, as the proverb of
+Zarathustra saith: “What doth it matter!”
+
+2.
+
+When, however, this took place with the ugliest man, Zarathustra stood
+there like one drunken: his glance dulled, his tongue faltered and his
+feet staggered. And who could divine what thoughts then passed through
+Zarathustra’s soul? Apparently, however, his spirit retreated and fled
+in advance and was in remote distances, and as it were “wandering on
+high mountain-ridges,” as it standeth written, “‘twixt two seas,
+
+--Wandering ‘twixt the past and the future as a heavy cloud.” Gradually,
+however, while the higher men held him in their arms, he came back to
+himself a little, and resisted with his hands the crowd of the honouring
+and caring ones; but he did not speak. All at once, however, he turned
+his head quickly, for he seemed to hear something: then laid he his
+finger on his mouth and said: “COME!”
+
+And immediately it became still and mysterious round about; from
+the depth however there came up slowly the sound of a clock-bell.
+Zarathustra listened thereto, like the higher men; then, however, laid
+he his finger on his mouth the second time, and said again: “COME! COME!
+IT IS GETTING ON TO MIDNIGHT!”--and his voice had changed. But still
+he had not moved from the spot. Then it became yet stiller and more
+mysterious, and everything hearkened, even the ass, and Zarathustra’s
+noble animals, the eagle and the serpent,--likewise the cave of
+Zarathustra and the big cool moon, and the night itself. Zarathustra,
+however, laid his hand upon his mouth for the third time, and said:
+
+COME! COME! COME! LET US NOW WANDER! IT IS THE HOUR: LET US WANDER INTO
+THE NIGHT!
+
+3.
+
+Ye higher men, it is getting on to midnight: then will I say something
+into your ears, as that old clock-bell saith it into mine ear,--
+
+--As mysteriously, as frightfully, and as cordially as that midnight
+clock-bell speaketh it to me, which hath experienced more than one man:
+
+--Which hath already counted the smarting throbbings of your fathers’
+hearts--ah! ah! how it sigheth! how it laugheth in its dream! the old,
+deep, deep midnight!
+
+Hush! Hush! Then is there many a thing heard which may not be heard
+by day; now however, in the cool air, when even all the tumult of your
+hearts hath become still,--
+
+--Now doth it speak, now is it heard, now doth it steal into
+overwakeful, nocturnal souls: ah! ah! how the midnight sigheth! how it
+laugheth in its dream!
+
+--Hearest thou not how it mysteriously, frightfully, and cordially
+speaketh unto THEE, the old deep, deep midnight?
+
+O MAN, TAKE HEED!
+
+4.
+
+Woe to me! Whither hath time gone? Have I not sunk into deep wells? The
+world sleepeth--
+
+Ah! Ah! The dog howleth, the moon shineth. Rather will I die, rather
+will I die, than say unto you what my midnight-heart now thinketh.
+
+Already have I died. It is all over. Spider, why spinnest thou around
+me? Wilt thou have blood? Ah! Ah! The dew falleth, the hour cometh--
+
+--The hour in which I frost and freeze, which asketh and asketh and
+asketh: “Who hath sufficient courage for it?
+
+--Who is to be master of the world? Who is going to say: THUS shall ye
+flow, ye great and small streams!”
+
+--The hour approacheth: O man, thou higher man, take heed! this talk is
+for fine ears, for thine ears--WHAT SAITH DEEP MIDNIGHT’S VOICE INDEED?
+
+5.
+
+It carrieth me away, my soul danceth. Day’s-work! Day’s-work! Who is to
+be master of the world?
+
+The moon is cool, the wind is still. Ah! Ah! Have ye already flown high
+enough? Ye have danced: a leg, nevertheless, is not a wing.
+
+Ye good dancers, now is all delight over: wine hath become lees, every
+cup hath become brittle, the sepulchres mutter.
+
+Ye have not flown high enough: now do the sepulchres mutter: “Free the
+dead! Why is it so long night? Doth not the moon make us drunken?”
+
+Ye higher men, free the sepulchres, awaken the corpses! Ah, why doth the
+worm still burrow? There approacheth, there approacheth, the hour,--
+
+--There boometh the clock-bell, there thrilleth still the heart, there
+burroweth still the wood-worm, the heart-worm. Ah! Ah! THE WORLD IS
+DEEP!
+
+6.
+
+Sweet lyre! Sweet lyre! I love thy tone, thy drunken, ranunculine
+tone!--how long, how far hath come unto me thy tone, from the distance,
+from the ponds of love!
+
+Thou old clock-bell, thou sweet lyre! Every pain hath torn thy heart,
+father-pain, fathers’-pain, forefathers’-pain; thy speech hath become
+ripe,--
+
+--Ripe like the golden autumn and the afternoon, like mine anchorite
+heart--now sayest thou: The world itself hath become ripe, the grape
+turneth brown,
+
+--Now doth it wish to die, to die of happiness. Ye higher men, do ye not
+feel it? There welleth up mysteriously an odour,
+
+--A perfume and odour of eternity, a rosy-blessed, brown,
+gold-wine-odour of old happiness,
+
+--Of drunken midnight-death happiness, which singeth: the world is deep,
+AND DEEPER THAN THE DAY COULD READ!
+
+7.
+
+Leave me alone! Leave me alone! I am too pure for thee. Touch me not!
+Hath not my world just now become perfect?
+
+My skin is too pure for thy hands. Leave me alone, thou dull, doltish,
+stupid day! Is not the midnight brighter?
+
+The purest are to be masters of the world, the least known, the
+strongest, the midnight-souls, who are brighter and deeper than any day.
+
+O day, thou gropest for me? Thou feelest for my happiness? For thee am I
+rich, lonesome, a treasure-pit, a gold chamber?
+
+O world, thou wantest ME? Am I worldly for thee? Am I spiritual for
+thee? Am I divine for thee? But day and world, ye are too coarse,--
+
+--Have cleverer hands, grasp after deeper happiness, after deeper
+unhappiness, grasp after some God; grasp not after me:
+
+--Mine unhappiness, my happiness is deep, thou strange day, but yet am I
+no God, no God’s-hell: DEEP IS ITS WOE.
+
+8.
+
+God’s woe is deeper, thou strange world! Grasp at God’s woe, not at me!
+What am I! A drunken sweet lyre,--
+
+--A midnight-lyre, a bell-frog, which no one understandeth, but which
+MUST speak before deaf ones, ye higher men! For ye do not understand me!
+
+Gone! Gone! O youth! O noontide! O afternoon! Now have come evening and
+night and midnight,--the dog howleth, the wind:
+
+--Is the wind not a dog? It whineth, it barketh, it howleth. Ah! Ah!
+how she sigheth! how she laugheth, how she wheezeth and panteth, the
+midnight!
+
+How she just now speaketh soberly, this drunken poetess! hath she
+perhaps overdrunk her drunkenness? hath she become overawake? doth she
+ruminate?
+
+--Her woe doth she ruminate over, in a dream, the old, deep
+midnight--and still more her joy. For joy, although woe be deep, JOY IS
+DEEPER STILL THAN GRIEF CAN BE.
+
+9.
+
+Thou grape-vine! Why dost thou praise me? Have I not cut thee! I am
+cruel, thou bleedest--: what meaneth thy praise of my drunken cruelty?
+
+“Whatever hath become perfect, everything mature--wanteth to die!” so
+sayest thou. Blessed, blessed be the vintner’s knife! But everything
+immature wanteth to live: alas!
+
+Woe saith: “Hence! Go! Away, thou woe!” But everything that suffereth
+wanteth to live, that it may become mature and lively and longing,
+
+--Longing for the further, the higher, the brighter. “I want heirs,”
+ so saith everything that suffereth, “I want children, I do not want
+MYSELF,”--
+
+Joy, however, doth not want heirs, it doth not want children,--joy
+wanteth itself, it wanteth eternity, it wanteth recurrence, it wanteth
+everything eternally-like-itself.
+
+Woe saith: “Break, bleed, thou heart! Wander, thou leg! Thou wing, fly!
+Onward! upward! thou pain!” Well! Cheer up! O mine old heart: WOE SAITH:
+“HENCE! GO!”
+
+10.
+
+Ye higher men, what think ye? Am I a soothsayer? Or a dreamer? Or a
+drunkard? Or a dream-reader? Or a midnight-bell?
+
+Or a drop of dew? Or a fume and fragrance of eternity? Hear ye it not?
+Smell ye it not? Just now hath my world become perfect, midnight is also
+mid-day,--
+
+Pain is also a joy, curse is also a blessing, night is also a sun,--go
+away! or ye will learn that a sage is also a fool.
+
+Said ye ever Yea to one joy? O my friends, then said ye Yea also unto
+ALL woe. All things are enlinked, enlaced and enamoured,--
+
+--Wanted ye ever once to come twice; said ye ever: “Thou pleasest me,
+happiness! Instant! Moment!” then wanted ye ALL to come back again!
+
+--All anew, all eternal, all enlinked, enlaced and enamoured, Oh, then
+did ye LOVE the world,--
+
+--Ye eternal ones, ye love it eternally and for all time: and also unto
+woe do ye say: Hence! Go! but come back! FOR JOYS ALL WANT--ETERNITY!
+
+11.
+
+All joy wanteth the eternity of all things, it wanteth honey, it
+wanteth lees, it wanteth drunken midnight, it wanteth graves, it wanteth
+grave-tears’ consolation, it wanteth gilded evening-red--
+
+--WHAT doth not joy want! it is thirstier, heartier, hungrier, more
+frightful, more mysterious, than all woe: it wanteth ITSELF, it biteth
+into ITSELF, the ring’s will writheth in it,--
+
+--It wanteth love, it wanteth hate, it is over-rich, it bestoweth, it
+throweth away, it beggeth for some one to take from it, it thanketh the
+taker, it would fain be hated,--
+
+--So rich is joy that it thirsteth for woe, for hell, for hate, for
+shame, for the lame, for the WORLD,--for this world, Oh, ye know it
+indeed!
+
+Ye higher men, for you doth it long, this joy, this irrepressible,
+blessed joy--for your woe, ye failures! For failures, longeth all
+eternal joy.
+
+For joys all want themselves, therefore do they also want grief! O
+happiness, O pain! Oh break, thou heart! Ye higher men, do learn it,
+that joys want eternity.
+
+--Joys want the eternity of ALL things, they WANT DEEP, PROFOUND
+ETERNITY!
+
+12.
+
+Have ye now learned my song? Have ye divined what it would say? Well!
+Cheer up! Ye higher men, sing now my roundelay!
+
+Sing now yourselves the song, the name of which is “Once more,” the
+signification of which is “Unto all eternity!”--sing, ye higher men,
+Zarathustra’s roundelay!
+
+     O man!  Take heed!
+     What saith deep midnight’s voice indeed?
+     “I slept my sleep--,
+     “From deepest dream I’ve woke, and plead:--
+     “The world is deep,
+     “And deeper than the day could read.
+     “Deep is its woe--,
+     “Joy--deeper still than grief can be:
+     “Woe saith:  Hence!  Go!
+     “But joys all want eternity-,
+     “-Want deep, profound eternity!”
+
+
+
+
+LXXX. THE SIGN.
+
+In the morning, however, after this night, Zarathustra jumped up from
+his couch, and, having girded his loins, he came out of his cave glowing
+and strong, like a morning sun coming out of gloomy mountains.
+
+“Thou great star,” spake he, as he had spoken once before, “thou deep
+eye of happiness, what would be all thy happiness if thou hadst not
+THOSE for whom thou shinest!
+
+And if they remained in their chambers whilst thou art already awake,
+and comest and bestowest and distributest, how would thy proud modesty
+upbraid for it!
+
+Well! they still sleep, these higher men, whilst _I_ am awake: THEY are
+not my proper companions! Not for them do I wait here in my mountains.
+
+At my work I want to be, at my day: but they understand not what are the
+signs of my morning, my step--is not for them the awakening-call.
+
+They still sleep in my cave; their dream still drinketh at my drunken
+songs. The audient ear for ME--the OBEDIENT ear, is yet lacking in their
+limbs.”
+
+--This had Zarathustra spoken to his heart when the sun arose: then
+looked he inquiringly aloft, for he heard above him the sharp call of
+his eagle. “Well!” called he upwards, “thus is it pleasing and proper to
+me. Mine animals are awake, for I am awake.
+
+Mine eagle is awake, and like me honoureth the sun. With eagle-talons
+doth it grasp at the new light. Ye are my proper animals; I love you.
+
+But still do I lack my proper men!”--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra; then, however, it happened that all on a sudden
+he became aware that he was flocked around and fluttered around, as if
+by innumerable birds,--the whizzing of so many wings, however, and the
+crowding around his head was so great that he shut his eyes. And verily,
+there came down upon him as it were a cloud, like a cloud of arrows
+which poureth upon a new enemy. But behold, here it was a cloud of love,
+and showered upon a new friend.
+
+“What happeneth unto me?” thought Zarathustra in his astonished heart,
+and slowly seated himself on the big stone which lay close to the exit
+from his cave. But while he grasped about with his hands, around him,
+above him and below him, and repelled the tender birds, behold, there
+then happened to him something still stranger: for he grasped thereby
+unawares into a mass of thick, warm, shaggy hair; at the same time,
+however, there sounded before him a roar,--a long, soft lion-roar.
+
+“THE SIGN COMETH,” said Zarathustra, and a change came over his heart.
+And in truth, when it turned clear before him, there lay a yellow,
+powerful animal at his feet, resting its head on his knee,--unwilling to
+leave him out of love, and doing like a dog which again findeth its old
+master. The doves, however, were no less eager with their love than the
+lion; and whenever a dove whisked over its nose, the lion shook its head
+and wondered and laughed.
+
+When all this went on Zarathustra spake only a word: “MY CHILDREN ARE
+NIGH, MY CHILDREN”--, then he became quite mute. His heart, however,
+was loosed, and from his eyes there dropped down tears and fell upon
+his hands. And he took no further notice of anything, but sat there
+motionless, without repelling the animals further. Then flew the doves
+to and fro, and perched on his shoulder, and caressed his white hair,
+and did not tire of their tenderness and joyousness. The strong lion,
+however, licked always the tears that fell on Zarathustra’s hands, and
+roared and growled shyly. Thus did these animals do.--
+
+All this went on for a long time, or a short time: for properly
+speaking, there is NO time on earth for such things--. Meanwhile,
+however, the higher men had awakened in Zarathustra’s cave, and
+marshalled themselves for a procession to go to meet Zarathustra, and
+give him their morning greeting: for they had found when they awakened
+that he no longer tarried with them. When, however, they reached the
+door of the cave and the noise of their steps had preceded them, the
+lion started violently; it turned away all at once from Zarathustra, and
+roaring wildly, sprang towards the cave. The higher men, however, when
+they heard the lion roaring, cried all aloud as with one voice, fled
+back and vanished in an instant.
+
+Zarathustra himself, however, stunned and strange, rose from his seat,
+looked around him, stood there astonished, inquired of his heart,
+bethought himself, and remained alone. “What did I hear?” said he at
+last, slowly, “what happened unto me just now?”
+
+But soon there came to him his recollection, and he took in at a glance
+all that had taken place between yesterday and to-day. “Here is indeed
+the stone,” said he, and stroked his beard, “on IT sat I yester-morn;
+and here came the soothsayer unto me, and here heard I first the cry
+which I heard just now, the great cry of distress.
+
+O ye higher men, YOUR distress was it that the old soothsayer foretold
+to me yester-morn,--
+
+--Unto your distress did he want to seduce and tempt me: ‘O
+Zarathustra,’ said he to me, ‘I come to seduce thee to thy last sin.’
+
+To my last sin?” cried Zarathustra, and laughed angrily at his own
+words: “WHAT hath been reserved for me as my last sin?”
+
+--And once more Zarathustra became absorbed in himself, and sat down
+again on the big stone and meditated. Suddenly he sprang up,--
+
+“FELLOW-SUFFERING! FELLOW-SUFFERING WITH THE HIGHER MEN!” he cried out,
+and his countenance changed into brass. “Well! THAT--hath had its time!
+
+My suffering and my fellow-suffering--what matter about them! Do I then
+strive after HAPPINESS? I strive after my WORK!
+
+Well! The lion hath come, my children are nigh, Zarathustra hath grown
+ripe, mine hour hath come:--
+
+This is MY morning, MY day beginneth: ARISE NOW, ARISE, THOU GREAT
+NOONTIDE!”--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra and left his cave, glowing and strong, like a
+morning sun coming out of gloomy mountains.
+
+
+
+
+APPENDIX.
+
+NOTES ON “THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA” BY ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI.
+
+I have had some opportunities of studying the conditions under which
+Nietzsche is read in Germany, France, and England, and I have found
+that, in each of these countries, students of his philosophy, as if
+actuated by precisely similar motives and desires, and misled by the
+same mistaken tactics on the part of most publishers, all proceed in the
+same happy-go-lucky style when “taking him up.” They have had it said to
+them that he wrote without any system, and they very naturally conclude
+that it does not matter in the least whether they begin with his first,
+third, or last book, provided they can obtain a few vague ideas as to
+what his leading and most sensational principles were.
+
+Now, it is clear that the book with the most mysterious, startling, or
+suggestive title, will always stand the best chance of being purchased
+by those who have no other criteria to guide them in their choice
+than the aspect of a title-page; and this explains why “Thus Spake
+Zarathustra” is almost always the first and often the only one of
+Nietzsche’s books that falls into the hands of the uninitiated.
+
+The title suggests all kinds of mysteries; a glance at the
+chapter-headings quickly confirms the suspicions already aroused,
+and the sub-title: “A Book for All and None”, generally succeeds in
+dissipating the last doubts the prospective purchaser may entertain
+concerning his fitness for the book or its fitness for him. And what
+happens?
+
+“Thus Spake Zarathustra” is taken home; the reader, who perchance may
+know no more concerning Nietzsche than a magazine article has told him,
+tries to read it and, understanding less than half he reads, probably
+never gets further than the second or third part,--and then only to feel
+convinced that Nietzsche himself was “rather hazy” as to what he was
+talking about. Such chapters as “The Child with the Mirror”, “In the
+Happy Isles”, “The Grave-Song,” “Immaculate Perception,” “The Stillest
+Hour”, “The Seven Seals”, and many others, are almost utterly devoid of
+meaning to all those who do not know something of Nietzsche’s life, his
+aims and his friendships.
+
+As a matter of fact, “Thus Spake Zarathustra”, though it is
+unquestionably Nietzsche’s opus magnum, is by no means the first of
+Nietzsche’s works that the beginner ought to undertake to read. The
+author himself refers to it as the deepest work ever offered to the
+German public, and elsewhere speaks of his other writings as being
+necessary for the understanding of it. But when it is remembered that
+in Zarathustra we not only have the history of his most intimate
+experiences, friendships, feuds, disappointments, triumphs and the like,
+but that the very form in which they are narrated is one which tends
+rather to obscure than to throw light upon them, the difficulties which
+meet the reader who starts quite unprepared will be seen to be really
+formidable.
+
+Zarathustra, then,--this shadowy, allegorical personality, speaking in
+allegories and parables, and at times not even refraining from relating
+his own dreams--is a figure we can understand but very imperfectly if we
+have no knowledge of his creator and counterpart, Friedrich Nietzsche;
+and it were therefore well, previous to our study of the more abstruse
+parts of this book, if we were to turn to some authoritative book on
+Nietzsche’s life and works and to read all that is there said on the
+subject. Those who can read German will find an excellent guide, in this
+respect, in Frau Foerster-Nietzsche’s exhaustive and highly interesting
+biography of her brother: “Das Leben Friedrich Nietzsche’s” (published
+by Naumann); while the works of Deussen, Raoul Richter, and Baroness
+Isabelle von Unger-Sternberg, will be found to throw useful and
+necessary light upon many questions which it would be difficult for a
+sister to touch upon.
+
+In regard to the actual philosophical views expounded in this work,
+there is an excellent way of clearing up any difficulties they may
+present, and that is by an appeal to Nietzsche’s other works. Again and
+again, of course, he will be found to express himself so clearly that
+all reference to his other writings may be dispensed with; but where
+this is not the case, the advice he himself gives is after all the best
+to be followed here, viz.:--to regard such works as: “Joyful Science”,
+“Beyond Good and Evil”, “The Genealogy of Morals”, “The Twilight of
+the Idols”, “The Antichrist”, “The Will to Power”, etc., etc., as the
+necessary preparation for “Thus Spake Zarathustra”.
+
+These directions, though they are by no means simple to carry out, seem
+at least to possess the quality of definiteness and straightforwardness.
+“Follow them and all will be clear,” I seem to imply. But I regret to
+say that this is not really the case. For my experience tells me that
+even after the above directions have been followed with the greatest
+possible zeal, the student will still halt in perplexity before certain
+passages in the book before us, and wonder what they mean. Now, it is
+with the view of giving a little additional help to all those who find
+themselves in this position that I proceed to put forth my own personal
+interpretation of the more abstruse passages in this work.
+
+In offering this little commentary to the Nietzsche student, I should
+like it to be understood that I make no claim as to its infallibility or
+indispensability. It represents but an attempt on my part--a very feeble
+one perhaps--to give the reader what little help I can in surmounting
+difficulties which a long study of Nietzsche’s life and works has
+enabled me, partially I hope, to overcome.
+
+...
+
+Perhaps it would be as well to start out with a broad and rapid sketch
+of Nietzsche as a writer on Morals, Evolution, and Sociology, so that
+the reader may be prepared to pick out for himself, so to speak, all
+passages in this work bearing in any way upon Nietzsche’s views in those
+three important branches of knowledge.
+
+(A.) Nietzsche and Morality.
+
+In morality, Nietzsche starts out by adopting the position of the
+relativist. He says there are no absolute values “good” and “evil”;
+these are mere means adopted by all in order to acquire power to
+maintain their place in the world, or to become supreme. It is the
+lion’s good to devour an antelope. It is the dead-leaf butterfly’s
+good to tell a foe a falsehood. For when the dead-leaf butterfly is in
+danger, it clings to the side of a twig, and what it says to its foe is
+practically this: “I am not a butterfly, I am a dead leaf, and can be
+of no use to thee.” This is a lie which is good to the butterfly, for
+it preserves it. In nature every species of organic being instinctively
+adopts and practises those acts which most conduce to the prevalence
+or supremacy of its kind. Once the most favourable order of conduct is
+found, proved efficient and established, it becomes the ruling morality
+of the species that adopts it and bears them along to victory. All
+species must not and cannot value alike, for what is the lion’s good is
+the antelope’s evil and vice versa.
+
+Concepts of good and evil are therefore, in their origin, merely a means
+to an end, they are expedients for acquiring power.
+
+Applying this principle to mankind, Nietzsche attacked Christian
+moral values. He declared them to be, like all other morals, merely
+an expedient for protecting a certain type of man. In the case of
+Christianity this type was, according to Nietzsche, a low one.
+
+Conflicting moral codes have been no more than the conflicting weapons
+of different classes of men; for in mankind there is a continual war
+between the powerful, the noble, the strong, and the well-constituted
+on the one side, and the impotent, the mean, the weak, and the
+ill-constituted on the other. The war is a war of moral principles.
+The morality of the powerful class, Nietzsche calls NOBLE- or
+MASTER-MORALITY; that of the weak and subordinate class he calls
+SLAVE-MORALITY. In the first morality it is the eagle which, looking
+down upon a browsing lamb, contends that “eating lamb is good.” In the
+second, the slave-morality, it is the lamb which, looking up from the
+sward, bleats dissentingly: “Eating lamb is evil.”
+
+(B.) The Master- and Slave-Morality Compared.
+
+The first morality is active, creative, Dionysian. The second is
+passive, defensive,--to it belongs the “struggle for existence.”
+
+Where attempts have not been made to reconcile the two moralities, they
+may be described as follows:--All is GOOD in the noble morality which
+proceeds from strength, power, health, well-constitutedness, happiness,
+and awfulness; for, the motive force behind the people practising it is
+“the struggle for power.” The antithesis “good and bad” to this
+first class means the same as “noble” and “despicable.” “Bad” in the
+master-morality must be applied to the coward, to all acts that spring
+from weakness, to the man with “an eye to the main chance,” who would
+forsake everything in order to live.
+
+With the second, the slave-morality, the case is different. There,
+inasmuch as the community is an oppressed, suffering, unemancipated, and
+weary one, all THAT will be held to be good which alleviates the
+state of suffering. Pity, the obliging hand, the warm heart, patience,
+industry, and humility--these are unquestionably the qualities we shall
+here find flooded with the light of approval and admiration; because
+they are the most USEFUL qualities--; they make life endurable, they are
+of assistance in the “struggle for existence” which is the motive force
+behind the people practising this morality. To this class, all that is
+AWFUL is bad, in fact it is THE evil par excellence. Strength, health,
+superabundance of animal spirits and power, are regarded with hate,
+suspicion, and fear by the subordinate class.
+
+Now Nietzsche believed that the first or the noble-morality conduced to
+an ascent in the line of life; because it was creative and active. On
+the other hand, he believed that the second or slave-morality, where
+it became paramount, led to degeneration, because it was passive and
+defensive, wanting merely to keep those who practised it alive. Hence
+his earnest advocacy of noble-morality.
+
+(C.) Nietzsche and Evolution.
+
+Nietzsche as an evolutionist I shall have occasion to define and discuss
+in the course of these notes (see Notes on Chapter LVI., par.10, and on
+Chapter LVII.). For the present let it suffice for us to know that he
+accepted the “Development Hypothesis” as an explanation of the origin of
+species: but he did not halt where most naturalists have halted. He
+by no means regarded man as the highest possible being which evolution
+could arrive at; for though his physical development may have reached
+its limit, this is not the case with his mental or spiritual attributes.
+If the process be a fact; if things have BECOME what they are, then, he
+contends, we may describe no limit to man’s aspirations. If he struggled
+up from barbarism, and still more remotely from the lower Primates,
+his ideal should be to surpass man himself and reach Superman (see
+especially the Prologue).
+
+(D.) Nietzsche and Sociology.
+
+Nietzsche as a sociologist aims at an aristocratic arrangement of
+society. He would have us rear an ideal race. Honest and truthful in
+intellectual matters, he could not even think that men are equal. “With
+these preachers of equality will I not be mixed up and confounded. For
+thus speaketh justice unto ME: ‘Men are not equal.’” He sees precisely
+in this inequality a purpose to be served, a condition to be exploited.
+“Every elevation of the type ‘man,’” he writes in “Beyond Good and
+Evil”, “has hitherto been the work of an aristocratic society--and so
+will it always be--a society believing in a long scale of gradations of
+rank and differences of worth among human beings.”
+
+Those who are sufficiently interested to desire to read his own detailed
+account of the society he would fain establish, will find an excellent
+passage in Aphorism 57 of “The Antichrist”.
+
+...
+
+PART I. THE PROLOGUE.
+
+In Part I. including the Prologue, no very great difficulties will
+appear. Zarathustra’s habit of designating a whole class of men or a
+whole school of thought by a single fitting nickname may perhaps lead to
+a little confusion at first; but, as a rule, when the general drift
+of his arguments is grasped, it requires but a slight effort of the
+imagination to discover whom he is referring to. In the ninth paragraph
+of the Prologue, for instance, it is quite obvious that “Herdsmen” in
+the verse “Herdsmen, I say, etc., etc.,” stands for all those to-day
+who are the advocates of gregariousness--of the ant-hill. And when our
+author says: “A robber shall Zarathustra be called by the herdsmen,” it
+is clear that these words may be taken almost literally from one whose
+ideal was the rearing of a higher aristocracy. Again, “the good and
+just,” throughout the book, is the expression used in referring to the
+self-righteous of modern times,--those who are quite sure that they
+know all that is to be known concerning good and evil, and are satisfied
+that the values their little world of tradition has handed down to them,
+are destined to rule mankind as long as it lasts.
+
+In the last paragraph of the Prologue, verse 7, Zarathustra gives us a
+foretaste of his teaching concerning the big and the little sagacities,
+expounded subsequently. He says he would he were as wise as his serpent;
+this desire will be found explained in the discourse entitled “The
+Despisers of the Body”, which I shall have occasion to refer to later.
+
+...
+
+THE DISCOURSES.
+
+Chapter I. The Three Metamorphoses.
+
+This opening discourse is a parable in which Zarathustra discloses the
+mental development of all creators of new values. It is the story of
+a life which reaches its consummation in attaining to a second
+ingenuousness or in returning to childhood. Nietzsche, the supposed
+anarchist, here plainly disclaims all relationship whatever to anarchy,
+for he shows us that only by bearing the burdens of the existing law and
+submitting to it patiently, as the camel submits to being laden, does
+the free spirit acquire that ascendancy over tradition which enables him
+to meet and master the dragon “Thou shalt,”--the dragon with the values
+of a thousand years glittering on its scales. There are two lessons in
+this discourse: first, that in order to create one must be as a little
+child; secondly, that it is only through existing law and order that
+one attains to that height from which new law and new order may be
+promulgated.
+
+Chapter II. The Academic Chairs of Virtue.
+
+Almost the whole of this is quite comprehensible. It is a discourse
+against all those who confound virtue with tameness and smug ease, and
+who regard as virtuous only that which promotes security and tends to
+deepen sleep.
+
+Chapter IV. The Despisers of the Body.
+
+Here Zarathustra gives names to the intellect and the instincts; he
+calls the one “the little sagacity” and the latter “the big sagacity.”
+ Schopenhauer’s teaching concerning the intellect is fully endorsed here.
+“An instrument of thy body is also thy little sagacity, my brother,
+which thou callest ‘spirit,’” says Zarathustra. From beginning to end it
+is a warning to those who would think too lightly of the instincts
+and unduly exalt the intellect and its derivatives: Reason and
+Understanding.
+
+Chapter IX. The Preachers of Death.
+
+This is an analysis of the psychology of all those who have the “evil
+eye” and are pessimists by virtue of their constitutions.
+
+Chapter XV. The Thousand and One Goals.
+
+In this discourse Zarathustra opens his exposition of the doctrine of
+relativity in morality, and declares all morality to be a mere means
+to power. Needless to say that verses 9, 10, 11, and 12 refer to the
+Greeks, the Persians, the Jews, and the Germans respectively. In the
+penultimate verse he makes known his discovery concerning the root of
+modern Nihilism and indifference,--i.e., that modern man has no goal, no
+aim, no ideals (see Note A).
+
+Chapter XVIII. Old and Young Women.
+
+Nietzsche’s views on women have either to be loved at first sight
+or they become perhaps the greatest obstacle in the way of those who
+otherwise would be inclined to accept his philosophy. Women especially,
+of course, have been taught to dislike them, because it has been
+rumoured that his views are unfriendly to themselves. Now, to my mind,
+all this is pure misunderstanding and error.
+
+German philosophers, thanks to Schopenhauer, have earned rather a bad
+name for their views on women. It is almost impossible for one of them
+to write a line on the subject, however kindly he may do so, without
+being suspected of wishing to open a crusade against the fair sex.
+Despite the fact, therefore, that all Nietzsche’s views in this respect
+were dictated to him by the profoundest love; despite Zarathustra’s
+reservation in this discourse, that “with women nothing (that can be
+said) is impossible,” and in the face of other overwhelming evidence
+to the contrary, Nietzsche is universally reported to have mis son
+pied dans le plat, where the female sex is concerned. And what is the
+fundamental doctrine which has given rise to so much bitterness and
+aversion?--Merely this: that the sexes are at bottom ANTAGONISTIC--that
+is to say, as different as blue is from yellow, and that the best
+possible means of rearing anything approaching a desirable race is to
+preserve and to foster this profound hostility. What Nietzsche strives
+to combat and to overthrow is the modern democratic tendency which is
+slowly labouring to level all things--even the sexes. His quarrel is not
+with women--what indeed could be more undignified?--it is with those who
+would destroy the natural relationship between the sexes, by modifying
+either the one or the other with a view to making them more alike. The
+human world is just as dependent upon women’s powers as upon men’s. It
+is women’s strongest and most valuable instincts which help to determine
+who are to be the fathers of the next generation. By destroying these
+particular instincts, that is to say by attempting to masculinise woman,
+and to feminise men, we jeopardise the future of our people. The general
+democratic movement of modern times, in its frantic struggle to mitigate
+all differences, is now invading even the world of sex. It is against
+this movement that Nietzsche raises his voice; he would have woman
+become ever more woman and man become ever more man. Only thus, and
+he is undoubtedly right, can their combined instincts lead to the
+excellence of humanity. Regarded in this light, all his views on woman
+appear not only necessary but just (see Note on Chapter LVI., par. 21.)
+
+It is interesting to observe that the last line of the discourse, which
+has so frequently been used by women as a weapon against Nietzsche’s
+views concerning them, was suggested to Nietzsche by a woman (see “Das
+Leben F. Nietzsche’s”).
+
+Chapter XXI. Voluntary Death.
+
+In regard to this discourse, I should only like to point out that
+Nietzsche had a particular aversion to the word “suicide”--self-murder.
+He disliked the evil it suggested, and in rechristening the act
+Voluntary Death, i.e., the death that comes from no other hand than
+one’s own, he was desirous of elevating it to the position it held in
+classical antiquity (see Aphorism 36 in “The Twilight of the Idols”).
+
+Chapter XXII. The Bestowing Virtue.
+
+An important aspect of Nietzsche’s philosophy is brought to light in
+this discourse. His teaching, as is well known, places the Aristotelian
+man of spirit, above all others in the natural divisions of man. The
+man with overflowing strength, both of mind and body, who must discharge
+this strength or perish, is the Nietzschean ideal. To such a man, giving
+from his overflow becomes a necessity; bestowing develops into a means
+of existence, and this is the only giving, the only charity, that
+Nietzsche recognises. In paragraph 3 of the discourse, we read
+Zarathustra’s healthy exhortation to his disciples to become independent
+thinkers and to find themselves before they learn any more from him (see
+Notes on Chapters LVI., par. 5, and LXXIII., pars. 10, 11).
+
+...
+
+PART II.
+
+Chapter XXIII. The Child with the Mirror.
+
+Nietzsche tells us here, in a poetical form, how deeply grieved he was
+by the manifold misinterpretations and misunderstandings which were
+becoming rife concerning his publications. He does not recognise
+himself in the mirror of public opinion, and recoils terrified from the
+distorted reflection of his features. In verse 20 he gives us a
+hint which it were well not to pass over too lightly; for, in the
+introduction to “The Genealogy of Morals” (written in 1887) he finds it
+necessary to refer to the matter again and with greater precision. The
+point is this, that a creator of new values meets with his surest and
+strongest obstacles in the very spirit of the language which is at his
+disposal. Words, like all other manifestations of an evolving race, are
+stamped with the values that have long been paramount in that race.
+Now, the original thinker who finds himself compelled to use the current
+speech of his country in order to impart new and hitherto untried views
+to his fellows, imposes a task upon the natural means of communication
+which it is totally unfitted to perform,--hence the obscurities and
+prolixities which are so frequently met with in the writings of original
+thinkers. In the “Dawn of Day”, Nietzsche actually cautions young
+writers against THE DANGER OF ALLOWING THEIR THOUGHTS TO BE MOULDED BY
+THE WORDS AT THEIR DISPOSAL.
+
+Chapter XXIV. In the Happy Isles.
+
+While writing this, Nietzsche is supposed to have been thinking of the
+island of Ischia which was ultimately destroyed by an earthquake. His
+teaching here is quite clear. He was among the first thinkers of Europe
+to overcome the pessimism which godlessness generally brings in its
+wake. He points to creating as the surest salvation from the suffering
+which is a concomitant of all higher life. “What would there be to
+create,” he asks, “if there were--Gods?” His ideal, the Superman, lends
+him the cheerfulness necessary to the overcoming of that despair usually
+attendant upon godlessness and upon the apparent aimlessness of a world
+without a god.
+
+Chapter XXIX. The Tarantulas.
+
+The tarantulas are the Socialists and Democrats. This discourse offers
+us an analysis of their mental attitude. Nietzsche refuses to be
+confounded with those resentful and revengeful ones who condemn society
+FROM BELOW, and whose criticism is only suppressed envy. “There are
+those who preach my doctrine of life,” he says of the Nietzschean
+Socialists, “and are at the same time preachers of equality and
+tarantulas” (see Notes on Chapter XL. and Chapter LI.).
+
+Chapter XXX. The Famous Wise Ones.
+
+This refers to all those philosophers hitherto, who have run in the
+harness of established values and have not risked their reputation with
+the people in pursuit of truth. The philosopher, however, as Nietzsche
+understood him, is a man who creates new values, and thus leads mankind
+in a new direction.
+
+Chapter XXXIII. The Grave-Song.
+
+Here Zarathustra sings about the ideals and friendships of his youth.
+Verses 27 to 31 undoubtedly refer to Richard Wagner (see Note on Chapter
+LXV.).
+
+Chapter XXXIV. Self-Surpassing.
+
+In this discourse we get the best exposition in the whole book of
+Nietzsche’s doctrine of the Will to Power. I go into this question
+thoroughly in the Note on Chapter LVII.
+
+Nietzsche was not an iconoclast from choice. Those who hastily class him
+with the anarchists (or the Progressivists of the last century) fail
+to understand the high esteem in which he always held both law and
+discipline. In verse 41 of this most decisive discourse he truly
+explains his position when he says: “...he who hath to be a creator in
+good and evil--verily he hath first to be a destroyer, and break values
+in pieces.” This teaching in regard to self-control is evidence enough
+of his reverence for law.
+
+Chapter XXXV. The Sublime Ones.
+
+These belong to a type which Nietzsche did not altogether dislike, but
+which he would fain have rendered more subtle and plastic. It is the
+type that takes life and itself too seriously, that never surmounts the
+camel-stage mentioned in the first discourse, and that is obdurately
+sublime and earnest. To be able to smile while speaking of lofty things
+and NOT TO BE OPPRESSED by them, is the secret of real greatness. He
+whose hand trembles when it lays hold of a beautiful thing, has the
+quality of reverence, without the artist’s unembarrassed friendship
+with the beautiful. Hence the mistakes which have arisen in regard to
+confounding Nietzsche with his extreme opposites the anarchists and
+agitators. For what they dare to touch and break with the impudence
+and irreverence of the unappreciative, he seems likewise to touch and
+break,--but with other fingers--with the fingers of the loving and
+unembarrassed artist who is on good terms with the beautiful and who
+feels able to create it and to enhance it with his touch. The question
+of taste plays an important part in Nietzsche’s philosophy, and verses
+9, 10 of this discourse exactly state Nietzsche’s ultimate views on the
+subject. In the “Spirit of Gravity”, he actually cries:--“Neither a good
+nor a bad taste, but MY taste, of which I have no longer either shame or
+secrecy.”
+
+Chapter XXXVI. The Land of Culture.
+
+This is a poetical epitome of some of the scathing criticism of
+scholars which appears in the first of the “Thoughts out of Season”--the
+polemical pamphlet (written in 1873) against David Strauss and his
+school. He reproaches his former colleagues with being sterile and
+shows them that their sterility is the result of their not believing
+in anything. “He who had to create, had always his presaging dreams and
+astral premonitions--and believed in believing!” (See Note on Chapter
+LXXVII.) In the last two verses he reveals the nature of his altruism.
+How far it differs from that of Christianity we have already read in the
+discourse “Neighbour-Love”, but here he tells us definitely the nature
+of his love to mankind; he explains why he was compelled to assail the
+Christian values of pity and excessive love of the neighbour, not only
+because they are slave-values and therefore tend to promote degeneration
+(see Note B.), but because he could only love his children’s land, the
+undiscovered land in a remote sea; because he would fain retrieve the
+errors of his fathers in his children.
+
+Chapter XXXVII. Immaculate Perception.
+
+An important feature of Nietzsche’s interpretation of Life is disclosed
+in this discourse. As Buckle suggests in his “Influence of Women on the
+Progress of Knowledge”, the scientific spirit of the investigator is
+both helped and supplemented by the latter’s emotions and personality,
+and the divorce of all emotionalism and individual temperament from
+science is a fatal step towards sterility. Zarathustra abjures all those
+who would fain turn an IMPERSONAL eye upon nature and contemplate her
+phenomena with that pure objectivity to which the scientific idealists
+of to-day would so much like to attain. He accuses such idealists of
+hypocrisy and guile; he says they lack innocence in their desires and
+therefore slander all desiring.
+
+Chapter XXXVIII. Scholars.
+
+This is a record of Nietzsche’s final breach with his former
+colleagues--the scholars of Germany. Already after the publication of
+the “Birth of Tragedy”, numbers of German philologists and professional
+philosophers had denounced him as one who had strayed too far from
+their flock, and his lectures at the University of Bale were deserted
+in consequence; but it was not until 1879, when he finally severed all
+connection with University work, that he may be said to have attained to
+the freedom and independence which stamp this discourse.
+
+Chapter XXXIX. Poets.
+
+People have sometimes said that Nietzsche had no sense of humour. I
+have no intention of defending him here against such foolish critics; I
+should only like to point out to the reader that we have him here at
+his best, poking fun at himself, and at his fellow-poets (see Note on
+Chapter LXIII., pars. 16, 17, 18, 19, 20).
+
+Chapter XL. Great Events.
+
+Here we seem to have a puzzle. Zarathustra himself, while relating
+his experience with the fire-dog to his disciples, fails to get them
+interested in his narrative, and we also may be only too ready to turn
+over these pages under the impression that they are little more than
+a mere phantasy or poetical flight. Zarathustra’s interview with the
+fire-dog is, however, of great importance. In it we find Nietzsche
+face to face with the creature he most sincerely loathes--the spirit
+of revolution, and we obtain fresh hints concerning his hatred of the
+anarchist and rebel. “‘Freedom’ ye all roar most eagerly,” he says to
+the fire-dog, “but I have unlearned the belief in ‘Great Events’ when
+there is much roaring and smoke about them. Not around the inventors
+of new noise, but around the inventors of new values, doth the world
+revolve; INAUDIBLY it revolveth.”
+
+Chapter XLI. The Soothsayer.
+
+This refers, of course, to Schopenhauer. Nietzsche, as is well known,
+was at one time an ardent follower of Schopenhauer. He overcame
+Pessimism by discovering an object in existence; he saw the possibility
+of raising society to a higher level and preached the profoundest
+Optimism in consequence.
+
+Chapter XLII. Redemption.
+
+Zarathustra here addresses cripples. He tells them of other
+cripples--the GREAT MEN in this world who have one organ or faculty
+inordinately developed at the cost of their other faculties. This is
+doubtless a reference to a fact which is too often noticeable in the
+case of so many of the world’s giants in art, science, or religion. In
+verse 19 we are told what Nietzsche called Redemption--that is to say,
+the ability to say of all that is past: “Thus would I have it.” The
+in ability to say this, and the resentment which results therefrom,
+he regards as the source of all our feelings of revenge, and all our
+desires to punish--punishment meaning to him merely a euphemism for the
+word revenge, invented in order to still our consciences. He who can be
+proud of his enemies, who can be grateful to them for the obstacles they
+have put in his way; he who can regard his worst calamity as but the
+extra strain on the bow of his life, which is to send the arrow of
+his longing even further than he could have hoped;--this man knows no
+revenge, neither does he know despair, he truly has found redemption and
+can turn on the worst in his life and even in himself, and call it his
+best (see Notes on Chapter LVII.).
+
+Chapter XLIII. Manly Prudence.
+
+This discourse is very important. In “Beyond Good and Evil” we hear
+often enough that the select and superior man must wear a mask, and
+here we find this injunction explained. “And he who would not languish
+amongst men, must learn to drink out of all glasses: and he who would
+keep clean amongst men, must know how to wash himself even with dirty
+water.” This, I venture to suggest, requires some explanation. At a time
+when individuality is supposed to be shown most tellingly by putting
+boots on one’s hands and gloves on one’s feet, it is somewhat refreshing
+to come across a true individualist who feels the chasm between himself
+and others so deeply, that he must perforce adapt himself to them
+outwardly, at least, in all respects, so that the inner difference
+should be overlooked. Nietzsche practically tells us here that it is not
+he who intentionally wears eccentric clothes or does eccentric things
+who is truly the individualist. The profound man, who is by nature
+differentiated from his fellows, feels this difference too keenly to
+call attention to it by any outward show. He is shamefast and bashful
+with those who surround him and wishes not to be discovered by them,
+just as one instinctively avoids all lavish display of comfort or wealth
+in the presence of a poor friend.
+
+Chapter XLIV. The Stillest Hour.
+
+This seems to me to give an account of the great struggle which must
+have taken place in Nietzsche’s soul before he finally resolved to make
+known the more esoteric portions of his teaching. Our deepest feelings
+crave silence. There is a certain self-respect in the serious man which
+makes him hold his profoundest feelings sacred. Before they are uttered
+they are full of the modesty of a virgin, and often the oldest sage will
+blush like a girl when this virginity is violated by an indiscretion
+which forces him to reveal his deepest thoughts.
+
+...
+
+PART III.
+
+This is perhaps the most important of all the four parts. If it
+contained only “The Vision and the Enigma” and “The Old and New Tables”
+ I should still be of this opinion; for in the former of these discourses
+we meet with what Nietzsche regarded as the crowning doctrine of his
+philosophy and in “The Old and New Tables” we have a valuable epitome of
+practically all his leading principles.
+
+Chapter XLVI. The Vision and the Enigma.
+
+“The Vision and the Enigma” is perhaps an example of Nietzsche in his
+most obscure vein. We must know how persistently he inveighed against
+the oppressing and depressing influence of man’s sense of guilt and
+consciousness of sin in order fully to grasp the significance of this
+discourse. Slowly but surely, he thought the values of Christianity and
+Judaic traditions had done their work in the minds of men. What were
+once but expedients devised for the discipline of a certain portion of
+humanity, had now passed into man’s blood and had become instincts. This
+oppressive and paralysing sense of guilt and of sin is what Nietzsche
+refers to when he speaks of “the spirit of gravity.” This creature
+half-dwarf, half-mole, whom he bears with him a certain distance on his
+climb and finally defies, and whom he calls his devil and arch-enemy, is
+nothing more than the heavy millstone “guilty conscience,” together with
+the concept of sin which at present hangs round the neck of men. To rise
+above it--to soar--is the most difficult of all things to-day. Nietzsche
+is able to think cheerfully and optimistically of the possibility of
+life in this world recurring again and again, when he has once cast the
+dwarf from his shoulders, and he announces his doctrine of the Eternal
+Recurrence of all things great and small to his arch-enemy and in
+defiance of him.
+
+That there is much to be said for Nietzsche’s hypothesis of the Eternal
+Recurrence of all things great and small, nobody who has read the
+literature on the subject will doubt for an instant; but it remains a
+very daring conjecture notwithstanding and even in its ultimate effect,
+as a dogma, on the minds of men, I venture to doubt whether Nietzsche
+ever properly estimated its worth (see Note on Chapter LVII.).
+
+What follows is clear enough. Zarathustra sees a young shepherd
+struggling on the ground with a snake holding fast to the back of his
+throat. The sage, assuming that the snake must have crawled into the
+young man’s mouth while he lay sleeping, runs to his help and pulls
+at the loathsome reptile with all his might, but in vain. At last, in
+despair, Zarathustra appeals to the young man’s will. Knowing full well
+what a ghastly operation he is recommending, he nevertheless cries,
+“Bite! Bite! Its head off! Bite!” as the only possible solution of the
+difficulty. The young shepherd bites, and far away he spits the
+snake’s head, whereupon he rises, “No longer shepherd, no longer man--a
+transfigured being, a light-surrounded being, that LAUGHED! Never on
+earth laughed a man as he laughed!”
+
+In this parable the young shepherd is obviously the man of to-day; the
+snake that chokes him represents the stultifying and paralysing social
+values that threaten to shatter humanity, and the advice “Bite! Bite!”
+ is but Nietzsche’s exasperated cry to mankind to alter their values
+before it is too late.
+
+Chapter XLVII. Involuntary Bliss.
+
+This, like “The Wanderer”, is one of the many introspective passages
+in the work, and is full of innuendos and hints as to the Nietzschean
+outlook on life.
+
+Chapter XLVIII. Before Sunrise.
+
+Here we have a record of Zarathustra’s avowal of optimism, as also the
+important statement concerning “Chance” or “Accident” (verse 27). Those
+who are familiar with Nietzsche’s philosophy will not require to be told
+what an important role his doctrine of chance plays in his teaching.
+The Giant Chance has hitherto played with the puppet “man,”--this is
+the fact he cannot contemplate with equanimity. Man shall now exploit
+chance, he says again and again, and make it fall on its knees before
+him! (See verse 33 in “On the Olive Mount”, and verses 9-10 in “The
+Bedwarfing Virtue”).
+
+Chapter XLIX. The Bedwarfing Virtue.
+
+This requires scarcely any comment. It is a satire on modern man and
+his belittling virtues. In verses 23 and 24 of the second part of the
+discourse we are reminded of Nietzsche’s powerful indictment of the
+great of to-day, in the Antichrist (Aphorism 43):--“At present
+nobody has any longer the courage for separate rights, for rights of
+domination, for a feeling of reverence for himself and his equals,--FOR
+PATHOS OF DISTANCE...Our politics are MORBID from this want of
+courage!--The aristocracy of character has been undermined most craftily
+by the lie of the equality of souls; and if the belief in the ‘privilege
+of the many,’ makes revolutions and WILL CONTINUE TO MAKE them, it is
+Christianity, let us not doubt it, it is CHRISTIAN valuations, which
+translate every revolution merely into blood and crime!” (see also
+“Beyond Good and Evil”, pages 120, 121). Nietzsche thought it was a
+bad sign of the times that even rulers have lost the courage of
+their positions, and that a man of Frederick the Great’s power and
+distinguished gifts should have been able to say: “Ich bin der erste
+Diener des Staates” (I am the first servant of the State.) To this
+utterance of the great sovereign, verse 24 undoubtedly refers.
+“Cowardice” and “Mediocrity,” are the names with which he labels modern
+notions of virtue and moderation.
+
+In Part III., we get the sentiments of the discourse “In the Happy
+Isles”, but perhaps in stronger terms. Once again we find Nietzsche
+thoroughly at ease, if not cheerful, as an atheist, and speaking with
+vertiginous daring of making chance go on its knees to him. In verse
+20, Zarathustra makes yet another attempt at defining his entirely
+anti-anarchical attitude, and unless such passages have been completely
+overlooked or deliberately ignored hitherto by those who will persist in
+laying anarchy at his door, it is impossible to understand how he ever
+became associated with that foul political party.
+
+The last verse introduces the expression, “THE GREAT NOONTIDE!” In the
+poem to be found at the end of “Beyond Good and Evil”, we meet with
+the expression again, and we shall find it occurring time and again in
+Nietzsche’s works. It will be found fully elucidated in the fifth part
+of “The Twilight of the Idols”; but for those who cannot refer to
+this book, it were well to point out that Nietzsche called the present
+period--our period--the noon of man’s history. Dawn is behind us. The
+childhood of mankind is over. Now we KNOW; there is now no longer any
+excuse for mistakes which will tend to botch and disfigure the type man.
+“With respect to what is past,” he says, “I have, like all discerning
+ones, great toleration, that is to say, GENEROUS self-control...But my
+feeling changes suddenly, and breaks out as soon as I enter the modern
+period, OUR period. Our age KNOWS...” (See Note on Chapter LXX.).
+
+Chapter LI. On Passing-by.
+
+Here we find Nietzsche confronted with his extreme opposite, with
+him therefore for whom he is most frequently mistaken by the unwary.
+“Zarathustra’s ape” he is called in the discourse. He is one of those
+at whose hands Nietzsche had to suffer most during his life-time, and
+at whose hands his philosophy has suffered most since his death. In this
+respect it may seem a little trivial to speak of extremes meeting; but
+it is wonderfully apt. Many have adopted Nietzsche’s mannerisms and
+word-coinages, who had nothing in common with him beyond the ideas and
+“business” they plagiarised; but the superficial observer and a large
+portion of the public, not knowing of these things,--not knowing perhaps
+that there are iconoclasts who destroy out of love and are therefore
+creators, and that there are others who destroy out of resentment and
+revengefulness and who are therefore revolutionists and anarchists,--are
+prone to confound the two, to the detriment of the nobler type.
+
+If we now read what the fool says to Zarathustra, and note the tricks of
+speech he has borrowed from him: if we carefully follow the attitude
+he assumes, we shall understand why Zarathustra finally interrupts him.
+“Stop this at once,” Zarathustra cries, “long have thy speech and
+thy species disgusted me...Out of love alone shall my contempt and my
+warning bird take wing; BUT NOT OUT OF THE SWAMP!” It were well if
+this discourse were taken to heart by all those who are too ready to
+associate Nietzsche with lesser and noiser men,--with mountebanks and
+mummers.
+
+Chapter LII. The Apostates.
+
+It is clear that this applies to all those breathless and hasty “tasters
+of everything,” who plunge too rashly into the sea of independent
+thought and “heresy,” and who, having miscalculated their strength, find
+it impossible to keep their head above water. “A little older, a little
+colder,” says Nietzsche. They soon clamber back to the conventions of
+the age they intended reforming. The French then say “le diable se fait
+hermite,” but these men, as a rule, have never been devils, neither
+do they become angels; for, in order to be really good or evil, some
+strength and deep breathing is required. Those who are more interested
+in supporting orthodoxy than in being over nice concerning the kind of
+support they give it, often refer to these people as evidence in favour
+of the true faith.
+
+Chapter LIII. The Return Home.
+
+This is an example of a class of writing which may be passed over too
+lightly by those whom poetasters have made distrustful of poetry. From
+first to last it is extremely valuable as an autobiographical note. The
+inevitable superficiality of the rabble is contrasted with the peaceful
+and profound depths of the anchorite. Here we first get a direct hint
+concerning Nietzsche’s fundamental passion--the main force behind all
+his new values and scathing criticism of existing values. In verse 30
+we are told that pity was his greatest danger. The broad altruism of the
+law-giver, thinking over vast eras of time, was continually being pitted
+by Nietzsche, in himself, against that transient and meaner sympathy for
+the neighbour which he more perhaps than any of his contemporaries had
+suffered from, but which he was certain involved enormous dangers not
+only for himself but also to the next and subsequent generations (see
+Note B., where “pity” is mentioned among the degenerate virtues). Later
+in the book we shall see how his profound compassion leads him into
+temptation, and how frantically he struggles against it. In verses 31
+and 32, he tells us to what extent he had to modify himself in order
+to be endured by his fellows whom he loved (see also verse 12 in “Manly
+Prudence”). Nietzsche’s great love for his fellows, which he confesses
+in the Prologue, and which is at the root of all his teaching, seems
+rather to elude the discerning powers of the average philanthropist and
+modern man. He cannot see the wood for the trees. A philanthropy that
+sacrifices the minority of the present-day for the majority constituting
+posterity, completely evades his mental grasp, and Nietzsche’s
+philosophy, because it declares Christian values to be a danger to the
+future of our kind, is therefore shelved as brutal, cold, and hard (see
+Note on Chapter XXXVI.). Nietzsche tried to be all things to all men;
+he was sufficiently fond of his fellows for that: in the Return Home he
+describes how he ultimately returns to loneliness in order to recover
+from the effects of his experiment.
+
+Chapter LIV. The Three Evil Things.
+
+Nietzsche is here completely in his element. Three things hitherto
+best-cursed and most calumniated on earth, are brought forward to be
+weighed. Voluptuousness, thirst of power, and selfishness,--the three
+forces in humanity which Christianity has done most to garble and
+besmirch,--Nietzsche endeavours to reinstate in their former places of
+honour. Voluptuousness, or sensual pleasure, is a dangerous thing to
+discuss nowadays. If we mention it with favour we may be regarded,
+however unjustly, as the advocate of savages, satyrs, and pure
+sensuality. If we condemn it, we either go over to the Puritans or we
+join those who are wont to come to table with no edge to their appetites
+and who therefore grumble at all good fare. There can be no doubt that
+the value of healthy innocent voluptuousness, like the value of health
+itself, must have been greatly discounted by all those who, resenting
+their inability to partake of this world’s goods, cried like St Paul:
+“I would that all men were even as I myself.” Now Nietzsche’s philosophy
+might be called an attempt at giving back to healthy and normal men
+innocence and a clean conscience in their desires--NOT to applaud the
+vulgar sensualists who respond to every stimulus and whose passions are
+out of hand; not to tell the mean, selfish individual, whose selfishness
+is a pollution (see Aphorism 33, “Twilight of the Idols”), that he is
+right, nor to assure the weak, the sick, and the crippled, that the
+thirst of power, which they gratify by exploiting the happier and
+healthier individuals, is justified;--but to save the clean healthy man
+from the values of those around him, who look at everything through the
+mud that is in their own bodies,--to give him, and him alone, a clean
+conscience in his manhood and the desires of his manhood. “Do I counsel
+you to slay your instincts? I counsel to innocence in your instincts.”
+ In verse 7 of the second paragraph (as in verse I of paragraph 19 in
+“The Old and New Tables”) Nietzsche gives us a reason for his occasional
+obscurity (see also verses 3 to 7 of “Poets”). As I have already pointed
+out, his philosophy is quite esoteric. It can serve no purpose with the
+ordinary, mediocre type of man. I, personally, can no longer have any
+doubt that Nietzsche’s only object, in that part of his philosophy where
+he bids his friends stand “Beyond Good and Evil” with him, was to save
+higher men, whose growth and scope might be limited by the too
+strict observance of modern values from foundering on the rocks of a
+“Compromise” between their own genius and traditional conventions. The
+only possible way in which the great man can achieve greatness is
+by means of exceptional freedom--the freedom which assists him in
+experiencing HIMSELF. Verses 20 to 30 afford an excellent supplement to
+Nietzsche’s description of the attitude of the noble type towards the
+slaves in Aphorism 260 of the work “Beyond Good and Evil” (see also Note
+B.)
+
+Chapter LV. The Spirit of Gravity.
+
+(See Note on Chapter XLVI.) In Part II. of this discourse we meet with
+a doctrine not touched upon hitherto, save indirectly;--I refer to the
+doctrine of self-love. We should try to understand this perfectly before
+proceeding; for it is precisely views of this sort which, after having
+been cut out of the original context, are repeated far and wide as
+internal evidence proving the general unsoundness of Nietzsche’s
+philosophy. Already in the last of the “Thoughts out of Season”
+ Nietzsche speaks as follows about modern men: “...these modern creatures
+wish rather to be hunted down, wounded and torn to shreds, than to
+live alone with themselves in solitary calm. Alone with oneself!--this
+thought terrifies the modern soul; it is his one anxiety, his one
+ghastly fear” (English Edition, page 141). In his feverish scurry to
+find entertainment and diversion, whether in a novel, a newspaper, or a
+play, the modern man condemns his own age utterly; for he shows that in
+his heart of hearts he despises himself. One cannot change a condition
+of this sort in a day; to become endurable to oneself an inner
+transformation is necessary. Too long have we lost ourselves in our
+friends and entertainments to be able to find ourselves so soon at
+another’s bidding. “And verily, it is no commandment for to-day and
+to-morrow to LEARN to love oneself. Rather is it of all arts the finest,
+subtlest, last, and patientest.”
+
+In the last verse Nietzsche challenges us to show that our way is
+the right way. In his teaching he does not coerce us, nor does he
+overpersuade; he simply says: “I am a law only for mine own, I am not a
+law for all. This--is now MY way,--where is yours?”
+
+Chapter LVI. Old and New Tables. Par. 2.
+
+Nietzsche himself declares this to be the most decisive portion of
+the whole of “Thus Spake Zarathustra”. It is a sort of epitome of his
+leading doctrines. In verse 12 of the second paragraph, we learn how he
+himself would fain have abandoned the poetical method of expression had
+he not known only too well that the only chance a new doctrine has of
+surviving, nowadays, depends upon its being given to the world in some
+kind of art-form. Just as prophets, centuries ago, often had to have
+recourse to the mask of madness in order to mitigate the hatred of those
+who did not and could not see as they did; so, to-day, the struggle for
+existence among opinions and values is so great, that an art-form
+is practically the only garb in which a new philosophy can dare to
+introduce itself to us.
+
+Pars. 3 and 4.
+
+Many of the paragraphs will be found to be merely reminiscent of former
+discourses. For instance, par. 3 recalls “Redemption”. The last verse
+of par. 4 is important. Freedom which, as I have pointed out before,
+Nietzsche considered a dangerous acquisition in inexperienced or
+unworthy hands, here receives its death-blow as a general desideratum.
+In the first Part we read under “The Way of the Creating One”, that
+freedom as an end in itself does not concern Zarathustra at all. He says
+there: “Free from what? What doth that matter to Zarathustra? Clearly,
+however, shall thine eye answer me: free FOR WHAT?” And in “The
+Bedwarfing Virtue”: “Ah that ye understood my word: ‘Do ever what ye
+will--but first be such as CAN WILL.’”
+
+Par. 5.
+
+Here we have a description of the kind of altruism Nietzsche exacted
+from higher men. It is really a comment upon “The Bestowing Virtue” (see
+Note on Chapter XXII.).
+
+Par. 6.
+
+This refers, of course, to the reception pioneers of Nietzsche’s stamp
+meet with at the hands of their contemporaries.
+
+Par. 8.
+
+Nietzsche teaches that nothing is stable,--not even values,--not
+even the concepts good and evil. He likens life unto a stream. But
+foot-bridges and railings span the stream, and they seem to stand
+firm. Many will be reminded of good and evil when they look upon these
+structures; for thus these same values stand over the stream of life,
+and life flows on beneath them and leaves them standing. When, however,
+winter comes and the stream gets frozen, many inquire: “Should not
+everything--STAND STILL? Fundamentally everything standeth still.” But
+soon the spring cometh and with it the thaw-wind. It breaks the ice, and
+the ice breaks down the foot-bridges and railings, whereupon everything
+is swept away. This state of affairs, according to Nietzsche, has now
+been reached. “Oh, my brethren, is not everything AT PRESENT IN FLUX?
+Have not all railings and foot-bridges fallen into the water? Who would
+still HOLD ON to ‘good’ and ‘evil’?”
+
+Par. 9.
+
+This is complementary to the first three verses of par. 2.
+
+Par. 10.
+
+So far, this is perhaps the most important paragraph. It is a protest
+against reading a moral order of things in life. “Life is something
+essentially immoral!” Nietzsche tells us in the introduction to the
+“Birth of Tragedy”. Even to call life “activity,” or to define it
+further as “the continuous adjustment of internal relations to external
+relations,” as Spencer has it, Nietzsche characterises as a “democratic
+idiosyncracy.” He says to define it in this way, “is to mistake the
+true nature and function of life, which is Will to Power...Life is
+ESSENTIALLY appropriation, injury, conquest of the strange and weak,
+suppression, severity, obtrusion of its own forms, incorporation and
+at least, putting it mildest, exploitation.” Adaptation is merely a
+secondary activity, a mere re-activity (see Note on Chapter LVII.).
+
+Pars. 11, 12.
+
+These deal with Nietzsche’s principle of the desirability of rearing a
+select race. The biological and historical grounds for his insistence
+upon this principle are, of course, manifold. Gobineau in his great
+work, “L’Inegalite des Races Humaines”, lays strong emphasis upon the
+evils which arise from promiscuous and inter-social marriages. He alone
+would suffice to carry Nietzsche’s point against all those who are
+opposed to the other conditions, to the conditions which would have
+saved Rome, which have maintained the strength of the Jewish race, and
+which are strictly maintained by every breeder of animals throughout the
+world. Darwin in his remarks relative to the degeneration of CULTIVATED
+types of animals through the action of promiscuous breeding, brings
+Gobineau support from the realm of biology.
+
+The last two verses of par. 12 were discussed in the Notes on Chapters
+XXXVI. and LIII.
+
+Par. 13.
+
+This, like the first part of “The Soothsayer”, is obviously a reference
+to the Schopenhauerian Pessimism.
+
+Pars. 14, 15, 16, 17.
+
+These are supplementary to the discourse “Backworld’s-men”.
+
+Par. 18.
+
+We must be careful to separate this paragraph, in sense, from the
+previous four paragraphs. Nietzsche is still dealing with Pessimism
+here; but it is the pessimism of the hero--the man most susceptible of
+all to desperate views of life, owing to the obstacles that are arrayed
+against him in a world where men of his kind are very rare and are
+continually being sacrificed. It was to save this man that Nietzsche
+wrote. Heroism foiled, thwarted, and wrecked, hoping and fighting until
+the last, is at length overtaken by despair, and renounces all struggle
+for sleep. This is not the natural or constitutional pessimism which
+proceeds from an unhealthy body--the dyspeptic’s lack of appetite; it
+is rather the desperation of the netted lion that ultimately stops all
+movement, because the more it moves the more involved it becomes.
+
+Par. 20.
+
+“All that increases power is good, all that springs from weakness is
+bad. The weak and ill-constituted shall perish: first principle of our
+charity. And one shall also help them thereto.” Nietzsche partly divined
+the kind of reception moral values of this stamp would meet with at
+the hands of the effeminate manhood of Europe. Here we see that he had
+anticipated the most likely form their criticism would take (see also
+the last two verses of par. 17).
+
+Par. 21.
+
+The first ten verses, here, are reminiscent of “War and Warriors” and
+of “The Flies in the Market-place.” Verses 11 and 12, however, are
+particularly important. There is a strong argument in favour of the
+sharp differentiation of castes and of races (and even of sexes; see
+Note on Chapter XVIII.) running all through Nietzsche’s writings.
+But sharp differentiation also implies antagonism in some form or
+other--hence Nietzsche’s fears for modern men. What modern men desire
+above all, is peace and the cessation of pain. But neither great races
+nor great castes have ever been built up in this way. “Who still wanteth
+to rule?” Zarathustra asks in the “Prologue”. “Who still wanteth to
+obey? Both are too burdensome.” This is rapidly becoming everybody’s
+attitude to-day. The tame moral reading of the face of nature, together
+with such democratic interpretations of life as those suggested by
+Herbert Spencer, are signs of a physiological condition which is the
+reverse of that bounding and irresponsible healthiness in which harder
+and more tragic values rule.
+
+Par. 24.
+
+This should be read in conjunction with “Child and Marriage”. In the
+fifth verse we shall recognise our old friend “Marriage on the ten-years
+system,” which George Meredith suggested some years ago. This, however,
+must not be taken too literally. I do not think Nietzsche’s profoundest
+views on marriage were ever intended to be given over to the public at
+all, at least not for the present. They appear in the biography by his
+sister, and although their wisdom is unquestionable, the nature of the
+reforms he suggests render it impossible for them to become popular just
+now.
+
+Pars. 26, 27.
+
+See Note on “The Prologue”.
+
+Par. 28.
+
+Nietzsche was not an iconoclast from predilection. No bitterness or
+empty hate dictated his vituperations against existing values and
+against the dogmas of his parents and forefathers. He knew too well what
+these things meant to the millions who profess them, to approach the
+task of uprooting them with levity or even with haste. He saw what
+modern anarchists and revolutionists do NOT see--namely, that man is in
+danger of actual destruction when his customs and values are broken.
+I need hardly point out, therefore, how deeply he was conscious of
+the responsibility he threw upon our shoulders when he invited us to
+reconsider our position. The lines in this paragraph are evidence enough
+of his earnestness.
+
+Chapter LVII. The Convalescent.
+
+We meet with several puzzles here. Zarathustra calls himself the
+advocate of the circle (the Eternal Recurrence of all things), and he
+calls this doctrine his abysmal thought. In the last verse of the
+first paragraph, however, after hailing his deepest thought, he cries:
+“Disgust, disgust, disgust!” We know Nietzsche’s ideal man was that
+“world-approving, exuberant, and vivacious creature, who has not only
+learnt to compromise and arrange with that which was and is, but wishes
+to have it again, AS IT WAS AND IS, for all eternity insatiably calling
+out da capo, not only to himself, but to the whole piece and play” (see
+Note on Chapter XLII.). But if one ask oneself what the conditions to
+such an attitude are, one will realise immediately how utterly different
+Nietzsche was from his ideal. The man who insatiably cries da capo to
+himself and to the whole of his mise-en-scene, must be in a position to
+desire every incident in his life to be repeated, not once, but
+again and again eternally. Now, Nietzsche’s life had been too full of
+disappointments, illness, unsuccessful struggles, and snubs, to allow of
+his thinking of the Eternal Recurrence without loathing--hence probably
+the words of the last verse.
+
+In verses 15 and 16, we have Nietzsche declaring himself an evolutionist
+in the broadest sense--that is to say, that he believes in the
+Development Hypothesis as the description of the process by which
+species have originated. Now, to understand his position correctly
+we must show his relationship to the two greatest of modern
+evolutionists--Darwin and Spencer. As a philosopher, however, Nietzsche
+does not stand or fall by his objections to the Darwinian or Spencerian
+cosmogony. He never laid claim to a very profound knowledge of biology,
+and his criticism is far more valuable as the attitude of a fresh mind
+than as that of a specialist towards the question. Moreover, in his
+objections many difficulties are raised which are not settled by an
+appeal to either of the men above mentioned. We have given Nietzsche’s
+definition of life in the Note on Chapter LVI., par. 10. Still, there
+remains a hope that Darwin and Nietzsche may some day become reconciled
+by a new description of the processes by which varieties occur. The
+appearance of varieties among animals and of “sporting plants” in
+the vegetable kingdom, is still shrouded in mystery, and the question
+whether this is not precisely the ground on which Darwin and Nietzsche
+will meet, is an interesting one. The former says in his “Origin of
+Species”, concerning the causes of variability: “...there are two
+factors, namely, the nature of the organism, and the nature of the
+conditions. THE FORMER SEEMS TO BE MUCH THE MORE IMPORTANT (The italics
+are mine.), for nearly similar variations sometimes arise under, as
+far as we can judge, dissimilar conditions; and on the other hand,
+dissimilar variations arise under conditions which appear to be
+nearly uniform.” Nietzsche, recognising this same truth, would ascribe
+practically all the importance to the “highest functionaries in the
+organism, in which the life-will appears as an active and formative
+principle,” and except in certain cases (where passive organisms alone
+are concerned) would not give such a prominent place to the influence
+of environment. Adaptation, according to him, is merely a secondary
+activity, a mere re-activity, and he is therefore quite opposed to
+Spencer’s definition: “Life is the continuous adjustment of internal
+relations to external relations.” Again in the motive force behind
+animal and plant life, Nietzsche disagrees with Darwin. He
+transforms the “Struggle for Existence”--the passive and involuntary
+condition--into the “Struggle for Power,” which is active and creative,
+and much more in harmony with Darwin’s own view, given above, concerning
+the importance of the organism itself. The change is one of such
+far-reaching importance that we cannot dispose of it in a breath, as a
+mere play upon words. “Much is reckoned higher than life itself by the
+living one.” Nietzsche says that to speak of the activity of life as a
+“struggle for existence,” is to state the case inadequately. He warns us
+not to confound Malthus with nature. There is something more than
+this struggle between the organic beings on this earth; want, which is
+supposed to bring this struggle about, is not so common as is supposed;
+some other force must be operative. The Will to Power is this force,
+“the instinct of self-preservation is only one of the indirect and most
+frequent results thereof.” A certain lack of acumen in psychological
+questions and the condition of affairs in England at the time Darwin
+wrote, may both, according to Nietzsche, have induced the renowned
+naturalist to describe the forces of nature as he did in his “Origin of
+Species”.
+
+In verses 28, 29, and 30 of the second portion of this discourse we meet
+with a doctrine which, at first sight, seems to be merely “le manoir
+a l’envers,” indeed one English critic has actually said of Nietzsche,
+that “Thus Spake Zarathustra” is no more than a compendium of modern
+views and maxims turned upside down. Examining these heterodox
+pronouncements a little more closely, however, we may possibly perceive
+their truth. Regarding good and evil as purely relative values, it
+stands to reason that what may be bad or evil in a given man, relative
+to a certain environment, may actually be good if not highly virtuous
+in him relative to a certain other environment. If this hypothetical man
+represent the ascending line of life--that is to say, if he promise all
+that which is highest in a Graeco-Roman sense, then it is likely that
+he will be condemned as wicked if introduced into the society of men
+representing the opposite and descending line of life.
+
+By depriving a man of his wickedness--more particularly nowadays--
+therefore, one may unwittingly be doing violence to the greatest in him.
+It may be an outrage against his wholeness, just as the lopping-off of a
+leg would be. Fortunately, the natural so-called “wickedness” of higher
+men has in a certain measure been able to resist this lopping process
+which successive slave-moralities have practised; but signs are not
+wanting which show that the noblest wickedness is fast vanishing from
+society--the wickedness of courage and determination--and that Nietzsche
+had good reasons for crying: “Ah, that (man’s) baddest is so very small!
+Ah, that his best is so very small. What is good? To be brave is good!
+It is the good war which halloweth every cause!” (see also par. 5,
+“Higher Man”).
+
+Chapter LX. The Seven Seals.
+
+This is a final paean which Zarathustra sings to Eternity and the
+marriage-ring of rings, the ring of the Eternal Recurrence.
+
+...
+
+PART IV.
+
+In my opinion this part is Nietzsche’s open avowal that all his
+philosophy, together with all his hopes, enthusiastic outbursts,
+blasphemies, prolixities, and obscurities, were merely so many gifts
+laid at the feet of higher men. He had no desire to save the world. What
+he wished to determine was: Who is to be master of the world? This is
+a very different thing. He came to save higher men;--to give them that
+freedom by which, alone, they can develop and reach their zenith (see
+Note on Chapter LIV., end). It has been argued, and with considerable
+force, that no such philosophy is required by higher men, that, as a
+matter of fact, higher men, by virtue of their constitutions always, do
+stand Beyond Good and Evil, and never allow anything to stand in the
+way of their complete growth. Nietzsche, however, was evidently not so
+confident about this. He would probably have argued that we only see the
+successful cases. Being a great man himself, he was well aware of the
+dangers threatening greatness in our age. In “Beyond Good and Evil” he
+writes: “There are few pains so grievous as to have seen, divined,
+or experienced how an exceptional man has missed his way and
+deteriorated...” He knew “from his painfullest recollections on what
+wretched obstacles promising developments of the highest rank have
+hitherto usually gone to pieces, broken down, sunk, and become
+contemptible.” Now in Part IV. we shall find that his strongest
+temptation to descend to the feeling of “pity” for his contemporaries,
+is the “cry for help” which he hears from the lips of the higher men
+exposed to the dreadful danger of their modern environment.
+
+Chapter LXI. The Honey Sacrifice.
+
+In the fourteenth verse of this discourse Nietzsche defines the solemn
+duty he imposed upon himself: “Become what thou art.” Surely the
+criticism which has been directed against this maxim must all fall to
+the ground when it is remembered, once and for all, that Nietzsche’s
+teaching was never intended to be other than an esoteric one. “I am a
+law only for mine own,” he says emphatically, “I am not a law for
+all.” It is of the greatest importance to humanity that its highest
+individuals should be allowed to attain to their full development; for,
+only by means of its heroes can the human race be led forward step by
+step to higher and yet higher levels. “Become what thou art” applied
+to all, of course, becomes a vicious maxim; it is to be hoped, however,
+that we may learn in time that the same action performed by a given
+number of men, loses its identity precisely that same number of
+times.--“Quod licet Jovi, non licet bovi.”
+
+At the last eight verses many readers may be tempted to laugh. In
+England we almost always laugh when a man takes himself seriously at
+anything save sport. And there is of course no reason why the reader
+should not be hilarious.--A certain greatness is requisite, both in
+order to be sublime and to have reverence for the sublime. Nietzsche
+earnestly believed that the Zarathustra-kingdom--his dynasty of a
+thousand years--would one day come; if he had not believed it so
+earnestly, if every artist in fact had not believed so earnestly in
+his Hazar, whether of ten, fifteen, a hundred, or a thousand years, we
+should have lost all our higher men; they would have become pessimists,
+suicides, or merchants. If the minor poet and philosopher has made us
+shy of the prophetic seriousness which characterized an Isaiah or a
+Jeremiah, it is surely our loss and the minor poet’s gain.
+
+Chapter LXII. The Cry of Distress.
+
+We now meet with Zarathustra in extraordinary circumstances. He is
+confronted with Schopenhauer and tempted by the old Soothsayer to commit
+the sin of pity. “I have come that I may seduce thee to thy last sin!”
+ says the Soothsayer to Zarathustra. It will be remembered that in
+Schopenhauer’s ethics, pity is elevated to the highest place among the
+virtues, and very consistently too, seeing that the Weltanschauung is
+a pessimistic one. Schopenhauer appeals to Nietzsche’s deepest and
+strongest sentiment--his sympathy for higher men. “Why dost thou conceal
+thyself?” he cries. “It is THE HIGHER MAN that calleth for thee!”
+ Zarathustra is almost overcome by the Soothsayer’s pleading, as he
+had been once already in the past, but he resists him step by step. At
+length he can withstand him no longer, and, on the plea that the higher
+man is on his ground and therefore under his protection, Zarathustra
+departs in search of him, leaving Schopenhauer--a higher man in
+Nietzsche’s opinion--in the cave as a guest.
+
+Chapter LXIII. Talk with the Kings.
+
+On his way Zarathustra meets two more higher men of his time; two
+kings cross his path. They are above the average modern type; for their
+instincts tell them what real ruling is, and they despise the mockery
+which they have been taught to call “Reigning.” “We ARE NOT the first
+men,” they say, “and have nevertheless to STAND FOR them: of this
+imposture have we at last become weary and disgusted.” It is the kings
+who tell Zarathustra: “There is no sorer misfortune in all human destiny
+than when the mighty of the earth are not also the first men. There
+everything becometh false and distorted and monstrous.” The kings are
+also asked by Zarathustra to accept the shelter of his cave, whereupon
+he proceeds on his way.
+
+Chapter LXIV. The Leech.
+
+Among the higher men whom Zarathustra wishes to save, is also the
+scientific specialist--the man who honestly and scrupulously pursues his
+investigations, as Darwin did, in one department of knowledge. “I love
+him who liveth in order to know, and seeketh to know in order that the
+Superman may hereafter live. Thus seeketh he his own down-going.”
+ “The spiritually conscientious one,” he is called in this discourse.
+Zarathustra steps on him unawares, and the slave of science, bleeding
+from the violence he has done to himself by his self-imposed task,
+speaks proudly of his little sphere of knowledge--his little hand’s
+breadth of ground on Zarathustra’s territory, philosophy. “Where mine
+honesty ceaseth,” says the true scientific specialist, “there am I blind
+and want also to be blind. Where I want to know, however, there want
+I also to be honest--namely, severe, rigorous, restricted, cruel, and
+inexorable.” Zarathustra greatly respecting this man, invites him too to
+the cave, and then vanishes in answer to another cry for help.
+
+Chapter LXV. The Magician.
+
+The Magician is of course an artist, and Nietzsche’s intimate knowledge
+of perhaps the greatest artist of his age rendered the selection of
+Wagner, as the type in this discourse, almost inevitable. Most readers
+will be acquainted with the facts relating to Nietzsche’s and Wagner’s
+friendship and ultimate separation. As a boy and a youth Nietzsche had
+shown such a remarkable gift for music that it had been a question at
+one time whether he should not perhaps give up everything else in order
+to develop this gift, but he became a scholar notwithstanding, although
+he never entirely gave up composing, and playing the piano. While
+still in his teens, he became acquainted with Wagner’s music and
+grew passionately fond of it. Long before he met Wagner he must have
+idealised him in his mind to an extent which only a profoundly artistic
+nature could have been capable of. Nietzsche always had high ideals for
+humanity. If one were asked whether, throughout his many changes, there
+was yet one aim, one direction, and one hope to which he held fast,
+one would be forced to reply in the affirmative and declare that aim,
+direction, and hope to have been “the elevation of the type man.”
+ Now, when Nietzsche met Wagner he was actually casting about for an
+incarnation of his dreams for the German people, and we have only to
+remember his youth (he was twenty-one when he was introduced to Wagner),
+his love of Wagner’s music, and the undoubted power of the great
+musician’s personality, in order to realise how very uncritical his
+attitude must have been in the first flood of his enthusiasm. Again,
+when the friendship ripened, we cannot well imagine Nietzsche, the
+younger man, being anything less than intoxicated by his senior’s
+attention and love, and we are therefore not surprised to find him
+pressing Wagner forward as the great Reformer and Saviour of mankind.
+“Wagner in Bayreuth” (English Edition, 1909) gives us the best proof
+of Nietzsche’s infatuation, and although signs are not wanting in this
+essay which show how clearly and even cruelly he was sub-consciously
+“taking stock” of his friend--even then, the work is a record of what
+great love and admiration can do in the way of endowing the object
+of one’s affection with all the qualities and ideals that a fertile
+imagination can conceive.
+
+When the blow came it was therefore all the more severe. Nietzsche
+at length realised that the friend of his fancy and the real Richard
+Wagner--the composer of Parsifal--were not one; the fact dawned
+upon him slowly; disappointment upon disappointment, revelation after
+revelation, ultimately brought it home to him, and though his best
+instincts were naturally opposed to it at first, the revulsion of
+feeling at last became too strong to be ignored, and Nietzsche was
+plunged into the blackest despair. Years after his break with Wagner,
+he wrote “The Case of Wagner”, and “Nietzsche contra Wagner”, and these
+works are with us to prove the sincerity and depth of his views on the
+man who was the greatest event of his life.
+
+The poem in this discourse is, of course, reminiscent of Wagner’s own
+poetical manner, and it must be remembered that the whole was written
+subsequent to Nietzsche’s final break with his friend. The dialogue
+between Zarathustra and the Magician reveals pretty fully what it
+was that Nietzsche grew to loathe so intensely in Wagner,--viz., his
+pronounced histrionic tendencies, his dissembling powers, his inordinate
+vanity, his equivocalness, his falseness. “It honoureth thee,” says
+Zarathustra, “that thou soughtest for greatness, but it betrayeth thee
+also. Thou art not great.” The Magician is nevertheless sent as a guest
+to Zarathustra’s cave; for, in his heart, Zarathustra believed until the
+end that the Magician was a higher man broken by modern values.
+
+Chapter LXVI. Out of Service.
+
+Zarathustra now meets the last pope, and, in a poetical form, we get
+Nietzsche’s description of the course Judaism and Christianity pursued
+before they reached their final break-up in Atheism, Agnosticism, and
+the like. The God of a strong, warlike race--the God of Israel--is a
+jealous, revengeful God. He is a power that can be pictured and endured
+only by a hardy and courageous race, a race rich enough to sacrifice and
+to lose in sacrifice. The image of this God degenerates with the people
+that appropriate it, and gradually He becomes a God of love--“soft and
+mellow,” a lower middle-class deity, who is “pitiful.” He can no longer
+be a God who requires sacrifice, for we ourselves are no longer rich
+enough for that. The tables are therefore turned upon Him; HE must
+sacrifice to us. His pity becomes so great that he actually does
+sacrifice something to us--His only begotten Son. Such a process
+carried to its logical conclusions must ultimately end in His own
+destruction, and thus we find the pope declaring that God was one day
+suffocated by His all-too-great pity. What follows is clear enough.
+Zarathustra recognises another higher man in the ex-pope and sends him
+too as a guest to the cave.
+
+Chapter LXVII. The Ugliest Man.
+
+This discourse contains perhaps the boldest of Nietzsche’s suggestions
+concerning Atheism, as well as some extremely penetrating remarks upon
+the sentiment of pity. Zarathustra comes across the repulsive creature
+sitting on the wayside, and what does he do? He manifests the only
+correct feelings that can be manifested in the presence of any great
+misery--that is to say, shame, reverence, embarrassment. Nietzsche
+detested the obtrusive and gushing pity that goes up to misery without
+a blush either on its cheek or in its heart--the pity which is only
+another form of self-glorification. “Thank God that I am not like
+thee!”--only this self-glorifying sentiment can lend a well-constituted
+man the impudence to SHOW his pity for the cripple and the
+ill-constituted. In the presence of the ugliest man Nietzsche
+blushes,--he blushes for his race; his own particular kind of
+altruism--the altruism that might have prevented the existence of this
+man--strikes him with all its force. He will have the world otherwise.
+He will have a world where one need not blush for one’s fellows--hence
+his appeal to us to love only our children’s land, the land undiscovered
+in the remotest sea.
+
+Zarathustra calls the ugliest man the murderer of God! Certainly, this
+is one aspect of a certain kind of Atheism--the Atheism of the man who
+reveres beauty to such an extent that his own ugliness, which outrages
+him, must be concealed from every eye lest it should not be respected as
+Zarathustra respected it. If there be a God, He too must be evaded. His
+pity must be foiled. But God is ubiquitous and omniscient. Therefore,
+for the really GREAT ugly man, He must not exist. “Their pity IS it from
+which I flee away,” he says--that is to say: “It is from their want of
+reverence and lack of shame in presence of my great misery!” The ugliest
+man despises himself; but Zarathustra said in his Prologue: “I love
+the great despisers because they are the great adorers, and arrows of
+longing for the other shore.” He therefore honours the ugliest man: sees
+height in his self-contempt, and invites him to join the other higher
+men in the cave.
+
+Chapter LXVIII. The Voluntary Beggar.
+
+In this discourse, we undoubtedly have the ideal Buddhist, if not
+Gautama Buddha himself. Nietzsche had the greatest respect for Buddhism,
+and almost wherever he refers to it in his works, it is in terms of
+praise. He recognised that though Buddhism is undoubtedly a religion for
+decadents, its decadent values emanate from the higher and not, as in
+Christianity, from the lower grades of society. In Aphorism 20 of “The
+Antichrist”, he compares it exhaustively with Christianity, and
+the result of his investigation is very much in favour of the older
+religion. Still, he recognised a most decided Buddhistic influence
+in Christ’s teaching, and the words in verses 29, 30, and 31 are very
+reminiscent of his views in regard to the Christian Savior.
+
+The figure of Christ has been introduced often enough into fiction, and
+many scholars have undertaken to write His life according to their own
+lights, but few perhaps have ever attempted to present Him to us bereft
+of all those characteristics which a lack of the sense of harmony has
+attached to His person through the ages in which His doctrines have been
+taught. Now Nietzsche disagreed entirely with Renan’s view, that Christ
+was “le grand maitre en ironie”; in Aphorism 31 of “The Antichrist”,
+he says that he (Nietzsche) always purged his picture of the Humble
+Nazarene of all those bitter and spiteful outbursts which, in view of
+the struggle the first Christians went through, may very well have been
+added to the original character by Apologists and Sectarians who, at
+that time, could ill afford to consider nice psychological points,
+seeing that what they needed, above all, was a wrangling and abusive
+deity. These two conflicting halves in the character of the Christ of
+the Gospels, which no sound psychology can ever reconcile, Nietzsche
+always kept distinct in his own mind; he could not credit the same man
+with sentiments sometimes so noble and at other times so vulgar, and
+in presenting us with this new portrait of the Saviour, purged of all
+impurities, Nietzsche rendered military honours to a foe, which far
+exceed in worth all that His most ardent disciples have ever claimed for
+Him. In verse 26 we are vividly reminded of Herbert Spencer’s words “‘Le
+mariage de convenance’ is legalised prostitution.”
+
+Chapter LXIX. The Shadow.
+
+Here we have a description of that courageous and wayward spirit that
+literally haunts the footsteps of every great thinker and every great
+leader; sometimes with the result that it loses all aims, all hopes,
+and all trust in a definite goal. It is the case of the bravest and
+most broad-minded men of to-day. These literally shadow the most daring
+movements in the science and art of their generation; they completely
+lose their bearings and actually find themselves, in the end, without a
+way, a goal, or a home. “On every surface have I already sat!...I become
+thin, I am almost equal to a shadow!” At last, in despair, such men
+do indeed cry out: “Nothing is true; all is permitted,” and then they
+become mere wreckage. “Too much hath become clear unto me: now nothing
+mattereth to me any more. Nothing liveth any longer that I love,--how
+should I still love myself! Have I still a goal? Where is MY home?”
+ Zarathustra realises the danger threatening such a man. “Thy danger is
+not small, thou free spirit and wanderer,” he says. “Thou hast had a bad
+day. See that a still worse evening doth not overtake thee!” The danger
+Zarathustra refers to is precisely this, that even a prison may seem a
+blessing to such a man. At least the bars keep him in a place of rest;
+a place of confinement, at its worst, is real. “Beware lest in the end
+a narrow faith capture thee,” says Zarathustra, “for now everything that
+is narrow and fixed seduceth and tempteth thee.”
+
+Chapter LXX. Noontide.
+
+At the noon of life Nietzsche said he entered the world; with him
+man came of age. We are now held responsible for our actions; our old
+guardians, the gods and demi-gods of our youth, the superstitions and
+fears of our childhood, withdraw; the field lies open before us; we
+lived through our morning with but one master--chance--; let us see to
+it that we MAKE our afternoon our own (see Note XLIX., Part III.).
+
+Chapter LXXI. The Greeting.
+
+Here I think I may claim that my contention in regard to the purpose and
+aim of the whole of Nietzsche’s philosophy (as stated at the beginning
+of my Notes on Part IV.) is completely upheld. He fought for “all who
+do not want to live, unless they learn again to HOPE--unless THEY learn
+(from him) the GREAT hope!” Zarathustra’s address to his guests shows
+clearly enough how he wished to help them: “I DO NOT TREAT MY WARRIORS
+INDULGENTLY,” he says: “how then could ye be fit for MY warfare?” He
+rebukes and spurns them, no word of love comes from his lips. Elsewhere
+he says a man should be a hard bed to his friend, thus alone can he be
+of use to him. Nietzsche would be a hard bed to higher men. He would
+make them harder; for, in order to be a law unto himself, man must
+possess the requisite hardness. “I wait for higher ones, stronger ones,
+more triumphant ones, merrier ones, for such as are built squarely in
+body and soul.” He says in par. 6 of “Higher Man”:--
+
+“Ye higher men, think ye that I am here to put right what ye have put
+wrong? Or that I wished henceforth to make snugger couches for you
+sufferers? Or show you restless, miswandering, misclimbing ones new and
+easier footpaths?”
+
+“Nay! Nay! Three times nay! Always more, always better ones of your type
+shall succumb--for ye shall always have it worse and harder.”
+
+Chapter LXXII. The Supper.
+
+In the first seven verses of this discourse, I cannot help seeing
+a gentle allusion to Schopenhauer’s habits as a bon-vivant. For a
+pessimist, be it remembered, Schopenhauer led quite an extraordinary
+life. He ate well, loved well, played the flute well, and I believe he
+smoked the best cigars. What follows is clear enough.
+
+Chapter LXXIII. The Higher Man. Par. 1.
+
+Nietzsche admits, here, that at one time he had thought of appealing to
+the people, to the crowd in the market-place, but that he had ultimately
+to abandon the task. He bids higher men depart from the market-place.
+
+Par. 3.
+
+Here we are told quite plainly what class of men actually owe all their
+impulses and desires to the instinct of self-preservation. The struggle
+for existence is indeed the only spur in the case of such people.
+To them it matters not in what shape or condition man be preserved,
+provided only he survive. The transcendental maxim that “Life per se is
+precious” is the ruling maxim here.
+
+Par. 4.
+
+In the Note on Chapter LVII. (end) I speak of Nietzsche’s elevation of
+the virtue, Courage, to the highest place among the virtues. Here he
+tells higher men the class of courage he expects from them.
+
+Pars. 5, 6.
+
+These have already been referred to in the Notes on Chapters LVII. (end)
+and LXXI.
+
+Par. 7.
+
+I suggest that the last verse in this paragraph strongly confirms the
+view that Nietzsche’s teaching was always meant by him to be esoteric
+and for higher man alone.
+
+Par. 9.
+
+In the last verse, here, another shaft of light is thrown upon the
+Immaculate Perception or so-called “pure objectivity” of the scientific
+mind. “Freedom from fever is still far from being knowledge.” Where a
+man’s emotions cease to accompany him in his investigations, he is
+not necessarily nearer the truth. Says Spencer, in the Preface to his
+Autobiography:--“In the genesis of a system of thought, the emotional
+nature is a large factor: perhaps as large a factor as the intellectual
+nature” (see pages 134, 141 of Vol. I., “Thoughts out of Season”).
+
+Pars. 10, 11.
+
+When we approach Nietzsche’s philosophy we must be prepared to be
+independent thinkers; in fact, the greatest virtue of his works is
+perhaps the subtlety with which they impose the obligation upon one
+of thinking alone, of scoring off one’s own bat, and of shifting
+intellectually for oneself.
+
+Par. 13.
+
+“I am a railing alongside the torrent; whoever is able to grasp me, may
+grasp me! Your crutch, however, I am not.” These two paragraphs are an
+exhortation to higher men to become independent.
+
+Par. 15.
+
+Here Nietzsche perhaps exaggerates the importance of heredity. As,
+however, the question is by no means one on which we are all agreed,
+what he says is not without value.
+
+A very important principle in Nietzsche’s philosophy is enunciated in
+the first verse of this paragraph. “The higher its type, always the
+seldomer doth a thing succeed” (see page 82 of “Beyond Good and Evil”).
+Those who, like some political economists, talk in a business-like way
+about the terrific waste of human life and energy, deliberately overlook
+the fact that the waste most to be deplored usually occurs among
+higher individuals. Economy was never precisely one of nature’s leading
+principles. All this sentimental wailing over the larger proportion
+of failures than successes in human life, does not seem to take into
+account the fact that it is the rarest thing on earth for a highly
+organised being to attain to the fullest development and activity of all
+its functions, simply because it is so highly organised. The blind Will
+to Power in nature therefore stands in urgent need of direction by man.
+
+Pars. 16, 17, 18, 19, 20.
+
+These paragraphs deal with Nietzsche’s protest against the democratic
+seriousness (Pobelernst) of modern times. “All good things laugh,” he
+says, and his final command to the higher men is, “LEARN, I pray you--to
+laugh.” All that is GOOD, in Nietzsche’s sense, is cheerful. To be able
+to crack a joke about one’s deepest feelings is the greatest test of
+their value. The man who does not laugh, like the man who does not make
+faces, is already a buffoon at heart.
+
+“What hath hitherto been the greatest sin here on earth? Was it not the
+word of him who said: ‘Woe unto them that laugh now!’ Did he himself
+find no cause for laughter on the earth? Then he sought badly. A child
+even findeth cause for it.”
+
+Chapter LXXIV. The Song of Melancholy.
+
+After his address to the higher men, Zarathustra goes out into the
+open to recover himself. Meanwhile the magician (Wagner), seizing the
+opportunity in order to draw them all into his net once more, sings the
+Song of Melancholy.
+
+Chapter LXXV. Science.
+
+The only one to resist the “melancholy voluptuousness” of his art, is
+the spiritually conscientious one--the scientific specialist of whom we
+read in the discourse entitled “The Leech”. He takes the harp from the
+magician and cries for air, while reproving the musician in the style
+of “The Case of Wagner”. When the magician retaliates by saying that the
+spiritually conscientious one could have understood little of his song,
+the latter replies: “Thou praisest me in that thou separatest me from
+thyself.” The speech of the scientific man to his fellow higher men is
+well worth studying. By means of it, Nietzsche pays a high tribute to
+the honesty of the true specialist, while, in representing him as the
+only one who can resist the demoniacal influence of the magician’s
+music, he elevates him at a stroke, above all those present. Zarathustra
+and the spiritually conscientious one join issue at the end on the
+question of the proper place of “fear” in man’s history, and Nietzsche
+avails himself of the opportunity in order to restate his views
+concerning the relation of courage to humanity. It is precisely because
+courage has played the most important part in our development that
+he would not see it vanish from among our virtues to-day. “...courage
+seemeth to me the entire primitive history of man.”
+
+Chapter LXXVI. Among the Daughters of the Desert.
+
+This tells its own tale.
+
+Chapter LXXVII. The Awakening.
+
+In this discourse, Nietzsche wishes to give his followers a warning.
+He thinks he has so far helped them that they have become convalescent,
+that new desires are awakened in them and that new hopes are in their
+arms and legs. But he mistakes the nature of the change. True, he has
+helped them, he has given them back what they most need, i.e., belief in
+believing--the confidence in having confidence in something, but how
+do they use it? This belief in faith, if one can so express it without
+seeming tautological, has certainly been restored to them, and in
+the first flood of their enthusiasm they use it by bowing down and
+worshipping an ass! When writing this passage, Nietzsche was obviously
+thinking of the accusations which were levelled at the early Christians
+by their pagan contemporaries. It is well known that they were supposed
+not only to be eaters of human flesh but also ass-worshippers, and among
+the Roman graffiti, the most famous is the one found on the Palatino,
+showing a man worshipping a cross on which is suspended a figure
+with the head of an ass (see Minucius Felix, “Octavius” IX.; Tacitus,
+“Historiae” v. 3; Tertullian, “Apologia”, etc.). Nietzsche’s obvious
+moral, however, is that great scientists and thinkers, once they have
+reached the wall encircling scepticism and have thereby learned to
+recover their confidence in the act of believing, as such, usually
+manifest the change in their outlook by falling victims to the narrowest
+and most superstitious of creeds. So much for the introduction of the
+ass as an object of worship.
+
+Now, with regard to the actual service and Ass-Festival, no reader who
+happens to be acquainted with the religious history of the Middle Ages
+will fail to see the allusion here to the asinaria festa which were by
+no means uncommon in France, Germany, and elsewhere in Europe during the
+thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries.
+
+Chapter LXXVIII. The Ass-Festival.
+
+At length, in the middle of their feast, Zarathustra bursts in upon
+them and rebukes them soundly. But he does not do so long; in the
+Ass-Festival, it suddenly occurs to him, that he is concerned with a
+ceremony that may not be without its purpose, as something foolish but
+necessary--a recreation for wise men. He is therefore highly pleased
+that the higher men have all blossomed forth; they therefore require
+new festivals,--“A little valiant nonsense, some divine service and
+ass-festival, some old joyful Zarathustra fool, some blusterer to blow
+their souls bright.”
+
+He tells them not to forget that night and the ass-festival, for “such
+things only the convalescent devise! And should ye celebrate it again,”
+ he concludes, “do it from love to yourselves, do it also from love to
+me! And in remembrance of ME!”
+
+Chapter LXXIX. The Drunken Song.
+
+It were the height of presumption to attempt to fix any particular
+interpretation of my own to the words of this song. With what has gone
+before, the reader, while reading it as poetry, should be able to seek
+and find his own meaning in it. The doctrine of the Eternal Recurrence
+appears for the last time here, in an art-form. Nietzsche lays stress
+upon the fact that all happiness, all delight, longs for repetitions,
+and just as a child cries “Again! Again!” to the adult who happens to
+be amusing him; so the man who sees a meaning, and a joyful meaning, in
+existence must also cry “Again!” and yet “Again!” to all his life.
+
+Chapter LXXX. The Sign.
+
+In this discourse, Nietzsche disassociates himself finally from the
+higher men, and by the symbol of the lion, wishes to convey to us that
+he has won over and mastered the best and the most terrible in nature.
+That great power and tenderness are kin, was already his belief in
+1875--eight years before he wrote this speech, and when the birds and
+the lion come to him, it is because he is the embodiment of the two
+qualities. All that is terrible and great in nature, the higher men are
+not yet prepared for; for they retreat horror-stricken into the cave
+when the lion springs at them; but Zarathustra makes not a move towards
+them. He was tempted to them on the previous day, he says, but “That
+hath had its time! My suffering and my fellow suffering,--what matter
+about them! Do I then strive after HAPPINESS? I strive after my work!
+Well! the lion hath come, my children are nigh. Zarathustra hath grown
+ripe. MY day beginneth: ARISE NOW, ARISE, THOU GREAT NOONDAY!”
+
+...
+
+The above I know to be open to much criticism. I shall be grateful to
+all those who will be kind enough to show me where and how I have gone
+wrong; but I should like to point out that, as they stand, I have not
+given to these Notes by any means their final form.
+
+ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI.
+
+London, February 1909.
+
+
+
+
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diff --git a/old/1998-h_2021-07-25.htm b/old/1998-h_2021-07-25.htm
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+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Thus Spake Zarathustra, by Friedrich Nietzsche</title>
+
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+
+    body { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify;}
+    P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
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+    hr  { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
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+<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Thus Spake Zarathustra, by Friedrich Nietzsche</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
+at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you
+are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the
+country where you are located before using this eBook.
+</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Thus Spake Zarathustra<br />
+A Book for All and None</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Friedrich Nietzsche</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Translator: Thomas Common</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: December, 1999 [eBook #1998]<br />
+[Most recently updated: July 25, 2021]</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div>
+<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Sue Asscher and David Widger</div>
+<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA ***</div>
+
+    <h1>
+      THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA
+    </h1>
+    <h2>
+      A BOOK FOR ALL AND NONE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      By Friedrich Nietzsche
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <h3>
+      Translated By Thomas Common
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <div class="mynote">
+      <p>
+        PG Editor&rsquo;s Note:
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        Archaic spelling and punctuation usages have not been changed from the
+        original. I particular, quotations are often not closed for several
+        paragraphs.
+      </p>
+      DW <br />
+    </div>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <blockquote>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br /> <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION BY MRS FORSTER-NIETZSCHE.
+        </a><br /><br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <big><b>THUS SPAKE
+        ZARATHUSTRA.</b></big> </a> <br /><br /> <br /> <b><a href="#link2H_4_0003">
+        FIRST PART, ZARATHUSTRA&rsquo;S DISCOURSES. </a></b>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> ZARATHUSTRA&rsquo;S PROLOGUE. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> ZARATHUSTRA&rsquo;S DISCOURSES. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> I. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE THREE
+        METAMORPHOSES. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> II. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        ACADEMIC CHAIRS OF VIRTUE. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> III.
+        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;BACKWORLDSMEN. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> IV.
+        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE DESPISERS OF THE BODY. <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2H_4_0010"> V. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;JOYS AND PASSIONS. <br /><br />
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> VI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE PALE CRIMINAL. <br /><br />
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> VII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;READING AND WRITING.
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> VIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE TREE ON
+        THE HILL. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> IX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        PREACHERS OF DEATH. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> X. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;WAR
+        AND WARRIORS. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> XI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        NEW IDOL. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> XII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        FLIES IN THE MARKET-PLACE. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> XIII.
+        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;CHASTITY. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> XIV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        FRIEND. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> XV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        THOUSAND AND ONE GOALS. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> XVI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;NEIGHBOUR-LOVE.
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> XVII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE WAY OF
+        THE CREATING ONE. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> XVIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;OLD
+        AND YOUNG WOMEN. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> XIX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        BITE OF THE ADDER. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> XX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;CHILD
+        AND MARRIAGE. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> XXI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;VOLUNTARY
+        DEATH. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> XXII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        BESTOWING VIRTUE. <br /><br /><br /> <b><a href="#link2H_4_0028"> THUS
+        SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, SECOND PART. </a></b>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <br /><br />
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> XXIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE CHILD WITH THE
+        MIRROR. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> XXIV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;IN
+        THE HAPPY ISLES. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> XXV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        PITIFUL. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> XXVI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        PRIESTS. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> XXVII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        VIRTUOUS. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> XXVIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        RABBLE. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> XXIX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        TARANTULAS. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> XXX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        FAMOUS WISE ONES. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> XXXI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        NIGHT-SONG. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> XXXII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        DANCE-SONG. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> XXXIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        GRAVE-SONG. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> XXXIV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;SELF-SURPASSING.
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> XXXV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE SUBLIME
+        ONES. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> XXXVI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        LAND OF CULTURE. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> XXXVII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;IMMACULATE
+        PERCEPTION. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> XXXVIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;SCHOLARS.
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> XXXIX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;POETS. <br /><br />
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> XL. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;GREAT EVENTS. <br /><br />
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0047"> XLI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE SOOTHSAYER. <br /><br />
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0048"> XLII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;REDEMPTION. <br /><br />
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0049"> XLIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;MANLY PRUDENCE. <br /><br />
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0050"> XLIV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE STILLEST HOUR. <br /><br /><br />
+        <b><a href="#link2H_4_0051"> THIRD PART. </a></b>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0052"> XLV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE WANDERER.
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0053"> XLVI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE VISION
+        AND THE ENIGMA. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0054"> XLVII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;INVOLUNTARY
+        BLISS. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0055"> XLVIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;BEFORE
+        SUNRISE. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0056"> XLIX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        BEDWARFING VIRTUE. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0057"> L. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;ON
+        THE OLIVE-MOUNT. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0058"> LI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;ON
+        PASSING-BY. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0059"> LII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        APOSTATES. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0060"> LIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        RETURN HOME. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0061"> LIV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        THREE EVIL THINGS. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0062"> LV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        SPIRIT OF GRAVITY. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0063"> LVI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;OLD
+        AND NEW TABLES. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0064"> LVII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        CONVALESCENT. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0065"> LVIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        GREAT LONGING. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0066"> LIX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        SECOND DANCE-SONG. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0067"> LX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        SEVEN SEALS. <br /><br /><br /> <b><a href="#link2H_4_0068"> FOURTH AND
+        LAST PART. </a></b>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2H_4_0069"> LXI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE HONEY SACRIFICE. <br /><br />
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0070"> LXII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE CRY OF DISTRESS.
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0071"> LXIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;TALK WITH
+        THE KINGS. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0072"> LXIV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        LEECH. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0073"> LXV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        MAGICIAN. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0074"> LXVI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;OUT
+        OF SERVICE. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0075"> LXVII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        UGLIEST MAN. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0076"> LXVIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        VOLUNTARY BEGGAR. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0077"> LXIX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        SHADOW. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0078"> LXX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;NOONTIDE.
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0079"> LXXI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE GREETING.
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0080"> LXXII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE SUPPER.
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0081"> LXXIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE HIGHER
+        MAN. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0082"> LXXIV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        SONG OF MELANCHOLY. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0083"> LXXV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;SCIENCE.
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0084"> LXXVI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;AMONG
+        DAUGHTERS OF THE DESERT. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0085"> LXXVII.
+        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE AWAKENING. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0086">
+        LXXVIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE ASS-FESTIVAL. <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2H_4_0087"> LXXIX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE DRUNKEN SONG. <br /><br />
+        <a href="#link2H_4_0088"> LXXX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE SIGN. <br /><br /><br /><br />
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_APPE"> <b>APPENDIX.</b> </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_NOTE"> NOTES ON &ldquo;THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA&rdquo; BY ANTHONY M.
+        LUDOVICI. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_PART1"> PART I. THE PROLOGUE. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0001"> Chapter I. The Three Metamorphoses. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0002"> Chapter II. The Academic Chairs of Virtue. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0003"> Chapter IV. The Despisers of the Body. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0004"> Chapter IX. The Preachers of Death. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0005"> Chapter XV. The Thousand and One Goals. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0006"> Chapter XVIII. Old and Young Women. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0007"> Chapter XXI. Voluntary Death. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0008"> Chapter XXII. The Bestowing Virtue. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_PART2"> PART II. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0009"> Chapter XXIII. The Child with the Mirror. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0010"> Chapter XXIV. In the Happy Isles. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0011"> Chapter XXIX. The Tarantulas. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0012"> Chapter XXX. The Famous Wise Ones. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0013"> Chapter XXXIII. The Grave-Song. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0014"> Chapter XXXIV. Self-Surpassing. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0015"> Chapter XXXV. The Sublime Ones. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0016"> Chapter XXXVI. The Land of Culture. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0017"> Chapter XXXVII. Immaculate Perception. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0018"> Chapter XXXVIII. Scholars. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0019"> Chapter XXXIX. Poets. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0020"> Chapter XL. Great Events. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0021"> Chapter XLI. The Soothsayer. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0022"> Chapter XLII. Redemption. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0023"> Chapter XLIII. Manly Prudence. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0024"> Chapter XLIV. The Stillest Hour. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_PART3"> PART III. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0025"> Chapter XLVI. The Vision and the Enigma. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0026"> Chapter XLVII. Involuntary Bliss. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0027"> Chapter XLVIII. Before Sunrise. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0028"> Chapter XLIX. The Bedwarfing Virtue. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0029"> Chapter LI. On Passing-by. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0030"> Chapter LII. The Apostates. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0031"> Chapter LIII. The Return Home. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0032"> Chapter LIV. The Three Evil Things. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0033"> Chapter LV. The Spirit of Gravity. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0034"> Chapter LVI. Old and New Tables. Par. 2. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0035"> Chapter LVII. The Convalescent. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0036"> Chapter LX. The Seven Seals. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2H_PART4"> PART IV. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0037"> Chapter LXI. The Honey Sacrifice. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0038"> Chapter LXII. The Cry of Distress. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0039"> Chapter LXIII. Talk with the Kings. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0040"> Chapter LXIV. The Leech. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0041"> Chapter LXV. The Magician. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0042"> Chapter LXVI. Out of Service. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0043"> Chapter LXVII. The Ugliest Man. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0044"> Chapter LXVIII. The Voluntary Beggar. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0045"> Chapter LXIX. The Shadow. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0046"> Chapter LXX. Noontide. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0047"> Chapter LXXI. The Greeting. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0048"> Chapter LXXII. The Supper. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0049"> Chapter LXXIII. The Higher Man. Par. 1. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0050"> Chapter LXXIV. The Song of Melancholy. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0051"> Chapter LXXV. Science. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0052"> Chapter LXXVI. Among the Daughters of the
+        Desert. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0053"> Chapter LXXVII. The Awakening. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0054"> Chapter LXXVIII. The Ass-Festival. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0055"> Chapter LXXIX. The Drunken Song. </a>
+      </p>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <a href="#link2HCH0056"> Chapter LXXX. The Sign. </a>
+      </p>
+    </blockquote>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      INTRODUCTION BY MRS FORSTER-NIETZSCHE.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      HOW ZARATHUSTRA CAME INTO BEING.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Zarathustra&rdquo; is my brother&rsquo;s most personal work; it is the history of his
+      most individual experiences, of his friendships, ideals, raptures,
+      bitterest disappointments and sorrows. Above it all, however, there soars,
+      transfiguring it, the image of his greatest hopes and remotest aims. My
+      brother had the figure of Zarathustra in his mind from his very earliest
+      youth: he once told me that even as a child he had dreamt of him. At
+      different periods in his life, he would call this haunter of his dreams by
+      different names; &ldquo;but in the end,&rdquo; he declares in a note on the subject,
+      &ldquo;I had to do a PERSIAN the honour of identifying him with this creature of
+      my fancy. Persians were the first to take a broad and comprehensive view
+      of history. Every series of evolutions, according to them, was presided
+      over by a prophet; and every prophet had his &lsquo;Hazar,&rsquo;&mdash;his dynasty of
+      a thousand years.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All Zarathustra&rsquo;s views, as also his personality, were early conceptions
+      of my brother&rsquo;s mind. Whoever reads his posthumously published writings
+      for the years 1869-82 with care, will constantly meet with passages
+      suggestive of Zarathustra&rsquo;s thoughts and doctrines. For instance, the
+      ideal of the Superman is put forth quite clearly in all his writings
+      during the years 1873-75; and in &ldquo;We Philologists&rdquo;, the following
+      remarkable observations occur:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How can one praise and glorify a nation as a whole?&mdash;Even among the
+      Greeks, it was the INDIVIDUALS that counted.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Greeks are interesting and extremely important because they reared
+      such a vast number of great individuals. How was this possible? The
+      question is one which ought to be studied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am interested only in the relations of a people to the rearing of the
+      individual man, and among the Greeks the conditions were unusually
+      favourable for the development of the individual; not by any means owing
+      to the goodness of the people, but because of the struggles of their evil
+      instincts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;WITH THE HELP OF FAVOURABLE MEASURES GREAT INDIVIDUALS MIGHT BE REARED
+      WHO WOULD BE BOTH DIFFERENT FROM AND HIGHER THAN THOSE WHO HERETOFORE HAVE
+      OWED THEIR EXISTENCE TO MERE CHANCE. Here we may still be hopeful: in the
+      rearing of exceptional men.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The notion of rearing the Superman is only a new form of an ideal
+      Nietzsche already had in his youth, that &ldquo;THE OBJECT OF MANKIND SHOULD LIE
+      IN ITS HIGHEST INDIVIDUALS&rdquo; (or, as he writes in &ldquo;Schopenhauer as
+      Educator&rdquo;: &ldquo;Mankind ought constantly to be striving to produce great men&mdash;this
+      and nothing else is its duty.&rdquo;) But the ideals he most revered in those
+      days are no longer held to be the highest types of men. No, around this
+      future ideal of a coming humanity&mdash;the Superman&mdash;the poet spread
+      the veil of becoming. Who can tell to what glorious heights man can still
+      ascend? That is why, after having tested the worth of our noblest ideal&mdash;that
+      of the Saviour, in the light of the new valuations, the poet cries with
+      passionate emphasis in &ldquo;Zarathustra&rdquo;:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never yet hath there been a Superman. Naked have I seen both of them, the
+      greatest and the smallest man:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All-too-similar are they still to each other. Verily even the greatest
+      found I&mdash;all-too-human!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The phrase &ldquo;the rearing of the Superman,&rdquo; has very often been
+      misunderstood. By the word &ldquo;rearing,&rdquo; in this case, is meant the act of
+      modifying by means of new and higher values&mdash;values which, as laws
+      and guides of conduct and opinion, are now to rule over mankind. In
+      general the doctrine of the Superman can only be understood correctly in
+      conjunction with other ideas of the author&rsquo;s, such as:&mdash;the Order of
+      Rank, the Will to Power, and the Transvaluation of all Values. He assumes
+      that Christianity, as a product of the resentment of the botched and the
+      weak, has put in ban all that is beautiful, strong, proud, and powerful,
+      in fact all the qualities resulting from strength, and that, in
+      consequence, all forces which tend to promote or elevate life have been
+      seriously undermined. Now, however, a new table of valuations must be
+      placed over mankind&mdash;namely, that of the strong, mighty, and
+      magnificent man, overflowing with life and elevated to his zenith&mdash;the
+      Superman, who is now put before us with overpowering passion as the aim of
+      our life, hope, and will. And just as the old system of valuing, which
+      only extolled the qualities favourable to the weak, the suffering, and the
+      oppressed, has succeeded in producing a weak, suffering, and &ldquo;modern&rdquo;
+       race, so this new and reversed system of valuing ought to rear a healthy,
+      strong, lively, and courageous type, which would be a glory to life
+      itself. Stated briefly, the leading principle of this new system of
+      valuing would be: &ldquo;All that proceeds from power is good, all that springs
+      from weakness is bad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This type must not be regarded as a fanciful figure: it is not a nebulous
+      hope which is to be realised at some indefinitely remote period, thousands
+      of years hence; nor is it a new species (in the Darwinian sense) of which
+      we can know nothing, and which it would therefore be somewhat absurd to
+      strive after. But it is meant to be a possibility which men of the present
+      could realise with all their spiritual and physical energies, provided
+      they adopted the new values.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The author of &ldquo;Zarathustra&rdquo; never lost sight of that egregious example of
+      a transvaluation of all values through Christianity, whereby the whole of
+      the deified mode of life and thought of the Greeks, as well as strong
+      Romedom, was almost annihilated or transvalued in a comparatively short
+      time. Could not a rejuvenated Graeco-Roman system of valuing (once it had
+      been refined and made more profound by the schooling which two thousand
+      years of Christianity had provided) effect another such revolution within
+      a calculable period of time, until that glorious type of manhood shall
+      finally appear which is to be our new faith and hope, and in the creation
+      of which Zarathustra exhorts us to participate?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In his private notes on the subject the author uses the expression
+      &ldquo;Superman&rdquo; (always in the singular, by-the-bye), as signifying &ldquo;the most
+      thoroughly well-constituted type,&rdquo; as opposed to &ldquo;modern man&rdquo;; above all,
+      however, he designates Zarathustra himself as an example of the Superman.
+      In &ldquo;Ecco Homo&rdquo; he is careful to enlighten us concerning the precursors and
+      prerequisites to the advent of this highest type, in referring to a
+      certain passage in the &ldquo;Gay Science&rdquo;:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In order to understand this type, we must first be quite clear in regard
+      to the leading physiological condition on which it depends: this condition
+      is what I call GREAT HEALTHINESS. I know not how to express my meaning
+      more plainly or more personally than I have done already in one of the
+      last chapters (Aphorism 382) of the fifth book of the &lsquo;Gaya Scienza&rsquo;.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We, the new, the nameless, the hard-to-understand,&rdquo;&mdash;it says there,&mdash;&ldquo;we
+      firstlings of a yet untried future&mdash;we require for a new end also a
+      new means, namely, a new healthiness, stronger, sharper, tougher, bolder
+      and merrier than all healthiness hitherto. He whose soul longeth to
+      experience the whole range of hitherto recognised values and
+      desirabilities, and to circumnavigate all the coasts of this ideal
+      &lsquo;Mediterranean Sea&rsquo;, who, from the adventures of his most personal
+      experience, wants to know how it feels to be a conqueror, and discoverer
+      of the ideal&mdash;as likewise how it is with the artist, the saint, the
+      legislator, the sage, the scholar, the devotee, the prophet, and the godly
+      non-conformist of the old style:&mdash;requires one thing above all for
+      that purpose, GREAT HEALTHINESS&mdash;such healthiness as one not only
+      possesses, but also constantly acquires and must acquire, because one
+      unceasingly sacrifices it again, and must sacrifice it!&mdash;And now,
+      after having been long on the way in this fashion, we Argonauts of the
+      ideal, more courageous perhaps than prudent, and often enough shipwrecked
+      and brought to grief, nevertheless dangerously healthy, always healthy
+      again,&mdash;it would seem as if, in recompense for it all, that we have a
+      still undiscovered country before us, the boundaries of which no one has
+      yet seen, a beyond to all countries and corners of the ideal known
+      hitherto, a world so over-rich in the beautiful, the strange, the
+      questionable, the frightful, and the divine, that our curiosity as well as
+      our thirst for possession thereof, have got out of hand&mdash;alas! that
+      nothing will now any longer satisfy us!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How could we still be content with THE MAN OF THE PRESENT DAY after such
+      outlooks, and with such a craving in our conscience and consciousness? Sad
+      enough; but it is unavoidable that we should look on the worthiest aims
+      and hopes of the man of the present day with ill-concealed amusement, and
+      perhaps should no longer look at them. Another ideal runs on before us, a
+      strange, tempting ideal full of danger, to which we should not like to
+      persuade any one, because we do not so readily acknowledge any one&rsquo;s RIGHT
+      THERETO: the ideal of a spirit who plays naively (that is to say
+      involuntarily and from overflowing abundance and power) with everything
+      that has hitherto been called holy, good, intangible, or divine; to whom
+      the loftiest conception which the people have reasonably made their
+      measure of value, would already practically imply danger, ruin, abasement,
+      or at least relaxation, blindness, or temporary self-forgetfulness; the
+      ideal of a humanly superhuman welfare and benevolence, which will often
+      enough appear INHUMAN, for example, when put alongside of all past
+      seriousness on earth, and alongside of all past solemnities in bearing,
+      word, tone, look, morality, and pursuit, as their truest involuntary
+      parody&mdash;and WITH which, nevertheless, perhaps THE GREAT SERIOUSNESS
+      only commences, when the proper interrogative mark is set up, the fate of
+      the soul changes, the hour-hand moves, and tragedy begins...&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Although the figure of Zarathustra and a large number of the leading
+      thoughts in this work had appeared much earlier in the dreams and writings
+      of the author, &ldquo;Thus Spake Zarathustra&rdquo; did not actually come into being
+      until the month of August 1881 in Sils Maria; and it was the idea of the
+      Eternal Recurrence of all things which finally induced my brother to set
+      forth his new views in poetic language. In regard to his first conception
+      of this idea, his autobiographical sketch, &ldquo;Ecce Homo&rdquo;, written in the
+      autumn of 1888, contains the following passage:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The fundamental idea of my work&mdash;namely, the Eternal Recurrence of
+      all things&mdash;this highest of all possible formulae of a Yea-saying
+      philosophy, first occurred to me in August 1881. I made a note of the
+      thought on a sheet of paper, with the postscript: 6,000 feet beyond men
+      and time! That day I happened to be wandering through the woods alongside
+      of the lake of Silvaplana, and I halted beside a huge, pyramidal and
+      towering rock not far from Surlei. It was then that the thought struck me.
+      Looking back now, I find that exactly two months previous to this
+      inspiration, I had had an omen of its coming in the form of a sudden and
+      decisive alteration in my tastes&mdash;more particularly in music. It
+      would even be possible to consider all &lsquo;Zarathustra&rsquo; as a musical
+      composition. At all events, a very necessary condition in its production
+      was a renaissance in myself of the art of hearing. In a small mountain
+      resort (Recoaro) near Vicenza, where I spent the spring of 1881, I and my
+      friend and Maestro, Peter Gast&mdash;also one who had been born again&mdash;discovered
+      that the phoenix music that hovered over us, wore lighter and brighter
+      plumes than it had done theretofore.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      During the month of August 1881 my brother resolved to reveal the teaching
+      of the Eternal Recurrence, in dithyrambic and psalmodic form, through the
+      mouth of Zarathustra. Among the notes of this period, we found a page on
+      which is written the first definite plan of &ldquo;Thus Spake Zarathustra&rdquo;:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;MIDDAY AND ETERNITY.&rdquo; &ldquo;GUIDE-POSTS TO A NEW WAY OF LIVING.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Beneath this is written:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Zarathustra born on lake Urmi; left his home in his thirtieth year, went
+      into the province of Aria, and, during ten years of solitude in the
+      mountains, composed the Zend-Avesta.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The sun of knowledge stands once more at midday; and the serpent of
+      eternity lies coiled in its light&mdash;: It is YOUR time, ye midday
+      brethren.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In that summer of 1881, my brother, after many years of steadily declining
+      health, began at last to rally, and it is to this first gush of the
+      recovery of his once splendid bodily condition that we owe not only &ldquo;The
+      Gay Science&rdquo;, which in its mood may be regarded as a prelude to
+      &ldquo;Zarathustra&rdquo;, but also &ldquo;Zarathustra&rdquo; itself. Just as he was beginning to
+      recuperate his health, however, an unkind destiny brought him a number of
+      most painful personal experiences. His friends caused him many
+      disappointments, which were the more bitter to him, inasmuch as he
+      regarded friendship as such a sacred institution; and for the first time
+      in his life he realised the whole horror of that loneliness to which,
+      perhaps, all greatness is condemned. But to be forsaken is something very
+      different from deliberately choosing blessed loneliness. How he longed, in
+      those days, for the ideal friend who would thoroughly understand him, to
+      whom he would be able to say all, and whom he imagined he had found at
+      various periods in his life from his earliest youth onwards. Now, however,
+      that the way he had chosen grew ever more perilous and steep, he found
+      nobody who could follow him: he therefore created a perfect friend for
+      himself in the ideal form of a majestic philosopher, and made this
+      creation the preacher of his gospel to the world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Whether my brother would ever have written &ldquo;Thus Spake Zarathustra&rdquo;
+       according to the first plan sketched in the summer of 1881, if he had not
+      had the disappointments already referred to, is now an idle question; but
+      perhaps where &ldquo;Zarathustra&rdquo; is concerned, we may also say with Master
+      Eckhardt: &ldquo;The fleetest beast to bear you to perfection is suffering.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      My brother writes as follows about the origin of the first part of
+      &ldquo;Zarathustra&rdquo;:&mdash;&ldquo;In the winter of 1882-83, I was living on the
+      charming little Gulf of Rapallo, not far from Genoa, and between Chiavari
+      and Cape Porto Fino. My health was not very good; the winter was cold and
+      exceptionally rainy; and the small inn in which I lived was so close to
+      the water that at night my sleep would be disturbed if the sea were high.
+      These circumstances were surely the very reverse of favourable; and yet in
+      spite of it all, and as if in demonstration of my belief that everything
+      decisive comes to life in spite of every obstacle, it was precisely during
+      this winter and in the midst of these unfavourable circumstances that my
+      &lsquo;Zarathustra&rsquo; originated. In the morning I used to start out in a
+      southerly direction up the glorious road to Zoagli, which rises aloft
+      through a forest of pines and gives one a view far out into the sea. In
+      the afternoon, as often as my health permitted, I walked round the whole
+      bay from Santa Margherita to beyond Porto Fino. This spot was all the more
+      interesting to me, inasmuch as it was so dearly loved by the Emperor
+      Frederick III. In the autumn of 1886 I chanced to be there again when he
+      was revisiting this small, forgotten world of happiness for the last time.
+      It was on these two roads that all &lsquo;Zarathustra&rsquo; came to me, above all
+      Zarathustra himself as a type;&mdash;I ought rather to say that it was on
+      these walks that these ideas waylaid me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The first part of &ldquo;Zarathustra&rdquo; was written in about ten days&mdash;that
+      is to say, from the beginning to about the middle of February 1883. &ldquo;The
+      last lines were written precisely in the hallowed hour when Richard Wagner
+      gave up the ghost in Venice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With the exception of the ten days occupied in composing the first part of
+      this book, my brother often referred to this winter as the hardest and
+      sickliest he had ever experienced. He did not, however, mean thereby that
+      his former disorders were troubling him, but that he was suffering from a
+      severe attack of influenza which he had caught in Santa Margherita, and
+      which tormented him for several weeks after his arrival in Genoa. As a
+      matter of fact, however, what he complained of most was his spiritual
+      condition&mdash;that indescribable forsakenness&mdash;to which he gives
+      such heartrending expression in &ldquo;Zarathustra&rdquo;. Even the reception which
+      the first part met with at the hands of friends and acquaintances was
+      extremely disheartening: for almost all those to whom he presented copies
+      of the work misunderstood it. &ldquo;I found no one ripe for many of my
+      thoughts; the case of &lsquo;Zarathustra&rsquo; proves that one can speak with the
+      utmost clearness, and yet not be heard by any one.&rdquo; My brother was very
+      much discouraged by the feebleness of the response he was given, and as he
+      was striving just then to give up the practice of taking hydrate of
+      chloral&mdash;a drug he had begun to take while ill with influenza,&mdash;the
+      following spring, spent in Rome, was a somewhat gloomy one for him. He
+      writes about it as follows:&mdash;&ldquo;I spent a melancholy spring in Rome,
+      where I only just managed to live,&mdash;and this was no easy matter. This
+      city, which is absolutely unsuited to the poet-author of &lsquo;Zarathustra&rsquo;,
+      and for the choice of which I was not responsible, made me inordinately
+      miserable. I tried to leave it. I wanted to go to Aquila&mdash;the
+      opposite of Rome in every respect, and actually founded in a spirit of
+      enmity towards that city (just as I also shall found a city some day), as
+      a memento of an atheist and genuine enemy of the Church&mdash;a person
+      very closely related to me,&mdash;the great Hohenstaufen, the Emperor
+      Frederick II. But Fate lay behind it all: I had to return again to Rome.
+      In the end I was obliged to be satisfied with the Piazza Barberini, after
+      I had exerted myself in vain to find an anti-Christian quarter. I fear
+      that on one occasion, to avoid bad smells as much as possible, I actually
+      inquired at the Palazzo del Quirinale whether they could not provide a
+      quiet room for a philosopher. In a chamber high above the Piazza just
+      mentioned, from which one obtained a general view of Rome and could hear
+      the fountains plashing far below, the loneliest of all songs was composed&mdash;&lsquo;The
+      Night-Song&rsquo;. About this time I was obsessed by an unspeakably sad melody,
+      the refrain of which I recognised in the words, &lsquo;dead through
+      immortality.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      We remained somewhat too long in Rome that spring, and what with the
+      effect of the increasing heat and the discouraging circumstances already
+      described, my brother resolved not to write any more, or in any case, not
+      to proceed with &ldquo;Zarathustra&rdquo;, although I offered to relieve him of all
+      trouble in connection with the proofs and the publisher. When, however, we
+      returned to Switzerland towards the end of June, and he found himself once
+      more in the familiar and exhilarating air of the mountains, all his joyous
+      creative powers revived, and in a note to me announcing the dispatch of
+      some manuscript, he wrote as follows: &ldquo;I have engaged a place here for
+      three months: forsooth, I am the greatest fool to allow my courage to be
+      sapped from me by the climate of Italy. Now and again I am troubled by the
+      thought: WHAT NEXT? My &lsquo;future&rsquo; is the darkest thing in the world to me,
+      but as there still remains a great deal for me to do, I suppose I ought
+      rather to think of doing this than of my future, and leave the rest to
+      THEE and the gods.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The second part of &ldquo;Zarathustra&rdquo; was written between the 26th of June and
+      the 6th July. &ldquo;This summer, finding myself once more in the sacred place
+      where the first thought of &lsquo;Zarathustra&rsquo; flashed across my mind, I
+      conceived the second part. Ten days sufficed. Neither for the second, the
+      first, nor the third part, have I required a day longer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He often used to speak of the ecstatic mood in which he wrote
+      &ldquo;Zarathustra&rdquo;; how in his walks over hill and dale the ideas would crowd
+      into his mind, and how he would note them down hastily in a note-book from
+      which he would transcribe them on his return, sometimes working till
+      midnight. He says in a letter to me: &ldquo;You can have no idea of the
+      vehemence of such composition,&rdquo; and in &ldquo;Ecce Homo&rdquo; (autumn 1888) he
+      describes as follows with passionate enthusiasm the incomparable mood in
+      which he created Zarathustra:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&mdash;Has any one at the end of the nineteenth century any distinct
+      notion of what poets of a stronger age understood by the word inspiration?
+      If not, I will describe it. If one had the smallest vestige of
+      superstition in one, it would hardly be possible to set aside completely
+      the idea that one is the mere incarnation, mouthpiece or medium of an
+      almighty power. The idea of revelation in the sense that something becomes
+      suddenly visible and audible with indescribable certainty and accuracy,
+      which profoundly convulses and upsets one&mdash;describes simply the
+      matter of fact. One hears&mdash;one does not seek; one takes&mdash;one
+      does not ask who gives: a thought suddenly flashes up like lightning, it
+      comes with necessity, unhesitatingly&mdash;I have never had any choice in
+      the matter. There is an ecstasy such that the immense strain of it is
+      sometimes relaxed by a flood of tears, along with which one&rsquo;s steps either
+      rush or involuntarily lag, alternately. There is the feeling that one is
+      completely out of hand, with the very distinct consciousness of an endless
+      number of fine thrills and quiverings to the very toes;&mdash;there is a
+      depth of happiness in which the painfullest and gloomiest do not operate
+      as antitheses, but as conditioned, as demanded in the sense of necessary
+      shades of colour in such an overflow of light. There is an instinct for
+      rhythmic relations which embraces wide areas of forms (length, the need of
+      a wide-embracing rhythm, is almost the measure of the force of an
+      inspiration, a sort of counterpart to its pressure and tension).
+      Everything happens quite involuntarily, as if in a tempestuous outburst of
+      freedom, of absoluteness, of power and divinity. The involuntariness of
+      the figures and similes is the most remarkable thing; one loses all
+      perception of what constitutes the figure and what constitutes the simile;
+      everything seems to present itself as the readiest, the correctest and the
+      simplest means of expression. It actually seems, to use one of
+      Zarathustra&rsquo;s own phrases, as if all things came unto one, and would fain
+      be similes: &lsquo;Here do all things come caressingly to thy talk and flatter
+      thee, for they want to ride upon thy back. On every simile dost thou here
+      ride to every truth. Here fly open unto thee all being&rsquo;s words and
+      word-cabinets; here all being wanteth to become words, here all becoming
+      wanteth to learn of thee how to talk.&rsquo; This is MY experience of
+      inspiration. I do not doubt but that one would have to go back thousands
+      of years in order to find some one who could say to me: It is mine also!&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the autumn of 1883 my brother left the Engadine for Germany and stayed
+      there a few weeks. In the following winter, after wandering somewhat
+      erratically through Stresa, Genoa, and Spezia, he landed in Nice, where
+      the climate so happily promoted his creative powers that he wrote the
+      third part of &ldquo;Zarathustra&rdquo;. &ldquo;In the winter, beneath the halcyon sky of
+      Nice, which then looked down upon me for the first time in my life, I
+      found the third &lsquo;Zarathustra&rsquo;&mdash;and came to the end of my task; the
+      whole having occupied me scarcely a year. Many hidden corners and heights
+      in the landscapes round about Nice are hallowed to me by unforgettable
+      moments. That decisive chapter entitled &lsquo;Old and New Tables&rsquo; was composed
+      in the very difficult ascent from the station to Eza&mdash;that wonderful
+      Moorish village in the rocks. My most creative moments were always
+      accompanied by unusual muscular activity. The body is inspired: let us
+      waive the question of the &lsquo;soul.&rsquo; I might often have been seen dancing in
+      those days. Without a suggestion of fatigue I could then walk for seven or
+      eight hours on end among the hills. I slept well and laughed well&mdash;I
+      was perfectly robust and patient.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As we have seen, each of the three parts of &ldquo;Zarathustra&rdquo; was written,
+      after a more or less short period of preparation, in about ten days. The
+      composition of the fourth part alone was broken by occasional
+      interruptions. The first notes relating to this part were written while he
+      and I were staying together in Zurich in September 1884. In the following
+      November, while staying at Mentone, he began to elaborate these notes, and
+      after a long pause, finished the manuscript at Nice between the end of
+      January and the middle of February 1885. My brother then called this part
+      the fourth and last; but even before, and shortly after it had been
+      privately printed, he wrote to me saying that he still intended writing a
+      fifth and sixth part, and notes relating to these parts are now in my
+      possession. This fourth part (the original MS. of which contains this
+      note: &ldquo;Only for my friends, not for the public&rdquo;) is written in a
+      particularly personal spirit, and those few to whom he presented a copy of
+      it, he pledged to the strictest secrecy concerning its contents. He often
+      thought of making this fourth part public also, but doubted whether he
+      would ever be able to do so without considerably altering certain portions
+      of it. At all events he resolved to distribute this manuscript production,
+      of which only forty copies were printed, only among those who had proved
+      themselves worthy of it, and it speaks eloquently of his utter loneliness
+      and need of sympathy in those days, that he had occasion to present only
+      seven copies of his book according to this resolution.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Already at the beginning of this history I hinted at the reasons which led
+      my brother to select a Persian as the incarnation of his ideal of the
+      majestic philosopher. His reasons, however, for choosing Zarathustra of
+      all others to be his mouthpiece, he gives us in the following words:&mdash;&ldquo;People
+      have never asked me, as they should have done, what the name Zarathustra
+      precisely means in my mouth, in the mouth of the first Immoralist; for
+      what distinguishes that philosopher from all others in the past is the
+      very fact that he was exactly the reverse of an immoralist. Zarathustra
+      was the first to see in the struggle between good and evil the essential
+      wheel in the working of things. The translation of morality into the
+      metaphysical, as force, cause, end in itself, was HIS work. But the very
+      question suggests its own answer. Zarathustra CREATED the most portentous
+      error, MORALITY, consequently he should also be the first to PERCEIVE that
+      error, not only because he has had longer and greater experience of the
+      subject than any other thinker&mdash;all history is the experimental
+      refutation of the theory of the so-called moral order of things:&mdash;the
+      more important point is that Zarathustra was more truthful than any other
+      thinker. In his teaching alone do we meet with truthfulness upheld as the
+      highest virtue&mdash;i.e.: the reverse of the COWARDICE of the &lsquo;idealist&rsquo; 
+      who flees from reality. Zarathustra had more courage in his body than any
+      other thinker before or after him. To tell the truth and TO AIM STRAIGHT:
+      that is the first Persian virtue. Am I understood?... The overcoming of
+      morality through itself&mdash;through truthfulness, the overcoming of the
+      moralist through his opposite&mdash;THROUGH ME&mdash;: that is what the
+      name Zarathustra means in my mouth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      ELIZABETH FORSTER-NIETZSCHE.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nietzsche Archives,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Weimar, December 1905.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      FIRST PART. ZARATHUSTRA&rsquo;S DISCOURSES.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      ZARATHUSTRA&rsquo;S PROLOGUE.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      1.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Zarathustra was thirty years old, he left his home and the lake of
+      his home, and went into the mountains. There he enjoyed his spirit and
+      solitude, and for ten years did not weary of it. But at last his heart
+      changed,&mdash;and rising one morning with the rosy dawn, he went before
+      the sun, and spake thus unto it:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou great star! What would be thy happiness if thou hadst not those for
+      whom thou shinest!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For ten years hast thou climbed hither unto my cave: thou wouldst have
+      wearied of thy light and of the journey, had it not been for me, mine
+      eagle, and my serpent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But we awaited thee every morning, took from thee thine overflow and
+      blessed thee for it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lo! I am weary of my wisdom, like the bee that hath gathered too much
+      honey; I need hands outstretched to take it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I would fain bestow and distribute, until the wise have once more become
+      joyous in their folly, and the poor happy in their riches.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Therefore must I descend into the deep: as thou doest in the evening, when
+      thou goest behind the sea, and givest light also to the nether-world, thou
+      exuberant star!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Like thee must I GO DOWN, as men say, to whom I shall descend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bless me, then, thou tranquil eye, that canst behold even the greatest
+      happiness without envy!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bless the cup that is about to overflow, that the water may flow golden
+      out of it, and carry everywhere the reflection of thy bliss!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lo! This cup is again going to empty itself, and Zarathustra is again
+      going to be a man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus began Zarathustra&rsquo;s down-going.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      2.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Zarathustra went down the mountain alone, no one meeting him. When he
+      entered the forest, however, there suddenly stood before him an old man,
+      who had left his holy cot to seek roots. And thus spake the old man to
+      Zarathustra:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No stranger to me is this wanderer: many years ago passed he by.
+      Zarathustra he was called; but he hath altered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then thou carriedst thine ashes into the mountains: wilt thou now carry
+      thy fire into the valleys? Fearest thou not the incendiary&rsquo;s doom?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yea, I recognise Zarathustra. Pure is his eye, and no loathing lurketh
+      about his mouth. Goeth he not along like a dancer?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Altered is Zarathustra; a child hath Zarathustra become; an awakened one
+      is Zarathustra: what wilt thou do in the land of the sleepers?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As in the sea hast thou lived in solitude, and it hath borne thee up.
+      Alas, wilt thou now go ashore? Alas, wilt thou again drag thy body
+      thyself?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Zarathustra answered: &ldquo;I love mankind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why,&rdquo; said the saint, &ldquo;did I go into the forest and the desert? Was it
+      not because I loved men far too well?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now I love God: men, I do not love. Man is a thing too imperfect for me.
+      Love to man would be fatal to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Zarathustra answered: &ldquo;What spake I of love! I am bringing gifts unto
+      men.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give them nothing,&rdquo; said the saint. &ldquo;Take rather part of their load, and
+      carry it along with them&mdash;that will be most agreeable unto them: if
+      only it be agreeable unto thee!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If, however, thou wilt give unto them, give them no more than an alms, and
+      let them also beg for it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; replied Zarathustra, &ldquo;I give no alms. I am not poor enough for
+      that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The saint laughed at Zarathustra, and spake thus: &ldquo;Then see to it that
+      they accept thy treasures! They are distrustful of anchorites, and do not
+      believe that we come with gifts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The fall of our footsteps ringeth too hollow through their streets. And
+      just as at night, when they are in bed and hear a man abroad long before
+      sunrise, so they ask themselves concerning us: Where goeth the thief?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Go not to men, but stay in the forest! Go rather to the animals! Why not
+      be like me&mdash;a bear amongst bears, a bird amongst birds?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what doeth the saint in the forest?&rdquo; asked Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The saint answered: &ldquo;I make hymns and sing them; and in making hymns I
+      laugh and weep and mumble: thus do I praise God.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With singing, weeping, laughing, and mumbling do I praise the God who is
+      my God. But what dost thou bring us as a gift?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When Zarathustra had heard these words, he bowed to the saint and said:
+      &ldquo;What should I have to give thee! Let me rather hurry hence lest I take
+      aught away from thee!&rdquo;&mdash;And thus they parted from one another, the
+      old man and Zarathustra, laughing like schoolboys.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Zarathustra was alone, however, he said to his heart: &ldquo;Could it be
+      possible! This old saint in the forest hath not yet heard of it, that GOD
+      IS DEAD!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      3.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Zarathustra arrived at the nearest town which adjoineth the forest,
+      he found many people assembled in the market-place; for it had been
+      announced that a rope-dancer would give a performance. And Zarathustra
+      spake thus unto the people:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I TEACH YOU THE SUPERMAN. Man is something that is to be surpassed. What
+      have ye done to surpass man?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All beings hitherto have created something beyond themselves: and ye want
+      to be the ebb of that great tide, and would rather go back to the beast
+      than surpass man?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What is the ape to man? A laughing-stock, a thing of shame. And just the
+      same shall man be to the Superman: a laughing-stock, a thing of shame.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye have made your way from the worm to man, and much within you is still
+      worm. Once were ye apes, and even yet man is more of an ape than any of
+      the apes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even the wisest among you is only a disharmony and hybrid of plant and
+      phantom. But do I bid you become phantoms or plants?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lo, I teach you the Superman!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Superman is the meaning of the earth. Let your will say: The Superman
+      SHALL BE the meaning of the earth!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I conjure you, my brethren, REMAIN TRUE TO THE EARTH, and believe not
+      those who speak unto you of superearthly hopes! Poisoners are they,
+      whether they know it or not.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Despisers of life are they, decaying ones and poisoned ones themselves, of
+      whom the earth is weary: so away with them!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once blasphemy against God was the greatest blasphemy; but God died, and
+      therewith also those blasphemers. To blaspheme the earth is now the
+      dreadfulest sin, and to rate the heart of the unknowable higher than the
+      meaning of the earth!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once the soul looked contemptuously on the body, and then that contempt
+      was the supreme thing:&mdash;the soul wished the body meagre, ghastly, and
+      famished. Thus it thought to escape from the body and the earth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, that soul was itself meagre, ghastly, and famished; and cruelty was
+      the delight of that soul!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But ye, also, my brethren, tell me: What doth your body say about your
+      soul? Is your soul not poverty and pollution and wretched
+      self-complacency?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, a polluted stream is man. One must be a sea, to receive a polluted
+      stream without becoming impure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lo, I teach you the Superman: he is that sea; in him can your great
+      contempt be submerged.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What is the greatest thing ye can experience? It is the hour of great
+      contempt. The hour in which even your happiness becometh loathsome unto
+      you, and so also your reason and virtue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The hour when ye say: &ldquo;What good is my happiness! It is poverty and
+      pollution and wretched self-complacency. But my happiness should justify
+      existence itself!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The hour when ye say: &ldquo;What good is my reason! Doth it long for knowledge
+      as the lion for his food? It is poverty and pollution and wretched
+      self-complacency!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The hour when ye say: &ldquo;What good is my virtue! As yet it hath not made me
+      passionate. How weary I am of my good and my bad! It is all poverty and
+      pollution and wretched self-complacency!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The hour when ye say: &ldquo;What good is my justice! I do not see that I am
+      fervour and fuel. The just, however, are fervour and fuel!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The hour when ye say: &ldquo;What good is my pity! Is not pity the cross on
+      which he is nailed who loveth man? But my pity is not a crucifixion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Have ye ever spoken thus? Have ye ever cried thus? Ah! would that I had
+      heard you crying thus!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is not your sin&mdash;it is your self-satisfaction that crieth unto
+      heaven; your very sparingness in sin crieth unto heaven!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Where is the lightning to lick you with its tongue? Where is the frenzy
+      with which ye should be inoculated?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lo, I teach you the Superman: he is that lightning, he is that frenzy!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Zarathustra had thus spoken, one of the people called out: &ldquo;We have
+      now heard enough of the rope-dancer; it is time now for us to see him!&rdquo;
+       And all the people laughed at Zarathustra. But the rope-dancer, who
+      thought the words applied to him, began his performance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      4.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Zarathustra, however, looked at the people and wondered. Then he spake
+      thus:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Man is a rope stretched between the animal and the Superman&mdash;a rope
+      over an abyss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A dangerous crossing, a dangerous wayfaring, a dangerous looking-back, a
+      dangerous trembling and halting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not a goal: what is
+      lovable in man is that he is an OVER-GOING and a DOWN-GOING.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I love those that know not how to live except as down-goers, for they are
+      the over-goers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I love the great despisers, because they are the great adorers, and arrows
+      of longing for the other shore.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I love those who do not first seek a reason beyond the stars for going
+      down and being sacrifices, but sacrifice themselves to the earth, that the
+      earth of the Superman may hereafter arrive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I love him who liveth in order to know, and seeketh to know in order that
+      the Superman may hereafter live. Thus seeketh he his own down-going.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I love him who laboureth and inventeth, that he may build the house for
+      the Superman, and prepare for him earth, animal, and plant: for thus
+      seeketh he his own down-going.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I love him who loveth his virtue: for virtue is the will to down-going,
+      and an arrow of longing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I love him who reserveth no share of spirit for himself, but wanteth to be
+      wholly the spirit of his virtue: thus walketh he as spirit over the
+      bridge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I love him who maketh his virtue his inclination and destiny: thus, for
+      the sake of his virtue, he is willing to live on, or live no more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I love him who desireth not too many virtues. One virtue is more of a
+      virtue than two, because it is more of a knot for one&rsquo;s destiny to cling
+      to.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I love him whose soul is lavish, who wanteth no thanks and doth not give
+      back: for he always bestoweth, and desireth not to keep for himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I love him who is ashamed when the dice fall in his favour, and who then
+      asketh: &ldquo;Am I a dishonest player?&rdquo;&mdash;for he is willing to succumb.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I love him who scattereth golden words in advance of his deeds, and always
+      doeth more than he promiseth: for he seeketh his own down-going.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I love him who justifieth the future ones, and redeemeth the past ones:
+      for he is willing to succumb through the present ones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I love him who chasteneth his God, because he loveth his God: for he must
+      succumb through the wrath of his God.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I love him whose soul is deep even in the wounding, and may succumb
+      through a small matter: thus goeth he willingly over the bridge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I love him whose soul is so overfull that he forgetteth himself, and all
+      things are in him: thus all things become his down-going.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I love him who is of a free spirit and a free heart: thus is his head only
+      the bowels of his heart; his heart, however, causeth his down-going.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I love all who are like heavy drops falling one by one out of the dark
+      cloud that lowereth over man: they herald the coming of the lightning, and
+      succumb as heralds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lo, I am a herald of the lightning, and a heavy drop out of the cloud: the
+      lightning, however, is the SUPERMAN.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      5.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Zarathustra had spoken these words, he again looked at the people,
+      and was silent. &ldquo;There they stand,&rdquo; said he to his heart; &ldquo;there they
+      laugh: they understand me not; I am not the mouth for these ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Must one first batter their ears, that they may learn to hear with their
+      eyes? Must one clatter like kettledrums and penitential preachers? Or do
+      they only believe the stammerer?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They have something whereof they are proud. What do they call it, that
+      which maketh them proud? Culture, they call it; it distinguisheth them
+      from the goatherds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They dislike, therefore, to hear of &lsquo;contempt&rsquo; of themselves. So I will
+      appeal to their pride.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I will speak unto them of the most contemptible thing: that, however, is
+      THE LAST MAN!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And thus spake Zarathustra unto the people:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is time for man to fix his goal. It is time for man to plant the germ
+      of his highest hope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still is his soil rich enough for it. But that soil will one day be poor
+      and exhausted, and no lofty tree will any longer be able to grow thereon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alas! there cometh the time when man will no longer launch the arrow of
+      his longing beyond man&mdash;and the string of his bow will have unlearned
+      to whizz!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I tell you: one must still have chaos in one, to give birth to a dancing
+      star. I tell you: ye have still chaos in you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alas! There cometh the time when man will no longer give birth to any
+      star. Alas! There cometh the time of the most despicable man, who can no
+      longer despise himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lo! I show you THE LAST MAN.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is love? What is creation? What is longing? What is a star?&rdquo;&mdash;so
+      asketh the last man and blinketh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The earth hath then become small, and on it there hoppeth the last man who
+      maketh everything small. His species is ineradicable like that of the
+      ground-flea; the last man liveth longest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We have discovered happiness&rdquo;&mdash;say the last men, and blink thereby.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They have left the regions where it is hard to live; for they need warmth.
+      One still loveth one&rsquo;s neighbour and rubbeth against him; for one needeth
+      warmth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Turning ill and being distrustful, they consider sinful: they walk warily.
+      He is a fool who still stumbleth over stones or men!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A little poison now and then: that maketh pleasant dreams. And much poison
+      at last for a pleasant death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One still worketh, for work is a pastime. But one is careful lest the
+      pastime should hurt one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One no longer becometh poor or rich; both are too burdensome. Who still
+      wanteth to rule? Who still wanteth to obey? Both are too burdensome.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No shepherd, and one herd! Every one wanteth the same; every one is equal:
+      he who hath other sentiments goeth voluntarily into the madhouse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Formerly all the world was insane,&rdquo;&mdash;say the subtlest of them, and
+      blink thereby.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They are clever and know all that hath happened: so there is no end to
+      their raillery. People still fall out, but are soon reconciled&mdash;otherwise
+      it spoileth their stomachs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They have their little pleasures for the day, and their little pleasures
+      for the night, but they have a regard for health.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We have discovered happiness,&rdquo;&mdash;say the last men, and blink thereby.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And here ended the first discourse of Zarathustra, which is also called
+      &ldquo;The Prologue&rdquo;: for at this point the shouting and mirth of the multitude
+      interrupted him. &ldquo;Give us this last man, O Zarathustra,&rdquo;&mdash;they called
+      out&mdash;&ldquo;make us into these last men! Then will we make thee a present
+      of the Superman!&rdquo; And all the people exulted and smacked their lips.
+      Zarathustra, however, turned sad, and said to his heart:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They understand me not: I am not the mouth for these ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Too long, perhaps, have I lived in the mountains; too much have I
+      hearkened unto the brooks and trees: now do I speak unto them as unto the
+      goatherds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Calm is my soul, and clear, like the mountains in the morning. But they
+      think me cold, and a mocker with terrible jests.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now do they look at me and laugh: and while they laugh they hate me
+      too. There is ice in their laughter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      6.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, however, something happened which made every mouth mute and every
+      eye fixed. In the meantime, of course, the rope-dancer had commenced his
+      performance: he had come out at a little door, and was going along the
+      rope which was stretched between two towers, so that it hung above the
+      market-place and the people. When he was just midway across, the little
+      door opened once more, and a gaudily-dressed fellow like a buffoon sprang
+      out, and went rapidly after the first one. &ldquo;Go on, halt-foot,&rdquo; cried his
+      frightful voice, &ldquo;go on, lazy-bones, interloper, sallow-face!&mdash;lest I
+      tickle thee with my heel! What dost thou here between the towers? In the
+      tower is the place for thee, thou shouldst be locked up; to one better
+      than thyself thou blockest the way!&rdquo;&mdash;And with every word he came
+      nearer and nearer the first one. When, however, he was but a step behind,
+      there happened the frightful thing which made every mouth mute and every
+      eye fixed&mdash;he uttered a yell like a devil, and jumped over the other
+      who was in his way. The latter, however, when he thus saw his rival
+      triumph, lost at the same time his head and his footing on the rope; he
+      threw his pole away, and shot downwards faster than it, like an eddy of
+      arms and legs, into the depth. The market-place and the people were like
+      the sea when the storm cometh on: they all flew apart and in disorder,
+      especially where the body was about to fall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Zarathustra, however, remained standing, and just beside him fell the
+      body, badly injured and disfigured, but not yet dead. After a while
+      consciousness returned to the shattered man, and he saw Zarathustra
+      kneeling beside him. &ldquo;What art thou doing there?&rdquo; said he at last, &ldquo;I knew
+      long ago that the devil would trip me up. Now he draggeth me to hell: wilt
+      thou prevent him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On mine honour, my friend,&rdquo; answered Zarathustra, &ldquo;there is nothing of
+      all that whereof thou speakest: there is no devil and no hell. Thy soul
+      will be dead even sooner than thy body: fear, therefore, nothing any
+      more!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man looked up distrustfully. &ldquo;If thou speakest the truth,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I
+      lose nothing when I lose my life. I am not much more than an animal which
+      hath been taught to dance by blows and scanty fare.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not at all,&rdquo; said Zarathustra, &ldquo;thou hast made danger thy calling;
+      therein there is nothing contemptible. Now thou perishest by thy calling:
+      therefore will I bury thee with mine own hands.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When Zarathustra had said this the dying one did not reply further; but he
+      moved his hand as if he sought the hand of Zarathustra in gratitude.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      7.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile the evening came on, and the market-place veiled itself in
+      gloom. Then the people dispersed, for even curiosity and terror become
+      fatigued. Zarathustra, however, still sat beside the dead man on the
+      ground, absorbed in thought: so he forgot the time. But at last it became
+      night, and a cold wind blew upon the lonely one. Then arose Zarathustra
+      and said to his heart:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, a fine catch of fish hath Zarathustra made to-day! It is not a man
+      he hath caught, but a corpse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sombre is human life, and as yet without meaning: a buffoon may be fateful
+      to it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I want to teach men the sense of their existence, which is the Superman,
+      the lightning out of the dark cloud&mdash;man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But still am I far from them, and my sense speaketh not unto their sense.
+      To men I am still something between a fool and a corpse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Gloomy is the night, gloomy are the ways of Zarathustra. Come, thou cold
+      and stiff companion! I carry thee to the place where I shall bury thee
+      with mine own hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      8.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Zarathustra had said this to his heart, he put the corpse upon his
+      shoulders and set out on his way. Yet had he not gone a hundred steps,
+      when there stole a man up to him and whispered in his ear&mdash;and lo! he
+      that spake was the buffoon from the tower. &ldquo;Leave this town, O
+      Zarathustra,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;there are too many here who hate thee. The good
+      and just hate thee, and call thee their enemy and despiser; the believers
+      in the orthodox belief hate thee, and call thee a danger to the multitude.
+      It was thy good fortune to be laughed at: and verily thou spakest like a
+      buffoon. It was thy good fortune to associate with the dead dog; by so
+      humiliating thyself thou hast saved thy life to-day. Depart, however, from
+      this town,&mdash;or tomorrow I shall jump over thee, a living man over a
+      dead one.&rdquo; And when he had said this, the buffoon vanished; Zarathustra,
+      however, went on through the dark streets.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the gate of the town the grave-diggers met him: they shone their torch
+      on his face, and, recognising Zarathustra, they sorely derided him.
+      &ldquo;Zarathustra is carrying away the dead dog: a fine thing that Zarathustra
+      hath turned a grave-digger! For our hands are too cleanly for that roast.
+      Will Zarathustra steal the bite from the devil? Well then, good luck to
+      the repast! If only the devil is not a better thief than Zarathustra!&mdash;he
+      will steal them both, he will eat them both!&rdquo; And they laughed among
+      themselves, and put their heads together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Zarathustra made no answer thereto, but went on his way. When he had gone
+      on for two hours, past forests and swamps, he had heard too much of the
+      hungry howling of the wolves, and he himself became a-hungry. So he halted
+      at a lonely house in which a light was burning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hunger attacketh me,&rdquo; said Zarathustra, &ldquo;like a robber. Among forests and
+      swamps my hunger attacketh me, and late in the night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Strange humours hath my hunger. Often it cometh to me only after a
+      repast, and all day it hath failed to come: where hath it been?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And thereupon Zarathustra knocked at the door of the house. An old man
+      appeared, who carried a light, and asked: &ldquo;Who cometh unto me and my bad
+      sleep?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A living man and a dead one,&rdquo; said Zarathustra. &ldquo;Give me something to eat
+      and drink, I forgot it during the day. He that feedeth the hungry
+      refresheth his own soul, saith wisdom.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man withdrew, but came back immediately and offered Zarathustra
+      bread and wine. &ldquo;A bad country for the hungry,&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;that is why I
+      live here. Animal and man come unto me, the anchorite. But bid thy
+      companion eat and drink also, he is wearier than thou.&rdquo; Zarathustra
+      answered: &ldquo;My companion is dead; I shall hardly be able to persuade him to
+      eat.&rdquo; &ldquo;That doth not concern me,&rdquo; said the old man sullenly; &ldquo;he that
+      knocketh at my door must take what I offer him. Eat, and fare ye well!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thereafter Zarathustra again went on for two hours, trusting to the path
+      and the light of the stars: for he was an experienced night-walker, and
+      liked to look into the face of all that slept. When the morning dawned,
+      however, Zarathustra found himself in a thick forest, and no path was any
+      longer visible. He then put the dead man in a hollow tree at his head&mdash;for
+      he wanted to protect him from the wolves&mdash;and laid himself down on
+      the ground and moss. And immediately he fell asleep, tired in body, but
+      with a tranquil soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      9.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Long slept Zarathustra; and not only the rosy dawn passed over his head,
+      but also the morning. At last, however, his eyes opened, and amazedly he
+      gazed into the forest and the stillness, amazedly he gazed into himself.
+      Then he arose quickly, like a seafarer who all at once seeth the land; and
+      he shouted for joy: for he saw a new truth. And he spake thus to his
+      heart:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A light hath dawned upon me: I need companions&mdash;living ones; not dead
+      companions and corpses, which I carry with me where I will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But I need living companions, who will follow me because they want to
+      follow themselves&mdash;and to the place where I will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A light hath dawned upon me. Not to the people is Zarathustra to speak,
+      but to companions! Zarathustra shall not be the herd&rsquo;s herdsman and hound!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To allure many from the herd&mdash;for that purpose have I come. The
+      people and the herd must be angry with me: a robber shall Zarathustra be
+      called by the herdsmen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Herdsmen, I say, but they call themselves the good and just. Herdsmen, I
+      say, but they call themselves the believers in the orthodox belief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Behold the good and just! Whom do they hate most? Him who breaketh up
+      their tables of values, the breaker, the lawbreaker:&mdash;he, however, is
+      the creator.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Behold the believers of all beliefs! Whom do they hate most? Him who
+      breaketh up their tables of values, the breaker, the law-breaker&mdash;he,
+      however, is the creator.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Companions, the creator seeketh, not corpses&mdash;and not herds or
+      believers either. Fellow-creators the creator seeketh&mdash;those who
+      grave new values on new tables.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Companions, the creator seeketh, and fellow-reapers: for everything is
+      ripe for the harvest with him. But he lacketh the hundred sickles: so he
+      plucketh the ears of corn and is vexed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Companions, the creator seeketh, and such as know how to whet their
+      sickles. Destroyers, will they be called, and despisers of good and evil.
+      But they are the reapers and rejoicers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fellow-creators, Zarathustra seeketh; fellow-reapers and fellow-rejoicers,
+      Zarathustra seeketh: what hath he to do with herds and herdsmen and
+      corpses!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And thou, my first companion, rest in peace! Well have I buried thee in
+      thy hollow tree; well have I hid thee from the wolves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But I part from thee; the time hath arrived. &lsquo;Twixt rosy dawn and rosy
+      dawn there came unto me a new truth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I am not to be a herdsman, I am not to be a grave-digger. Not any more
+      will I discourse unto the people; for the last time have I spoken unto the
+      dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With the creators, the reapers, and the rejoicers will I associate: the
+      rainbow will I show them, and all the stairs to the Superman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To the lone-dwellers will I sing my song, and to the twain-dwellers; and
+      unto him who hath still ears for the unheard, will I make the heart heavy
+      with my happiness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I make for my goal, I follow my course; over the loitering and tardy will
+      I leap. Thus let my on-going be their down-going!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      10.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This had Zarathustra said to his heart when the sun stood at noon-tide.
+      Then he looked inquiringly aloft,&mdash;for he heard above him the sharp
+      call of a bird. And behold! An eagle swept through the air in wide
+      circles, and on it hung a serpent, not like a prey, but like a friend: for
+      it kept itself coiled round the eagle&rsquo;s neck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They are mine animals,&rdquo; said Zarathustra, and rejoiced in his heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The proudest animal under the sun, and the wisest animal under the sun,&mdash;they
+      have come out to reconnoitre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They want to know whether Zarathustra still liveth. Verily, do I still
+      live?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      More dangerous have I found it among men than among animals; in dangerous
+      paths goeth Zarathustra. Let mine animals lead me!&rdquo;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Zarathustra had said this, he remembered the words of the saint in
+      the forest. Then he sighed and spake thus to his heart:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would that I were wiser! Would that I were wise from the very heart, like
+      my serpent!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But I am asking the impossible. Therefore do I ask my pride to go always
+      with my wisdom!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And if my wisdom should some day forsake me:&mdash;alas! it loveth to fly
+      away!&mdash;may my pride then fly with my folly!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus began Zarathustra&rsquo;s down-going.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      ZARATHUSTRA&rsquo;S DISCOURSES.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      I. THE THREE METAMORPHOSES.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Three metamorphoses of the spirit do I designate to you: how the spirit
+      becometh a camel, the camel a lion, and the lion at last a child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Many heavy things are there for the spirit, the strong load-bearing spirit
+      in which reverence dwelleth: for the heavy and the heaviest longeth its
+      strength.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What is heavy? so asketh the load-bearing spirit; then kneeleth it down
+      like the camel, and wanteth to be well laden.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What is the heaviest thing, ye heroes? asketh the load-bearing spirit,
+      that I may take it upon me and rejoice in my strength.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Is it not this: To humiliate oneself in order to mortify one&rsquo;s pride? To
+      exhibit one&rsquo;s folly in order to mock at one&rsquo;s wisdom?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Or is it this: To desert our cause when it celebrateth its triumph? To
+      ascend high mountains to tempt the tempter?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Or is it this: To feed on the acorns and grass of knowledge, and for the
+      sake of truth to suffer hunger of soul?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Or is it this: To be sick and dismiss comforters, and make friends of the
+      deaf, who never hear thy requests?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Or is it this: To go into foul water when it is the water of truth, and
+      not disclaim cold frogs and hot toads?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Or is it this: To love those who despise us, and give one&rsquo;s hand to the
+      phantom when it is going to frighten us?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All these heaviest things the load-bearing spirit taketh upon itself: and
+      like the camel, which, when laden, hasteneth into the wilderness, so
+      hasteneth the spirit into its wilderness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But in the loneliest wilderness happeneth the second metamorphosis: here
+      the spirit becometh a lion; freedom will it capture, and lordship in its
+      own wilderness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Its last Lord it here seeketh: hostile will it be to him, and to its last
+      God; for victory will it struggle with the great dragon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What is the great dragon which the spirit is no longer inclined to call
+      Lord and God? &ldquo;Thou-shalt,&rdquo; is the great dragon called. But the spirit of
+      the lion saith, &ldquo;I will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thou-shalt,&rdquo; lieth in its path, sparkling with gold&mdash;a scale-covered
+      beast; and on every scale glittereth golden, &ldquo;Thou shalt!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The values of a thousand years glitter on those scales, and thus speaketh
+      the mightiest of all dragons: &ldquo;All the values of things&mdash;glitter on
+      me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All values have already been created, and all created values&mdash;do I
+      represent. Verily, there shall be no &lsquo;I will&rsquo; any more.&rdquo; Thus speaketh the
+      dragon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My brethren, wherefore is there need of the lion in the spirit? Why
+      sufficeth not the beast of burden, which renounceth and is reverent?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To create new values&mdash;that, even the lion cannot yet accomplish: but
+      to create itself freedom for new creating&mdash;that can the might of the
+      lion do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To create itself freedom, and give a holy Nay even unto duty: for that, my
+      brethren, there is need of the lion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To assume the right to new values&mdash;that is the most formidable
+      assumption for a load-bearing and reverent spirit. Verily, unto such a
+      spirit it is preying, and the work of a beast of prey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As its holiest, it once loved &ldquo;Thou-shalt&rdquo;: now is it forced to find
+      illusion and arbitrariness even in the holiest things, that it may capture
+      freedom from its love: the lion is needed for this capture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But tell me, my brethren, what the child can do, which even the lion could
+      not do? Why hath the preying lion still to become a child?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Innocence is the child, and forgetfulness, a new beginning, a game, a
+      self-rolling wheel, a first movement, a holy Yea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aye, for the game of creating, my brethren, there is needed a holy Yea
+      unto life: ITS OWN will, willeth now the spirit; HIS OWN world winneth the
+      world&rsquo;s outcast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Three metamorphoses of the spirit have I designated to you: how the spirit
+      became a camel, the camel a lion, and the lion at last a child.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra. And at that time he abode in the town which is
+      called The Pied Cow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      II. THE ACADEMIC CHAIRS OF VIRTUE.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      People commended unto Zarathustra a wise man, as one who could discourse
+      well about sleep and virtue: greatly was he honoured and rewarded for it,
+      and all the youths sat before his chair. To him went Zarathustra, and sat
+      among the youths before his chair. And thus spake the wise man:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Respect and modesty in presence of sleep! That is the first thing! And to
+      go out of the way of all who sleep badly and keep awake at night!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Modest is even the thief in presence of sleep: he always stealeth softly
+      through the night. Immodest, however, is the night-watchman; immodestly he
+      carrieth his horn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No small art is it to sleep: it is necessary for that purpose to keep
+      awake all day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ten times a day must thou overcome thyself: that causeth wholesome
+      weariness, and is poppy to the soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ten times must thou reconcile again with thyself; for overcoming is
+      bitterness, and badly sleep the unreconciled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ten truths must thou find during the day; otherwise wilt thou seek truth
+      during the night, and thy soul will have been hungry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ten times must thou laugh during the day, and be cheerful; otherwise thy
+      stomach, the father of affliction, will disturb thee in the night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Few people know it, but one must have all the virtues in order to sleep
+      well. Shall I bear false witness? Shall I commit adultery?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Shall I covet my neighbour&rsquo;s maidservant? All that would ill accord with
+      good sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And even if one have all the virtues, there is still one thing needful: to
+      send the virtues themselves to sleep at the right time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That they may not quarrel with one another, the good females! And about
+      thee, thou unhappy one!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Peace with God and thy neighbour: so desireth good sleep. And peace also
+      with thy neighbour&rsquo;s devil! Otherwise it will haunt thee in the night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Honour to the government, and obedience, and also to the crooked
+      government! So desireth good sleep. How can I help it, if power like to
+      walk on crooked legs?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He who leadeth his sheep to the greenest pasture, shall always be for me
+      the best shepherd: so doth it accord with good sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Many honours I want not, nor great treasures: they excite the spleen. But
+      it is bad sleeping without a good name and a little treasure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A small company is more welcome to me than a bad one: but they must come
+      and go at the right time. So doth it accord with good sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well, also, do the poor in spirit please me: they promote sleep. Blessed
+      are they, especially if one always give in to them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus passeth the day unto the virtuous. When night cometh, then take I
+      good care not to summon sleep. It disliketh to be summoned&mdash;sleep,
+      the lord of the virtues!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But I think of what I have done and thought during the day. Thus
+      ruminating, patient as a cow, I ask myself: What were thy ten overcomings?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And what were the ten reconciliations, and the ten truths, and the ten
+      laughters with which my heart enjoyed itself?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus pondering, and cradled by forty thoughts, it overtaketh me all at
+      once&mdash;sleep, the unsummoned, the lord of the virtues.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sleep tappeth on mine eye, and it turneth heavy. Sleep toucheth my mouth,
+      and it remaineth open.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, on soft soles doth it come to me, the dearest of thieves, and
+      stealeth from me my thoughts: stupid do I then stand, like this academic
+      chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But not much longer do I then stand: I already lie.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Zarathustra heard the wise man thus speak, he laughed in his heart:
+      for thereby had a light dawned upon him. And thus spake he to his heart:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A fool seemeth this wise man with his forty thoughts: but I believe he
+      knoweth well how to sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Happy even is he who liveth near this wise man! Such sleep is contagious&mdash;even
+      through a thick wall it is contagious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A magic resideth even in his academic chair. And not in vain did the
+      youths sit before the preacher of virtue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His wisdom is to keep awake in order to sleep well. And verily, if life
+      had no sense, and had I to choose nonsense, this would be the desirablest
+      nonsense for me also.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now know I well what people sought formerly above all else when they
+      sought teachers of virtue. Good sleep they sought for themselves, and
+      poppy-head virtues to promote it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To all those belauded sages of the academic chairs, wisdom was sleep
+      without dreams: they knew no higher significance of life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even at present, to be sure, there are some like this preacher of virtue,
+      and not always so honourable: but their time is past. And not much longer
+      do they stand: there they already lie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Blessed are those drowsy ones: for they shall soon nod to sleep.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      III. BACKWORLDSMEN.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Once on a time, Zarathustra also cast his fancy beyond man, like all
+      backworldsmen. The work of a suffering and tortured God, did the world
+      then seem to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The dream&mdash;and diction&mdash;of a God, did the world then seem to me;
+      coloured vapours before the eyes of a divinely dissatisfied one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Good and evil, and joy and woe, and I and thou&mdash;coloured vapours did
+      they seem to me before creative eyes. The creator wished to look away from
+      himself,&mdash;thereupon he created the world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Intoxicating joy is it for the sufferer to look away from his suffering
+      and forget himself. Intoxicating joy and self-forgetting, did the world
+      once seem to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This world, the eternally imperfect, an eternal contradiction&rsquo;s image and
+      imperfect image&mdash;an intoxicating joy to its imperfect creator:&mdash;thus
+      did the world once seem to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus, once on a time, did I also cast my fancy beyond man, like all
+      backworldsmen. Beyond man, forsooth?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, ye brethren, that God whom I created was human work and human madness,
+      like all the Gods!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A man was he, and only a poor fragment of a man and ego. Out of mine own
+      ashes and glow it came unto me, that phantom. And verily, it came not unto
+      me from the beyond!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What happened, my brethren? I surpassed myself, the suffering one; I
+      carried mine own ashes to the mountain; a brighter flame I contrived for
+      myself. And lo! Thereupon the phantom WITHDREW from me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To me the convalescent would it now be suffering and torment to believe in
+      such phantoms: suffering would it now be to me, and humiliation. Thus
+      speak I to backworldsmen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suffering was it, and impotence&mdash;that created all backworlds; and the
+      short madness of happiness, which only the greatest sufferer experienceth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Weariness, which seeketh to get to the ultimate with one leap, with a
+      death-leap; a poor ignorant weariness, unwilling even to will any longer:
+      that created all Gods and backworlds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Believe me, my brethren! It was the body which despaired of the body&mdash;it
+      groped with the fingers of the infatuated spirit at the ultimate walls.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Believe me, my brethren! It was the body which despaired of the earth&mdash;it
+      heard the bowels of existence speaking unto it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then it sought to get through the ultimate walls with its head&mdash;and
+      not with its head only&mdash;into &ldquo;the other world.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But that &ldquo;other world&rdquo; is well concealed from man, that dehumanised,
+      inhuman world, which is a celestial naught; and the bowels of existence do
+      not speak unto man, except as man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, it is difficult to prove all being, and hard to make it speak.
+      Tell me, ye brethren, is not the strangest of all things best proved?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yea, this ego, with its contradiction and perplexity, speaketh most
+      uprightly of its being&mdash;this creating, willing, evaluing ego, which
+      is the measure and value of things.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And this most upright existence, the ego&mdash;it speaketh of the body,
+      and still implieth the body, even when it museth and raveth and fluttereth
+      with broken wings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Always more uprightly learneth it to speak, the ego; and the more it
+      learneth, the more doth it find titles and honours for the body and the
+      earth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A new pride taught me mine ego, and that teach I unto men: no longer to
+      thrust one&rsquo;s head into the sand of celestial things, but to carry it
+      freely, a terrestrial head, which giveth meaning to the earth!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A new will teach I unto men: to choose that path which man hath followed
+      blindly, and to approve of it&mdash;and no longer to slink aside from it,
+      like the sick and perishing!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sick and perishing&mdash;it was they who despised the body and the
+      earth, and invented the heavenly world, and the redeeming blood-drops; but
+      even those sweet and sad poisons they borrowed from the body and the
+      earth!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From their misery they sought escape, and the stars were too remote for
+      them. Then they sighed: &ldquo;O that there were heavenly paths by which to
+      steal into another existence and into happiness!&rdquo; Then they contrived for
+      themselves their by-paths and bloody draughts!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beyond the sphere of their body and this earth they now fancied themselves
+      transported, these ungrateful ones. But to what did they owe the
+      convulsion and rapture of their transport? To their body and this earth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Gentle is Zarathustra to the sickly. Verily, he is not indignant at their
+      modes of consolation and ingratitude. May they become convalescents and
+      overcomers, and create higher bodies for themselves!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Neither is Zarathustra indignant at a convalescent who looketh tenderly on
+      his delusions, and at midnight stealeth round the grave of his God; but
+      sickness and a sick frame remain even in his tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Many sickly ones have there always been among those who muse, and languish
+      for God; violently they hate the discerning ones, and the latest of
+      virtues, which is uprightness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Backward they always gaze toward dark ages: then, indeed, were delusion
+      and faith something different. Raving of the reason was likeness to God,
+      and doubt was sin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Too well do I know those godlike ones: they insist on being believed in,
+      and that doubt is sin. Too well, also, do I know what they themselves most
+      believe in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, not in backworlds and redeeming blood-drops: but in the body do
+      they also believe most; and their own body is for them the
+      thing-in-itself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it is a sickly thing to them, and gladly would they get out of their
+      skin. Therefore hearken they to the preachers of death, and themselves
+      preach backworlds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hearken rather, my brethren, to the voice of the healthy body; it is a
+      more upright and pure voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      More uprightly and purely speaketh the healthy body, perfect and
+      square-built; and it speaketh of the meaning of the earth.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      IV. THE DESPISERS OF THE BODY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      To the despisers of the body will I speak my word. I wish them neither to
+      learn afresh, nor teach anew, but only to bid farewell to their own
+      bodies,&mdash;and thus be dumb.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Body am I, and soul&rdquo;&mdash;so saith the child. And why should one not
+      speak like children?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the awakened one, the knowing one, saith: &ldquo;Body am I entirely, and
+      nothing more; and soul is only the name of something in the body.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The body is a big sagacity, a plurality with one sense, a war and a peace,
+      a flock and a shepherd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An instrument of thy body is also thy little sagacity, my brother, which
+      thou callest &ldquo;spirit&rdquo;&mdash;a little instrument and plaything of thy big
+      sagacity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ego,&rdquo; sayest thou, and art proud of that word. But the greater thing&mdash;in
+      which thou art unwilling to believe&mdash;is thy body with its big
+      sagacity; it saith not &ldquo;ego,&rdquo; but doeth it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What the sense feeleth, what the spirit discerneth, hath never its end in
+      itself. But sense and spirit would fain persuade thee that they are the
+      end of all things: so vain are they.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Instruments and playthings are sense and spirit: behind them there is
+      still the Self. The Self seeketh with the eyes of the senses, it
+      hearkeneth also with the ears of the spirit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ever hearkeneth the Self, and seeketh; it compareth, mastereth,
+      conquereth, and destroyeth. It ruleth, and is also the ego&rsquo;s ruler.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Behind thy thoughts and feelings, my brother, there is a mighty lord, an
+      unknown sage&mdash;it is called Self; it dwelleth in thy body, it is thy
+      body.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There is more sagacity in thy body than in thy best wisdom. And who then
+      knoweth why thy body requireth just thy best wisdom?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thy Self laugheth at thine ego, and its proud prancings. &ldquo;What are these
+      prancings and flights of thought unto me?&rdquo; it saith to itself. &ldquo;A by-way
+      to my purpose. I am the leading-string of the ego, and the prompter of its
+      notions.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Self saith unto the ego: &ldquo;Feel pain!&rdquo; And thereupon it suffereth, and
+      thinketh how it may put an end thereto&mdash;and for that very purpose it
+      IS MEANT to think.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Self saith unto the ego: &ldquo;Feel pleasure!&rdquo; Thereupon it rejoiceth, and
+      thinketh how it may ofttimes rejoice&mdash;and for that very purpose it IS
+      MEANT to think.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To the despisers of the body will I speak a word. That they despise is
+      caused by their esteem. What is it that created esteeming and despising
+      and worth and will?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The creating Self created for itself esteeming and despising, it created
+      for itself joy and woe. The creating body created for itself spirit, as a
+      hand to its will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even in your folly and despising ye each serve your Self, ye despisers of
+      the body. I tell you, your very Self wanteth to die, and turneth away from
+      life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No longer can your Self do that which it desireth most:&mdash;create
+      beyond itself. That is what it desireth most; that is all its fervour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it is now too late to do so:&mdash;so your Self wisheth to succumb, ye
+      despisers of the body.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To succumb&mdash;so wisheth your Self; and therefore have ye become
+      despisers of the body. For ye can no longer create beyond yourselves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And therefore are ye now angry with life and with the earth. And
+      unconscious envy is in the sidelong look of your contempt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I go not your way, ye despisers of the body! Ye are no bridges for me to
+      the Superman!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      V. JOYS AND PASSIONS.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      My brother, when thou hast a virtue, and it is thine own virtue, thou hast
+      it in common with no one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To be sure, thou wouldst call it by name and caress it; thou wouldst pull
+      its ears and amuse thyself with it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And lo! Then hast thou its name in common with the people, and hast become
+      one of the people and the herd with thy virtue!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Better for thee to say: &ldquo;Ineffable is it, and nameless, that which is pain
+      and sweetness to my soul, and also the hunger of my bowels.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Let thy virtue be too high for the familiarity of names, and if thou must
+      speak of it, be not ashamed to stammer about it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus speak and stammer: &ldquo;That is MY good, that do I love, thus doth it
+      please me entirely, thus only do <i>I</i> desire the good.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not as the law of a God do I desire it, not as a human law or a human need
+      do I desire it; it is not to be a guide-post for me to superearths and
+      paradises.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An earthly virtue is it which I love: little prudence is therein, and the
+      least everyday wisdom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But that bird built its nest beside me: therefore, I love and cherish it&mdash;now
+      sitteth it beside me on its golden eggs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus shouldst thou stammer, and praise thy virtue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once hadst thou passions and calledst them evil. But now hast thou only
+      thy virtues: they grew out of thy passions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou implantedst thy highest aim into the heart of those passions: then
+      became they thy virtues and joys.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And though thou wert of the race of the hot-tempered, or of the
+      voluptuous, or of the fanatical, or the vindictive;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All thy passions in the end became virtues, and all thy devils angels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once hadst thou wild dogs in thy cellar: but they changed at last into
+      birds and charming songstresses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Out of thy poisons brewedst thou balsam for thyself; thy cow, affliction,
+      milkedst thou&mdash;now drinketh thou the sweet milk of her udder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And nothing evil groweth in thee any longer, unless it be the evil that
+      groweth out of the conflict of thy virtues.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My brother, if thou be fortunate, then wilt thou have one virtue and no
+      more: thus goest thou easier over the bridge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Illustrious is it to have many virtues, but a hard lot; and many a one
+      hath gone into the wilderness and killed himself, because he was weary of
+      being the battle and battlefield of virtues.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My brother, are war and battle evil? Necessary, however, is the evil;
+      necessary are the envy and the distrust and the back-biting among the
+      virtues.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lo! how each of thy virtues is covetous of the highest place; it wanteth
+      thy whole spirit to be ITS herald, it wanteth thy whole power, in wrath,
+      hatred, and love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jealous is every virtue of the others, and a dreadful thing is jealousy.
+      Even virtues may succumb by jealousy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He whom the flame of jealousy encompasseth, turneth at last, like the
+      scorpion, the poisoned sting against himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah! my brother, hast thou never seen a virtue backbite and stab itself?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Man is something that hath to be surpassed: and therefore shalt thou love
+      thy virtues,&mdash;for thou wilt succumb by them.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      VI. THE PALE CRIMINAL.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Ye do not mean to slay, ye judges and sacrificers, until the animal hath
+      bowed its head? Lo! the pale criminal hath bowed his head: out of his eye
+      speaketh the great contempt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mine ego is something which is to be surpassed: mine ego is to me the
+      great contempt of man&rdquo;: so speaketh it out of that eye.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he judged himself&mdash;that was his supreme moment; let not the
+      exalted one relapse again into his low estate!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There is no salvation for him who thus suffereth from himself, unless it
+      be speedy death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Your slaying, ye judges, shall be pity, and not revenge; and in that ye
+      slay, see to it that ye yourselves justify life!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is not enough that ye should reconcile with him whom ye slay. Let your
+      sorrow be love to the Superman: thus will ye justify your own survival!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Enemy&rdquo; shall ye say but not &ldquo;villain,&rdquo; &ldquo;invalid&rdquo; shall ye say but not
+      &ldquo;wretch,&rdquo; &ldquo;fool&rdquo; shall ye say but not &ldquo;sinner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And thou, red judge, if thou would say audibly all thou hast done in
+      thought, then would every one cry: &ldquo;Away with the nastiness and the
+      virulent reptile!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But one thing is the thought, another thing is the deed, and another thing
+      is the idea of the deed. The wheel of causality doth not roll between
+      them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An idea made this pale man pale. Adequate was he for his deed when he did
+      it, but the idea of it, he could not endure when it was done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Evermore did he now see himself as the doer of one deed. Madness, I call
+      this: the exception reversed itself to the rule in him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The streak of chalk bewitcheth the hen; the stroke he struck bewitched his
+      weak reason. Madness AFTER the deed, I call this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hearken, ye judges! There is another madness besides, and it is BEFORE the
+      deed. Ah! ye have not gone deep enough into this soul!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus speaketh the red judge: &ldquo;Why did this criminal commit murder? He
+      meant to rob.&rdquo; I tell you, however, that his soul wanted blood, not booty:
+      he thirsted for the happiness of the knife!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But his weak reason understood not this madness, and it persuaded him.
+      &ldquo;What matter about blood!&rdquo; it said; &ldquo;wishest thou not, at least, to make
+      booty thereby? Or take revenge?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And he hearkened unto his weak reason: like lead lay its words upon him&mdash;thereupon
+      he robbed when he murdered. He did not mean to be ashamed of his madness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now once more lieth the lead of his guilt upon him, and once more is
+      his weak reason so benumbed, so paralysed, and so dull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Could he only shake his head, then would his burden roll off; but who
+      shaketh that head?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What is this man? A mass of diseases that reach out into the world through
+      the spirit; there they want to get their prey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What is this man? A coil of wild serpents that are seldom at peace among
+      themselves&mdash;so they go forth apart and seek prey in the world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Look at that poor body! What it suffered and craved, the poor soul
+      interpreted to itself&mdash;it interpreted it as murderous desire, and
+      eagerness for the happiness of the knife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Him who now turneth sick, the evil overtaketh which is now the evil: he
+      seeketh to cause pain with that which causeth him pain. But there have
+      been other ages, and another evil and good.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once was doubt evil, and the will to Self. Then the invalid became a
+      heretic or sorcerer; as heretic or sorcerer he suffered, and sought to
+      cause suffering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But this will not enter your ears; it hurteth your good people, ye tell
+      me. But what doth it matter to me about your good people!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Many things in your good people cause me disgust, and verily, not their
+      evil. I would that they had a madness by which they succumbed, like this
+      pale criminal!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, I would that their madness were called truth, or fidelity, or
+      justice: but they have their virtue in order to live long, and in wretched
+      self-complacency.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I am a railing alongside the torrent; whoever is able to grasp me may
+      grasp me! Your crutch, however, I am not.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      VII. READING AND WRITING.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Of all that is written, I love only what a person hath written with his
+      blood. Write with blood, and thou wilt find that blood is spirit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is no easy task to understand unfamiliar blood; I hate the reading
+      idlers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He who knoweth the reader, doeth nothing more for the reader. Another
+      century of readers&mdash;and spirit itself will stink.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Every one being allowed to learn to read, ruineth in the long run not only
+      writing but also thinking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once spirit was God, then it became man, and now it even becometh
+      populace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He that writeth in blood and proverbs doth not want to be read, but learnt
+      by heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the mountains the shortest way is from peak to peak, but for that route
+      thou must have long legs. Proverbs should be peaks, and those spoken to
+      should be big and tall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The atmosphere rare and pure, danger near and the spirit full of a joyful
+      wickedness: thus are things well matched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I want to have goblins about me, for I am courageous. The courage which
+      scareth away ghosts, createth for itself goblins&mdash;it wanteth to
+      laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I no longer feel in common with you; the very cloud which I see beneath
+      me, the blackness and heaviness at which I laugh&mdash;that is your
+      thunder-cloud.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye look aloft when ye long for exaltation; and I look downward because I
+      am exalted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Who among you can at the same time laugh and be exalted?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He who climbeth on the highest mountains, laugheth at all tragic plays and
+      tragic realities.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Courageous, unconcerned, scornful, coercive&mdash;so wisdom wisheth us;
+      she is a woman, and ever loveth only a warrior.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye tell me, &ldquo;Life is hard to bear.&rdquo; But for what purpose should ye have
+      your pride in the morning and your resignation in the evening?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Life is hard to bear: but do not affect to be so delicate! We are all of
+      us fine sumpter asses and assesses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What have we in common with the rose-bud, which trembleth because a drop
+      of dew hath formed upon it?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is true we love life; not because we are wont to live, but because we
+      are wont to love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There is always some madness in love. But there is always, also, some
+      method in madness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And to me also, who appreciate life, the butterflies, and soap-bubbles,
+      and whatever is like them amongst us, seem most to enjoy happiness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To see these light, foolish, pretty, lively little sprites flit about&mdash;that
+      moveth Zarathustra to tears and songs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I should only believe in a God that would know how to dance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when I saw my devil, I found him serious, thorough, profound, solemn:
+      he was the spirit of gravity&mdash;through him all things fall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not by wrath, but by laughter, do we slay. Come, let us slay the spirit of
+      gravity!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I learned to walk; since then have I let myself run. I learned to fly;
+      since then I do not need pushing in order to move from a spot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now am I light, now do I fly; now do I see myself under myself. Now there
+      danceth a God in me.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      VIII. THE TREE ON THE HILL.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Zarathustra&rsquo;s eye had perceived that a certain youth avoided him. And as
+      he walked alone one evening over the hills surrounding the town called
+      &ldquo;The Pied Cow,&rdquo; behold, there found he the youth sitting leaning against a
+      tree, and gazing with wearied look into the valley. Zarathustra thereupon
+      laid hold of the tree beside which the youth sat, and spake thus:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I wished to shake this tree with my hands, I should not be able to do
+      so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the wind, which we see not, troubleth and bendeth it as it listeth. We
+      are sorest bent and troubled by invisible hands.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thereupon the youth arose disconcerted, and said: &ldquo;I hear Zarathustra, and
+      just now was I thinking of him!&rdquo; Zarathustra answered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why art thou frightened on that account?&mdash;But it is the same with
+      man as with the tree.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The more he seeketh to rise into the height and light, the more vigorously
+      do his roots struggle earthward, downward, into the dark and deep&mdash;into
+      the evil.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yea, into the evil!&rdquo; cried the youth. &ldquo;How is it possible that thou hast
+      discovered my soul?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Zarathustra smiled, and said: &ldquo;Many a soul one will never discover, unless
+      one first invent it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yea, into the evil!&rdquo; cried the youth once more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thou saidst the truth, Zarathustra. I trust myself no longer since I
+      sought to rise into the height, and nobody trusteth me any longer; how
+      doth that happen?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I change too quickly: my to-day refuteth my yesterday. I often overleap
+      the steps when I clamber; for so doing, none of the steps pardons me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When aloft, I find myself always alone. No one speaketh unto me; the frost
+      of solitude maketh me tremble. What do I seek on the height?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My contempt and my longing increase together; the higher I clamber, the
+      more do I despise him who clambereth. What doth he seek on the height?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How ashamed I am of my clambering and stumbling! How I mock at my violent
+      panting! How I hate him who flieth! How tired I am on the height!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here the youth was silent. And Zarathustra contemplated the tree beside
+      which they stood, and spake thus:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This tree standeth lonely here on the hills; it hath grown up high above
+      man and beast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And if it wanted to speak, it would have none who could understand it: so
+      high hath it grown.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now it waiteth and waiteth,&mdash;for what doth it wait? It dwelleth too
+      close to the seat of the clouds; it waiteth perhaps for the first
+      lightning?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When Zarathustra had said this, the youth called out with violent
+      gestures: &ldquo;Yea, Zarathustra, thou speakest the truth. My destruction I
+      longed for, when I desired to be on the height, and thou art the lightning
+      for which I waited! Lo! what have I been since thou hast appeared amongst
+      us? It is mine envy of thee that hath destroyed me!&rdquo;&mdash;Thus spake the
+      youth, and wept bitterly. Zarathustra, however, put his arm about him, and
+      led the youth away with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when they had walked a while together, Zarathustra began to speak
+      thus:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It rendeth my heart. Better than thy words express it, thine eyes tell me
+      all thy danger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As yet thou art not free; thou still SEEKEST freedom. Too unslept hath thy
+      seeking made thee, and too wakeful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the open height wouldst thou be; for the stars thirsteth thy soul. But
+      thy bad impulses also thirst for freedom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thy wild dogs want liberty; they bark for joy in their cellar when thy
+      spirit endeavoureth to open all prison doors.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still art thou a prisoner&mdash;it seemeth to me&mdash;who deviseth
+      liberty for himself: ah! sharp becometh the soul of such prisoners, but
+      also deceitful and wicked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To purify himself, is still necessary for the freedman of the spirit. Much
+      of the prison and the mould still remaineth in him: pure hath his eye
+      still to become.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yea, I know thy danger. But by my love and hope I conjure thee: cast not
+      thy love and hope away!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Noble thou feelest thyself still, and noble others also feel thee still,
+      though they bear thee a grudge and cast evil looks. Know this, that to
+      everybody a noble one standeth in the way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Also to the good, a noble one standeth in the way: and even when they call
+      him a good man, they want thereby to put him aside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The new, would the noble man create, and a new virtue. The old, wanteth
+      the good man, and that the old should be conserved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it is not the danger of the noble man to turn a good man, but lest he
+      should become a blusterer, a scoffer, or a destroyer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah! I have known noble ones who lost their highest hope. And then they
+      disparaged all high hopes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then lived they shamelessly in temporary pleasures, and beyond the day had
+      hardly an aim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Spirit is also voluptuousness,&rdquo;&mdash;said they. Then broke the wings of
+      their spirit; and now it creepeth about, and defileth where it gnaweth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once they thought of becoming heroes; but sensualists are they now. A
+      trouble and a terror is the hero to them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But by my love and hope I conjure thee: cast not away the hero in thy
+      soul! Maintain holy thy highest hope!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      IX. THE PREACHERS OF DEATH.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      There are preachers of death: and the earth is full of those to whom
+      desistance from life must be preached.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Full is the earth of the superfluous; marred is life by the many-too-many.
+      May they be decoyed out of this life by the &ldquo;life eternal&rdquo;!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The yellow ones&rdquo;: so are called the preachers of death, or &ldquo;the black
+      ones.&rdquo; But I will show them unto you in other colours besides.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There are the terrible ones who carry about in themselves the beast of
+      prey, and have no choice except lusts or self-laceration. And even their
+      lusts are self-laceration.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They have not yet become men, those terrible ones: may they preach
+      desistance from life, and pass away themselves!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There are the spiritually consumptive ones: hardly are they born when they
+      begin to die, and long for doctrines of lassitude and renunciation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They would fain be dead, and we should approve of their wish! Let us
+      beware of awakening those dead ones, and of damaging those living coffins!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They meet an invalid, or an old man, or a corpse&mdash;and immediately
+      they say: &ldquo;Life is refuted!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But they only are refuted, and their eye, which seeth only one aspect of
+      existence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Shrouded in thick melancholy, and eager for the little casualties that
+      bring death: thus do they wait, and clench their teeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Or else, they grasp at sweetmeats, and mock at their childishness thereby:
+      they cling to their straw of life, and mock at their still clinging to it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Their wisdom speaketh thus: &ldquo;A fool, he who remaineth alive; but so far
+      are we fools! And that is the foolishest thing in life!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Life is only suffering&rdquo;: so say others, and lie not. Then see to it that
+      YE cease! See to it that the life ceaseth which is only suffering!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And let this be the teaching of your virtue: &ldquo;Thou shalt slay thyself!
+      Thou shalt steal away from thyself!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lust is sin,&rdquo;&mdash;so say some who preach death&mdash;&ldquo;let us go apart
+      and beget no children!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Giving birth is troublesome,&rdquo;&mdash;say others&mdash;&ldquo;why still give
+      birth? One beareth only the unfortunate!&rdquo; And they also are preachers of
+      death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pity is necessary,&rdquo;&mdash;so saith a third party. &ldquo;Take what I have! Take
+      what I am! So much less doth life bind me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Were they consistently pitiful, then would they make their neighbours sick
+      of life. To be wicked&mdash;that would be their true goodness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But they want to be rid of life; what care they if they bind others still
+      faster with their chains and gifts!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And ye also, to whom life is rough labour and disquiet, are ye not very
+      tired of life? Are ye not very ripe for the sermon of death?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All ye to whom rough labour is dear, and the rapid, new, and strange&mdash;ye
+      put up with yourselves badly; your diligence is flight, and the will to
+      self-forgetfulness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If ye believed more in life, then would ye devote yourselves less to the
+      momentary. But for waiting, ye have not enough of capacity in you&mdash;nor
+      even for idling!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Everywhere resoundeth the voices of those who preach death; and the earth
+      is full of those to whom death hath to be preached.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Or &ldquo;life eternal&rdquo;; it is all the same to me&mdash;if only they pass away
+      quickly!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      X. WAR AND WARRIORS.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      By our best enemies we do not want to be spared, nor by those either whom
+      we love from the very heart. So let me tell you the truth!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My brethren in war! I love you from the very heart. I am, and was ever,
+      your counterpart. And I am also your best enemy. So let me tell you the
+      truth!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I know the hatred and envy of your hearts. Ye are not great enough not to
+      know of hatred and envy. Then be great enough not to be ashamed of them!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And if ye cannot be saints of knowledge, then, I pray you, be at least its
+      warriors. They are the companions and forerunners of such saintship.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I see many soldiers; could I but see many warriors! &ldquo;Uniform&rdquo; one calleth
+      what they wear; may it not be uniform what they therewith hide!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye shall be those whose eyes ever seek for an enemy&mdash;for YOUR enemy.
+      And with some of you there is hatred at first sight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Your enemy shall ye seek; your war shall ye wage, and for the sake of your
+      thoughts! And if your thoughts succumb, your uprightness shall still shout
+      triumph thereby!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye shall love peace as a means to new wars&mdash;and the short peace more
+      than the long.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      You I advise not to work, but to fight. You I advise not to peace, but to
+      victory. Let your work be a fight, let your peace be a victory!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One can only be silent and sit peacefully when one hath arrow and bow;
+      otherwise one prateth and quarrelleth. Let your peace be a victory!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye say it is the good cause which halloweth even war? I say unto you: it
+      is the good war which halloweth every cause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      War and courage have done more great things than charity. Not your
+      sympathy, but your bravery hath hitherto saved the victims.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is good?&rdquo; ye ask. To be brave is good. Let the little girls say: &ldquo;To
+      be good is what is pretty, and at the same time touching.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They call you heartless: but your heart is true, and I love the
+      bashfulness of your goodwill. Ye are ashamed of your flow, and others are
+      ashamed of their ebb.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye are ugly? Well then, my brethren, take the sublime about you, the
+      mantle of the ugly!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when your soul becometh great, then doth it become haughty, and in
+      your sublimity there is wickedness. I know you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In wickedness the haughty man and the weakling meet. But they
+      misunderstand one another. I know you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye shall only have enemies to be hated, but not enemies to be despised. Ye
+      must be proud of your enemies; then, the successes of your enemies are
+      also your successes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Resistance&mdash;that is the distinction of the slave. Let your
+      distinction be obedience. Let your commanding itself be obeying!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To the good warrior soundeth &ldquo;thou shalt&rdquo; pleasanter than &ldquo;I will.&rdquo; And
+      all that is dear unto you, ye shall first have it commanded unto you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Let your love to life be love to your highest hope; and let your highest
+      hope be the highest thought of life!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Your highest thought, however, ye shall have it commanded unto you by me&mdash;and
+      it is this: man is something that is to be surpassed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So live your life of obedience and of war! What matter about long life!
+      What warrior wisheth to be spared!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I spare you not, I love you from my very heart, my brethren in war!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XI. THE NEW IDOL.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Somewhere there are still peoples and herds, but not with us, my brethren:
+      here there are states.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A state? What is that? Well! open now your ears unto me, for now will I
+      say unto you my word concerning the death of peoples.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A state, is called the coldest of all cold monsters. Coldly lieth it also;
+      and this lie creepeth from its mouth: &ldquo;I, the state, am the people.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It is a lie! Creators were they who created peoples, and hung a faith and
+      a love over them: thus they served life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Destroyers, are they who lay snares for many, and call it the state: they
+      hang a sword and a hundred cravings over them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Where there is still a people, there the state is not understood, but
+      hated as the evil eye, and as sin against laws and customs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This sign I give unto you: every people speaketh its language of good and
+      evil: this its neighbour understandeth not. Its language hath it devised
+      for itself in laws and customs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the state lieth in all languages of good and evil; and whatever it
+      saith it lieth; and whatever it hath it hath stolen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      False is everything in it; with stolen teeth it biteth, the biting one.
+      False are even its bowels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Confusion of language of good and evil; this sign I give unto you as the
+      sign of the state. Verily, the will to death, indicateth this sign!
+      Verily, it beckoneth unto the preachers of death!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Many too many are born: for the superfluous ones was the state devised!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      See just how it enticeth them to it, the many-too-many! How it swalloweth
+      and cheweth and recheweth them!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On earth there is nothing greater than I: it is I who am the regulating
+      finger of God&rdquo;&mdash;thus roareth the monster. And not only the long-eared
+      and short-sighted fall upon their knees!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah! even in your ears, ye great souls, it whispereth its gloomy lies! Ah!
+      it findeth out the rich hearts which willingly lavish themselves!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yea, it findeth you out too, ye conquerors of the old God! Weary ye became
+      of the conflict, and now your weariness serveth the new idol!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Heroes and honourable ones, it would fain set up around it, the new idol!
+      Gladly it basketh in the sunshine of good consciences,&mdash;the cold
+      monster!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Everything will it give YOU, if YE worship it, the new idol: thus it
+      purchaseth the lustre of your virtue, and the glance of your proud eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It seeketh to allure by means of you, the many-too-many! Yea, a hellish
+      artifice hath here been devised, a death-horse jingling with the trappings
+      of divine honours!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yea, a dying for many hath here been devised, which glorifieth itself as
+      life: verily, a hearty service unto all preachers of death!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The state, I call it, where all are poison-drinkers, the good and the bad:
+      the state, where all lose themselves, the good and the bad: the state,
+      where the slow suicide of all&mdash;is called &ldquo;life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Just see these superfluous ones! They steal the works of the inventors and
+      the treasures of the wise. Culture, they call their theft&mdash;and
+      everything becometh sickness and trouble unto them!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just see these superfluous ones! Sick are they always; they vomit their
+      bile and call it a newspaper. They devour one another, and cannot even
+      digest themselves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just see these superfluous ones! Wealth they acquire and become poorer
+      thereby. Power they seek for, and above all, the lever of power, much
+      money&mdash;these impotent ones!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      See them clamber, these nimble apes! They clamber over one another, and
+      thus scuffle into the mud and the abyss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Towards the throne they all strive: it is their madness&mdash;as if
+      happiness sat on the throne! Ofttimes sitteth filth on the throne.&mdash;and
+      ofttimes also the throne on filth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Madmen they all seem to me, and clambering apes, and too eager. Badly
+      smelleth their idol to me, the cold monster: badly they all smell to me,
+      these idolaters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My brethren, will ye suffocate in the fumes of their maws and appetites!
+      Better break the windows and jump into the open air!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Do go out of the way of the bad odour! Withdraw from the idolatry of the
+      superfluous!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Do go out of the way of the bad odour! Withdraw from the steam of these
+      human sacrifices!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Open still remaineth the earth for great souls. Empty are still many sites
+      for lone ones and twain ones, around which floateth the odour of tranquil
+      seas.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Open still remaineth a free life for great souls. Verily, he who
+      possesseth little is so much the less possessed: blessed be moderate
+      poverty!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There, where the state ceaseth&mdash;there only commenceth the man who is
+      not superfluous: there commenceth the song of the necessary ones, the
+      single and irreplaceable melody.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There, where the state CEASETH&mdash;pray look thither, my brethren! Do ye
+      not see it, the rainbow and the bridges of the Superman?&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XII. THE FLIES IN THE MARKET-PLACE.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Flee, my friend, into thy solitude! I see thee deafened with the noise of
+      the great men, and stung all over with the stings of the little ones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Admirably do forest and rock know how to be silent with thee. Resemble
+      again the tree which thou lovest, the broad-branched one&mdash;silently
+      and attentively it o&rsquo;erhangeth the sea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Where solitude endeth, there beginneth the market-place; and where the
+      market-place beginneth, there beginneth also the noise of the great
+      actors, and the buzzing of the poison-flies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the world even the best things are worthless without those who
+      represent them: those representers, the people call great men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Little do the people understand what is great&mdash;that is to say, the
+      creating agency. But they have a taste for all representers and actors of
+      great things.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Around the devisers of new values revolveth the world:&mdash;invisibly it
+      revolveth. But around the actors revolve the people and the glory: such is
+      the course of things.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Spirit, hath the actor, but little conscience of the spirit. He believeth
+      always in that wherewith he maketh believe most strongly&mdash;in HIMSELF!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Tomorrow he hath a new belief, and the day after, one still newer. Sharp
+      perceptions hath he, like the people, and changeable humours.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To upset&mdash;that meaneth with him to prove. To drive mad&mdash;that meaneth
+      with him to convince. And blood is counted by him as the best of all
+      arguments.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A truth which only glideth into fine ears, he calleth falsehood and
+      trumpery. Verily, he believeth only in Gods that make a great noise in the
+      world!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Full of clattering buffoons is the market-place,&mdash;and the people
+      glory in their great men! These are for them the masters of the hour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the hour presseth them; so they press thee. And also from thee they
+      want Yea or Nay. Alas! thou wouldst set thy chair betwixt For and Against?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On account of those absolute and impatient ones, be not jealous, thou
+      lover of truth! Never yet did truth cling to the arm of an absolute one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On account of those abrupt ones, return into thy security: only in the
+      market-place is one assailed by Yea? or Nay?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Slow is the experience of all deep fountains: long have they to wait until
+      they know WHAT hath fallen into their depths.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Away from the market-place and from fame taketh place all that is great:
+      away from the market-place and from fame have ever dwelt the devisers of
+      new values.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Flee, my friend, into thy solitude: I see thee stung all over by the
+      poisonous flies. Flee thither, where a rough, strong breeze bloweth!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Flee into thy solitude! Thou hast lived too closely to the small and the
+      pitiable. Flee from their invisible vengeance! Towards thee they have
+      nothing but vengeance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Raise no longer an arm against them! Innumerable are they, and it is not
+      thy lot to be a fly-flap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Innumerable are the small and pitiable ones; and of many a proud
+      structure, rain-drops and weeds have been the ruin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou art not stone; but already hast thou become hollow by the numerous
+      drops. Thou wilt yet break and burst by the numerous drops.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Exhausted I see thee, by poisonous flies; bleeding I see thee, and torn at
+      a hundred spots; and thy pride will not even upbraid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Blood they would have from thee in all innocence; blood their bloodless
+      souls crave for&mdash;and they sting, therefore, in all innocence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But thou, profound one, thou sufferest too profoundly even from small
+      wounds; and ere thou hadst recovered, the same poison-worm crawled over
+      thy hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Too proud art thou to kill these sweet-tooths. But take care lest it be
+      thy fate to suffer all their poisonous injustice!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They buzz around thee also with their praise: obtrusiveness, is their
+      praise. They want to be close to thy skin and thy blood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They flatter thee, as one flattereth a God or devil; they whimper before
+      thee, as before a God or devil. What doth it come to! Flatterers are they,
+      and whimperers, and nothing more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Often, also, do they show themselves to thee as amiable ones. But that
+      hath ever been the prudence of the cowardly. Yea! the cowardly are wise!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They think much about thee with their circumscribed souls&mdash;thou art
+      always suspected by them! Whatever is much thought about is at last
+      thought suspicious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They punish thee for all thy virtues. They pardon thee in their inmost
+      hearts only&mdash;for thine errors.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Because thou art gentle and of upright character, thou sayest: &ldquo;Blameless
+      are they for their small existence.&rdquo; But their circumscribed souls think:
+      &ldquo;Blamable is all great existence.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Even when thou art gentle towards them, they still feel themselves
+      despised by thee; and they repay thy beneficence with secret maleficence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thy silent pride is always counter to their taste; they rejoice if once
+      thou be humble enough to be frivolous.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What we recognise in a man, we also irritate in him. Therefore be on your
+      guard against the small ones!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In thy presence they feel themselves small, and their baseness gleameth
+      and gloweth against thee in invisible vengeance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sawest thou not how often they became dumb when thou approachedst them,
+      and how their energy left them like the smoke of an extinguishing fire?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yea, my friend, the bad conscience art thou of thy neighbours; for they
+      are unworthy of thee. Therefore they hate thee, and would fain suck thy
+      blood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thy neighbours will always be poisonous flies; what is great in thee&mdash;that
+      itself must make them more poisonous, and always more fly-like.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Flee, my friend, into thy solitude&mdash;and thither, where a rough strong
+      breeze bloweth. It is not thy lot to be a fly-flap.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XIII. CHASTITY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      I love the forest. It is bad to live in cities: there, there are too many
+      of the lustful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Is it not better to fall into the hands of a murderer, than into the
+      dreams of a lustful woman?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And just look at these men: their eye saith it&mdash;they know nothing
+      better on earth than to lie with a woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Filth is at the bottom of their souls; and alas! if their filth hath still
+      spirit in it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Would that ye were perfect&mdash;at least as animals! But to animals
+      belongeth innocence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Do I counsel you to slay your instincts? I counsel you to innocence in
+      your instincts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Do I counsel you to chastity? Chastity is a virtue with some, but with
+      many almost a vice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      These are continent, to be sure: but doggish lust looketh enviously out of
+      all that they do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even into the heights of their virtue and into their cold spirit doth this
+      creature follow them, with its discord.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And how nicely can doggish lust beg for a piece of spirit, when a piece of
+      flesh is denied it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye love tragedies and all that breaketh the heart? But I am distrustful of
+      your doggish lust.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye have too cruel eyes, and ye look wantonly towards the sufferers. Hath
+      not your lust just disguised itself and taken the name of
+      fellow-suffering?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And also this parable give I unto you: Not a few who meant to cast out
+      their devil, went thereby into the swine themselves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To whom chastity is difficult, it is to be dissuaded: lest it become the
+      road to hell&mdash;to filth and lust of soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Do I speak of filthy things? That is not the worst thing for me to do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not when the truth is filthy, but when it is shallow, doth the discerning
+      one go unwillingly into its waters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, there are chaste ones from their very nature; they are gentler of
+      heart, and laugh better and oftener than you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They laugh also at chastity, and ask: &ldquo;What is chastity?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Is chastity not folly? But the folly came unto us, and not we unto it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We offered that guest harbour and heart: now it dwelleth with us&mdash;let
+      it stay as long as it will!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XIV. THE FRIEND.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One, is always too many about me&rdquo;&mdash;thinketh the anchorite. &ldquo;Always
+      once one&mdash;that maketh two in the long run!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I and me are always too earnestly in conversation: how could it be
+      endured, if there were not a friend?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The friend of the anchorite is always the third one: the third one is the
+      cork which preventeth the conversation of the two sinking into the depth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah! there are too many depths for all anchorites. Therefore, do they long
+      so much for a friend, and for his elevation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Our faith in others betrayeth wherein we would fain have faith in
+      ourselves. Our longing for a friend is our betrayer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And often with our love we want merely to overleap envy. And often we
+      attack and make ourselves enemies, to conceal that we are vulnerable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be at least mine enemy!&rdquo;&mdash;thus speaketh the true reverence, which
+      doth not venture to solicit friendship.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If one would have a friend, then must one also be willing to wage war for
+      him: and in order to wage war, one must be CAPABLE of being an enemy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One ought still to honour the enemy in one&rsquo;s friend. Canst thou go nigh
+      unto thy friend, and not go over to him?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In one&rsquo;s friend one shall have one&rsquo;s best enemy. Thou shalt be closest
+      unto him with thy heart when thou withstandest him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou wouldst wear no raiment before thy friend? It is in honour of thy
+      friend that thou showest thyself to him as thou art? But he wisheth thee
+      to the devil on that account!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He who maketh no secret of himself shocketh: so much reason have ye to
+      fear nakedness! Aye, if ye were Gods, ye could then be ashamed of
+      clothing!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou canst not adorn thyself fine enough for thy friend; for thou shalt be
+      unto him an arrow and a longing for the Superman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sawest thou ever thy friend asleep&mdash;to know how he looketh? What is
+      usually the countenance of thy friend? It is thine own countenance, in a
+      coarse and imperfect mirror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sawest thou ever thy friend asleep? Wert thou not dismayed at thy friend
+      looking so? O my friend, man is something that hath to be surpassed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In divining and keeping silence shall the friend be a master: not
+      everything must thou wish to see. Thy dream shall disclose unto thee what
+      thy friend doeth when awake.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Let thy pity be a divining: to know first if thy friend wanteth pity.
+      Perhaps he loveth in thee the unmoved eye, and the look of eternity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Let thy pity for thy friend be hid under a hard shell; thou shalt bite out
+      a tooth upon it. Thus will it have delicacy and sweetness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Art thou pure air and solitude and bread and medicine to thy friend? Many
+      a one cannot loosen his own fetters, but is nevertheless his friend&rsquo;s
+      emancipator.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Art thou a slave? Then thou canst not be a friend. Art thou a tyrant? Then
+      thou canst not have friends.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Far too long hath there been a slave and a tyrant concealed in woman. On
+      that account woman is not yet capable of friendship: she knoweth only
+      love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In woman&rsquo;s love there is injustice and blindness to all she doth not love.
+      And even in woman&rsquo;s conscious love, there is still always surprise and
+      lightning and night, along with the light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As yet woman is not capable of friendship: women are still cats, and
+      birds. Or at the best, cows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As yet woman is not capable of friendship. But tell me, ye men, who of you
+      are capable of friendship?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh! your poverty, ye men, and your sordidness of soul! As much as ye give
+      to your friend, will I give even to my foe, and will not have become
+      poorer thereby.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There is comradeship: may there be friendship!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XV. THE THOUSAND AND ONE GOALS.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Many lands saw Zarathustra, and many peoples: thus he discovered the good
+      and bad of many peoples. No greater power did Zarathustra find on earth
+      than good and bad.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No people could live without first valuing; if a people will maintain
+      itself, however, it must not value as its neighbour valueth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Much that passed for good with one people was regarded with scorn and
+      contempt by another: thus I found it. Much found I here called bad, which
+      was there decked with purple honours.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Never did the one neighbour understand the other: ever did his soul marvel
+      at his neighbour&rsquo;s delusion and wickedness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A table of excellencies hangeth over every people. Lo! it is the table of
+      their triumphs; lo! it is the voice of their Will to Power.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is laudable, what they think hard; what is indispensable and hard they
+      call good; and what relieveth in the direst distress, the unique and
+      hardest of all,&mdash;they extol as holy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Whatever maketh them rule and conquer and shine, to the dismay and envy of
+      their neighbours, they regard as the high and foremost thing, the test and
+      the meaning of all else.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, my brother, if thou knewest but a people&rsquo;s need, its land, its
+      sky, and its neighbour, then wouldst thou divine the law of its
+      surmountings, and why it climbeth up that ladder to its hope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Always shalt thou be the foremost and prominent above others: no one
+      shall thy jealous soul love, except a friend&rdquo;&mdash;that made the soul of
+      a Greek thrill: thereby went he his way to greatness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To speak truth, and be skilful with bow and arrow&rdquo;&mdash;so seemed it
+      alike pleasing and hard to the people from whom cometh my name&mdash;the
+      name which is alike pleasing and hard to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To honour father and mother, and from the root of the soul to do their
+      will&rdquo;&mdash;this table of surmounting hung another people over them, and
+      became powerful and permanent thereby.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To have fidelity, and for the sake of fidelity to risk honour and blood,
+      even in evil and dangerous courses&rdquo;&mdash;teaching itself so, another
+      people mastered itself, and thus mastering itself, became pregnant and
+      heavy with great hopes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, men have given unto themselves all their good and bad. Verily,
+      they took it not, they found it not, it came not unto them as a voice from
+      heaven.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Values did man only assign to things in order to maintain himself&mdash;he
+      created only the significance of things, a human significance! Therefore,
+      calleth he himself &ldquo;man,&rdquo; that is, the valuator.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Valuing is creating: hear it, ye creating ones! Valuation itself is the
+      treasure and jewel of the valued things.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Through valuation only is there value; and without valuation the nut of
+      existence would be hollow. Hear it, ye creating ones!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Change of values&mdash;that is, change of the creating ones. Always doth
+      he destroy who hath to be a creator.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Creating ones were first of all peoples, and only in late times
+      individuals; verily, the individual himself is still the latest creation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Peoples once hung over them tables of the good. Love which would rule and
+      love which would obey, created for themselves such tables.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Older is the pleasure in the herd than the pleasure in the ego: and as
+      long as the good conscience is for the herd, the bad conscience only
+      saith: ego.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, the crafty ego, the loveless one, that seeketh its advantage in
+      the advantage of many&mdash;it is not the origin of the herd, but its
+      ruin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Loving ones, was it always, and creating ones, that created good and bad.
+      Fire of love gloweth in the names of all the virtues, and fire of wrath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Many lands saw Zarathustra, and many peoples: no greater power did
+      Zarathustra find on earth than the creations of the loving ones&mdash;&ldquo;good&rdquo;
+       and &ldquo;bad&rdquo; are they called.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, a prodigy is this power of praising and blaming. Tell me, ye
+      brethren, who will master it for me? Who will put a fetter upon the
+      thousand necks of this animal?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A thousand goals have there been hitherto, for a thousand peoples have
+      there been. Only the fetter for the thousand necks is still lacking; there
+      is lacking the one goal. As yet humanity hath not a goal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But pray tell me, my brethren, if the goal of humanity be still lacking,
+      is there not also still lacking&mdash;humanity itself?&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XVI. NEIGHBOUR-LOVE.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Ye crowd around your neighbour, and have fine words for it. But I say unto
+      you: your neighbour-love is your bad love of yourselves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye flee unto your neighbour from yourselves, and would fain make a virtue
+      thereof: but I fathom your &ldquo;unselfishness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The THOU is older than the <i>I</i>; the THOU hath been consecrated, but
+      not yet the <i>I</i>: so man presseth nigh unto his neighbour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Do I advise you to neighbour-love? Rather do I advise you to
+      neighbour-flight and to furthest love!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Higher than love to your neighbour is love to the furthest and future
+      ones; higher still than love to men, is love to things and phantoms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The phantom that runneth on before thee, my brother, is fairer than thou;
+      why dost thou not give unto it thy flesh and thy bones? But thou fearest,
+      and runnest unto thy neighbour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye cannot endure it with yourselves, and do not love yourselves
+      sufficiently: so ye seek to mislead your neighbour into love, and would
+      fain gild yourselves with his error.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Would that ye could not endure it with any kind of near ones, or their
+      neighbours; then would ye have to create your friend and his overflowing
+      heart out of yourselves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye call in a witness when ye want to speak well of yourselves; and when ye
+      have misled him to think well of you, ye also think well of yourselves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not only doth he lie, who speaketh contrary to his knowledge, but more so,
+      he who speaketh contrary to his ignorance. And thus speak ye of yourselves
+      in your intercourse, and belie your neighbour with yourselves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus saith the fool: &ldquo;Association with men spoileth the character,
+      especially when one hath none.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The one goeth to his neighbour because he seeketh himself, and the other
+      because he would fain lose himself. Your bad love to yourselves maketh
+      solitude a prison to you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The furthest ones are they who pay for your love to the near ones; and
+      when there are but five of you together, a sixth must always die.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I love not your festivals either: too many actors found I there, and even
+      the spectators often behaved like actors.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not the neighbour do I teach you, but the friend. Let the friend be the
+      festival of the earth to you, and a foretaste of the Superman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I teach you the friend and his overflowing heart. But one must know how to
+      be a sponge, if one would be loved by overflowing hearts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I teach you the friend in whom the world standeth complete, a capsule of
+      the good,&mdash;the creating friend, who hath always a complete world to
+      bestow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And as the world unrolled itself for him, so rolleth it together again for
+      him in rings, as the growth of good through evil, as the growth of purpose
+      out of chance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Let the future and the furthest be the motive of thy to-day; in thy friend
+      shalt thou love the Superman as thy motive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My brethren, I advise you not to neighbour-love&mdash;I advise you to
+      furthest love!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XVII. THE WAY OF THE CREATING ONE.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Wouldst thou go into isolation, my brother? Wouldst thou seek the way unto
+      thyself? Tarry yet a little and hearken unto me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He who seeketh may easily get lost himself. All isolation is wrong&rdquo;: so
+      say the herd. And long didst thou belong to the herd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The voice of the herd will still echo in thee. And when thou sayest, &ldquo;I
+      have no longer a conscience in common with you,&rdquo; then will it be a plaint
+      and a pain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lo, that pain itself did the same conscience produce; and the last gleam
+      of that conscience still gloweth on thine affliction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But thou wouldst go the way of thine affliction, which is the way unto
+      thyself? Then show me thine authority and thy strength to do so!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Art thou a new strength and a new authority? A first motion? A
+      self-rolling wheel? Canst thou also compel stars to revolve around thee?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alas! there is so much lusting for loftiness! There are so many
+      convulsions of the ambitions! Show me that thou art not a lusting and
+      ambitious one!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alas! there are so many great thoughts that do nothing more than the
+      bellows: they inflate, and make emptier than ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Free, dost thou call thyself? Thy ruling thought would I hear of, and not
+      that thou hast escaped from a yoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Art thou one ENTITLED to escape from a yoke? Many a one hath cast away his
+      final worth when he hath cast away his servitude.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Free from what? What doth that matter to Zarathustra! Clearly, however,
+      shall thine eye show unto me: free FOR WHAT?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Canst thou give unto thyself thy bad and thy good, and set up thy will as
+      a law over thee? Canst thou be judge for thyself, and avenger of thy law?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Terrible is aloneness with the judge and avenger of one&rsquo;s own law. Thus is
+      a star projected into desert space, and into the icy breath of aloneness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To-day sufferest thou still from the multitude, thou individual; to-day
+      hast thou still thy courage unabated, and thy hopes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But one day will the solitude weary thee; one day will thy pride yield,
+      and thy courage quail. Thou wilt one day cry: &ldquo;I am alone!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      One day wilt thou see no longer thy loftiness, and see too closely thy
+      lowliness; thy sublimity itself will frighten thee as a phantom. Thou wilt
+      one day cry: &ldquo;All is false!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There are feelings which seek to slay the lonesome one; if they do not
+      succeed, then must they themselves die! But art thou capable of it&mdash;to
+      be a murderer?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hast thou ever known, my brother, the word &ldquo;disdain&rdquo;? And the anguish of
+      thy justice in being just to those that disdain thee?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou forcest many to think differently about thee; that, charge they
+      heavily to thine account. Thou camest nigh unto them, and yet wentest
+      past: for that they never forgive thee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou goest beyond them: but the higher thou risest, the smaller doth the
+      eye of envy see thee. Most of all, however, is the flying one hated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How could ye be just unto me!&rdquo;&mdash;must thou say&mdash;&ldquo;I choose your
+      injustice as my allotted portion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Injustice and filth cast they at the lonesome one: but, my brother, if
+      thou wouldst be a star, thou must shine for them none the less on that
+      account!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And be on thy guard against the good and just! They would fain crucify
+      those who devise their own virtue&mdash;they hate the lonesome ones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Be on thy guard, also, against holy simplicity! All is unholy to it that
+      is not simple; fain, likewise, would it play with the fire&mdash;of the
+      fagot and stake.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And be on thy guard, also, against the assaults of thy love! Too readily
+      doth the recluse reach his hand to any one who meeteth him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To many a one mayest thou not give thy hand, but only thy paw; and I wish
+      thy paw also to have claws.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the worst enemy thou canst meet, wilt thou thyself always be; thou
+      waylayest thyself in caverns and forests.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou lonesome one, thou goest the way to thyself! And past thyself and thy
+      seven devils leadeth thy way!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A heretic wilt thou be to thyself, and a wizard and a sooth-sayer, and a
+      fool, and a doubter, and a reprobate, and a villain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ready must thou be to burn thyself in thine own flame; how couldst thou
+      become new if thou have not first become ashes!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou lonesome one, thou goest the way of the creating one: a God wilt thou
+      create for thyself out of thy seven devils!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou lonesome one, thou goest the way of the loving one: thou lovest
+      thyself, and on that account despisest thou thyself, as only the loving
+      ones despise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To create, desireth the loving one, because he despiseth! What knoweth he
+      of love who hath not been obliged to despise just what he loved!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With thy love, go into thine isolation, my brother, and with thy creating;
+      and late only will justice limp after thee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With my tears, go into thine isolation, my brother. I love him who seeketh
+      to create beyond himself, and thus succumbeth.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XVIII. OLD AND YOUNG WOMEN.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why stealest thou along so furtively in the twilight, Zarathustra? And
+      what hidest thou so carefully under thy mantle?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Is it a treasure that hath been given thee? Or a child that hath been born
+      thee? Or goest thou thyself on a thief&rsquo;s errand, thou friend of the evil?&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, my brother, said Zarathustra, it is a treasure that hath been
+      given me: it is a little truth which I carry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it is naughty, like a young child; and if I hold not its mouth, it
+      screameth too loudly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As I went on my way alone to-day, at the hour when the sun declineth,
+      there met me an old woman, and she spake thus unto my soul:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Much hath Zarathustra spoken also to us women, but never spake he unto us
+      concerning woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And I answered her: &ldquo;Concerning woman, one should only talk unto men.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Talk also unto me of woman,&rdquo; said she; &ldquo;I am old enough to forget it
+      presently.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And I obliged the old woman and spake thus unto her:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Everything in woman is a riddle, and everything in woman hath one solution&mdash;it
+      is called pregnancy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Man is for woman a means: the purpose is always the child. But what is
+      woman for man?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Two different things wanteth the true man: danger and diversion. Therefore
+      wanteth he woman, as the most dangerous plaything.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Man shall be trained for war, and woman for the recreation of the warrior:
+      all else is folly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Too sweet fruits&mdash;these the warrior liketh not. Therefore liketh he
+      woman;&mdash;bitter is even the sweetest woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Better than man doth woman understand children, but man is more childish
+      than woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the true man there is a child hidden: it wanteth to play. Up then, ye
+      women, and discover the child in man!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A plaything let woman be, pure and fine like the precious stone, illumined
+      with the virtues of a world not yet come.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Let the beam of a star shine in your love! Let your hope say: &ldquo;May I bear
+      the Superman!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In your love let there be valour! With your love shall ye assail him who
+      inspireth you with fear!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In your love be your honour! Little doth woman understand otherwise about
+      honour. But let this be your honour: always to love more than ye are
+      loved, and never be the second.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Let man fear woman when she loveth: then maketh she every sacrifice, and
+      everything else she regardeth as worthless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Let man fear woman when she hateth: for man in his innermost soul is
+      merely evil; woman, however, is mean.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Whom hateth woman most?&mdash;Thus spake the iron to the loadstone: &ldquo;I
+      hate thee most, because thou attractest, but art too weak to draw unto
+      thee.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The happiness of man is, &ldquo;I will.&rdquo; The happiness of woman is, &ldquo;He will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lo! now hath the world become perfect!&rdquo;&mdash;thus thinketh every woman
+      when she obeyeth with all her love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Obey, must the woman, and find a depth for her surface. Surface, is
+      woman&rsquo;s soul, a mobile, stormy film on shallow water.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Man&rsquo;s soul, however, is deep, its current gusheth in subterranean caverns:
+      woman surmiseth its force, but comprehendeth it not.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then answered me the old woman: &ldquo;Many fine things hath Zarathustra said,
+      especially for those who are young enough for them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Strange! Zarathustra knoweth little about woman, and yet he is right about
+      them! Doth this happen, because with women nothing is impossible?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now accept a little truth by way of thanks! I am old enough for it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Swaddle it up and hold its mouth: otherwise it will scream too loudly, the
+      little truth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give me, woman, thy little truth!&rdquo; said I. And thus spake the old woman:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thou goest to women? Do not forget thy whip!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XIX. THE BITE OF THE ADDER.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      One day had Zarathustra fallen asleep under a fig-tree, owing to the heat,
+      with his arms over his face. And there came an adder and bit him in the
+      neck, so that Zarathustra screamed with pain. When he had taken his arm
+      from his face he looked at the serpent; and then did it recognise the eyes
+      of Zarathustra, wriggled awkwardly, and tried to get away. &ldquo;Not at all,&rdquo;
+       said Zarathustra, &ldquo;as yet hast thou not received my thanks! Thou hast
+      awakened me in time; my journey is yet long.&rdquo; &ldquo;Thy journey is short,&rdquo; said
+      the adder sadly; &ldquo;my poison is fatal.&rdquo; Zarathustra smiled. &ldquo;When did ever
+      a dragon die of a serpent&rsquo;s poison?&rdquo;&mdash;said he. &ldquo;But take thy poison
+      back! Thou art not rich enough to present it to me.&rdquo; Then fell the adder
+      again on his neck, and licked his wound.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Zarathustra once told this to his disciples they asked him: &ldquo;And
+      what, O Zarathustra, is the moral of thy story?&rdquo; And Zarathustra answered
+      them thus:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The destroyer of morality, the good and just call me: my story is immoral.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When, however, ye have an enemy, then return him not good for evil: for
+      that would abash him. But prove that he hath done something good to you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And rather be angry than abash any one! And when ye are cursed, it
+      pleaseth me not that ye should then desire to bless. Rather curse a little
+      also!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And should a great injustice befall you, then do quickly five small ones
+      besides. Hideous to behold is he on whom injustice presseth alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Did ye ever know this? Shared injustice is half justice. And he who can
+      bear it, shall take the injustice upon himself!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A small revenge is humaner than no revenge at all. And if the punishment
+      be not also a right and an honour to the transgressor, I do not like your
+      punishing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nobler is it to own oneself in the wrong than to establish one&rsquo;s right,
+      especially if one be in the right. Only, one must be rich enough to do so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I do not like your cold justice; out of the eye of your judges there
+      always glanceth the executioner and his cold steel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Tell me: where find we justice, which is love with seeing eyes?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Devise me, then, the love which not only beareth all punishment, but also
+      all guilt!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Devise me, then, the justice which acquitteth every one except the judge!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And would ye hear this likewise? To him who seeketh to be just from the
+      heart, even the lie becometh philanthropy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But how could I be just from the heart! How can I give every one his own!
+      Let this be enough for me: I give unto every one mine own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Finally, my brethren, guard against doing wrong to any anchorite. How
+      could an anchorite forget! How could he requite!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Like a deep well is an anchorite. Easy is it to throw in a stone: if it
+      should sink to the bottom, however, tell me, who will bring it out again?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Guard against injuring the anchorite! If ye have done so, however, well
+      then, kill him also!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XX. CHILD AND MARRIAGE.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      I have a question for thee alone, my brother: like a sounding-lead, cast I
+      this question into thy soul, that I may know its depth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou art young, and desirest child and marriage. But I ask thee: Art thou
+      a man ENTITLED to desire a child?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Art thou the victorious one, the self-conqueror, the ruler of thy
+      passions, the master of thy virtues? Thus do I ask thee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Or doth the animal speak in thy wish, and necessity? Or isolation? Or
+      discord in thee?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I would have thy victory and freedom long for a child. Living monuments
+      shalt thou build to thy victory and emancipation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beyond thyself shalt thou build. But first of all must thou be built
+      thyself, rectangular in body and soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not only onward shalt thou propagate thyself, but upward! For that purpose
+      may the garden of marriage help thee!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A higher body shalt thou create, a first movement, a spontaneously rolling
+      wheel&mdash;a creating one shalt thou create.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Marriage: so call I the will of the twain to create the one that is more
+      than those who created it. The reverence for one another, as those
+      exercising such a will, call I marriage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Let this be the significance and the truth of thy marriage. But that which
+      the many-too-many call marriage, those superfluous ones&mdash;ah, what
+      shall I call it?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, the poverty of soul in the twain! Ah, the filth of soul in the twain!
+      Ah, the pitiable self-complacency in the twain!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Marriage they call it all; and they say their marriages are made in
+      heaven.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well, I do not like it, that heaven of the superfluous! No, I do not like
+      them, those animals tangled in the heavenly toils!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Far from me also be the God who limpeth thither to bless what he hath not
+      matched!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Laugh not at such marriages! What child hath not had reason to weep over
+      its parents?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Worthy did this man seem, and ripe for the meaning of the earth: but when
+      I saw his wife, the earth seemed to me a home for madcaps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yea, I would that the earth shook with convulsions when a saint and a
+      goose mate with one another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This one went forth in quest of truth as a hero, and at last got for
+      himself a small decked-up lie: his marriage he calleth it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That one was reserved in intercourse and chose choicely. But one time he
+      spoilt his company for all time: his marriage he calleth it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Another sought a handmaid with the virtues of an angel. But all at once he
+      became the handmaid of a woman, and now would he need also to become an
+      angel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Careful, have I found all buyers, and all of them have astute eyes. But
+      even the astutest of them buyeth his wife in a sack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Many short follies&mdash;that is called love by you. And your marriage
+      putteth an end to many short follies, with one long stupidity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Your love to woman, and woman&rsquo;s love to man&mdash;ah, would that it were
+      sympathy for suffering and veiled deities! But generally two animals
+      alight on one another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But even your best love is only an enraptured simile and a painful ardour.
+      It is a torch to light you to loftier paths.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beyond yourselves shall ye love some day! Then LEARN first of all to love.
+      And on that account ye had to drink the bitter cup of your love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bitterness is in the cup even of the best love: thus doth it cause longing
+      for the Superman; thus doth it cause thirst in thee, the creating one!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thirst in the creating one, arrow and longing for the Superman: tell me,
+      my brother, is this thy will to marriage?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Holy call I such a will, and such a marriage.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XXI. VOLUNTARY DEATH.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Many die too late, and some die too early. Yet strange soundeth the
+      precept: &ldquo;Die at the right time!&rdquo;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Die at the right time: so teacheth Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To be sure, he who never liveth at the right time, how could he ever die
+      at the right time? Would that he might never be born!&mdash;Thus do I
+      advise the superfluous ones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But even the superfluous ones make much ado about their death, and even
+      the hollowest nut wanteth to be cracked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Every one regardeth dying as a great matter: but as yet death is not a
+      festival. Not yet have people learned to inaugurate the finest festivals.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The consummating death I show unto you, which becometh a stimulus and
+      promise to the living.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His death, dieth the consummating one triumphantly, surrounded by hoping
+      and promising ones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus should one learn to die; and there should be no festival at which
+      such a dying one doth not consecrate the oaths of the living!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus to die is best; the next best, however, is to die in battle, and
+      sacrifice a great soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But to the fighter equally hateful as to the victor, is your grinning
+      death which stealeth nigh like a thief,&mdash;and yet cometh as master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My death, praise I unto you, the voluntary death, which cometh unto me
+      because <i>I</i> want it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when shall I want it?&mdash;He that hath a goal and an heir, wanteth
+      death at the right time for the goal and the heir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And out of reverence for the goal and the heir, he will hang up no more
+      withered wreaths in the sanctuary of life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, not the rope-makers will I resemble: they lengthen out their cord,
+      and thereby go ever backward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Many a one, also, waxeth too old for his truths and triumphs; a toothless
+      mouth hath no longer the right to every truth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And whoever wanteth to have fame, must take leave of honour betimes, and
+      practise the difficult art of&mdash;going at the right time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One must discontinue being feasted upon when one tasteth best: that is
+      known by those who want to be long loved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sour apples are there, no doubt, whose lot is to wait until the last day
+      of autumn: and at the same time they become ripe, yellow, and shrivelled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In some ageth the heart first, and in others the spirit. And some are
+      hoary in youth, but the late young keep long young.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To many men life is a failure; a poison-worm gnaweth at their heart. Then
+      let them see to it that their dying is all the more a success.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Many never become sweet; they rot even in the summer. It is cowardice that
+      holdeth them fast to their branches.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Far too many live, and far too long hang they on their branches. Would
+      that a storm came and shook all this rottenness and worm-eatenness from
+      the tree!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Would that there came preachers of SPEEDY death! Those would be the
+      appropriate storms and agitators of the trees of life! But I hear only
+      slow death preached, and patience with all that is &ldquo;earthly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah! ye preach patience with what is earthly? This earthly is it that hath
+      too much patience with you, ye blasphemers!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, too early died that Hebrew whom the preachers of slow death
+      honour: and to many hath it proved a calamity that he died too early.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As yet had he known only tears, and the melancholy of the Hebrews,
+      together with the hatred of the good and just&mdash;the Hebrew Jesus: then
+      was he seized with the longing for death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Had he but remained in the wilderness, and far from the good and just!
+      Then, perhaps, would he have learned to live, and love the earth&mdash;and
+      laughter also!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Believe it, my brethren! He died too early; he himself would have
+      disavowed his doctrine had he attained to my age! Noble enough was he to
+      disavow!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he was still immature. Immaturely loveth the youth, and immaturely
+      also hateth he man and earth. Confined and awkward are still his soul and
+      the wings of his spirit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But in man there is more of the child than in the youth, and less of
+      melancholy: better understandeth he about life and death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Free for death, and free in death; a holy Naysayer, when there is no
+      longer time for Yea: thus understandeth he about death and life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That your dying may not be a reproach to man and the earth, my friends:
+      that do I solicit from the honey of your soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In your dying shall your spirit and your virtue still shine like an
+      evening after-glow around the earth: otherwise your dying hath been
+      unsatisfactory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus will I die myself, that ye friends may love the earth more for my
+      sake; and earth will I again become, to have rest in her that bore me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, a goal had Zarathustra; he threw his ball. Now be ye friends the
+      heirs of my goal; to you throw I the golden ball.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Best of all, do I see you, my friends, throw the golden ball! And so tarry
+      I still a little while on the earth&mdash;pardon me for it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XXII. THE BESTOWING VIRTUE.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      1.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      When Zarathustra had taken leave of the town to which his heart was
+      attached, the name of which is &ldquo;The Pied Cow,&rdquo; there followed him many
+      people who called themselves his disciples, and kept him company. Thus
+      came they to a crossroad. Then Zarathustra told them that he now wanted to
+      go alone; for he was fond of going alone. His disciples, however,
+      presented him at his departure with a staff, on the golden handle of which
+      a serpent twined round the sun. Zarathustra rejoiced on account of the
+      staff, and supported himself thereon; then spake he thus to his disciples:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Tell me, pray: how came gold to the highest value? Because it is uncommon,
+      and unprofiting, and beaming, and soft in lustre; it always bestoweth
+      itself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only as image of the highest virtue came gold to the highest value.
+      Goldlike, beameth the glance of the bestower. Gold-lustre maketh peace
+      between moon and sun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Uncommon is the highest virtue, and unprofiting, beaming is it, and soft
+      of lustre: a bestowing virtue is the highest virtue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, I divine you well, my disciples: ye strive like me for the
+      bestowing virtue. What should ye have in common with cats and wolves?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is your thirst to become sacrifices and gifts yourselves: and therefore
+      have ye the thirst to accumulate all riches in your soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Insatiably striveth your soul for treasures and jewels, because your
+      virtue is insatiable in desiring to bestow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye constrain all things to flow towards you and into you, so that they
+      shall flow back again out of your fountain as the gifts of your love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, an appropriator of all values must such bestowing love become; but
+      healthy and holy, call I this selfishness.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Another selfishness is there, an all-too-poor and hungry kind, which would
+      always steal&mdash;the selfishness of the sick, the sickly selfishness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With the eye of the thief it looketh upon all that is lustrous; with the
+      craving of hunger it measureth him who hath abundance; and ever doth it
+      prowl round the tables of bestowers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sickness speaketh in such craving, and invisible degeneration; of a sickly
+      body, speaketh the larcenous craving of this selfishness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Tell me, my brother, what do we think bad, and worst of all? Is it not
+      DEGENERATION?&mdash;And we always suspect degeneration when the bestowing
+      soul is lacking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Upward goeth our course from genera on to super-genera. But a horror to us
+      is the degenerating sense, which saith: &ldquo;All for myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Upward soareth our sense: thus is it a simile of our body, a simile of an
+      elevation. Such similes of elevations are the names of the virtues.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus goeth the body through history, a becomer and fighter. And the spirit&mdash;what
+      is it to the body? Its fights&rsquo; and victories&rsquo; herald, its companion and
+      echo.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Similes, are all names of good and evil; they do not speak out, they only
+      hint. A fool who seeketh knowledge from them!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Give heed, my brethren, to every hour when your spirit would speak in
+      similes: there is the origin of your virtue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Elevated is then your body, and raised up; with its delight, enraptureth
+      it the spirit; so that it becometh creator, and valuer, and lover, and
+      everything&rsquo;s benefactor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When your heart overfloweth broad and full like the river, a blessing and
+      a danger to the lowlanders: there is the origin of your virtue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When ye are exalted above praise and blame, and your will would command
+      all things, as a loving one&rsquo;s will: there is the origin of your virtue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When ye despise pleasant things, and the effeminate couch, and cannot
+      couch far enough from the effeminate: there is the origin of your virtue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When ye are willers of one will, and when that change of every need is
+      needful to you: there is the origin of your virtue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, a new good and evil is it! Verily, a new deep murmuring, and the
+      voice of a new fountain!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Power is it, this new virtue; a ruling thought is it, and around it a
+      subtle soul: a golden sun, with the serpent of knowledge around it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      2.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here paused Zarathustra awhile, and looked lovingly on his disciples. Then
+      he continued to speak thus&mdash;and his voice had changed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Remain true to the earth, my brethren, with the power of your virtue! Let
+      your bestowing love and your knowledge be devoted to be the meaning of the
+      earth! Thus do I pray and conjure you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Let it not fly away from the earthly and beat against eternal walls with
+      its wings! Ah, there hath always been so much flown-away virtue!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lead, like me, the flown-away virtue back to the earth&mdash;yea, back to
+      body and life: that it may give to the earth its meaning, a human meaning!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A hundred times hitherto hath spirit as well as virtue flown away and
+      blundered. Alas! in our body dwelleth still all this delusion and
+      blundering: body and will hath it there become.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A hundred times hitherto hath spirit as well as virtue attempted and
+      erred. Yea, an attempt hath man been. Alas, much ignorance and error hath
+      become embodied in us!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not only the rationality of millenniums&mdash;also their madness, breaketh
+      out in us. Dangerous is it to be an heir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still fight we step by step with the giant Chance, and over all mankind
+      hath hitherto ruled nonsense, the lack-of-sense.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Let your spirit and your virtue be devoted to the sense of the earth, my
+      brethren: let the value of everything be determined anew by you! Therefore
+      shall ye be fighters! Therefore shall ye be creators!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Intelligently doth the body purify itself; attempting with intelligence it
+      exalteth itself; to the discerners all impulses sanctify themselves; to
+      the exalted the soul becometh joyful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Physician, heal thyself: then wilt thou also heal thy patient. Let it be
+      his best cure to see with his eyes him who maketh himself whole.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A thousand paths are there which have never yet been trodden; a thousand
+      salubrities and hidden islands of life. Unexhausted and undiscovered is
+      still man and man&rsquo;s world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Awake and hearken, ye lonesome ones! From the future come winds with
+      stealthy pinions, and to fine ears good tidings are proclaimed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye lonesome ones of to-day, ye seceding ones, ye shall one day be a
+      people: out of you who have chosen yourselves, shall a chosen people
+      arise:&mdash;and out of it the Superman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, a place of healing shall the earth become! And already is a new
+      odour diffused around it, a salvation-bringing odour&mdash;and a new hope!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      3.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Zarathustra had spoken these words, he paused, like one who had not
+      said his last word; and long did he balance the staff doubtfully in his
+      hand. At last he spake thus&mdash;and his voice had changed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I now go alone, my disciples! Ye also now go away, and alone! So will I
+      have it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, I advise you: depart from me, and guard yourselves against
+      Zarathustra! And better still: be ashamed of him! Perhaps he hath deceived
+      you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man of knowledge must be able not only to love his enemies, but also
+      to hate his friends.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One requiteth a teacher badly if one remain merely a scholar. And why will
+      ye not pluck at my wreath?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye venerate me; but what if your veneration should some day collapse? Take
+      heed lest a statue crush you!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye say, ye believe in Zarathustra? But of what account is Zarathustra! Ye
+      are my believers: but of what account are all believers!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye had not yet sought yourselves: then did ye find me. So do all
+      believers; therefore all belief is of so little account.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now do I bid you lose me and find yourselves; and only when ye have all
+      denied me, will I return unto you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, with other eyes, my brethren, shall I then seek my lost ones; with
+      another love shall I then love you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And once again shall ye have become friends unto me, and children of one
+      hope: then will I be with you for the third time, to celebrate the great
+      noontide with you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And it is the great noontide, when man is in the middle of his course
+      between animal and Superman, and celebrateth his advance to the evening as
+      his highest hope: for it is the advance to a new morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At such time will the down-goer bless himself, that he should be an
+      over-goer; and the sun of his knowledge will be at noontide.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;DEAD ARE ALL THE GODS: NOW DO WE DESIRE THE SUPERMAN TO LIVE.&rdquo;&mdash;Let
+      this be our final will at the great noontide!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA. SECOND PART.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      &ldquo;&mdash;and only when ye have all denied me, will I return unto you.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Verily, with other eyes, my brethren, shall I then seek my lost ones; with
+      another love shall I then love you.&rdquo;&mdash;ZARATHUSTRA, I., &ldquo;The Bestowing
+      Virtue.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XXIII. THE CHILD WITH THE MIRROR.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      After this Zarathustra returned again into the mountains to the solitude
+      of his cave, and withdrew himself from men, waiting like a sower who hath
+      scattered his seed. His soul, however, became impatient and full of
+      longing for those whom he loved: because he had still much to give them.
+      For this is hardest of all: to close the open hand out of love, and keep
+      modest as a giver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus passed with the lonesome one months and years; his wisdom meanwhile
+      increased, and caused him pain by its abundance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One morning, however, he awoke ere the rosy dawn, and having meditated
+      long on his couch, at last spake thus to his heart:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why did I startle in my dream, so that I awoke? Did not a child come to
+      me, carrying a mirror?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O Zarathustra&rdquo;&mdash;said the child unto me&mdash;&ldquo;look at thyself in the
+      mirror!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But when I looked into the mirror, I shrieked, and my heart throbbed: for
+      not myself did I see therein, but a devil&rsquo;s grimace and derision.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, all too well do I understand the dream&rsquo;s portent and monition: my
+      DOCTRINE is in danger; tares want to be called wheat!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mine enemies have grown powerful and have disfigured the likeness of my
+      doctrine, so that my dearest ones have to blush for the gifts that I gave
+      them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lost are my friends; the hour hath come for me to seek my lost ones!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With these words Zarathustra started up, not however like a person in
+      anguish seeking relief, but rather like a seer and a singer whom the
+      spirit inspireth. With amazement did his eagle and serpent gaze upon him:
+      for a coming bliss overspread his countenance like the rosy dawn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What hath happened unto me, mine animals?&mdash;said Zarathustra. Am I not
+      transformed? Hath not bliss come unto me like a whirlwind?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foolish is my happiness, and foolish things will it speak: it is still too
+      young&mdash;so have patience with it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Wounded am I by my happiness: all sufferers shall be physicians unto me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To my friends can I again go down, and also to mine enemies! Zarathustra
+      can again speak and bestow, and show his best love to his loved ones!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My impatient love overfloweth in streams,&mdash;down towards sunrise and
+      sunset. Out of silent mountains and storms of affliction, rusheth my soul
+      into the valleys.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Too long have I longed and looked into the distance. Too long hath
+      solitude possessed me: thus have I unlearned to keep silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Utterance have I become altogether, and the brawling of a brook from high
+      rocks: downward into the valleys will I hurl my speech.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And let the stream of my love sweep into unfrequented channels! How should
+      a stream not finally find its way to the sea!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Forsooth, there is a lake in me, sequestered and self-sufficing; but the
+      stream of my love beareth this along with it, down&mdash;to the sea!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      New paths do I tread, a new speech cometh unto me; tired have I become&mdash;
+      like all creators&mdash;of the old tongues. No longer will my spirit walk
+      on worn-out soles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Too slowly runneth all speaking for me:&mdash;into thy chariot, O storm,
+      do I leap! And even thee will I whip with my spite!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Like a cry and an huzza will I traverse wide seas, till I find the Happy
+      Isles where my friends sojourn;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And mine enemies amongst them! How I now love every one unto whom I may
+      but speak! Even mine enemies pertain to my bliss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when I want to mount my wildest horse, then doth my spear always help
+      me up best: it is my foot&rsquo;s ever ready servant:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The spear which I hurl at mine enemies! How grateful am I to mine enemies
+      that I may at last hurl it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Too great hath been the tension of my cloud: &lsquo;twixt laughters of
+      lightnings will I cast hail-showers into the depths.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Violently will my breast then heave; violently will it blow its storm over
+      the mountains: thus cometh its assuagement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, like a storm cometh my happiness, and my freedom! But mine enemies
+      shall think that THE EVIL ONE roareth over their heads.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yea, ye also, my friends, will be alarmed by my wild wisdom; and perhaps
+      ye will flee therefrom, along with mine enemies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, that I knew how to lure you back with shepherds&rsquo; flutes! Ah, that my
+      lioness wisdom would learn to roar softly! And much have we already
+      learned with one another!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My wild wisdom became pregnant on the lonesome mountains; on the rough
+      stones did she bear the youngest of her young.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now runneth she foolishly in the arid wilderness, and seeketh and seeketh
+      the soft sward&mdash;mine old, wild wisdom!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the soft sward of your hearts, my friends!&mdash;on your love, would
+      she fain couch her dearest one!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XXIV. IN THE HAPPY ISLES.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The figs fall from the trees, they are good and sweet; and in falling the
+      red skins of them break. A north wind am I to ripe figs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus, like figs, do these doctrines fall for you, my friends: imbibe now
+      their juice and their sweet substance! It is autumn all around, and clear
+      sky, and afternoon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lo, what fullness is around us! And out of the midst of superabundance, it
+      is delightful to look out upon distant seas.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once did people say God, when they looked out upon distant seas; now,
+      however, have I taught you to say, Superman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      God is a conjecture: but I do not wish your conjecturing to reach beyond
+      your creating will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Could ye CREATE a God?&mdash;Then, I pray you, be silent about all Gods!
+      But ye could well create the Superman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not perhaps ye yourselves, my brethren! But into fathers and forefathers
+      of the Superman could ye transform yourselves: and let that be your best
+      creating!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      God is a conjecture: but I should like your conjecturing restricted to the
+      conceivable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Could ye CONCEIVE a God?&mdash;But let this mean Will to Truth unto you,
+      that everything be transformed into the humanly conceivable, the humanly
+      visible, the humanly sensible! Your own discernment shall ye follow out to
+      the end!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And what ye have called the world shall but be created by you: your
+      reason, your likeness, your will, your love, shall it itself become! And
+      verily, for your bliss, ye discerning ones!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And how would ye endure life without that hope, ye discerning ones?
+      Neither in the inconceivable could ye have been born, nor in the
+      irrational.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But that I may reveal my heart entirely unto you, my friends: IF there
+      were gods, how could I endure it to be no God! THEREFORE there are no
+      Gods.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yea, I have drawn the conclusion; now, however, doth it draw me.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      God is a conjecture: but who could drink all the bitterness of this
+      conjecture without dying? Shall his faith be taken from the creating one,
+      and from the eagle his flights into eagle-heights?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      God is a thought&mdash;it maketh all the straight crooked, and all that
+      standeth reel. What? Time would be gone, and all the perishable would be
+      but a lie?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To think this is giddiness and vertigo to human limbs, and even vomiting
+      to the stomach: verily, the reeling sickness do I call it, to conjecture
+      such a thing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Evil do I call it and misanthropic: all that teaching about the one, and
+      the plenum, and the unmoved, and the sufficient, and the imperishable!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All the imperishable&mdash;that&rsquo;s but a simile, and the poets lie too
+      much.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But of time and of becoming shall the best similes speak: a praise shall
+      they be, and a justification of all perishableness!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Creating&mdash;that is the great salvation from suffering, and life&rsquo;s
+      alleviation. But for the creator to appear, suffering itself is needed,
+      and much transformation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yea, much bitter dying must there be in your life, ye creators! Thus are
+      ye advocates and justifiers of all perishableness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the creator himself to be the new-born child, he must also be willing
+      to be the child-bearer, and endure the pangs of the child-bearer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, through a hundred souls went I my way, and through a hundred
+      cradles and birth-throes. Many a farewell have I taken; I know the
+      heart-breaking last hours.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But so willeth it my creating Will, my fate. Or, to tell you it more
+      candidly: just such a fate&mdash;willeth my Will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All FEELING suffereth in me, and is in prison: but my WILLING ever cometh
+      to me as mine emancipator and comforter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Willing emancipateth: that is the true doctrine of will and emancipation&mdash;so
+      teacheth you Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No longer willing, and no longer valuing, and no longer creating! Ah, that
+      that great debility may ever be far from me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And also in discerning do I feel only my will&rsquo;s procreating and evolving
+      delight; and if there be innocence in my knowledge, it is because there is
+      will to procreation in it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Away from God and Gods did this will allure me; what would there be to
+      create if there were&mdash;Gods!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But to man doth it ever impel me anew, my fervent creative will; thus
+      impelleth it the hammer to the stone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, ye men, within the stone slumbereth an image for me, the image of my
+      visions! Ah, that it should slumber in the hardest, ugliest stone!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now rageth my hammer ruthlessly against its prison. From the stone fly the
+      fragments: what&rsquo;s that to me?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I will complete it: for a shadow came unto me&mdash;the stillest and
+      lightest of all things once came unto me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The beauty of the Superman came unto me as a shadow. Ah, my brethren! Of
+      what account now are&mdash;the Gods to me!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XXV. THE PITIFUL.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      My friends, there hath arisen a satire on your friend: &ldquo;Behold
+      Zarathustra! Walketh he not amongst us as if amongst animals?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But it is better said in this wise: &ldquo;The discerning one walketh amongst
+      men AS amongst animals.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Man himself is to the discerning one: the animal with red cheeks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How hath that happened unto him? Is it not because he hath had to be
+      ashamed too oft?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my friends! Thus speaketh the discerning one: shame, shame, shame&mdash;that
+      is the history of man!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And on that account doth the noble one enjoin upon himself not to abash:
+      bashfulness doth he enjoin on himself in presence of all sufferers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, I like them not, the merciful ones, whose bliss is in their pity:
+      too destitute are they of bashfulness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If I must be pitiful, I dislike to be called so; and if I be so, it is
+      preferably at a distance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Preferably also do I shroud my head, and flee, before being recognised:
+      and thus do I bid you do, my friends!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      May my destiny ever lead unafflicted ones like you across my path, and
+      those with whom I MAY have hope and repast and honey in common!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, I have done this and that for the afflicted: but something better
+      did I always seem to do when I had learned to enjoy myself better.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Since humanity came into being, man hath enjoyed himself too little: that
+      alone, my brethren, is our original sin!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when we learn better to enjoy ourselves, then do we unlearn best to
+      give pain unto others, and to contrive pain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Therefore do I wash the hand that hath helped the sufferer; therefore do I
+      wipe also my soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For in seeing the sufferer suffering&mdash;thereof was I ashamed on
+      account of his shame; and in helping him, sorely did I wound his pride.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Great obligations do not make grateful, but revengeful; and when a small
+      kindness is not forgotten, it becometh a gnawing worm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be shy in accepting! Distinguish by accepting!&rdquo;&mdash;thus do I advise
+      those who have naught to bestow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I, however, am a bestower: willingly do I bestow as friend to friends.
+      Strangers, however, and the poor, may pluck for themselves the fruit from
+      my tree: thus doth it cause less shame.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beggars, however, one should entirely do away with! Verily, it annoyeth
+      one to give unto them, and it annoyeth one not to give unto them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And likewise sinners and bad consciences! Believe me, my friends: the
+      sting of conscience teacheth one to sting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The worst things, however, are the petty thoughts. Verily, better to have
+      done evilly than to have thought pettily!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To be sure, ye say: &ldquo;The delight in petty evils spareth one many a great
+      evil deed.&rdquo; But here one should not wish to be sparing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Like a boil is the evil deed: it itcheth and irritateth and breaketh forth&mdash;it
+      speaketh honourably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Behold, I am disease,&rdquo; saith the evil deed: that is its honourableness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But like infection is the petty thought: it creepeth and hideth, and
+      wanteth to be nowhere&mdash;until the whole body is decayed and withered
+      by the petty infection.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To him however, who is possessed of a devil, I would whisper this word in
+      the ear: &ldquo;Better for thee to rear up thy devil! Even for thee there is
+      still a path to greatness!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, my brethren! One knoweth a little too much about every one! And many a
+      one becometh transparent to us, but still we can by no means penetrate
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is difficult to live among men because silence is so difficult.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And not to him who is offensive to us are we most unfair, but to him who
+      doth not concern us at all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If, however, thou hast a suffering friend, then be a resting-place for his
+      suffering; like a hard bed, however, a camp-bed: thus wilt thou serve him
+      best.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And if a friend doeth thee wrong, then say: &ldquo;I forgive thee what thou hast
+      done unto me; that thou hast done it unto THYSELF, however&mdash;how could
+      I forgive that!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus speaketh all great love: it surpasseth even forgiveness and pity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One should hold fast one&rsquo;s heart; for when one letteth it go, how quickly
+      doth one&rsquo;s head run away!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, where in the world have there been greater follies than with the
+      pitiful? And what in the world hath caused more suffering than the follies
+      of the pitiful?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Woe unto all loving ones who have not an elevation which is above their
+      pity!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake the devil unto me, once on a time: &ldquo;Even God hath his hell: it
+      is his love for man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And lately, did I hear him say these words: &ldquo;God is dead: of his pity for
+      man hath God died.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So be ye warned against pity: FROM THENCE there yet cometh unto men a
+      heavy cloud! Verily, I understand weather-signs!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But attend also to this word: All great love is above all its pity: for it
+      seeketh&mdash;to create what is loved!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Myself do I offer unto my love, AND MY NEIGHBOUR AS MYSELF&rdquo;&mdash;such is
+      the language of all creators.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All creators, however, are hard.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XXVI. THE PRIESTS.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      And one day Zarathustra made a sign to his disciples, and spake these
+      words unto them:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here are priests: but although they are mine enemies, pass them quietly
+      and with sleeping swords!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even among them there are heroes; many of them have suffered too much&mdash;:
+      so they want to make others suffer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bad enemies are they: nothing is more revengeful than their meekness. And
+      readily doth he soil himself who toucheth them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But my blood is related to theirs; and I want withal to see my blood
+      honoured in theirs.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when they had passed, a pain attacked Zarathustra; but not long had he
+      struggled with the pain, when he began to speak thus:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It moveth my heart for those priests. They also go against my taste; but
+      that is the smallest matter unto me, since I am among men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But I suffer and have suffered with them: prisoners are they unto me, and
+      stigmatised ones. He whom they call Saviour put them in fetters:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In fetters of false values and fatuous words! Oh, that some one would save
+      them from their Saviour!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On an isle they once thought they had landed, when the sea tossed them
+      about; but behold, it was a slumbering monster!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      False values and fatuous words: these are the worst monsters for mortals&mdash;long
+      slumbereth and waiteth the fate that is in them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But at last it cometh and awaketh and devoureth and engulfeth whatever
+      hath built tabernacles upon it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, just look at those tabernacles which those priests have built
+      themselves! Churches, they call their sweet-smelling caves!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, that falsified light, that mustified air! Where the soul&mdash;may not
+      fly aloft to its height!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But so enjoineth their belief: &ldquo;On your knees, up the stair, ye sinners!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, rather would I see a shameless one than the distorted eyes of
+      their shame and devotion!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Who created for themselves such caves and penitence-stairs? Was it not
+      those who sought to conceal themselves, and were ashamed under the clear
+      sky?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And only when the clear sky looketh again through ruined roofs, and down
+      upon grass and red poppies on ruined walls&mdash;will I again turn my
+      heart to the seats of this God.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They called God that which opposed and afflicted them: and verily, there
+      was much hero-spirit in their worship!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And they knew not how to love their God otherwise than by nailing men to
+      the cross!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As corpses they thought to live; in black draped they their corpses; even
+      in their talk do I still feel the evil flavour of charnel-houses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he who liveth nigh unto them liveth nigh unto black pools, wherein the
+      toad singeth his song with sweet gravity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Better songs would they have to sing, for me to believe in their Saviour:
+      more like saved ones would his disciples have to appear unto me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Naked, would I like to see them: for beauty alone should preach penitence.
+      But whom would that disguised affliction convince!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, their Saviours themselves came not from freedom and freedom&rsquo;s
+      seventh heaven! Verily, they themselves never trod the carpets of
+      knowledge!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of defects did the spirit of those Saviours consist; but into every defect
+      had they put their illusion, their stop-gap, which they called God.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In their pity was their spirit drowned; and when they swelled and
+      o&rsquo;erswelled with pity, there always floated to the surface a great folly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Eagerly and with shouts drove they their flock over their foot-bridge; as
+      if there were but one foot-bridge to the future! Verily, those shepherds
+      also were still of the flock!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Small spirits and spacious souls had those shepherds: but, my brethren,
+      what small domains have even the most spacious souls hitherto been!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Characters of blood did they write on the way they went, and their folly
+      taught that truth is proved by blood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But blood is the very worst witness to truth; blood tainteth the purest
+      teaching, and turneth it into delusion and hatred of heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when a person goeth through fire for his teaching&mdash;what doth that
+      prove! It is more, verily, when out of one&rsquo;s own burning cometh one&rsquo;s own
+      teaching!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sultry heart and cold head; where these meet, there ariseth the blusterer,
+      the &ldquo;Saviour.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Greater ones, verily, have there been, and higher-born ones, than those
+      whom the people call Saviours, those rapturous blusterers!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And by still greater ones than any of the Saviours must ye be saved, my
+      brethren, if ye would find the way to freedom!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Never yet hath there been a Superman. Naked have I seen both of them, the
+      greatest man and the smallest man:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All-too-similar are they still to each other. Verily, even the greatest
+      found I&mdash;all-too-human!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XXVII. THE VIRTUOUS.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      With thunder and heavenly fireworks must one speak to indolent and
+      somnolent senses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But beauty&rsquo;s voice speaketh gently: it appealeth only to the most awakened
+      souls.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Gently vibrated and laughed unto me to-day my buckler; it was beauty&rsquo;s
+      holy laughing and thrilling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At you, ye virtuous ones, laughed my beauty to-day. And thus came its
+      voice unto me: &ldquo;They want&mdash;to be paid besides!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye want to be paid besides, ye virtuous ones! Ye want reward for virtue,
+      and heaven for earth, and eternity for your to-day?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now ye upbraid me for teaching that there is no reward-giver, nor
+      paymaster? And verily, I do not even teach that virtue is its own reward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah! this is my sorrow: into the basis of things have reward and punishment
+      been insinuated&mdash;and now even into the basis of your souls, ye
+      virtuous ones!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But like the snout of the boar shall my word grub up the basis of your
+      souls; a ploughshare will I be called by you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All the secrets of your heart shall be brought to light; and when ye lie
+      in the sun, grubbed up and broken, then will also your falsehood be
+      separated from your truth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For this is your truth: ye are TOO PURE for the filth of the words:
+      vengeance, punishment, recompense, retribution.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye love your virtue as a mother loveth her child; but when did one hear of
+      a mother wanting to be paid for her love?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is your dearest Self, your virtue. The ring&rsquo;s thirst is in you: to
+      reach itself again struggleth every ring, and turneth itself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And like the star that goeth out, so is every work of your virtue: ever is
+      its light on its way and travelling&mdash;and when will it cease to be on
+      its way?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus is the light of your virtue still on its way, even when its work is
+      done. Be it forgotten and dead, still its ray of light liveth and
+      travelleth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That your virtue is your Self, and not an outward thing, a skin, or a
+      cloak: that is the truth from the basis of your souls, ye virtuous ones!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But sure enough there are those to whom virtue meaneth writhing under the
+      lash: and ye have hearkened too much unto their crying!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And others are there who call virtue the slothfulness of their vices; and
+      when once their hatred and jealousy relax the limbs, their &ldquo;justice&rdquo;
+       becometh lively and rubbeth its sleepy eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And others are there who are drawn downwards: their devils draw them. But
+      the more they sink, the more ardently gloweth their eye, and the longing
+      for their God.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah! their crying also hath reached your ears, ye virtuous ones: &ldquo;What I am
+      NOT, that, that is God to me, and virtue!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And others are there who go along heavily and creakingly, like carts
+      taking stones downhill: they talk much of dignity and virtue&mdash;their
+      drag they call virtue!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And others are there who are like eight-day clocks when wound up; they
+      tick, and want people to call ticking&mdash;virtue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, in those have I mine amusement: wherever I find such clocks I
+      shall wind them up with my mockery, and they shall even whirr thereby!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And others are proud of their modicum of righteousness, and for the sake
+      of it do violence to all things: so that the world is drowned in their
+      unrighteousness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah! how ineptly cometh the word &ldquo;virtue&rdquo; out of their mouth! And when they
+      say: &ldquo;I am just,&rdquo; it always soundeth like: &ldquo;I am just&mdash;revenged!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With their virtues they want to scratch out the eyes of their enemies; and
+      they elevate themselves only that they may lower others.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And again there are those who sit in their swamp, and speak thus from
+      among the bulrushes: &ldquo;Virtue&mdash;that is to sit quietly in the swamp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We bite no one, and go out of the way of him who would bite; and in all
+      matters we have the opinion that is given us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And again there are those who love attitudes, and think that virtue is a
+      sort of attitude.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Their knees continually adore, and their hands are eulogies of virtue, but
+      their heart knoweth naught thereof.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And again there are those who regard it as virtue to say: &ldquo;Virtue is
+      necessary&rdquo;; but after all they believe only that policemen are necessary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And many a one who cannot see men&rsquo;s loftiness, calleth it virtue to see
+      their baseness far too well: thus calleth he his evil eye virtue.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And some want to be edified and raised up, and call it virtue: and others
+      want to be cast down,&mdash;and likewise call it virtue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And thus do almost all think that they participate in virtue; and at least
+      every one claimeth to be an authority on &ldquo;good&rdquo; and &ldquo;evil.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Zarathustra came not to say unto all those liars and fools: &ldquo;What do
+      YE know of virtue! What COULD ye know of virtue!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But that ye, my friends, might become weary of the old words which ye have
+      learned from the fools and liars:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That ye might become weary of the words &ldquo;reward,&rdquo; &ldquo;retribution,&rdquo;
+       &ldquo;punishment,&rdquo; &ldquo;righteous vengeance.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That ye might become weary of saying: &ldquo;That an action is good is because
+      it is unselfish.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah! my friends! That YOUR very Self be in your action, as the mother is in
+      the child: let that be YOUR formula of virtue!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, I have taken from you a hundred formulae and your virtue&rsquo;s
+      favourite playthings; and now ye upbraid me, as children upbraid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They played by the sea&mdash;then came there a wave and swept their
+      playthings into the deep: and now do they cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the same wave shall bring them new playthings, and spread before them
+      new speckled shells!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus will they be comforted; and like them shall ye also, my friends, have
+      your comforting&mdash;and new speckled shells!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <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:&mdash;
+    </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&mdash;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&mdash;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:&mdash;
+    </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: &ldquo;Take
+      care not to spit AGAINST the wind!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XXIX. THE TARANTULAS.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Lo, this is the tarantula&rsquo;s den! Wouldst thou see the tarantula itself?
+      Here hangeth its web: touch this, so that it may tremble.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There cometh the tarantula willingly: Welcome, tarantula! Black on thy
+      back is thy triangle and symbol; and I know also what is in thy soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Revenge is in thy soul: wherever thou bitest, there ariseth black scab;
+      with revenge, thy poison maketh the soul giddy!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus do I speak unto you in parable, ye who make the soul giddy, ye
+      preachers of EQUALITY! Tarantulas are ye unto me, and secretly revengeful
+      ones!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But I will soon bring your hiding-places to the light: therefore do I
+      laugh in your face my laughter of the height.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Therefore do I tear at your web, that your rage may lure you out of your
+      den of lies, and that your revenge may leap forth from behind your word
+      &ldquo;justice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Because, FOR MAN TO BE REDEEMED FROM REVENGE&mdash;that is for me the
+      bridge to the highest hope, and a rainbow after long storms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Otherwise, however, would the tarantulas have it. &ldquo;Let it be very justice
+      for the world to become full of the storms of our vengeance&rdquo;&mdash;thus do
+      they talk to one another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Vengeance will we use, and insult, against all who are not like us&rdquo;&mdash;thus
+      do the tarantula-hearts pledge themselves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And &lsquo;Will to Equality&rsquo;&mdash;that itself shall henceforth be the name of
+      virtue; and against all that hath power will we raise an outcry!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye preachers of equality, the tyrant-frenzy of impotence crieth thus in
+      you for &ldquo;equality&rdquo;: your most secret tyrant-longings disguise themselves
+      thus in virtue-words!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fretted conceit and suppressed envy&mdash;perhaps your fathers&rsquo; conceit
+      and envy: in you break they forth as flame and frenzy of vengeance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What the father hath hid cometh out in the son; and oft have I found in
+      the son the father&rsquo;s revealed secret.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Inspired ones they resemble: but it is not the heart that inspireth them&mdash;but
+      vengeance. And when they become subtle and cold, it is not spirit, but
+      envy, that maketh them so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Their jealousy leadeth them also into thinkers&rsquo; paths; and this is the
+      sign of their jealousy&mdash;they always go too far: so that their fatigue
+      hath at last to go to sleep on the snow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In all their lamentations soundeth vengeance, in all their eulogies is
+      maleficence; and being judge seemeth to them bliss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But thus do I counsel you, my friends: distrust all in whom the impulse to
+      punish is powerful!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They are people of bad race and lineage; out of their countenances peer
+      the hangman and the sleuth-hound.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Distrust all those who talk much of their justice! Verily, in their souls
+      not only honey is lacking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when they call themselves &ldquo;the good and just,&rdquo; forget not, that for
+      them to be Pharisees, nothing is lacking but&mdash;power!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My friends, I will not be mixed up and confounded with others.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There are those who preach my doctrine of life, and are at the same time
+      preachers of equality, and tarantulas.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That they speak in favour of life, though they sit in their den, these
+      poison-spiders, and withdrawn from life&mdash;is because they would
+      thereby do injury.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To those would they thereby do injury who have power at present: for with
+      those the preaching of death is still most at home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Were it otherwise, then would the tarantulas teach otherwise: and they
+      themselves were formerly the best world-maligners and heretic-burners.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With these preachers of equality will I not be mixed up and confounded.
+      For thus speaketh justice UNTO ME: &ldquo;Men are not equal.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And neither shall they become so! What would be my love to the Superman,
+      if I spake otherwise?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On a thousand bridges and piers shall they throng to the future, and
+      always shall there be more war and inequality among them: thus doth my
+      great love make me speak!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Inventors of figures and phantoms shall they be in their hostilities; and
+      with those figures and phantoms shall they yet fight with each other the
+      supreme fight!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Good and evil, and rich and poor, and high and low, and all names of
+      values: weapons shall they be, and sounding signs, that life must again
+      and again surpass itself!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aloft will it build itself with columns and stairs&mdash;life itself: into
+      remote distances would it gaze, and out towards blissful beauties&mdash;
+      THEREFORE doth it require elevation!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And because it requireth elevation, therefore doth it require steps, and
+      variance of steps and climbers! To rise striveth life, and in rising to
+      surpass itself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And just behold, my friends! Here where the tarantula&rsquo;s den is, riseth
+      aloft an ancient temple&rsquo;s ruins&mdash;just behold it with enlightened
+      eyes!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, he who here towered aloft his thoughts in stone, knew as well as
+      the wisest ones about the secret of life!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That there is struggle and inequality even in beauty, and war for power
+      and supremacy: that doth he here teach us in the plainest parable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How divinely do vault and arch here contrast in the struggle: how with
+      light and shade they strive against each other, the divinely striving
+      ones.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus, steadfast and beautiful, let us also be enemies, my friends!
+      Divinely will we strive AGAINST one another!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alas! There hath the tarantula bit me myself, mine old enemy! Divinely
+      steadfast and beautiful, it hath bit me on the finger!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Punishment must there be, and justice&rdquo;&mdash;so thinketh it: &ldquo;not
+      gratuitously shall he here sing songs in honour of enmity!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yea, it hath revenged itself! And alas! now will it make my soul also
+      dizzy with revenge!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That I may NOT turn dizzy, however, bind me fast, my friends, to this
+      pillar! Rather will I be a pillar-saint than a whirl of vengeance!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, no cyclone or whirlwind is Zarathustra: and if he be a dancer, he
+      is not at all a tarantula-dancer!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XXX. THE FAMOUS WISE ONES.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The people have ye served and the people&rsquo;s superstition&mdash;NOT the
+      truth!&mdash;all ye famous wise ones! And just on that account did they
+      pay you reverence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And on that account also did they tolerate your unbelief, because it was a
+      pleasantry and a by-path for the people. Thus doth the master give free
+      scope to his slaves, and even enjoyeth their presumptuousness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he who is hated by the people, as the wolf by the dogs&mdash;is the
+      free spirit, the enemy of fetters, the non-adorer, the dweller in the
+      woods.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To hunt him out of his lair&mdash;that was always called &ldquo;sense of right&rdquo;
+       by the people: on him do they still hound their sharpest-toothed dogs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For there the truth is, where the people are! Woe, woe to the seeking
+      ones!&rdquo;&mdash;thus hath it echoed through all time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Your people would ye justify in their reverence: that called ye &ldquo;Will to
+      Truth,&rdquo; ye famous wise ones!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And your heart hath always said to itself: &ldquo;From the people have I come:
+      from thence came to me also the voice of God.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Stiff-necked and artful, like the ass, have ye always been, as the
+      advocates of the people.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And many a powerful one who wanted to run well with the people, hath
+      harnessed in front of his horses&mdash;a donkey, a famous wise man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now, ye famous wise ones, I would have you finally throw off entirely
+      the skin of the lion!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The skin of the beast of prey, the speckled skin, and the dishevelled
+      locks of the investigator, the searcher, and the conqueror!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah! for me to learn to believe in your &ldquo;conscientiousness,&rdquo; ye would first
+      have to break your venerating will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Conscientious&mdash;so call I him who goeth into God-forsaken
+      wildernesses, and hath broken his venerating heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the yellow sands and burnt by the sun, he doubtless peereth thirstily
+      at the isles rich in fountains, where life reposeth under shady trees.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But his thirst doth not persuade him to become like those comfortable
+      ones: for where there are oases, there are also idols.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hungry, fierce, lonesome, God-forsaken: so doth the lion-will wish itself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Free from the happiness of slaves, redeemed from Deities and adorations,
+      fearless and fear-inspiring, grand and lonesome: so is the will of the
+      conscientious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the wilderness have ever dwelt the conscientious, the free spirits, as
+      lords of the wilderness; but in the cities dwell the well-foddered, famous
+      wise ones&mdash;the draught-beasts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For, always, do they draw, as asses&mdash;the PEOPLE&rsquo;S carts!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not that I on that account upbraid them: but serving ones do they remain,
+      and harnessed ones, even though they glitter in golden harness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And often have they been good servants and worthy of their hire. For thus
+      saith virtue: &ldquo;If thou must be a servant, seek him unto whom thy service
+      is most useful!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The spirit and virtue of thy master shall advance by thou being his
+      servant: thus wilt thou thyself advance with his spirit and virtue!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And verily, ye famous wise ones, ye servants of the people! Ye yourselves
+      have advanced with the people&rsquo;s spirit and virtue&mdash;and the people by
+      you! To your honour do I say it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the people ye remain for me, even with your virtues, the people with
+      purblind eyes&mdash;the people who know not what SPIRIT is!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Spirit is life which itself cutteth into life: by its own torture doth it
+      increase its own knowledge,&mdash;did ye know that before?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And the spirit&rsquo;s happiness is this: to be anointed and consecrated with
+      tears as a sacrificial victim,&mdash;did ye know that before?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And the blindness of the blind one, and his seeking and groping, shall yet
+      testify to the power of the sun into which he hath gazed,&mdash;did ye
+      know that before?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And with mountains shall the discerning one learn to BUILD! It is a small
+      thing for the spirit to remove mountains,&mdash;did ye know that before?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye know only the sparks of the spirit: but ye do not see the anvil which
+      it is, and the cruelty of its hammer!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, ye know not the spirit&rsquo;s pride! But still less could ye endure the
+      spirit&rsquo;s humility, should it ever want to speak!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And never yet could ye cast your spirit into a pit of snow: ye are not hot
+      enough for that! Thus are ye unaware, also, of the delight of its
+      coldness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In all respects, however, ye make too familiar with the spirit; and out of
+      wisdom have ye often made an almshouse and a hospital for bad poets.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye are not eagles: thus have ye never experienced the happiness of the
+      alarm of the spirit. And he who is not a bird should not camp above
+      abysses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye seem to me lukewarm ones: but coldly floweth all deep knowledge.
+      Ice-cold are the innermost wells of the spirit: a refreshment to hot hands
+      and handlers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Respectable do ye there stand, and stiff, and with straight backs, ye
+      famous wise ones!&mdash;no strong wind or will impelleth you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Have ye ne&rsquo;er seen a sail crossing the sea, rounded and inflated, and
+      trembling with the violence of the wind?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Like the sail trembling with the violence of the spirit, doth my wisdom
+      cross the sea&mdash;my wild wisdom!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But ye servants of the people, ye famous wise ones&mdash;how COULD ye go
+      with me!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XXXI. THE NIGHT-SONG.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Tis night: now do all gushing fountains speak louder. And my soul also is
+      a gushing fountain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Tis night: now only do all songs of the loving ones awake. And my soul
+      also is the song of a loving one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Something unappeased, unappeasable, is within me; it longeth to find
+      expression. A craving for love is within me, which speaketh itself the
+      language of love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Light am I: ah, that I were night! But it is my lonesomeness to be begirt
+      with light!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, that I were dark and nightly! How would I suck at the breasts of
+      light!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And you yourselves would I bless, ye twinkling starlets and glow-worms
+      aloft!&mdash;and would rejoice in the gifts of your light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But I live in mine own light, I drink again into myself the flames that
+      break forth from me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I know not the happiness of the receiver; and oft have I dreamt that
+      stealing must be more blessed than receiving.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is my poverty that my hand never ceaseth bestowing; it is mine envy
+      that I see waiting eyes and the brightened nights of longing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, the misery of all bestowers! Oh, the darkening of my sun! Oh, the
+      craving to crave! Oh, the violent hunger in satiety!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They take from me: but do I yet touch their soul? There is a gap &lsquo;twixt
+      giving and receiving; and the smallest gap hath finally to be bridged
+      over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A hunger ariseth out of my beauty: I should like to injure those I
+      illumine; I should like to rob those I have gifted:&mdash;thus do I hunger
+      for wickedness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Withdrawing my hand when another hand already stretcheth out to it;
+      hesitating like the cascade, which hesitateth even in its leap:&mdash;thus
+      do I hunger for wickedness!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Such revenge doth mine abundance think of: such mischief welleth out of my
+      lonesomeness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My happiness in bestowing died in bestowing; my virtue became weary of
+      itself by its abundance!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He who ever bestoweth is in danger of losing his shame; to him who ever
+      dispenseth, the hand and heart become callous by very dispensing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mine eye no longer overfloweth for the shame of suppliants; my hand hath
+      become too hard for the trembling of filled hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Whence have gone the tears of mine eye, and the down of my heart? Oh, the
+      lonesomeness of all bestowers! Oh, the silence of all shining ones!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Many suns circle in desert space: to all that is dark do they speak with
+      their light&mdash;but to me they are silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, this is the hostility of light to the shining one: unpityingly doth it
+      pursue its course.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Unfair to the shining one in its innermost heart, cold to the suns:&mdash;thus
+      travelleth every sun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Like a storm do the suns pursue their courses: that is their travelling.
+      Their inexorable will do they follow: that is their coldness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, ye only is it, ye dark, nightly ones, that extract warmth from the
+      shining ones! Oh, ye only drink milk and refreshment from the light&rsquo;s
+      udders!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, there is ice around me; my hand burneth with the iciness! Ah, there is
+      thirst in me; it panteth after your thirst!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Tis night: alas, that I have to be light! And thirst for the nightly! And
+      lonesomeness!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Tis night: now doth my longing break forth in me as a fountain,&mdash;for
+      speech do I long.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Tis night: now do all gushing fountains speak louder. And my soul also is
+      a gushing fountain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Tis night: now do all songs of loving ones awake. And my soul also is the
+      song of a loving one.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus sang Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XXXII. THE DANCE-SONG.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      One evening went Zarathustra and his disciples through the forest; and
+      when he sought for a well, lo, he lighted upon a green meadow peacefully
+      surrounded with trees and bushes, where maidens were dancing together. As
+      soon as the maidens recognised Zarathustra, they ceased dancing;
+      Zarathustra, however, approached them with friendly mien and spake these
+      words:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cease not your dancing, ye lovely maidens! No game-spoiler hath come to
+      you with evil eye, no enemy of maidens.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      God&rsquo;s advocate am I with the devil: he, however, is the spirit of gravity.
+      How could I, ye light-footed ones, be hostile to divine dances? Or to
+      maidens&rsquo; feet with fine ankles?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To be sure, I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not
+      afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And even the little God may he find, who is dearest to maidens: beside the
+      well lieth he quietly, with closed eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, in broad daylight did he fall asleep, the sluggard! Had he perhaps
+      chased butterflies too much?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Upbraid me not, ye beautiful dancers, when I chasten the little God
+      somewhat! He will cry, certainly, and weep&mdash;but he is laughable even
+      when weeping!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And with tears in his eyes shall he ask you for a dance; and I myself will
+      sing a song to his dance:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A dance-song and satire on the spirit of gravity my supremest, powerfulest
+      devil, who is said to be &ldquo;lord of the world.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And this is the song that Zarathustra sang when Cupid and the maidens
+      danced together:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of late did I gaze into thine eye, O Life! And into the unfathomable did I
+      there seem to sink.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But thou pulledst me out with a golden angle; derisively didst thou laugh
+      when I called thee unfathomable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Such is the language of all fish,&rdquo; saidst thou; &ldquo;what THEY do not fathom
+      is unfathomable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But changeable am I only, and wild, and altogether a woman, and no
+      virtuous one:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Though I be called by you men the &lsquo;profound one,&rsquo; or the &lsquo;faithful one,&rsquo; 
+      &lsquo;the eternal one,&rsquo; &lsquo;the mysterious one.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But ye men endow us always with your own virtues&mdash;alas, ye virtuous
+      ones!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus did she laugh, the unbelievable one; but never do I believe her and
+      her laughter, when she speaketh evil of herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when I talked face to face with my wild Wisdom, she said to me
+      angrily: &ldquo;Thou willest, thou cravest, thou lovest; on that account alone
+      dost thou PRAISE Life!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then had I almost answered indignantly and told the truth to the angry
+      one; and one cannot answer more indignantly than when one &ldquo;telleth the
+      truth&rdquo; to one&rsquo;s Wisdom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For thus do things stand with us three. In my heart do I love only Life&mdash;and
+      verily, most when I hate her!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But that I am fond of Wisdom, and often too fond, is because she remindeth
+      me very strongly of Life!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She hath her eye, her laugh, and even her golden angle-rod: am I
+      responsible for it that both are so alike?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when once Life asked me: &ldquo;Who is she then, this Wisdom?&rdquo;&mdash;then
+      said I eagerly: &ldquo;Ah, yes! Wisdom!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One thirsteth for her and is not satisfied, one looketh through veils, one
+      graspeth through nets.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Is she beautiful? What do I know! But the oldest carps are still lured by
+      her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Changeable is she, and wayward; often have I seen her bite her lip, and
+      pass the comb against the grain of her hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Perhaps she is wicked and false, and altogether a woman; but when she
+      speaketh ill of herself, just then doth she seduce most.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When I had said this unto Life, then laughed she maliciously, and shut her
+      eyes. &ldquo;Of whom dost thou speak?&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Perhaps of me?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And if thou wert right&mdash;is it proper to say THAT in such wise to my
+      face! But now, pray, speak also of thy Wisdom!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, and now hast thou again opened thine eyes, O beloved Life! And into
+      the unfathomable have I again seemed to sink.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus sang Zarathustra. But when the dance was over and the maidens had
+      departed, he became sad.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The sun hath been long set,&rdquo; said he at last, &ldquo;the meadow is damp, and
+      from the forest cometh coolness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An unknown presence is about me, and gazeth thoughtfully. What! Thou
+      livest still, Zarathustra?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why? Wherefore? Whereby? Whither? Where? How? Is it not folly still to
+      live?&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, my friends; the evening is it which thus interrogateth in me. Forgive
+      me my sadness!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Evening hath come on: forgive me that evening hath come on!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus sang Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XXXIII. THE GRAVE-SONG.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yonder is the grave-island, the silent isle; yonder also are the graves
+      of my youth. Thither will I carry an evergreen wreath of life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Resolving thus in my heart, did I sail o&rsquo;er the sea.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, ye sights and scenes of my youth! Oh, all ye gleams of love, ye divine
+      fleeting gleams! How could ye perish so soon for me! I think of you to-day
+      as my dead ones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From you, my dearest dead ones, cometh unto me a sweet savour,
+      heart-opening and melting. Verily, it convulseth and openeth the heart of
+      the lone seafarer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still am I the richest and most to be envied&mdash;I, the lonesomest one!
+      For I HAVE POSSESSED you, and ye possess me still. Tell me: to whom hath
+      there ever fallen such rosy apples from the tree as have fallen unto me?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still am I your love&rsquo;s heir and heritage, blooming to your memory with
+      many-hued, wild-growing virtues, O ye dearest ones!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, we were made to remain nigh unto each other, ye kindly strange
+      marvels; and not like timid birds did ye come to me and my longing&mdash;nay,
+      but as trusting ones to a trusting one!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yea, made for faithfulness, like me, and for fond eternities, must I now
+      name you by your faithlessness, ye divine glances and fleeting gleams: no
+      other name have I yet learnt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, too early did ye die for me, ye fugitives. Yet did ye not flee
+      from me, nor did I flee from you: innocent are we to each other in our
+      faithlessness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To kill ME, did they strangle you, ye singing birds of my hopes! Yea, at
+      you, ye dearest ones, did malice ever shoot its arrows&mdash;to hit my
+      heart!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And they hit it! Because ye were always my dearest, my possession and my
+      possessedness: ON THAT ACCOUNT had ye to die young, and far too early!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At my most vulnerable point did they shoot the arrow&mdash;namely, at you,
+      whose skin is like down&mdash;or more like the smile that dieth at a
+      glance!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But this word will I say unto mine enemies: What is all manslaughter in
+      comparison with what ye have done unto me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Worse evil did ye do unto me than all manslaughter; the irretrievable did
+      ye take from me:&mdash;thus do I speak unto you, mine enemies!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Slew ye not my youth&rsquo;s visions and dearest marvels! My playmates took ye
+      from me, the blessed spirits! To their memory do I deposit this wreath and
+      this curse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This curse upon you, mine enemies! Have ye not made mine eternal short, as
+      a tone dieth away in a cold night! Scarcely, as the twinkle of divine
+      eyes, did it come to me&mdash;as a fleeting gleam!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake once in a happy hour my purity: &ldquo;Divine shall everything be
+      unto me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then did ye haunt me with foul phantoms; ah, whither hath that happy hour
+      now fled!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All days shall be holy unto me&rdquo;&mdash;so spake once the wisdom of my
+      youth: verily, the language of a joyous wisdom!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But then did ye enemies steal my nights, and sold them to sleepless
+      torture: ah, whither hath that joyous wisdom now fled?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once did I long for happy auspices: then did ye lead an owl-monster across
+      my path, an adverse sign. Ah, whither did my tender longing then flee?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All loathing did I once vow to renounce: then did ye change my nigh ones
+      and nearest ones into ulcerations. Ah, whither did my noblest vow then
+      flee?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As a blind one did I once walk in blessed ways: then did ye cast filth on
+      the blind one&rsquo;s course: and now is he disgusted with the old footpath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when I performed my hardest task, and celebrated the triumph of my
+      victories, then did ye make those who loved me call out that I then
+      grieved them most.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, it was always your doing: ye embittered to me my best honey, and
+      the diligence of my best bees.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To my charity have ye ever sent the most impudent beggars; around my
+      sympathy have ye ever crowded the incurably shameless. Thus have ye
+      wounded the faith of my virtue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when I offered my holiest as a sacrifice, immediately did your &ldquo;piety&rdquo;
+       put its fatter gifts beside it: so that my holiest suffocated in the fumes
+      of your fat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And once did I want to dance as I had never yet danced: beyond all heavens
+      did I want to dance. Then did ye seduce my favourite minstrel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now hath he struck up an awful, melancholy air; alas, he tooted as a
+      mournful horn to mine ear!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Murderous minstrel, instrument of evil, most innocent instrument! Already
+      did I stand prepared for the best dance: then didst thou slay my rapture
+      with thy tones!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only in the dance do I know how to speak the parable of the highest
+      things:&mdash;and now hath my grandest parable remained unspoken in my
+      limbs!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Unspoken and unrealised hath my highest hope remained! And there have
+      perished for me all the visions and consolations of my youth!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How did I ever bear it? How did I survive and surmount such wounds? How
+      did my soul rise again out of those sepulchres?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yea, something invulnerable, unburiable is with me, something that would
+      rend rocks asunder: it is called MY WILL. Silently doth it proceed, and
+      unchanged throughout the years.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Its course will it go upon my feet, mine old Will; hard of heart is its
+      nature and invulnerable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Invulnerable am I only in my heel. Ever livest thou there, and art like
+      thyself, thou most patient one! Ever hast thou burst all shackles of the
+      tomb!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In thee still liveth also the unrealisedness of my youth; and as life and
+      youth sittest thou here hopeful on the yellow ruins of graves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yea, thou art still for me the demolisher of all graves: Hail to thee, my
+      Will! And only where there are graves are there resurrections.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus sang Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XXXIV. SELF-SURPASSING.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will to Truth&rdquo; do ye call it, ye wisest ones, that which impelleth you
+      and maketh you ardent?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Will for the thinkableness of all being: thus do <i>I</i> call your will!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All being would ye MAKE thinkable: for ye doubt with good reason whether
+      it be already thinkable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it shall accommodate and bend itself to you! So willeth your will.
+      Smooth shall it become and subject to the spirit, as its mirror and
+      reflection.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That is your entire will, ye wisest ones, as a Will to Power; and even
+      when ye speak of good and evil, and of estimates of value.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye would still create a world before which ye can bow the knee: such is
+      your ultimate hope and ecstasy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The ignorant, to be sure, the people&mdash;they are like a river on which
+      a boat floateth along: and in the boat sit the estimates of value, solemn
+      and disguised.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Your will and your valuations have ye put on the river of becoming; it
+      betrayeth unto me an old Will to Power, what is believed by the people as
+      good and evil.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was ye, ye wisest ones, who put such guests in this boat, and gave them
+      pomp and proud names&mdash;ye and your ruling Will!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Onward the river now carrieth your boat: it MUST carry it. A small matter
+      if the rough wave foameth and angrily resisteth its keel!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is not the river that is your danger and the end of your good and evil,
+      ye wisest ones: but that Will itself, the Will to Power&mdash;the
+      unexhausted, procreating life-will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But that ye may understand my gospel of good and evil, for that purpose
+      will I tell you my gospel of life, and of the nature of all living things.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The living thing did I follow; I walked in the broadest and narrowest
+      paths to learn its nature.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a hundred-faced mirror did I catch its glance when its mouth was
+      shut, so that its eye might speak unto me. And its eye spake unto me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But wherever I found living things, there heard I also the language of
+      obedience. All living things are obeying things.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And this heard I secondly: Whatever cannot obey itself, is commanded. Such
+      is the nature of living things.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This, however, is the third thing which I heard&mdash;namely, that
+      commanding is more difficult than obeying. And not only because the
+      commander beareth the burden of all obeyers, and because this burden
+      readily crusheth him:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An attempt and a risk seemed all commanding unto me; and whenever it
+      commandeth, the living thing risketh itself thereby.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yea, even when it commandeth itself, then also must it atone for its
+      commanding. Of its own law must it become the judge and avenger and
+      victim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How doth this happen! so did I ask myself. What persuadeth the living
+      thing to obey, and command, and even be obedient in commanding?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hearken now unto my word, ye wisest ones! Test it seriously, whether I
+      have crept into the heart of life itself, and into the roots of its heart!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Wherever I found a living thing, there found I Will to Power; and even in
+      the will of the servant found I the will to be master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That to the stronger the weaker shall serve&mdash;thereto persuadeth he
+      his will who would be master over a still weaker one. That delight alone
+      he is unwilling to forego.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And as the lesser surrendereth himself to the greater that he may have
+      delight and power over the least of all, so doth even the greatest
+      surrender himself, and staketh&mdash;life, for the sake of power.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is the surrender of the greatest to run risk and danger, and play dice
+      for death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And where there is sacrifice and service and love-glances, there also is
+      the will to be master. By by-ways doth the weaker then slink into the
+      fortress, and into the heart of the mightier one&mdash;and there stealeth
+      power.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And this secret spake Life herself unto me. &ldquo;Behold,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;I am that
+      WHICH MUST EVER SURPASS ITSELF.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To be sure, ye call it will to procreation, or impulse towards a goal,
+      towards the higher, remoter, more manifold: but all that is one and the
+      same secret.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Rather would I succumb than disown this one thing; and verily, where there
+      is succumbing and leaf-falling, lo, there doth Life sacrifice itself&mdash;for
+      power!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That I have to be struggle, and becoming, and purpose, and cross-purpose&mdash;ah,
+      he who divineth my will, divineth well also on what CROOKED paths it hath
+      to tread!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Whatever I create, and however much I love it,&mdash;soon must I be
+      adverse to it, and to my love: so willeth my will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And even thou, discerning one, art only a path and footstep of my will:
+      verily, my Will to Power walketh even on the feet of thy Will to Truth!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He certainly did not hit the truth who shot at it the formula: &lsquo;Will to
+      existence&rsquo;: that will&mdash;doth not exist!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For what is not, cannot will; that, however, which is in existence&mdash;how
+      could it still strive for existence!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only where there is life, is there also will: not, however, Will to Life,
+      but&mdash;so teach I thee&mdash;Will to Power!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Much is reckoned higher than life itself by the living one; but out of the
+      very reckoning speaketh&mdash;the Will to Power!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus did Life once teach me: and thereby, ye wisest ones, do I solve you
+      the riddle of your hearts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, I say unto you: good and evil which would be everlasting&mdash;it
+      doth not exist! Of its own accord must it ever surpass itself anew.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With your values and formulae of good and evil, ye exercise power, ye
+      valuing ones: and that is your secret love, and the sparkling, trembling,
+      and overflowing of your souls.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But a stronger power groweth out of your values, and a new surpassing: by
+      it breaketh egg and egg-shell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he who hath to be a creator in good and evil&mdash;verily, he hath
+      first to be a destroyer, and break values in pieces.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus doth the greatest evil pertain to the greatest good: that, however,
+      is the creating good.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Let us SPEAK thereof, ye wisest ones, even though it be bad. To be silent
+      is worse; all suppressed truths become poisonous.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And let everything break up which&mdash;can break up by our truths! Many a
+      house is still to be built!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XXXV. THE SUBLIME ONES.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Calm is the bottom of my sea: who would guess that it hideth droll
+      monsters!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Unmoved is my depth: but it sparkleth with swimming enigmas and laughters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A sublime one saw I to-day, a solemn one, a penitent of the spirit: Oh,
+      how my soul laughed at his ugliness!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With upraised breast, and like those who draw in their breath: thus did he
+      stand, the sublime one, and in silence:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O&rsquo;erhung with ugly truths, the spoil of his hunting, and rich in torn
+      raiment; many thorns also hung on him&mdash;but I saw no rose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not yet had he learned laughing and beauty. Gloomy did this hunter return
+      from the forest of knowledge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From the fight with wild beasts returned he home: but even yet a wild
+      beast gazeth out of his seriousness&mdash;an unconquered wild beast!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As a tiger doth he ever stand, on the point of springing; but I do not
+      like those strained souls; ungracious is my taste towards all those
+      self-engrossed ones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And ye tell me, friends, that there is to be no dispute about taste and
+      tasting? But all life is a dispute about taste and tasting!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Taste: that is weight at the same time, and scales and weigher; and alas
+      for every living thing that would live without dispute about weight and
+      scales and weigher!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Should he become weary of his sublimeness, this sublime one, then only
+      will his beauty begin&mdash;and then only will I taste him and find him
+      savoury.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And only when he turneth away from himself will he o&rsquo;erleap his own shadow&mdash;and
+      verily! into HIS sun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Far too long did he sit in the shade; the cheeks of the penitent of the
+      spirit became pale; he almost starved on his expectations.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Contempt is still in his eye, and loathing hideth in his mouth. To be
+      sure, he now resteth, but he hath not yet taken rest in the sunshine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As the ox ought he to do; and his happiness should smell of the earth, and
+      not of contempt for the earth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As a white ox would I like to see him, which, snorting and lowing, walketh
+      before the plough-share: and his lowing should also laud all that is
+      earthly!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dark is still his countenance; the shadow of his hand danceth upon it.
+      O&rsquo;ershadowed is still the sense of his eye.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His deed itself is still the shadow upon him: his doing obscureth the
+      doer. Not yet hath he overcome his deed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To be sure, I love in him the shoulders of the ox: but now do I want to
+      see also the eye of the angel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Also his hero-will hath he still to unlearn: an exalted one shall he be,
+      and not only a sublime one:&mdash;the ether itself should raise him, the
+      will-less one!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He hath subdued monsters, he hath solved enigmas. But he should also
+      redeem his monsters and enigmas; into heavenly children should he
+      transform them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As yet hath his knowledge not learned to smile, and to be without
+      jealousy; as yet hath his gushing passion not become calm in beauty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, not in satiety shall his longing cease and disappear, but in
+      beauty! Gracefulness belongeth to the munificence of the magnanimous.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His arm across his head: thus should the hero repose; thus should he also
+      surmount his repose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But precisely to the hero is BEAUTY the hardest thing of all. Unattainable
+      is beauty by all ardent wills.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A little more, a little less: precisely this is much here, it is the most
+      here.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To stand with relaxed muscles and with unharnessed will: that is the
+      hardest for all of you, ye sublime ones!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When power becometh gracious and descendeth into the visible&mdash;I call
+      such condescension, beauty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And from no one do I want beauty so much as from thee, thou powerful one:
+      let thy goodness be thy last self-conquest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All evil do I accredit to thee: therefore do I desire of thee the good.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, I have often laughed at the weaklings, who think themselves good
+      because they have crippled paws!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The virtue of the pillar shalt thou strive after: more beautiful doth it
+      ever become, and more graceful&mdash;but internally harder and more
+      sustaining&mdash;the higher it riseth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yea, thou sublime one, one day shalt thou also be beautiful, and hold up
+      the mirror to thine own beauty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then will thy soul thrill with divine desires; and there will be adoration
+      even in thy vanity!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For this is the secret of the soul: when the hero hath abandoned it, then
+      only approacheth it in dreams&mdash;the superhero.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XXXVI. THE LAND OF CULTURE.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      Too far did I fly into the future: a horror seized upon me.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      And when I looked around me, lo! there time was my sole contemporary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then did I fly backwards, homewards&mdash;and always faster. Thus did I
+      come unto you, ye present-day men, and into the land of culture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the first time brought I an eye to see you, and good desire: verily,
+      with longing in my heart did I come.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But how did it turn out with me? Although so alarmed&mdash;I had yet to
+      laugh! Never did mine eye see anything so motley-coloured!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I laughed and laughed, while my foot still trembled, and my heart as well.
+      &ldquo;Here forsooth, is the home of all the paintpots,&rdquo;&mdash;said I.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With fifty patches painted on faces and limbs&mdash;so sat ye there to
+      mine astonishment, ye present-day men!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And with fifty mirrors around you, which flattered your play of colours,
+      and repeated it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, ye could wear no better masks, ye present-day men, than your own
+      faces! Who could&mdash;RECOGNISE you!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Written all over with the characters of the past, and these characters
+      also pencilled over with new characters&mdash;thus have ye concealed
+      yourselves well from all decipherers!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And though one be a trier of the reins, who still believeth that ye have
+      reins! Out of colours ye seem to be baked, and out of glued scraps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All times and peoples gaze divers-coloured out of your veils; all customs
+      and beliefs speak divers-coloured out of your gestures.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He who would strip you of veils and wrappers, and paints and gestures,
+      would just have enough left to scare the crows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, I myself am the scared crow that once saw you naked, and without
+      paint; and I flew away when the skeleton ogled at me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Rather would I be a day-labourer in the nether-world, and among the shades
+      of the by-gone!&mdash;Fatter and fuller than ye, are forsooth the
+      nether-worldlings!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This, yea this, is bitterness to my bowels, that I can neither endure you
+      naked nor clothed, ye present-day men!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All that is unhomelike in the future, and whatever maketh strayed birds
+      shiver, is verily more homelike and familiar than your &ldquo;reality.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For thus speak ye: &ldquo;Real are we wholly, and without faith and
+      superstition&rdquo;: thus do ye plume yourselves&mdash;alas! even without
+      plumes!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Indeed, how would ye be ABLE to believe, ye divers-coloured ones!&mdash;ye
+      who are pictures of all that hath ever been believed!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Perambulating refutations are ye, of belief itself, and a dislocation of
+      all thought. UNTRUSTWORTHY ONES: thus do <i>I</i> call you, ye real ones!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All periods prate against one another in your spirits; and the dreams and
+      pratings of all periods were even realer than your awakeness!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Unfruitful are ye: THEREFORE do ye lack belief. But he who had to create,
+      had always his presaging dreams and astral premonitions&mdash;and believed
+      in believing!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Half-open doors are ye, at which grave-diggers wait. And this is YOUR
+      reality: &ldquo;Everything deserveth to perish.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Alas, how ye stand there before me, ye unfruitful ones; how lean your
+      ribs! And many of you surely have had knowledge thereof.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Many a one hath said: &ldquo;There hath surely a God filched something from me
+      secretly whilst I slept? Verily, enough to make a girl for himself
+      therefrom!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Amazing is the poverty of my ribs!&rdquo; thus hath spoken many a present-day
+      man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yea, ye are laughable unto me, ye present-day men! And especially when ye
+      marvel at yourselves!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And woe unto me if I could not laugh at your marvelling, and had to
+      swallow all that is repugnant in your platters!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As it is, however, I will make lighter of you, since I have to carry
+      <i>what is heavy;</i> and what matter if beetles and May-bugs also alight
+      on my load!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, it shall not on that account become heavier to me! And not from
+      you, ye present-day men, shall my great weariness arise.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, whither shall I now ascend with my longing! From all mountains do I
+      look out for fatherlands and motherlands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But a home have I found nowhere: unsettled am I in all cities, and
+      decamping at all gates.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alien to me, and a mockery, are the present-day men, to whom of late my
+      heart impelled me; and exiled am I from fatherlands and motherlands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus do I love only my CHILDREN&rsquo;S LAND, the undiscovered in the remotest
+      sea: for it do I bid my sails search and search.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Unto my children will I make amends for being the child of my fathers: and
+      unto all the future&mdash;for THIS present-day!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XXXVII. IMMACULATE PERCEPTION.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      When yester-eve the moon arose, then did I fancy it about to bear a sun:
+      so broad and teeming did it lie on the horizon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it was a liar with its pregnancy; and sooner will I believe in the man
+      in the moon than in the woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To be sure, little of a man is he also, that timid night-reveller. Verily,
+      with a bad conscience doth he stalk over the roofs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For he is covetous and jealous, the monk in the moon; covetous of the
+      earth, and all the joys of lovers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nay, I like him not, that tom-cat on the roofs! Hateful unto me are all
+      that slink around half-closed windows!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Piously and silently doth he stalk along on the star-carpets:&mdash;but I
+      like no light-treading human feet, on which not even a spur jingleth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Every honest one&rsquo;s step speaketh; the cat however, stealeth along over the
+      ground. Lo! cat-like doth the moon come along, and dishonestly.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This parable speak I unto you sentimental dissemblers, unto you, the &ldquo;pure
+      discerners!&rdquo; You do <i>I</i> call&mdash;covetous ones!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Also ye love the earth, and the earthly: I have divined you well!&mdash;but
+      shame is in your love, and a bad conscience&mdash;ye are like the moon!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To despise the earthly hath your spirit been persuaded, but not your
+      bowels: these, however, are the strongest in you!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now is your spirit ashamed to be at the service of your bowels, and
+      goeth by-ways and lying ways to escape its own shame.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That would be the highest thing for me&rdquo;&mdash;so saith your lying spirit
+      unto itself&mdash;&ldquo;to gaze upon life without desire, and not like the dog,
+      with hanging-out tongue:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To be happy in gazing: with dead will, free from the grip and greed of
+      selfishness&mdash;cold and ashy-grey all over, but with intoxicated
+      moon-eyes!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That would be the dearest thing to me&rdquo;&mdash;thus doth the seduced one
+      seduce himself,&mdash;&ldquo;to love the earth as the moon loveth it, and with
+      the eye only to feel its beauty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And this do I call IMMACULATE perception of all things: to want nothing
+      else from them, but to be allowed to lie before them as a mirror with a
+      hundred facets.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, ye sentimental dissemblers, ye covetous ones! Ye lack innocence in
+      your desire: and now do ye defame desiring on that account!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, not as creators, as procreators, or as jubilators do ye love the
+      earth!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Where is innocence? Where there is will to procreation. And he who seeketh
+      to create beyond himself, hath for me the purest will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Where is beauty? Where I MUST WILL with my whole Will; where I will love
+      and perish, that an image may not remain merely an image.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Loving and perishing: these have rhymed from eternity. Will to love: that
+      is to be ready also for death. Thus do I speak unto you cowards!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But now doth your emasculated ogling profess to be &ldquo;contemplation!&rdquo; And
+      that which can be examined with cowardly eyes is to be christened
+      &ldquo;beautiful!&rdquo; Oh, ye violators of noble names!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it shall be your curse, ye immaculate ones, ye pure discerners, that
+      ye shall never bring forth, even though ye lie broad and teeming on the
+      horizon!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, ye fill your mouth with noble words: and we are to believe that
+      your heart overfloweth, ye cozeners?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But MY words are poor, contemptible, stammering words: gladly do I pick up
+      what falleth from the table at your repasts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet still can I say therewith the truth&mdash;to dissemblers! Yea, my
+      fish-bones, shells, and prickly leaves shall&mdash;tickle the noses of
+      dissemblers!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bad air is always about you and your repasts: your lascivious thoughts,
+      your lies, and secrets are indeed in the air!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dare only to believe in yourselves&mdash;in yourselves and in your inward
+      parts! He who doth not believe in himself always lieth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A God&rsquo;s mask have ye hung in front of you, ye &ldquo;pure ones&rdquo;: into a God&rsquo;s
+      mask hath your execrable coiling snake crawled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily ye deceive, ye &ldquo;contemplative ones!&rdquo; Even Zarathustra was once the
+      dupe of your godlike exterior; he did not divine the serpent&rsquo;s coil with
+      which it was stuffed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A God&rsquo;s soul, I once thought I saw playing in your games, ye pure
+      discerners! No better arts did I once dream of than your arts!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Serpents&rsquo; filth and evil odour, the distance concealed from me: and that a
+      lizard&rsquo;s craft prowled thereabouts lasciviously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But I came NIGH unto you: then came to me the day,&mdash;and now cometh it
+      to you,&mdash;at an end is the moon&rsquo;s love affair!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      See there! Surprised and pale doth it stand&mdash;before the rosy dawn!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For already she cometh, the glowing one,&mdash;HER love to the earth
+      cometh! Innocence and creative desire, is all solar love!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      See there, how she cometh impatiently over the sea! Do ye not feel the
+      thirst and the hot breath of her love?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the sea would she suck, and drink its depths to her height: now riseth
+      the desire of the sea with its thousand breasts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Kissed and sucked WOULD it be by the thirst of the sun; vapour WOULD it
+      become, and height, and path of light, and light itself!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, like the sun do I love life, and all deep seas.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And this meaneth TO ME knowledge: all that is deep shall ascend&mdash;to
+      my height!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XXXVIII. SCHOLARS.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      When I lay asleep, then did a sheep eat at the ivy-wreath on my head,&mdash;it
+      ate, and said thereby: &ldquo;Zarathustra is no longer a scholar.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It said this, and went away clumsily and proudly. A child told it to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I like to lie here where the children play, beside the ruined wall, among
+      thistles and red poppies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A scholar am I still to the children, and also to the thistles and red
+      poppies. Innocent are they, even in their wickedness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But to the sheep I am no longer a scholar: so willeth my lot&mdash;blessings
+      upon it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For this is the truth: I have departed from the house of the scholars, and
+      the door have I also slammed behind me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Too long did my soul sit hungry at their table: not like them have I got
+      the knack of investigating, as the knack of nut-cracking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Freedom do I love, and the air over fresh soil; rather would I sleep on
+      ox-skins than on their honours and dignities.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I am too hot and scorched with mine own thought: often is it ready to take
+      away my breath. Then have I to go into the open air, and away from all
+      dusty rooms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But they sit cool in the cool shade: they want in everything to be merely
+      spectators, and they avoid sitting where the sun burneth on the steps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Like those who stand in the street and gape at the passers-by: thus do
+      they also wait, and gape at the thoughts which others have thought.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Should one lay hold of them, then do they raise a dust like flour-sacks,
+      and involuntarily: but who would divine that their dust came from corn,
+      and from the yellow delight of the summer fields?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When they give themselves out as wise, then do their petty sayings and
+      truths chill me: in their wisdom there is often an odour as if it came
+      from the swamp; and verily, I have even heard the frog croak in it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Clever are they&mdash;they have dexterous fingers: what doth MY simplicity
+      pretend to beside their multiplicity! All threading and knitting and
+      weaving do their fingers understand: thus do they make the hose of the
+      spirit!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Good clockworks are they: only be careful to wind them up properly! Then
+      do they indicate the hour without mistake, and make a modest noise
+      thereby.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Like millstones do they work, and like pestles: throw only seed-corn unto
+      them!&mdash;they know well how to grind corn small, and make white dust
+      out of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They keep a sharp eye on one another, and do not trust each other the
+      best. Ingenious in little artifices, they wait for those whose knowledge
+      walketh on lame feet,&mdash;like spiders do they wait.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I saw them always prepare their poison with precaution; and always did
+      they put glass gloves on their fingers in doing so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They also know how to play with false dice; and so eagerly did I find them
+      playing, that they perspired thereby.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We are alien to each other, and their virtues are even more repugnant to
+      my taste than their falsehoods and false dice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when I lived with them, then did I live above them. Therefore did they
+      take a dislike to me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They want to hear nothing of any one walking above their heads; and so
+      they put wood and earth and rubbish betwixt me and their heads.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus did they deafen the sound of my tread: and least have I hitherto been
+      heard by the most learned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All mankind&rsquo;s faults and weaknesses did they put betwixt themselves and
+      me:&mdash;they call it &ldquo;false ceiling&rdquo; in their houses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But nevertheless I walk with my thoughts ABOVE their heads; and even
+      should I walk on mine own errors, still would I be above them and their
+      heads.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For men are NOT equal: so speaketh justice. And what I will, THEY may not
+      will!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XXXIX. POETS.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Since I have known the body better&rdquo;&mdash;said Zarathustra to one of his
+      disciples&mdash;&ldquo;the spirit hath only been to me symbolically spirit; and
+      all the &lsquo;imperishable&rsquo;&mdash;that is also but a simile.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So have I heard thee say once before,&rdquo; answered the disciple, &ldquo;and then
+      thou addedst: &lsquo;But the poets lie too much.&rsquo; Why didst thou say that the
+      poets lie too much?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo; said Zarathustra. &ldquo;Thou askest why? I do not belong to those who
+      may be asked after their Why.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Is my experience but of yesterday? It is long ago that I experienced the
+      reasons for mine opinions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Should I not have to be a cask of memory, if I also wanted to have my
+      reasons with me?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is already too much for me even to retain mine opinions; and many a
+      bird flieth away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And sometimes, also, do I find a fugitive creature in my dovecote, which
+      is alien to me, and trembleth when I lay my hand upon it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But what did Zarathustra once say unto thee? That the poets lie too much?&mdash;But
+      Zarathustra also is a poet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Believest thou that he there spake the truth? Why dost thou believe it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The disciple answered: &ldquo;I believe in Zarathustra.&rdquo; But Zarathustra shook
+      his head and smiled.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Belief doth not sanctify me, said he, least of all the belief in myself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But granting that some one did say in all seriousness that the poets lie
+      too much: he was right&mdash;WE do lie too much.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We also know too little, and are bad learners: so we are obliged to lie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And which of us poets hath not adulterated his wine? Many a poisonous
+      hotchpotch hath evolved in our cellars: many an indescribable thing hath
+      there been done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And because we know little, therefore are we pleased from the heart with
+      the poor in spirit, especially when they are young women!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And even of those things are we desirous, which old women tell one another
+      in the evening. This do we call the eternally feminine in us.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And as if there were a special secret access to knowledge, which CHOKETH
+      UP for those who learn anything, so do we believe in the people and in
+      their &ldquo;wisdom.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This, however, do all poets believe: that whoever pricketh up his ears
+      when lying in the grass or on lonely slopes, learneth something of the
+      things that are betwixt heaven and earth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And if there come unto them tender emotions, then do the poets always
+      think that nature herself is in love with them:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And that she stealeth to their ear to whisper secrets into it, and amorous
+      flatteries: of this do they plume and pride themselves, before all
+      mortals!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, there are so many things betwixt heaven and earth of which only the
+      poets have dreamed!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And especially ABOVE the heavens: for all Gods are poet-symbolisations,
+      poet-sophistications!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, ever are we drawn aloft&mdash;that is, to the realm of the clouds:
+      on these do we set our gaudy puppets, and then call them Gods and
+      Supermen:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Are not they light enough for those chairs!&mdash;all these Gods and
+      Supermen?&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, how I am weary of all the inadequate that is insisted on as actual!
+      Ah, how I am weary of the poets!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Zarathustra so spake, his disciple resented it, but was silent. And
+      Zarathustra also was silent; and his eye directed itself inwardly, as if
+      it gazed into the far distance. At last he sighed and drew breath.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I am of to-day and heretofore, said he thereupon; but something is in me
+      that is of the morrow, and the day following, and the hereafter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I became weary of the poets, of the old and of the new: superficial are
+      they all unto me, and shallow seas.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They did not think sufficiently into the depth; therefore their feeling
+      did not reach to the bottom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some sensation of voluptuousness and some sensation of tedium: these have
+      as yet been their best contemplation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ghost-breathing and ghost-whisking, seemeth to me all the jingle-jangling
+      of their harps; what have they known hitherto of the fervour of tones!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They are also not pure enough for me: they all muddle their water that it
+      may seem deep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And fain would they thereby prove themselves reconcilers: but mediaries
+      and mixers are they unto me, and half-and-half, and impure!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, I cast indeed my net into their sea, and meant to catch good fish; but
+      always did I draw up the head of some ancient God.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus did the sea give a stone to the hungry one. And they themselves may
+      well originate from the sea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Certainly, one findeth pearls in them: thereby they are the more like hard
+      molluscs. And instead of a soul, I have often found in them salt slime.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They have learned from the sea also its vanity: is not the sea the peacock
+      of peacocks?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even before the ugliest of all buffaloes doth it spread out its tail;
+      never doth it tire of its lace-fan of silver and silk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Disdainfully doth the buffalo glance thereat, nigh to the sand with its
+      soul, nigher still to the thicket, nighest, however, to the swamp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What is beauty and sea and peacock-splendour to it! This parable I speak
+      unto the poets.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, their spirit itself is the peacock of peacocks, and a sea of
+      vanity!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Spectators, seeketh the spirit of the poet&mdash;should they even be
+      buffaloes!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But of this spirit became I weary; and I see the time coming when it will
+      become weary of itself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yea, changed have I seen the poets, and their glance turned towards
+      themselves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Penitents of the spirit have I seen appearing; they grew out of the poets.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XL. GREAT EVENTS.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      There is an isle in the sea&mdash;not far from the Happy Isles of
+      Zarathustra&mdash;on which a volcano ever smoketh; of which isle the
+      people, and especially the old women amongst them, say that it is placed
+      as a rock before the gate of the nether-world; but that through the
+      volcano itself the narrow way leadeth downwards which conducteth to this
+      gate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now about the time that Zarathustra sojourned on the Happy Isles, it
+      happened that a ship anchored at the isle on which standeth the smoking
+      mountain, and the crew went ashore to shoot rabbits. About the noontide
+      hour, however, when the captain and his men were together again, they saw
+      suddenly a man coming towards them through the air, and a voice said
+      distinctly: &ldquo;It is time! It is the highest time!&rdquo; But when the figure was
+      nearest to them (it flew past quickly, however, like a shadow, in the
+      direction of the volcano), then did they recognise with the greatest
+      surprise that it was Zarathustra; for they had all seen him before except
+      the captain himself, and they loved him as the people love: in such wise
+      that love and awe were combined in equal degree.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Behold!&rdquo; said the old helmsman, &ldquo;there goeth Zarathustra to hell!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      About the same time that these sailors landed on the fire-isle, there was
+      a rumour that Zarathustra had disappeared; and when his friends were asked
+      about it, they said that he had gone on board a ship by night, without
+      saying whither he was going.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus there arose some uneasiness. After three days, however, there came
+      the story of the ship&rsquo;s crew in addition to this uneasiness&mdash;and then
+      did all the people say that the devil had taken Zarathustra. His disciples
+      laughed, sure enough, at this talk; and one of them said even: &ldquo;Sooner
+      would I believe that Zarathustra hath taken the devil.&rdquo; But at the bottom
+      of their hearts they were all full of anxiety and longing: so their joy
+      was great when on the fifth day Zarathustra appeared amongst them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And this is the account of Zarathustra&rsquo;s interview with the fire-dog:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The earth, said he, hath a skin; and this skin hath diseases. One of these
+      diseases, for example, is called &ldquo;man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And another of these diseases is called &ldquo;the fire-dog&rdquo;: concerning HIM men
+      have greatly deceived themselves, and let themselves be deceived.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To fathom this mystery did I go o&rsquo;er the sea; and I have seen the truth
+      naked, verily! barefooted up to the neck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now do I know how it is concerning the fire-dog; and likewise concerning
+      all the spouting and subversive devils, of which not only old women are
+      afraid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Up with thee, fire-dog, out of thy depth!&rdquo; cried I, &ldquo;and confess how deep
+      that depth is! Whence cometh that which thou snortest up?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou drinkest copiously at the sea: that doth thine embittered eloquence
+      betray! In sooth, for a dog of the depth, thou takest thy nourishment too
+      much from the surface!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the most, I regard thee as the ventriloquist of the earth: and ever,
+      when I have heard subversive and spouting devils speak, I have found them
+      like thee: embittered, mendacious, and shallow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye understand how to roar and obscure with ashes! Ye are the best
+      braggarts, and have sufficiently learned the art of making dregs boil.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Where ye are, there must always be dregs at hand, and much that is spongy,
+      hollow, and compressed: it wanteth to have freedom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Freedom&rsquo; ye all roar most eagerly: but I have unlearned the belief in
+      &lsquo;great events,&rsquo; when there is much roaring and smoke about them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And believe me, friend Hullabaloo! The greatest events&mdash;are not our
+      noisiest, but our stillest hours.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not around the inventors of new noise, but around the inventors of new
+      values, doth the world revolve; INAUDIBLY it revolveth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And just own to it! Little had ever taken place when thy noise and smoke
+      passed away. What, if a city did become a mummy, and a statue lay in the
+      mud!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And this do I say also to the o&rsquo;erthrowers of statues: It is certainly the
+      greatest folly to throw salt into the sea, and statues into the mud.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the mud of your contempt lay the statue: but it is just its law, that
+      out of contempt, its life and living beauty grow again!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With diviner features doth it now arise, seducing by its suffering; and
+      verily! it will yet thank you for o&rsquo;erthrowing it, ye subverters!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This counsel, however, do I counsel to kings and churches, and to all that
+      is weak with age or virtue&mdash;let yourselves be o&rsquo;erthrown! That ye may
+      again come to life, and that virtue&mdash;may come to you!&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake I before the fire-dog: then did he interrupt me sullenly, and
+      asked: &ldquo;Church? What is that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Church?&rdquo; answered I, &ldquo;that is a kind of state, and indeed the most
+      mendacious. But remain quiet, thou dissembling dog! Thou surely knowest
+      thine own species best!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Like thyself the state is a dissembling dog; like thee doth it like to
+      speak with smoke and roaring&mdash;to make believe, like thee, that it
+      speaketh out of the heart of things.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For it seeketh by all means to be the most important creature on earth,
+      the state; and people think it so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When I had said this, the fire-dog acted as if mad with envy. &ldquo;What!&rdquo;
+       cried he, &ldquo;the most important creature on earth? And people think it so?&rdquo;
+       And so much vapour and terrible voices came out of his throat, that I
+      thought he would choke with vexation and envy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last he became calmer and his panting subsided; as soon, however, as he
+      was quiet, I said laughingly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thou art angry, fire-dog: so I am in the right about thee!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And that I may also maintain the right, hear the story of another
+      fire-dog; he speaketh actually out of the heart of the earth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Gold doth his breath exhale, and golden rain: so doth his heart desire.
+      What are ashes and smoke and hot dregs to him!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Laughter flitteth from him like a variegated cloud; adverse is he to thy
+      gargling and spewing and grips in the bowels!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The gold, however, and the laughter&mdash;these doth he take out of the
+      heart of the earth: for, that thou mayst know it,&mdash;THE HEART OF THE
+      EARTH IS OF GOLD.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When the fire-dog heard this, he could no longer endure to listen to me.
+      Abashed did he draw in his tail, said &ldquo;bow-wow!&rdquo; in a cowed voice, and
+      crept down into his cave.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus told Zarathustra. His disciples, however, hardly listened to him: so
+      great was their eagerness to tell him about the sailors, the rabbits, and
+      the flying man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What am I to think of it!&rdquo; said Zarathustra. &ldquo;Am I indeed a ghost?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it may have been my shadow. Ye have surely heard something of the
+      Wanderer and his Shadow?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One thing, however, is certain: I must keep a tighter hold of it;
+      otherwise it will spoil my reputation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And once more Zarathustra shook his head and wondered. &ldquo;What am I to think
+      of it!&rdquo; said he once more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why did the ghost cry: &lsquo;It is time! It is the highest time!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>For what</i> is it then&mdash;the highest time?&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XLI. THE SOOTHSAYER.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;-And I saw a great sadness come over mankind. The best turned weary of
+      their works.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A doctrine appeared, a faith ran beside it: &lsquo;All is empty, all is alike,
+      all hath been!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And from all hills there re-echoed: &lsquo;All is empty, all is alike, all hath
+      been!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To be sure we have harvested: but why have all our fruits become rotten
+      and brown? What was it fell last night from the evil moon?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In vain was all our labour, poison hath our wine become, the evil eye hath
+      singed yellow our fields and hearts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arid have we all become; and fire falling upon us, then do we turn dust
+      like ashes:&mdash;yea, the fire itself have we made aweary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All our fountains have dried up, even the sea hath receded. All the ground
+      trieth to gape, but the depth will not swallow!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Alas! where is there still a sea in which one could be drowned?&rsquo; so
+      soundeth our plaint&mdash;across shallow swamps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, even for dying have we become too weary; now do we keep awake and
+      live on&mdash;in sepulchres.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus did Zarathustra hear a soothsayer speak; and the foreboding touched
+      his heart and transformed him. Sorrowfully did he go about and wearily;
+      and he became like unto those of whom the soothsayer had spoken.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, said he unto his disciples, a little while, and there cometh the
+      long twilight. Alas, how shall I preserve my light through it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That it may not smother in this sorrowfulness! To remoter worlds shall it
+      be a light, and also to remotest nights!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus did Zarathustra go about grieved in his heart, and for three days he
+      did not take any meat or drink: he had no rest, and lost his speech. At
+      last it came to pass that he fell into a deep sleep. His disciples,
+      however, sat around him in long night-watches, and waited anxiously to see
+      if he would awake, and speak again, and recover from his affliction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And this is the discourse that Zarathustra spake when he awoke; his voice,
+      however, came unto his disciples as from afar:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hear, I pray you, the dream that I dreamed, my friends, and help me to
+      divine its meaning!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A riddle is it still unto me, this dream; the meaning is hidden in it and
+      encaged, and doth not yet fly above it on free pinions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All life had I renounced, so I dreamed. Night-watchman and grave-guardian
+      had I become, aloft, in the lone mountain-fortress of Death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There did I guard his coffins: full stood the musty vaults of those
+      trophies of victory. Out of glass coffins did vanquished life gaze upon
+      me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The odour of dust-covered eternities did I breathe: sultry and
+      dust-covered lay my soul. And who could have aired his soul there!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Brightness of midnight was ever around me; lonesomeness cowered beside
+      her; and as a third, death-rattle stillness, the worst of my female
+      friends.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Keys did I carry, the rustiest of all keys; and I knew how to open with
+      them the most creaking of all gates.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Like a bitterly angry croaking ran the sound through the long corridors
+      when the leaves of the gate opened: ungraciously did this bird cry,
+      unwillingly was it awakened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But more frightful even, and more heart-strangling was it, when it again
+      became silent and still all around, and I alone sat in that malignant
+      silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus did time pass with me, and slip by, if time there still was: what do
+      I know thereof! But at last there happened that which awoke me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thrice did there peal peals at the gate like thunders, thrice did the
+      vaults resound and howl again: then did I go to the gate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alpa! cried I, who carrieth his ashes unto the mountain? Alpa! Alpa! who
+      carrieth his ashes unto the mountain?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And I pressed the key, and pulled at the gate, and exerted myself. But not
+      a finger&rsquo;s-breadth was it yet open:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then did a roaring wind tear the folds apart: whistling, whizzing, and
+      piercing, it threw unto me a black coffin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And in the roaring, and whistling, and whizzing the coffin burst up, and
+      spouted out a thousand peals of laughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And a thousand caricatures of children, angels, owls, fools, and
+      child-sized butterflies laughed and mocked, and roared at me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fearfully was I terrified thereby: it prostrated me. And I cried with
+      horror as I ne&rsquo;er cried before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But mine own crying awoke me:&mdash;and I came to myself.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus did Zarathustra relate his dream, and then was silent: for as yet he
+      knew not the interpretation thereof. But the disciple whom he loved most
+      arose quickly, seized Zarathustra&rsquo;s hand, and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thy life itself interpreteth unto us this dream, O Zarathustra!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Art thou not thyself the wind with shrill whistling, which bursteth open
+      the gates of the fortress of Death?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Art thou not thyself the coffin full of many-hued malices and
+      angel-caricatures of life?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, like a thousand peals of children&rsquo;s laughter cometh Zarathustra
+      into all sepulchres, laughing at those night-watchmen and grave-guardians,
+      and whoever else rattleth with sinister keys.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With thy laughter wilt thou frighten and prostrate them: fainting and
+      recovering will demonstrate thy power over them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when the long twilight cometh and the mortal weariness, even then wilt
+      thou not disappear from our firmament, thou advocate of life!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      New stars hast thou made us see, and new nocturnal glories: verily,
+      laughter itself hast thou spread out over us like a many-hued canopy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now will children&rsquo;s laughter ever from coffins flow; now will a strong
+      wind ever come victoriously unto all mortal weariness: of this thou art
+      thyself the pledge and the prophet!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, THEY THEMSELVES DIDST THOU DREAM, thine enemies: that was thy
+      sorest dream.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But as thou awokest from them and camest to thyself, so shall they awaken
+      from themselves&mdash;and come unto thee!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake the disciple; and all the others then thronged around
+      Zarathustra, grasped him by the hands, and tried to persuade him to leave
+      his bed and his sadness, and return unto them. Zarathustra, however, sat
+      upright on his couch, with an absent look. Like one returning from long
+      foreign sojourn did he look on his disciples, and examined their features;
+      but still he knew them not. When, however, they raised him, and set him
+      upon his feet, behold, all on a sudden his eye changed; he understood
+      everything that had happened, stroked his beard, and said with a strong
+      voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well! this hath just its time; but see to it, my disciples, that we have
+      a good repast; and without delay! Thus do I mean to make amends for bad
+      dreams!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The soothsayer, however, shall eat and drink at my side: and verily, I
+      will yet show him a sea in which he can drown himself!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra. Then did he gaze long into the face of the
+      disciple who had been the dream-interpreter, and shook his head.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XLII. REDEMPTION.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      When Zarathustra went one day over the great bridge, then did the cripples
+      and beggars surround him, and a hunchback spake thus unto him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Behold, Zarathustra! Even the people learn from thee, and acquire faith
+      in thy teaching: but for them to believe fully in thee, one thing is still
+      needful&mdash;thou must first of all convince us cripples! Here hast thou
+      now a fine selection, and verily, an opportunity with more than one
+      forelock! The blind canst thou heal, and make the lame run; and from him
+      who hath too much behind, couldst thou well, also, take away a little;&mdash;that,
+      I think, would be the right method to make the cripples believe in
+      Zarathustra!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Zarathustra, however, answered thus unto him who so spake: When one taketh
+      his hump from the hunchback, then doth one take from him his spirit&mdash;so
+      do the people teach. And when one giveth the blind man eyes, then doth he
+      see too many bad things on the earth: so that he curseth him who healed
+      him. He, however, who maketh the lame man run, inflicteth upon him the
+      greatest injury; for hardly can he run, when his vices run away with him&mdash;so
+      do the people teach concerning cripples. And why should not Zarathustra
+      also learn from the people, when the people learn from Zarathustra?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is, however, the smallest thing unto me since I have been amongst men,
+      to see one person lacking an eye, another an ear, and a third a leg, and
+      that others have lost the tongue, or the nose, or the head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I see and have seen worse things, and divers things so hideous, that I
+      should neither like to speak of all matters, nor even keep silent about
+      some of them: namely, men who lack everything, except that they have too
+      much of one thing&mdash;men who are nothing more than a big eye, or a big
+      mouth, or a big belly, or something else big,&mdash;reversed cripples, I
+      call such men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when I came out of my solitude, and for the first time passed over
+      this bridge, then I could not trust mine eyes, but looked again and again,
+      and said at last: &ldquo;That is an ear! An ear as big as a man!&rdquo; I looked still
+      more attentively&mdash;and actually there did move under the ear something
+      that was pitiably small and poor and slim. And in truth this immense ear
+      was perched on a small thin stalk&mdash;the stalk, however, was a man! A
+      person putting a glass to his eyes, could even recognise further a small
+      envious countenance, and also that a bloated soullet dangled at the stalk.
+      The people told me, however, that the big ear was not only a man, but a
+      great man, a genius. But I never believed in the people when they spake of
+      great men&mdash;and I hold to my belief that it was a reversed cripple,
+      who had too little of everything, and too much of one thing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Zarathustra had spoken thus unto the hunchback, and unto those of
+      whom the hunchback was the mouthpiece and advocate, then did he turn to
+      his disciples in profound dejection, and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, my friends, I walk amongst men as amongst the fragments and limbs
+      of human beings!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This is the terrible thing to mine eye, that I find man broken up, and
+      scattered about, as on a battle- and butcher-ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when mine eye fleeth from the present to the bygone, it findeth ever
+      the same: fragments and limbs and fearful chances&mdash;but no men!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The present and the bygone upon earth&mdash;ah! my friends&mdash;that is
+      MY most unbearable trouble; and I should not know how to live, if I were
+      not a seer of what is to come.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A seer, a purposer, a creator, a future itself, and a bridge to the future&mdash;and
+      alas! also as it were a cripple on this bridge: all that is Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And ye also asked yourselves often: &ldquo;Who is Zarathustra to us? What shall
+      he be called by us?&rdquo; And like me, did ye give yourselves questions for
+      answers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Is he a promiser? Or a fulfiller? A conqueror? Or an inheritor? A harvest?
+      Or a ploughshare? A physician? Or a healed one?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Is he a poet? Or a genuine one? An emancipator? Or a subjugator? A good
+      one? Or an evil one?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I walk amongst men as the fragments of the future: that future which I
+      contemplate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And it is all my poetisation and aspiration to compose and collect into
+      unity what is fragment and riddle and fearful chance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And how could I endure to be a man, if man were not also the composer, and
+      riddle-reader, and redeemer of chance!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To redeem what is past, and to transform every &ldquo;It was&rdquo; into &ldquo;Thus would I
+      have it!&rdquo;&mdash;that only do I call redemption!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Will&mdash;so is the emancipator and joy-bringer called: thus have I
+      taught you, my friends! But now learn this likewise: the Will itself is
+      still a prisoner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Willing emancipateth: but what is that called which still putteth the
+      emancipator in chains?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was&rdquo;: thus is the Will&rsquo;s teeth-gnashing and lonesomest tribulation
+      called. Impotent towards what hath been done&mdash;it is a malicious
+      spectator of all that is past.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not backward can the Will will; that it cannot break time and time&rsquo;s
+      desire&mdash;that is the Will&rsquo;s lonesomest tribulation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Willing emancipateth: what doth Willing itself devise in order to get free
+      from its tribulation and mock at its prison?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, a fool becometh every prisoner! Foolishly delivereth itself also the
+      imprisoned Will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That time doth not run backward&mdash;that is its animosity: &ldquo;That which
+      was&rdquo;: so is the stone which it cannot roll called.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And thus doth it roll stones out of animosity and ill-humour, and taketh
+      revenge on whatever doth not, like it, feel rage and ill-humour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus did the Will, the emancipator, become a torturer; and on all that is
+      capable of suffering it taketh revenge, because it cannot go backward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This, yea, this alone is REVENGE itself: the Will&rsquo;s antipathy to time, and
+      its &ldquo;It was.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, a great folly dwelleth in our Will; and it became a curse unto all
+      humanity, that this folly acquired spirit!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      THE SPIRIT OF REVENGE: my friends, that hath hitherto been man&rsquo;s best
+      contemplation; and where there was suffering, it was claimed there was
+      always penalty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Penalty,&rdquo; so calleth itself revenge. With a lying word it feigneth a good
+      conscience.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And because in the willer himself there is suffering, because he cannot
+      will backwards&mdash;thus was Willing itself, and all life, claimed&mdash;to
+      be penalty!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then did cloud after cloud roll over the spirit, until at last madness
+      preached: &ldquo;Everything perisheth, therefore everything deserveth to
+      perish!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And this itself is justice, the law of time&mdash;that he must devour his
+      children:&rdquo; thus did madness preach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Morally are things ordered according to justice and penalty. Oh, where is
+      there deliverance from the flux of things and from the &lsquo;existence&rsquo; of
+      penalty?&rdquo; Thus did madness preach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can there be deliverance when there is eternal justice? Alas, unrollable
+      is the stone, &lsquo;It was&rsquo;: eternal must also be all penalties!&rdquo; Thus did
+      madness preach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No deed can be annihilated: how could it be undone by the penalty! This,
+      this is what is eternal in the &lsquo;existence&rsquo; of penalty, that existence also
+      must be eternally recurring deed and guilt!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Unless the Will should at last deliver itself, and Willing become
+      non-Willing&mdash;:&rdquo; but ye know, my brethren, this fabulous song of
+      madness!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Away from those fabulous songs did I lead you when I taught you: &ldquo;The Will
+      is a creator.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      All &ldquo;It was&rdquo; is a fragment, a riddle, a fearful chance&mdash;until the
+      creating Will saith thereto: &ldquo;But thus would I have it.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Until the creating Will saith thereto: &ldquo;But thus do I will it! Thus shall
+      I will it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But did it ever speak thus? And when doth this take place? Hath the Will
+      been unharnessed from its own folly?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hath the Will become its own deliverer and joy-bringer? Hath it unlearned
+      the spirit of revenge and all teeth-gnashing?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And who hath taught it reconciliation with time, and something higher than
+      all reconciliation?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Something higher than all reconciliation must the Will will which is the
+      Will to Power&mdash;: but how doth that take place? Who hath taught it
+      also to will backwards?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;But at this point in his discourse it chanced that Zarathustra
+      suddenly paused, and looked like a person in the greatest alarm. With
+      terror in his eyes did he gaze on his disciples; his glances pierced as
+      with arrows their thoughts and arrear-thoughts. But after a brief space he
+      again laughed, and said soothedly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is difficult to live amongst men, because silence is so difficult&mdash;
+      especially for a babbler.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra. The hunchback, however, had listened to the
+      conversation and had covered his face during the time; but when he heard
+      Zarathustra laugh, he looked up with curiosity, and said slowly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why doth Zarathustra speak otherwise unto us than unto his
+      disciples?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Zarathustra answered: &ldquo;What is there to be wondered at! With hunchbacks
+      one may well speak in a hunchbacked way!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very good,&rdquo; said the hunchback; &ldquo;and with pupils one may well tell tales
+      out of school.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But why doth Zarathustra speak otherwise unto his pupils&mdash;than unto
+      himself?&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XLIII. MANLY PRUDENCE.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      Not the height, it is the declivity that is terrible!
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      The declivity, where the gaze shooteth DOWNWARDS, and the hand graspeth
+      UPWARDS. There doth the heart become giddy through its double will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, friends, do ye divine also my heart&rsquo;s double will?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This, this is MY declivity and my danger, that my gaze shooteth towards
+      the summit, and my hand would fain clutch and lean&mdash;on the depth!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To man clingeth my will; with chains do I bind myself to man, because I am
+      pulled upwards to the Superman: for thither doth mine other will tend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And THEREFORE do I live blindly among men, as if I knew them not: that my
+      hand may not entirely lose belief in firmness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I know not you men: this gloom and consolation is often spread around me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I sit at the gateway for every rogue, and ask: Who wisheth to deceive me?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This is my first manly prudence, that I allow myself to be deceived, so as
+      not to be on my guard against deceivers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, if I were on my guard against man, how could man be an anchor to my
+      ball! Too easily would I be pulled upwards and away!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This providence is over my fate, that I have to be without foresight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he who would not languish amongst men, must learn to drink out of all
+      glasses; and he who would keep clean amongst men, must know how to wash
+      himself even with dirty water.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And thus spake I often to myself for consolation: &ldquo;Courage! Cheer up! old
+      heart! An unhappiness hath failed to befall thee: enjoy that as thy&mdash;happiness!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This, however, is mine other manly prudence: I am more forbearing to the
+      VAIN than to the proud.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Is not wounded vanity the mother of all tragedies? Where, however, pride
+      is wounded, there there groweth up something better than pride.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That life may be fair to behold, its game must be well played; for that
+      purpose, however, it needeth good actors.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Good actors have I found all the vain ones: they play, and wish people to
+      be fond of beholding them&mdash;all their spirit is in this wish.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They represent themselves, they invent themselves; in their neighbourhood
+      I like to look upon life&mdash;it cureth of melancholy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Therefore am I forbearing to the vain, because they are the physicians of
+      my melancholy, and keep me attached to man as to a drama.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And further, who conceiveth the full depth of the modesty of the vain man!
+      I am favourable to him, and sympathetic on account of his modesty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From you would he learn his belief in himself; he feedeth upon your
+      glances, he eateth praise out of your hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Your lies doth he even believe when you lie favourably about him: for in
+      its depths sigheth his heart: &ldquo;What am <i>I</i>?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And if that be the true virtue which is unconscious of itself&mdash;well,
+      the vain man is unconscious of his modesty!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This is, however, my third manly prudence: I am not put out of conceit
+      with the WICKED by your timorousness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I am happy to see the marvels the warm sun hatcheth: tigers and palms and
+      rattle-snakes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Also amongst men there is a beautiful brood of the warm sun, and much that
+      is marvellous in the wicked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In truth, as your wisest did not seem to me so very wise, so found I also
+      human wickedness below the fame of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And oft did I ask with a shake of the head: Why still rattle, ye
+      rattle-snakes?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, there is still a future even for evil! And the warmest south is
+      still undiscovered by man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How many things are now called the worst wickedness, which are only twelve
+      feet broad and three months long! Some day, however, will greater dragons
+      come into the world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For that the Superman may not lack his dragon, the superdragon that is
+      worthy of him, there must still much warm sun glow on moist virgin
+      forests!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Out of your wild cats must tigers have evolved, and out of your
+      poison-toads, crocodiles: for the good hunter shall have a good hunt!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And verily, ye good and just! In you there is much to be laughed at, and
+      especially your fear of what hath hitherto been called &ldquo;the devil!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So alien are ye in your souls to what is great, that to you the Superman
+      would be FRIGHTFUL in his goodness!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And ye wise and knowing ones, ye would flee from the solar-glow of the
+      wisdom in which the Superman joyfully batheth his nakedness!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye highest men who have come within my ken! this is my doubt of you, and
+      my secret laughter: I suspect ye would call my Superman&mdash;a devil!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, I became tired of those highest and best ones: from their &ldquo;height&rdquo; did
+      I long to be up, out, and away to the Superman!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A horror came over me when I saw those best ones naked: then there grew
+      for me the pinions to soar away into distant futures.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Into more distant futures, into more southern souths than ever artist
+      dreamed of: thither, where Gods are ashamed of all clothes!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But disguised do I want to see YOU, ye neighbours and fellowmen, and
+      well-attired and vain and estimable, as &ldquo;the good and just;&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And disguised will I myself sit amongst you&mdash;that I may MISTAKE you
+      and myself: for that is my last manly prudence.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XLIV. THE STILLEST HOUR.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      What hath happened unto me, my friends? Ye see me troubled, driven forth,
+      unwillingly obedient, ready to go&mdash;alas, to go away from YOU!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yea, once more must Zarathustra retire to his solitude: but unjoyously
+      this time doth the bear go back to his cave!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What hath happened unto me? Who ordereth this?&mdash;Ah, mine angry
+      mistress wisheth it so; she spake unto me. Have I ever named her name to
+      you?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yesterday towards evening there spake unto me MY STILLEST HOUR: that is
+      the name of my terrible mistress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And thus did it happen&mdash;for everything must I tell you, that your
+      heart may not harden against the suddenly departing one!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Do ye know the terror of him who falleth asleep?&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To the very toes he is terrified, because the ground giveth way under him,
+      and the dream beginneth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This do I speak unto you in parable. Yesterday at the stillest hour did
+      the ground give way under me: the dream began.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The hour-hand moved on, the timepiece of my life drew breath&mdash;never
+      did I hear such stillness around me, so that my heart was terrified.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then was there spoken unto me without voice: &ldquo;THOU KNOWEST IT,
+      ZARATHUSTRA?&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And I cried in terror at this whispering, and the blood left my face: but
+      I was silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then was there once more spoken unto me without voice: &ldquo;Thou knowest it,
+      Zarathustra, but thou dost not speak it!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And at last I answered, like one defiant: &ldquo;Yea, I know it, but I will not
+      speak it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: &ldquo;Thou WILT not,
+      Zarathustra? Is this true? Conceal thyself not behind thy defiance!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And I wept and trembled like a child, and said: &ldquo;Ah, I would indeed, but
+      how can I do it! Exempt me only from this! It is beyond my power!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: &ldquo;What matter about
+      thyself, Zarathustra! Speak thy word, and succumb!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And I answered: &ldquo;Ah, is it MY word? Who am <i>I</i>? I await the worthier
+      one; I am not worthy even to succumb by it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: &ldquo;What matter about
+      thyself? Thou art not yet humble enough for me. Humility hath the hardest
+      skin.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And I answered: &ldquo;What hath not the skin of my humility endured! At the
+      foot of my height do I dwell: how high are my summits, no one hath yet
+      told me. But well do I know my valleys.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: &ldquo;O Zarathustra, he who
+      hath to remove mountains removeth also valleys and plains.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And I answered: &ldquo;As yet hath my word not removed mountains, and what I
+      have spoken hath not reached man. I went, indeed, unto men, but not yet
+      have I attained unto them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: &ldquo;What knowest thou
+      THEREOF! The dew falleth on the grass when the night is most silent.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And I answered: &ldquo;They mocked me when I found and walked in mine own path;
+      and certainly did my feet then tremble.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And thus did they speak unto me: Thou forgottest the path before, now dost
+      thou also forget how to walk!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: &ldquo;What matter about
+      their mockery! Thou art one who hast unlearned to obey: now shalt thou
+      command!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Knowest thou not who is most needed by all? He who commandeth great
+      things.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To execute great things is difficult: but the more difficult task is to
+      command great things.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This is thy most unpardonable obstinacy: thou hast the power, and thou
+      wilt not rule.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And I answered: &ldquo;I lack the lion&rsquo;s voice for all commanding.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then was there again spoken unto me as a whispering: &ldquo;It is the stillest
+      words which bring the storm. Thoughts that come with doves&rsquo; footsteps
+      guide the world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O Zarathustra, thou shalt go as a shadow of that which is to come: thus
+      wilt thou command, and in commanding go foremost.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And I answered: &ldquo;I am ashamed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: &ldquo;Thou must yet become a
+      child, and be without shame.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The pride of youth is still upon thee; late hast thou become young: but he
+      who would become a child must surmount even his youth.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And I considered a long while, and trembled. At last, however, did I say
+      what I had said at first. &ldquo;I will not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then did a laughing take place all around me. Alas, how that laughing
+      lacerated my bowels and cut into my heart!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And there was spoken unto me for the last time: &ldquo;O Zarathustra, thy fruits
+      are ripe, but thou art not ripe for thy fruits!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So must thou go again into solitude: for thou shalt yet become mellow.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And again was there a laughing, and it fled: then did it become still
+      around me, as with a double stillness. I lay, however, on the ground, and
+      the sweat flowed from my limbs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Now have ye heard all, and why I have to return into my solitude.
+      Nothing have I kept hidden from you, my friends.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But even this have ye heard from me, WHO is still the most reserved of men&mdash;and
+      will be so!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, my friends! I should have something more to say unto you! I should
+      have something more to give unto you! Why do I not give it? Am I then a
+      niggard?&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When, however, Zarathustra had spoken these words, the violence of his
+      pain, and a sense of the nearness of his departure from his friends came
+      over him, so that he wept aloud; and no one knew how to console him. In
+      the night, however, he went away alone and left his friends.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0051" id="link2H_4_0051">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      THIRD PART.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye look aloft when ye long for exaltation, and I look downward because I
+      am exalted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who among you can at the same time laugh and be exalted?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He who climbeth on the highest mountains, laugheth at all tragic plays
+      and tragic realities.&rdquo;&mdash;ZARATHUSTRA, I., &ldquo;Reading and Writing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0052" id="link2H_4_0052">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XLV. THE WANDERER.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Then, when it was about midnight, Zarathustra went his way over the ridge
+      of the isle, that he might arrive early in the morning at the other coast;
+      because there he meant to embark. For there was a good roadstead there, in
+      which foreign ships also liked to anchor: those ships took many people
+      with them, who wished to cross over from the Happy Isles. So when
+      Zarathustra thus ascended the mountain, he thought on the way of his many
+      solitary wanderings from youth onwards, and how many mountains and ridges
+      and summits he had already climbed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I am a wanderer and mountain-climber, said he to his heart, I love not the
+      plains, and it seemeth I cannot long sit still.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And whatever may still overtake me as fate and experience&mdash;a
+      wandering will be therein, and a mountain-climbing: in the end one
+      experienceth only oneself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The time is now past when accidents could befall me; and what COULD now
+      fall to my lot which would not already be mine own!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It returneth only, it cometh home to me at last&mdash;mine own Self, and
+      such of it as hath been long abroad, and scattered among things and
+      accidents.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And one thing more do I know: I stand now before my last summit, and
+      before that which hath been longest reserved for me. Ah, my hardest path
+      must I ascend! Ah, I have begun my lonesomest wandering!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He, however, who is of my nature doth not avoid such an hour: the hour
+      that saith unto him: Now only dost thou go the way to thy greatness!
+      Summit and abyss&mdash;these are now comprised together!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou goest the way to thy greatness: now hath it become thy last refuge,
+      what was hitherto thy last danger!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou goest the way to thy greatness: it must now be thy best courage that
+      there is no longer any path behind thee!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou goest the way to thy greatness: here shall no one steal after thee!
+      Thy foot itself hath effaced the path behind thee, and over it standeth
+      written: Impossibility.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And if all ladders henceforth fail thee, then must thou learn to mount
+      upon thine own head: how couldst thou mount upward otherwise?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Upon thine own head, and beyond thine own heart! Now must the gentlest in
+      thee become the hardest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He who hath always much-indulged himself, sickeneth at last by his
+      much-indulgence. Praises on what maketh hardy! I do not praise the land
+      where butter and honey&mdash;flow!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To learn TO LOOK AWAY FROM oneself, is necessary in order to see MANY
+      THINGS:&mdash;this hardiness is needed by every mountain-climber.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He, however, who is obtrusive with his eyes as a discerner, how can he
+      ever see more of anything than its foreground!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But thou, O Zarathustra, wouldst view the ground of everything, and its
+      background: thus must thou mount even above thyself&mdash;up, upwards,
+      until thou hast even thy stars UNDER thee!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yea! To look down upon myself, and even upon my stars: that only would I
+      call my SUMMIT, that hath remained for me as my LAST summit!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra to himself while ascending, comforting his heart
+      with harsh maxims: for he was sore at heart as he had never been before.
+      And when he had reached the top of the mountain-ridge, behold, there lay
+      the other sea spread out before him: and he stood still and was long
+      silent. The night, however, was cold at this height, and clear and starry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I recognise my destiny, said he at last, sadly. Well! I am ready. Now hath
+      my last lonesomeness begun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, this sombre, sad sea, below me! Ah, this sombre nocturnal vexation!
+      Ah, fate and sea! To you must I now GO DOWN!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before my highest mountain do I stand, and before my longest wandering:
+      therefore must I first go deeper down than I ever ascended:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Deeper down into pain than I ever ascended, even into its darkest
+      flood! So willeth my fate. Well! I am ready.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Whence come the highest mountains? so did I once ask. Then did I learn
+      that they come out of the sea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That testimony is inscribed on their stones, and on the walls of their
+      summits. Out of the deepest must the highest come to its height.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra on the ridge of the mountain where it was cold:
+      when, however, he came into the vicinity of the sea, and at last stood
+      alone amongst the cliffs, then had he become weary on his way, and eagerer
+      than ever before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Everything as yet sleepeth, said he; even the sea sleepeth. Drowsily and
+      strangely doth its eye gaze upon me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it breatheth warmly&mdash;I feel it. And I feel also that it dreameth.
+      It tosseth about dreamily on hard pillows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hark! Hark! How it groaneth with evil recollections! Or evil expectations?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, I am sad along with thee, thou dusky monster, and angry with myself
+      even for thy sake.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, that my hand hath not strength enough! Gladly, indeed, would I free
+      thee from evil dreams!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And while Zarathustra thus spake, he laughed at himself with melancholy
+      and bitterness. What! Zarathustra, said he, wilt thou even sing
+      consolation to the sea?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, thou amiable fool, Zarathustra, thou too-blindly confiding one! But
+      thus hast thou ever been: ever hast thou approached confidently all that
+      is terrible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Every monster wouldst thou caress. A whiff of warm breath, a little soft
+      tuft on its paw&mdash;: and immediately wert thou ready to love and lure
+      it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      LOVE is the danger of the lonesomest one, love to anything, IF IT ONLY
+      LIVE! Laughable, verily, is my folly and my modesty in love!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra, and laughed thereby a second time. Then, however,
+      he thought of his abandoned friends&mdash;and as if he had done them a
+      wrong with his thoughts, he upbraided himself because of his thoughts. And
+      forthwith it came to pass that the laugher wept&mdash;with anger and
+      longing wept Zarathustra bitterly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0053" id="link2H_4_0053">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XLVI. THE VISION AND THE ENIGMA.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      1.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      When it got abroad among the sailors that Zarathustra was on board the
+      ship&mdash;for a man who came from the Happy Isles had gone on board along
+      with him,&mdash;there was great curiosity and expectation. But Zarathustra
+      kept silent for two days, and was cold and deaf with sadness; so that he
+      neither answered looks nor questions. On the evening of the second day,
+      however, he again opened his ears, though he still kept silent: for there
+      were many curious and dangerous things to be heard on board the ship,
+      which came from afar, and was to go still further. Zarathustra, however,
+      was fond of all those who make distant voyages, and dislike to live
+      without danger. And behold! when listening, his own tongue was at last
+      loosened, and the ice of his heart broke. Then did he begin to speak thus:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To you, the daring venturers and adventurers, and whoever hath embarked
+      with cunning sails upon frightful seas,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To you the enigma-intoxicated, the twilight-enjoyers, whose souls are
+      allured by flutes to every treacherous gulf:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;For ye dislike to grope at a thread with cowardly hand; and where
+      ye can DIVINE, there do ye hate to CALCULATE&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To you only do I tell the enigma that I SAW&mdash;the vision of the
+      lonesomest one.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Gloomily walked I lately in corpse-coloured twilight&mdash;gloomily and
+      sternly, with compressed lips. Not only one sun had set for me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A path which ascended daringly among boulders, an evil, lonesome path,
+      which neither herb nor shrub any longer cheered, a mountain-path, crunched
+      under the daring of my foot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mutely marching over the scornful clinking of pebbles, trampling the stone
+      that let it slip: thus did my foot force its way upwards.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Upwards:&mdash;in spite of the spirit that drew it downwards, towards the
+      abyss, the spirit of gravity, my devil and arch-enemy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Upwards:&mdash;although it sat upon me, half-dwarf, half-mole; paralysed,
+      paralysing; dripping lead in mine ear, and thoughts like drops of lead
+      into my brain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O Zarathustra,&rdquo; it whispered scornfully, syllable by syllable, &ldquo;thou
+      stone of wisdom! Thou threwest thyself high, but every thrown stone must&mdash;fall!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O Zarathustra, thou stone of wisdom, thou sling-stone, thou
+      star-destroyer! Thyself threwest thou so high,&mdash;but every thrown
+      stone&mdash;must fall!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Condemned of thyself, and to thine own stoning: O Zarathustra, far indeed
+      threwest thou thy stone&mdash;but upon THYSELF will it recoil!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then was the dwarf silent; and it lasted long. The silence, however,
+      oppressed me; and to be thus in pairs, one is verily lonesomer than when
+      alone!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I ascended, I ascended, I dreamt, I thought,&mdash;but everything
+      oppressed me. A sick one did I resemble, whom bad torture wearieth, and a
+      worse dream reawakeneth out of his first sleep.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But there is something in me which I call courage: it hath hitherto slain
+      for me every dejection. This courage at last bade me stand still and say:
+      &ldquo;Dwarf! Thou! Or I!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For courage is the best slayer,&mdash;courage which ATTACKETH: for in
+      every attack there is sound of triumph.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Man, however, is the most courageous animal: thereby hath he overcome
+      every animal. With sound of triumph hath he overcome every pain; human
+      pain, however, is the sorest pain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Courage slayeth also giddiness at abysses: and where doth man not stand at
+      abysses! Is not seeing itself&mdash;seeing abysses?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Courage is the best slayer: courage slayeth also fellow-suffering.
+      Fellow-suffering, however, is the deepest abyss: as deeply as man looketh
+      into life, so deeply also doth he look into suffering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Courage, however, is the best slayer, courage which attacketh: it slayeth
+      even death itself; for it saith: &ldquo;WAS THAT life? Well! Once more!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In such speech, however, there is much sound of triumph. He who hath ears
+      to hear, let him hear.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      2.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Halt, dwarf!&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Either I&mdash;or thou! I, however, am the
+      stronger of the two:&mdash;thou knowest not mine abysmal thought! IT&mdash;couldst
+      thou not endure!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then happened that which made me lighter: for the dwarf sprang from my
+      shoulder, the prying sprite! And it squatted on a stone in front of me.
+      There was however a gateway just where we halted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look at this gateway! Dwarf!&rdquo; I continued, &ldquo;it hath two faces. Two roads
+      come together here: these hath no one yet gone to the end of.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This long lane backwards: it continueth for an eternity. And that long
+      lane forward&mdash;that is another eternity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They are antithetical to one another, these roads; they directly abut on
+      one another:&mdash;and it is here, at this gateway, that they come
+      together. The name of the gateway is inscribed above: &lsquo;This Moment.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But should one follow them further&mdash;and ever further and further on,
+      thinkest thou, dwarf, that these roads would be eternally antithetical?&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Everything straight lieth,&rdquo; murmured the dwarf, contemptuously. &ldquo;All
+      truth is crooked; time itself is a circle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thou spirit of gravity!&rdquo; said I wrathfully, &ldquo;do not take it too lightly!
+      Or I shall let thee squat where thou squattest, Haltfoot,&mdash;and I
+      carried thee HIGH!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Observe,&rdquo; continued I, &ldquo;This Moment! From the gateway, This Moment, there
+      runneth a long eternal lane BACKWARDS: behind us lieth an eternity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Must not whatever CAN run its course of all things, have already run along
+      that lane? Must not whatever CAN happen of all things have already
+      happened, resulted, and gone by?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And if everything have already existed, what thinkest thou, dwarf, of This
+      Moment? Must not this gateway also&mdash;have already existed?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And are not all things closely bound together in such wise that This
+      Moment draweth all coming things after it? CONSEQUENTLY&mdash;itself also?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For whatever CAN run its course of all things, also in this long lane
+      OUTWARD&mdash;MUST it once more run!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And this slow spider which creepeth in the moonlight, and this moonlight
+      itself, and thou and I in this gateway whispering together, whispering of
+      eternal things&mdash;must we not all have already existed?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;And must we not return and run in that other lane out before us,
+      that long weird lane&mdash;must we not eternally return?&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus did I speak, and always more softly: for I was afraid of mine own
+      thoughts, and arrear-thoughts. Then, suddenly did I hear a dog HOWL near
+      me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Had I ever heard a dog howl thus? My thoughts ran back. Yes! When I was a
+      child, in my most distant childhood:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Then did I hear a dog howl thus. And saw it also, with hair
+      bristling, its head upwards, trembling in the stillest midnight, when even
+      dogs believe in ghosts:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;So that it excited my commiseration. For just then went the full
+      moon, silent as death, over the house; just then did it stand still, a
+      glowing globe&mdash;at rest on the flat roof, as if on some one&rsquo;s
+      property:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thereby had the dog been terrified: for dogs believe in thieves and
+      ghosts. And when I again heard such howling, then did it excite my
+      commiseration once more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Where was now the dwarf? And the gateway? And the spider? And all the
+      whispering? Had I dreamt? Had I awakened? &lsquo;Twixt rugged rocks did I
+      suddenly stand alone, dreary in the dreariest moonlight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      BUT THERE LAY A MAN! And there! The dog leaping, bristling, whining&mdash;now
+      did it see me coming&mdash;then did it howl again, then did it CRY:&mdash;had
+      I ever heard a dog cry so for help?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And verily, what I saw, the like had I never seen. A young shepherd did I
+      see, writhing, choking, quivering, with distorted countenance, and with a
+      heavy black serpent hanging out of his mouth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Had I ever seen so much loathing and pale horror on one countenance? He
+      had perhaps gone to sleep? Then had the serpent crawled into his throat&mdash;there
+      had it bitten itself fast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My hand pulled at the serpent, and pulled:&mdash;in vain! I failed to pull
+      the serpent out of his throat. Then there cried out of me: &ldquo;Bite! Bite!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Its head off! Bite!&rdquo;&mdash;so cried it out of me; my horror, my hatred, my
+      loathing, my pity, all my good and my bad cried with one voice out of me.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye daring ones around me! Ye venturers and adventurers, and whoever of you
+      have embarked with cunning sails on unexplored seas! Ye enigma-enjoyers!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Solve unto me the enigma that I then beheld, interpret unto me the vision
+      of the lonesomest one!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For it was a vision and a foresight:&mdash;WHAT did I then behold in
+      parable? And WHO is it that must come some day?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      WHO is the shepherd into whose throat the serpent thus crawled? WHO is the
+      man into whose throat all the heaviest and blackest will thus crawl?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;The shepherd however bit as my cry had admonished him; he bit with
+      a strong bite! Far away did he spit the head of the serpent&mdash;: and
+      sprang up.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No longer shepherd, no longer man&mdash;a transfigured being, a
+      light-surrounded being, that LAUGHED! Never on earth laughed a man as HE
+      laughed!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my brethren, I heard a laughter which was no human laughter,&mdash;and
+      now gnaweth a thirst at me, a longing that is never allayed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My longing for that laughter gnaweth at me: oh, how can I still endure to
+      live! And how could I endure to die at present!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0054" id="link2H_4_0054">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XLVII. INVOLUNTARY BLISS.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      With such enigmas and bitterness in his heart did Zarathustra sail o&rsquo;er
+      the sea. When, however, he was four day-journeys from the Happy Isles and
+      from his friends, then had he surmounted all his pain&mdash;: triumphantly
+      and with firm foot did he again accept his fate. And then talked
+      Zarathustra in this wise to his exulting conscience:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alone am I again, and like to be so, alone with the pure heaven, and the
+      open sea; and again is the afternoon around me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On an afternoon did I find my friends for the first time; on an afternoon,
+      also, did I find them a second time:&mdash;at the hour when all light
+      becometh stiller.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For whatever happiness is still on its way &lsquo;twixt heaven and earth, now
+      seeketh for lodging a luminous soul: WITH HAPPINESS hath all light now
+      become stiller.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O afternoon of my life! Once did my happiness also descend to the valley
+      that it might seek a lodging: then did it find those open hospitable
+      souls.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O afternoon of my life! What did I not surrender that I might have one
+      thing: this living plantation of my thoughts, and this dawn of my highest
+      hope!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Companions did the creating one once seek, and children of HIS hope: and
+      lo, it turned out that he could not find them, except he himself should
+      first create them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus am I in the midst of my work, to my children going, and from them
+      returning: for the sake of his children must Zarathustra perfect himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For in one&rsquo;s heart one loveth only one&rsquo;s child and one&rsquo;s work; and where
+      there is great love to oneself, then is it the sign of pregnancy: so have
+      I found it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still are my children verdant in their first spring, standing nigh one
+      another, and shaken in common by the winds, the trees of my garden and of
+      my best soil.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And verily, where such trees stand beside one another, there ARE Happy
+      Isles!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But one day will I take them up, and put each by itself alone: that it may
+      learn lonesomeness and defiance and prudence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Gnarled and crooked and with flexible hardness shall it then stand by the
+      sea, a living lighthouse of unconquerable life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yonder where the storms rush down into the sea, and the snout of the
+      mountain drinketh water, shall each on a time have his day and night
+      watches, for HIS testing and recognition.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Recognised and tested shall each be, to see if he be of my type and
+      lineage:&mdash;if he be master of a long will, silent even when he
+      speaketh, and giving in such wise that he TAKETH in giving:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;So that he may one day become my companion, a fellow-creator and
+      fellow-enjoyer with Zarathustra:&mdash;such a one as writeth my will on my
+      tables, for the fuller perfection of all things.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And for his sake and for those like him, must I perfect MYSELF: therefore
+      do I now avoid my happiness, and present myself to every misfortune&mdash;for
+      MY final testing and recognition.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And verily, it were time that I went away; and the wanderer&rsquo;s shadow and
+      the longest tedium and the stillest hour&mdash;have all said unto me: &ldquo;It
+      is the highest time!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The word blew to me through the keyhole and said &ldquo;Come!&rdquo; The door sprang
+      subtlely open unto me, and said &ldquo;Go!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But I lay enchained to my love for my children: desire spread this snare
+      for me&mdash;the desire for love&mdash;that I should become the prey of my
+      children, and lose myself in them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Desiring&mdash;that is now for me to have lost myself. I POSSESS YOU, MY
+      CHILDREN! In this possessing shall everything be assurance and nothing
+      desire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But brooding lay the sun of my love upon me, in his own juice stewed
+      Zarathustra,&mdash;then did shadows and doubts fly past me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For frost and winter I now longed: &ldquo;Oh, that frost and winter would again
+      make me crack and crunch!&rdquo; sighed I:&mdash;then arose icy mist out of me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My past burst its tomb, many pains buried alive woke up&mdash;: fully
+      slept had they merely, concealed in corpse-clothes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So called everything unto me in signs: &ldquo;It is time!&rdquo; But I&mdash;heard
+      not, until at last mine abyss moved, and my thought bit me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, abysmal thought, which art MY thought! When shall I find strength to
+      hear thee burrowing, and no longer tremble?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To my very throat throbbeth my heart when I hear thee burrowing! Thy
+      muteness even is like to strangle me, thou abysmal mute one!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As yet have I never ventured to call thee UP; it hath been enough that I&mdash;have
+      carried thee about with me! As yet have I not been strong enough for my
+      final lion-wantonness and playfulness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sufficiently formidable unto me hath thy weight ever been: but one day
+      shall I yet find the strength and the lion&rsquo;s voice which will call thee
+      up!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When I shall have surmounted myself therein, then will I surmount myself
+      also in that which is greater; and a VICTORY shall be the seal of my
+      perfection!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile do I sail along on uncertain seas; chance flattereth me,
+      smooth-tongued chance; forward and backward do I gaze&mdash;, still see I
+      no end.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As yet hath the hour of my final struggle not come to me&mdash;or doth it
+      come to me perhaps just now? Verily, with insidious beauty do sea and life
+      gaze upon me round about:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O afternoon of my life! O happiness before eventide! O haven upon high
+      seas! O peace in uncertainty! How I distrust all of you!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, distrustful am I of your insidious beauty! Like the lover am I,
+      who distrusteth too sleek smiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he pusheth the best-beloved before him&mdash;tender even in severity,
+      the jealous one&mdash;, so do I push this blissful hour before me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Away with thee, thou blissful hour! With thee hath there come to me an
+      involuntary bliss! Ready for my severest pain do I here stand:&mdash;at
+      the wrong time hast thou come!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Away with thee, thou blissful hour! Rather harbour there&mdash;with my
+      children! Hasten! and bless them before eventide with MY happiness!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There, already approacheth eventide: the sun sinketh. Away&mdash;my
+      happiness!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra. And he waited for his misfortune the whole night;
+      but he waited in vain. The night remained clear and calm, and happiness
+      itself came nigher and nigher unto him. Towards morning, however,
+      Zarathustra laughed to his heart, and said mockingly: &ldquo;Happiness runneth
+      after me. That is because I do not run after women. Happiness, however, is
+      a woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0055" id="link2H_4_0055">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XLVIII. BEFORE SUNRISE.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      O heaven above me, thou pure, thou deep heaven! Thou abyss of light!
+      Gazing on thee, I tremble with divine desires.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Up to thy height to toss myself&mdash;that is MY depth! In thy purity to
+      hide myself&mdash;that is MINE innocence!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The God veileth his beauty: thus hidest thou thy stars. Thou speakest not:
+      THUS proclaimest thou thy wisdom unto me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mute o&rsquo;er the raging sea hast thou risen for me to-day; thy love and thy
+      modesty make a revelation unto my raging soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In that thou camest unto me beautiful, veiled in thy beauty, in that thou
+      spakest unto me mutely, obvious in thy wisdom:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, how could I fail to divine all the modesty of thy soul! BEFORE the sun
+      didst thou come unto me&mdash;the lonesomest one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We have been friends from the beginning: to us are grief, gruesomeness,
+      and ground common; even the sun is common to us.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We do not speak to each other, because we know too much&mdash;: we keep
+      silent to each other, we smile our knowledge to each other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Art thou not the light of my fire? Hast thou not the sister-soul of mine
+      insight?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Together did we learn everything; together did we learn to ascend beyond
+      ourselves to ourselves, and to smile uncloudedly:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Uncloudedly to smile down out of luminous eyes and out of miles of
+      distance, when under us constraint and purpose and guilt steam like rain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And wandered I alone, for WHAT did my soul hunger by night and in
+      labyrinthine paths? And climbed I mountains, WHOM did I ever seek, if not
+      thee, upon mountains?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And all my wandering and mountain-climbing: a necessity was it merely, and
+      a makeshift of the unhandy one:&mdash;to FLY only, wanteth mine entire
+      will, to fly into THEE!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And what have I hated more than passing clouds, and whatever tainteth
+      thee? And mine own hatred have I even hated, because it tainted thee!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The passing clouds I detest&mdash;those stealthy cats of prey: they take
+      from thee and me what is common to us&mdash;the vast unbounded Yea- and
+      Amen-saying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      These mediators and mixers we detest&mdash;the passing clouds: those
+      half-and-half ones, that have neither learned to bless nor to curse from
+      the heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Rather will I sit in a tub under a closed heaven, rather will I sit in the
+      abyss without heaven, than see thee, thou luminous heaven, tainted with
+      passing clouds!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And oft have I longed to pin them fast with the jagged gold-wires of
+      lightning, that I might, like the thunder, beat the drum upon their
+      kettle-bellies:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;An angry drummer, because they rob me of thy Yea and Amen!&mdash;thou
+      heaven above me, thou pure, thou luminous heaven! Thou abyss of light!&mdash;because
+      they rob thee of MY Yea and Amen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For rather will I have noise and thunders and tempest-blasts, than this
+      discreet, doubting cat-repose; and also amongst men do I hate most of all
+      the soft-treaders, and half-and-half ones, and the doubting, hesitating,
+      passing clouds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And &ldquo;he who cannot bless shall LEARN to curse!&rdquo;&mdash;this clear teaching
+      dropt unto me from the clear heaven; this star standeth in my heaven even
+      in dark nights.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I, however, am a blesser and a Yea-sayer, if thou be but around me, thou
+      pure, thou luminous heaven! Thou abyss of light!&mdash;into all abysses do
+      I then carry my beneficent Yea-saying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A blesser have I become and a Yea-sayer: and therefore strove I long and
+      was a striver, that I might one day get my hands free for blessing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This, however, is my blessing: to stand above everything as its own
+      heaven, its round roof, its azure bell and eternal security: and blessed
+      is he who thus blesseth!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For all things are baptized at the font of eternity, and beyond good and
+      evil; good and evil themselves, however, are but fugitive shadows and damp
+      afflictions and passing clouds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, it is a blessing and not a blasphemy when I teach that &ldquo;above all
+      things there standeth the heaven of chance, the heaven of innocence, the
+      heaven of hazard, the heaven of wantonness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of Hazard&rdquo;&mdash;that is the oldest nobility in the world; that gave I
+      back to all things; I emancipated them from bondage under purpose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This freedom and celestial serenity did I put like an azure bell above all
+      things, when I taught that over them and through them, no &ldquo;eternal Will&rdquo;&mdash;willeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This wantonness and folly did I put in place of that Will, when I taught
+      that &ldquo;In everything there is one thing impossible&mdash;rationality!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A LITTLE reason, to be sure, a germ of wisdom scattered from star to star&mdash;this
+      leaven is mixed in all things: for the sake of folly, wisdom is mixed in
+      all things!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A little wisdom is indeed possible; but this blessed security have I found
+      in all things, that they prefer&mdash;<i>to dance</i> on the feet of chance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O heaven above me! thou pure, thou lofty heaven! This is now thy purity
+      unto me, that there is no eternal reason-spider and reason-cobweb:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;That thou art to me a dancing-floor for divine chances, that thou
+      art to me a table of the Gods, for divine dice and dice-players!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But thou blushest? Have I spoken unspeakable things? Have I abused, when I
+      meant to bless thee?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Or is it the shame of being two of us that maketh thee blush!&mdash;Dost
+      thou bid me go and be silent, because now&mdash;DAY cometh?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The world is deep:&mdash;and deeper than e&rsquo;er the day could read. Not
+      everything may be uttered in presence of day. But day cometh: so let us
+      part!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O heaven above me, thou modest one! thou glowing one! O thou, my happiness
+      before sunrise! The day cometh: so let us part!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0056" id="link2H_4_0056">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      XLIX. THE BEDWARFING VIRTUE.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      1.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      When Zarathustra was again on the continent, he did not go straightway to
+      his mountains and his cave, but made many wanderings and questionings, and
+      ascertained this and that; so that he said of himself jestingly: &ldquo;Lo, a
+      river that floweth back unto its source in many windings!&rdquo; For he wanted
+      to learn what had taken place AMONG MEN during the interval: whether they
+      had become greater or smaller. And once, when he saw a row of new houses,
+      he marvelled, and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do these houses mean? Verily, no great soul put them up as its
+      simile!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Did perhaps a silly child take them out of its toy-box? Would that another
+      child put them again into the box!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And these rooms and chambers&mdash;can MEN go out and in there? They seem
+      to be made for silk dolls; or for dainty-eaters, who perhaps let others
+      eat with them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Zarathustra stood still and meditated. At last he said sorrowfully:
+      &ldquo;There hath EVERYTHING become smaller!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Everywhere do I see lower doorways: he who is of MY type can still go
+      therethrough, but&mdash;he must stoop!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, when shall I arrive again at my home, where I shall no longer have to
+      stoop&mdash;shall no longer have to stoop BEFORE THE SMALL ONES!&rdquo;&mdash;And
+      Zarathustra sighed, and gazed into the distance.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The same day, however, he gave his discourse on the bedwarfing virtue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      2.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I pass through this people and keep mine eyes open: they do not forgive me
+      for not envying their virtues.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They bite at me, because I say unto them that for small people, small
+      virtues are necessary&mdash;and because it is hard for me to understand
+      that small people are NECESSARY!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here am I still like a cock in a strange farm-yard, at which even the hens
+      peck: but on that account I am not unfriendly to the hens.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I am courteous towards them, as towards all small annoyances; to be
+      prickly towards what is small, seemeth to me wisdom for hedgehogs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They all speak of me when they sit around their fire in the evening&mdash;they
+      speak of me, but no one thinketh&mdash;of me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This is the new stillness which I have experienced: their noise around me
+      spreadeth a mantle over my thoughts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They shout to one another: &ldquo;What is this gloomy cloud about to do to us?
+      Let us see that it doth not bring a plague upon us!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And recently did a woman seize upon her child that was coming unto me:
+      &ldquo;Take the children away,&rdquo; cried she, &ldquo;such eyes scorch children&rsquo;s souls.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They cough when I speak: they think coughing an objection to strong winds&mdash;they
+      divine nothing of the boisterousness of my happiness!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We have not yet time for Zarathustra&rdquo;&mdash;so they object; but what
+      matter about a time that &ldquo;hath no time&rdquo; for Zarathustra?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And if they should altogether praise me, how could I go to sleep on THEIR
+      praise? A girdle of spines is their praise unto me: it scratcheth me even
+      when I take it off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And this also did I learn among them: the praiser doeth as if he gave
+      back; in truth, however, he wanteth more to be given him!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ask my foot if their lauding and luring strains please it! Verily, to such
+      measure and ticktack, it liketh neither to dance nor to stand still.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To small virtues would they fain lure and laud me; to the ticktack of
+      small happiness would they fain persuade my foot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I pass through this people and keep mine eyes open; they have become
+      SMALLER, and ever become smaller:&mdash;THE REASON THEREOF IS THEIR
+      DOCTRINE OF HAPPINESS AND VIRTUE.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For they are moderate also in virtue,&mdash;because they want comfort.
+      With comfort, however, moderate virtue only is compatible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To be sure, they also learn in their way to stride on and stride forward:
+      that, I call their HOBBLING.&mdash;Thereby they become a hindrance to all
+      who are in haste.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And many of them go forward, and look backwards thereby, with stiffened
+      necks: those do I like to run up against.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Foot and eye shall not lie, nor give the lie to each other. But there is
+      much lying among small people.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some of them WILL, but most of them are WILLED. Some of them are genuine,
+      but most of them are bad actors.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There are actors without knowing it amongst them, and actors without
+      intending it&mdash;, the genuine ones are always rare, especially the
+      genuine actors.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of man there is little here: therefore do their women masculinise
+      themselves. For only he who is man enough, will&mdash;SAVE THE WOMAN in
+      woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And this hypocrisy found I worst amongst them, that even those who command
+      feign the virtues of those who serve.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I serve, thou servest, we serve&rdquo;&mdash;so chanteth here even the
+      hypocrisy of the rulers&mdash;and alas! if the first lord be ONLY the
+      first servant!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, even upon their hypocrisy did mine eyes&rsquo; curiosity alight; and well
+      did I divine all their fly-happiness, and their buzzing around sunny
+      window-panes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So much kindness, so much weakness do I see. So much justice and pity, so
+      much weakness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Round, fair, and considerate are they to one another, as grains of sand
+      are round, fair, and considerate to grains of sand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Modestly to embrace a small happiness&mdash;that do they call
+      &ldquo;submission&rdquo;! and at the same time they peer modestly after a new small
+      happiness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In their hearts they want simply one thing most of all: that no one hurt
+      them. Thus do they anticipate every one&rsquo;s wishes and do well unto every
+      one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That, however, is COWARDICE, though it be called &ldquo;virtue.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when they chance to speak harshly, those small people, then do <i>I</i>
+      hear therein only their hoarseness&mdash;every draught of air maketh them
+      hoarse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Shrewd indeed are they, their virtues have shrewd fingers. But they lack
+      fists: their fingers do not know how to creep behind fists.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Virtue for them is what maketh modest and tame: therewith have they made
+      the wolf a dog, and man himself man&rsquo;s best domestic animal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We set our chair in the MIDST&rdquo;&mdash;so saith their smirking unto me&mdash;&ldquo;and
+      as far from dying gladiators as from satisfied swine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That, however, is&mdash;MEDIOCRITY, though it be called moderation.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      3.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I pass through this people and let fall many words: but they know neither
+      how to take nor how to retain them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They wonder why I came not to revile venery and vice; and verily, I came
+      not to warn against pickpockets either!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They wonder why I am not ready to abet and whet their wisdom: as if they
+      had not yet enough of wiseacres, whose voices grate on mine ear like
+      slate-pencils!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when I call out: &ldquo;Curse all the cowardly devils in you, that would
+      fain whimper and fold the hands and adore&rdquo;&mdash;then do they shout:
+      &ldquo;Zarathustra is godless.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And especially do their teachers of submission shout this;&mdash;but
+      precisely in their ears do I love to cry: &ldquo;Yea! I AM Zarathustra, the
+      godless!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Those teachers of submission! Wherever there is aught puny, or sickly, or
+      scabby, there do they creep like lice; and only my disgust preventeth me
+      from cracking them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well! This is my sermon for THEIR ears: I am Zarathustra the godless, who
+      saith: &ldquo;Who is more godless than I, that I may enjoy his teaching?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I am Zarathustra the godless: where do I find mine equal? And all those
+      are mine equals who give unto themselves their Will, and divest themselves
+      of all submission.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I am Zarathustra the godless! I cook every chance in MY pot. And only when
+      it hath been quite cooked do I welcome it as MY food.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And verily, many a chance came imperiously unto me: but still more
+      imperiously did my WILL speak unto it,&mdash;then did it lie imploringly
+      upon its knees&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Imploring that it might find home and heart with me, and saying
+      flatteringly: &ldquo;See, O Zarathustra, how friend only cometh unto friend!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But why talk I, when no one hath MINE ears! And so will I shout it out
+      unto all the winds:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye ever become smaller, ye small people! Ye crumble away, ye comfortable
+      ones! Ye will yet perish&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;By your many small virtues, by your many small omissions, and by
+      your many small submissions!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Too tender, too yielding: so is your soil! But for a tree to become GREAT,
+      it seeketh to twine hard roots around hard rocks!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Also what ye omit weaveth at the web of all the human future; even your
+      naught is a cobweb, and a spider that liveth on the blood of the future.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when ye take, then is it like stealing, ye small virtuous ones; but
+      even among knaves HONOUR saith that &ldquo;one shall only steal when one cannot
+      rob.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It giveth itself&rdquo;&mdash;that is also a doctrine of submission. But I say
+      unto you, ye comfortable ones, that IT TAKETH TO ITSELF, and will ever
+      take more and more from you!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, that ye would renounce all HALF-willing, and would decide for idleness
+      as ye decide for action!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, that ye understood my word: &ldquo;Do ever what ye will&mdash;but first be
+      such as CAN WILL.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Love ever your neighbour as yourselves&mdash;but first be such as LOVE
+      THEMSELVES&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Such as love with great love, such as love with great contempt!&rdquo;
+       Thus speaketh Zarathustra the godless.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But why talk I, when no one hath MINE ears! It is still an hour too early
+      for me here.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mine own forerunner am I among this people, mine own cockcrow in dark
+      lanes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But THEIR hour cometh! And there cometh also mine! Hourly do they become
+      smaller, poorer, unfruitfuller,&mdash;poor herbs! poor earth!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And SOON shall they stand before me like dry grass and prairie, and
+      verily, weary of themselves&mdash;and panting for FIRE, more than for
+      water!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O blessed hour of the lightning! O mystery before noontide!&mdash;Running
+      fires will I one day make of them, and heralds with flaming tongues:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Herald shall they one day with flaming tongues: It cometh, it is
+      nigh, THE GREAT NOONTIDE!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0057" id="link2H_4_0057">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      L. ON THE OLIVE-MOUNT.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Winter, a bad guest, sitteth with me at home; blue are my hands with his
+      friendly hand-shaking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I honour him, that bad guest, but gladly leave him alone. Gladly do I run
+      away from him; and when one runneth WELL, then one escapeth him!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With warm feet and warm thoughts do I run where the wind is calm&mdash;to
+      the sunny corner of mine olive-mount.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There do I laugh at my stern guest, and am still fond of him; because he
+      cleareth my house of flies, and quieteth many little noises.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For he suffereth it not if a gnat wanteth to buzz, or even two of them;
+      also the lanes maketh he lonesome, so that the moonlight is afraid there
+      at night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A hard guest is he,&mdash;but I honour him, and do not worship, like the
+      tenderlings, the pot-bellied fire-idol.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Better even a little teeth-chattering than idol-adoration!&mdash;so
+      willeth my nature. And especially have I a grudge against all ardent,
+      steaming, steamy fire-idols.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Him whom I love, I love better in winter than in summer; better do I now
+      mock at mine enemies, and more heartily, when winter sitteth in my house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Heartily, verily, even when I CREEP into bed&mdash;: there, still laugheth
+      and wantoneth my hidden happiness; even my deceptive dream laugheth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I, a&mdash;creeper? Never in my life did I creep before the powerful; and
+      if ever I lied, then did I lie out of love. Therefore am I glad even in my
+      winter-bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A poor bed warmeth me more than a rich one, for I am jealous of my
+      poverty. And in winter she is most faithful unto me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a wickedness do I begin every day: I mock at the winter with a cold
+      bath: on that account grumbleth my stern house-mate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Also do I like to tickle him with a wax-taper, that he may finally let the
+      heavens emerge from ashy-grey twilight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For especially wicked am I in the morning: at the early hour when the pail
+      rattleth at the well, and horses neigh warmly in grey lanes:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Impatiently do I then wait, that the clear sky may finally dawn for me,
+      the snow-bearded winter-sky, the hoary one, the white-head,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;The winter-sky, the silent winter-sky, which often stifleth even
+      its sun!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Did I perhaps learn from it the long clear silence? Or did it learn it
+      from me? Or hath each of us devised it himself?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of all good things the origin is a thousandfold,&mdash;all good roguish
+      things spring into existence for joy: how could they always do so&mdash;for
+      once only!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A good roguish thing is also the long silence, and to look, like the
+      winter-sky, out of a clear, round-eyed countenance:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Like it to stifle one&rsquo;s sun, and one&rsquo;s inflexible solar will:
+      verily, this art and this winter-roguishness have I learnt WELL!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My best-loved wickedness and art is it, that my silence hath learned not
+      to betray itself by silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Clattering with diction and dice, I outwit the solemn assistants: all
+      those stern watchers, shall my will and purpose elude.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That no one might see down into my depth and into mine ultimate will&mdash;for
+      that purpose did I devise the long clear silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Many a shrewd one did I find: he veiled his countenance and made his water
+      muddy, that no one might see therethrough and thereunder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But precisely unto him came the shrewder distrusters and nut-crackers:
+      precisely from him did they fish his best-concealed fish!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the clear, the honest, the transparent&mdash;these are for me the
+      wisest silent ones: in them, so PROFOUND is the depth that even the
+      clearest water doth not&mdash;betray it.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou snow-bearded, silent, winter-sky, thou round-eyed whitehead above me!
+      Oh, thou heavenly simile of my soul and its wantonness!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And MUST I not conceal myself like one who hath swallowed gold&mdash;lest
+      my soul should be ripped up?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      MUST I not wear stilts, that they may OVERLOOK my long legs&mdash;all
+      those enviers and injurers around me?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Those dingy, fire-warmed, used-up, green-tinted, ill-natured souls&mdash;how
+      COULD their envy endure my happiness!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus do I show them only the ice and winter of my peaks&mdash;and NOT that
+      my mountain windeth all the solar girdles around it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They hear only the whistling of my winter-storms: and know NOT that I also
+      travel over warm seas, like longing, heavy, hot south-winds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They commiserate also my accidents and chances:&mdash;but MY word saith:
+      &ldquo;Suffer the chance to come unto me: innocent is it as a little child!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      How COULD they endure my happiness, if I did not put around it accidents,
+      and winter-privations, and bear-skin caps, and enmantling snowflakes!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;If I did not myself commiserate their PITY, the pity of those
+      enviers and injurers!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;If I did not myself sigh before them, and chatter with cold, and
+      patiently LET myself be swathed in their pity!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This is the wise waggish-will and good-will of my soul, that it CONCEALETH
+      NOT its winters and glacial storms; it concealeth not its chilblains
+      either.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To one man, lonesomeness is the flight of the sick one; to another, it is
+      the flight FROM the sick ones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Let them HEAR me chattering and sighing with winter-cold, all those poor
+      squinting knaves around me! With such sighing and chattering do I flee
+      from their heated rooms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Let them sympathise with me and sigh with me on account of my chilblains:
+      &ldquo;At the ice of knowledge will he yet FREEZE TO DEATH!&rdquo;&mdash;so they
+      mourn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile do I run with warm feet hither and thither on mine olive-mount:
+      in the sunny corner of mine olive-mount do I sing, and mock at all pity.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus sang Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0058" id="link2H_4_0058">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LI. ON PASSING-BY.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      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 &ldquo;the ape of
+      Zarathustra:&rdquo; 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:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O Zarathustra, here is the great city: here hast thou nothing to seek and
+      everything to lose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why wouldst thou wade through this mire? Have pity upon thy foot! Spit
+      rather on the gate of the city, and&mdash;turn back!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here is the hell for anchorites&rsquo; thoughts: here are great thoughts seethed
+      alive and boiled small.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here do all great sentiments decay: here may only rattle-boned sensations
+      rattle!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Smellest thou not already the shambles and cookshops of the spirit?
+      Steameth not this city with the fumes of slaughtered spirit?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Seest thou not the souls hanging like limp dirty rags?&mdash;And they make
+      newspapers also out of these rags!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hearest thou not how spirit hath here become a verbal game? Loathsome
+      verbal swill doth it vomit forth!&mdash;And they make newspapers also out
+      of this verbal swill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All lusts and vices are here at home; but here there are also the
+      virtuous; there is much appointable appointed virtue:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Much appointable virtue with scribe-fingers, and hardy sitting-flesh and
+      waiting-flesh, blessed with small breast-stars, and padded, haunchless
+      daughters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There is here also much piety, and much faithful spittle-licking and
+      spittle-backing, before the God of Hosts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;From on high,&rdquo; drippeth the star, and the gracious spittle; for the high,
+      longeth every starless bosom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I serve, thou servest, we serve&rdquo;&mdash;so prayeth all appointable virtue
+      to the prince: that the merited star may at last stick on the slender
+      breast!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the moon still revolveth around all that is earthly: so revolveth also
+      the prince around what is earthliest of all&mdash;that, however, is the
+      gold of the shopman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The God of the Hosts of war is not the God of the golden bar; the prince
+      proposeth, but the shopman&mdash;disposeth!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By all that is luminous and strong and good in thee, O Zarathustra! Spit
+      on this city of shopmen and return back!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Spit on the city of compressed souls and slender breasts, of pointed eyes
+      and sticky fingers&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;On the city of the obtrusive, the brazen-faced, the pen-demagogues
+      and tongue-demagogues, the overheated ambitious:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Where everything maimed, ill-famed, lustful, untrustful, over-mellow,
+      sickly-yellow and seditious, festereth pernicious:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Spit on the great city and turn back!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here, however, did Zarathustra interrupt the foaming fool, and shut his
+      mouth.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Stop this at once! called out Zarathustra, long have thy speech and thy
+      species disgusted me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why didst thou live so long by the swamp, that thou thyself hadst to
+      become a frog and a toad?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Floweth there not a tainted, frothy, swamp-blood in thine own veins, when
+      thou hast thus learned to croak and revile?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why wentest thou not into the forest? Or why didst thou not till the
+      ground? Is the sea not full of green islands?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I despise thy contempt; and when thou warnedst me&mdash;why didst thou not
+      warn thyself?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Out of love alone shall my contempt and my warning bird take wing; but not
+      out of the swamp!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They call thee mine ape, thou foaming fool: but I call thee my
+      grunting-pig,&mdash;by thy grunting, thou spoilest even my praise of
+      folly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What was it that first made thee grunt? Because no one sufficiently
+      FLATTERED thee:&mdash;therefore didst thou seat thyself beside this filth,
+      that thou mightest have cause for much grunting,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;That thou mightest have cause for much VENGEANCE! For vengeance,
+      thou vain fool, is all thy foaming; I have divined thee well!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But thy fools&rsquo;-word injureth ME, even when thou art right! And even if
+      Zarathustra&rsquo;s word WERE a hundred times justified, thou wouldst ever&mdash;DO
+      wrong with my word!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra. Then did he look on the great city and sighed, and
+      was long silent. At last he spake thus:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I loathe also this great city, and not only this fool. Here and there&mdash;
+      there is nothing to better, nothing to worsen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Woe to this great city!&mdash;And I would that I already saw the pillar of
+      fire in which it will be consumed!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For such pillars of fire must precede the great noontide. But this hath
+      its time and its own fate.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This precept, however, give I unto thee, in parting, thou fool: Where one
+      can no longer love, there should one&mdash;PASS BY!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra, and passed by the fool and the great city.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0059" id="link2H_4_0059">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LII. THE APOSTATES.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      1.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Ah, lieth everything already withered and grey which but lately stood
+      green and many-hued on this meadow! And how much honey of hope did I carry
+      hence into my beehives!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Those young hearts have already all become old&mdash;and not old even!
+      only weary, ordinary, comfortable:&mdash;they declare it: &ldquo;We have again
+      become pious.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Of late did I see them run forth at early morn with valorous steps: but
+      the feet of their knowledge became weary, and now do they malign even
+      their morning valour!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, many of them once lifted their legs like the dancer; to them
+      winked the laughter of my wisdom:&mdash;then did they bethink themselves.
+      Just now have I seen them bent down&mdash;to creep to the cross.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Around light and liberty did they once flutter like gnats and young poets.
+      A little older, a little colder: and already are they mystifiers, and
+      mumblers and mollycoddles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Did perhaps their hearts despond, because lonesomeness had swallowed me
+      like a whale? Did their ear perhaps hearken yearningly-long for me IN
+      VAIN, and for my trumpet-notes and herald-calls?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Ah! Ever are there but few of those whose hearts have persistent
+      courage and exuberance; and in such remaineth also the spirit patient. The
+      rest, however, are COWARDLY.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The rest: these are always the great majority, the common-place, the
+      superfluous, the far-too many&mdash;those all are cowardly!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Him who is of my type, will also the experiences of my type meet on the
+      way: so that his first companions must be corpses and buffoons.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His second companions, however&mdash;they will call themselves his
+      BELIEVERS,&mdash;will be a living host, with much love, much folly, much
+      unbearded veneration.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To those believers shall he who is of my type among men not bind his
+      heart; in those spring-times and many-hued meadows shall he not believe,
+      who knoweth the fickly faint-hearted human species!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      COULD they do otherwise, then would they also WILL otherwise. The
+      half-and-half spoil every whole. That leaves become withered,&mdash;what
+      is there to lament about that!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Let them go and fall away, O Zarathustra, and do not lament! Better even
+      to blow amongst them with rustling winds,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Blow amongst those leaves, O Zarathustra, that everything WITHERED
+      may run away from thee the faster!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      2.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We have again become pious&rdquo;&mdash;so do those apostates confess; and some
+      of them are still too pusillanimous thus to confess.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Unto them I look into the eye,&mdash;before them I say it unto their face
+      and unto the blush on their cheeks: Ye are those who again PRAY!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is however a shame to pray! Not for all, but for thee, and me, and
+      whoever hath his conscience in his head. For THEE it is a shame to pray!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou knowest it well: the faint-hearted devil in thee, which would fain
+      fold its arms, and place its hands in its bosom, and take it easier:&mdash;this
+      faint-hearted devil persuadeth thee that &ldquo;there IS a God!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      THEREBY, however, dost thou belong to the light-dreading type, to whom
+      light never permitteth repose: now must thou daily thrust thy head deeper
+      into obscurity and vapour!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And verily, thou choosest the hour well: for just now do the nocturnal
+      birds again fly abroad. The hour hath come for all light-dreading people,
+      the vesper hour and leisure hour, when they do not&mdash;&ldquo;take leisure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      I hear it and smell it: it hath come&mdash;their hour for hunt and
+      procession, not indeed for a wild hunt, but for a tame, lame, snuffling,
+      soft-treaders&rsquo;, soft-prayers&rsquo; hunt,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;For a hunt after susceptible simpletons: all mouse-traps for the
+      heart have again been set! And whenever I lift a curtain, a night-moth
+      rusheth out of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Did it perhaps squat there along with another night-moth? For everywhere
+      do I smell small concealed communities; and wherever there are closets
+      there are new devotees therein, and the atmosphere of devotees.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They sit for long evenings beside one another, and say: &ldquo;Let us again
+      become like little children and say, &lsquo;good God!&rsquo;&rdquo;&mdash;ruined in mouths
+      and stomachs by the pious confectioners.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Or they look for long evenings at a crafty, lurking cross-spider, that
+      preacheth prudence to the spiders themselves, and teacheth that &ldquo;under
+      crosses it is good for cobweb-spinning!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Or they sit all day at swamps with angle-rods, and on that account think
+      themselves PROFOUND; but whoever fisheth where there are no fish, I do not
+      even call him superficial!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Or they learn in godly-gay style to play the harp with a hymn-poet, who
+      would fain harp himself into the heart of young girls:&mdash;for he hath
+      tired of old girls and their praises.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Or they learn to shudder with a learned semi-madcap, who waiteth in
+      darkened rooms for spirits to come to him&mdash;and the spirit runneth
+      away entirely!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Or they listen to an old roving howl- and growl-piper, who hath learnt from
+      the sad winds the sadness of sounds; now pipeth he as the wind, and
+      preacheth sadness in sad strains.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And some of them have even become night-watchmen: they know now how to
+      blow horns, and go about at night and awaken old things which have long
+      fallen asleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Five words about old things did I hear yester-night at the garden-wall:
+      they came from such old, sorrowful, arid night-watchmen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For a father he careth not sufficiently for his children: human fathers
+      do this better!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is too old! He now careth no more for his children,&rdquo;&mdash;answered
+      the other night-watchman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;HATH he then children? No one can prove it unless he himself prove it! I
+      have long wished that he would for once prove it thoroughly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Prove? As if HE had ever proved anything! Proving is difficult to him; he
+      layeth great stress on one&rsquo;s BELIEVING him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay! Ay! Belief saveth him; belief in him. That is the way with old
+      people! So it is with us also!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Thus spake to each other the two old night-watchmen and
+      light-scarers, and tooted thereupon sorrowfully on their horns: so did it
+      happen yester-night at the garden-wall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To me, however, did the heart writhe with laughter, and was like to break;
+      it knew not where to go, and sunk into the midriff.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, it will be my death yet&mdash;to choke with laughter when I see
+      asses drunken, and hear night-watchmen thus doubt about God.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hath the time not LONG since passed for all such doubts? Who may nowadays
+      awaken such old slumbering, light-shunning things!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With the old Deities hath it long since come to an end:&mdash;and verily,
+      a good joyful Deity-end had they!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They did not &ldquo;begloom&rdquo; themselves to death&mdash;that do people fabricate!
+      On the contrary, they&mdash;LAUGHED themselves to death once on a time!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That took place when the unGodliest utterance came from a God himself&mdash;the
+      utterance: &ldquo;There is but one God! Thou shalt have no other Gods before
+      me!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;An old grim-beard of a God, a jealous one, forgot himself in such
+      wise:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And all the Gods then laughed, and shook upon their thrones, and
+      exclaimed: &ldquo;Is it not just divinity that there are Gods, but no God?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He that hath an ear let him hear.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus talked Zarathustra in the city he loved, which is surnamed &ldquo;The Pied
+      Cow.&rdquo; For from here he had but two days to travel to reach once more his
+      cave and his animals; his soul, however, rejoiced unceasingly on account
+      of the nighness of his return home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0060" id="link2H_4_0060">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LIII. THE RETURN HOME.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      O lonesomeness! My HOME, lonesomeness! Too long have I lived wildly in
+      wild remoteness, to return to thee without tears!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now threaten me with the finger as mothers threaten; now smile upon me as
+      mothers smile; now say just: &ldquo;Who was it that like a whirlwind once rushed
+      away from me?&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Who when departing called out: &lsquo;Too long have I sat with
+      lonesomeness; there have I unlearned silence!&rsquo; THAT hast thou learned now&mdash;surely?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O Zarathustra, everything do I know; and that thou wert MORE FORSAKEN
+      amongst the many, thou unique one, than thou ever wert with me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One thing is forsakenness, another matter is lonesomeness: THAT hast thou
+      now learned! And that amongst men thou wilt ever be wild and strange:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Wild and strange even when they love thee: for above all they want
+      to be TREATED INDULGENTLY!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here, however, art thou at home and house with thyself; here canst thou
+      utter everything, and unbosom all motives; nothing is here ashamed of
+      concealed, congealed feelings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here do all things come caressingly to thy talk and flatter thee: for they
+      want to ride upon thy back. On every simile dost thou here ride to every
+      truth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Uprightly and openly mayest thou here talk to all things: and verily, it
+      soundeth as praise in their ears, for one to talk to all things&mdash;directly!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Another matter, however, is forsakenness. For, dost thou remember, O
+      Zarathustra? When thy bird screamed overhead, when thou stoodest in the
+      forest, irresolute, ignorant where to go, beside a corpse:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;When thou spakest: &lsquo;Let mine animals lead me! More dangerous have I
+      found it among men than among animals:&rsquo;&mdash;THAT was forsakenness!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And dost thou remember, O Zarathustra? When thou sattest in thine isle, a
+      well of wine giving and granting amongst empty buckets, bestowing and
+      distributing amongst the thirsty:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Until at last thou alone sattest thirsty amongst the drunken ones,
+      and wailedst nightly: &lsquo;Is taking not more blessed than giving? And
+      stealing yet more blessed than taking?&rsquo;&mdash;THAT was forsakenness!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And dost thou remember, O Zarathustra? When thy stillest hour came and
+      drove thee forth from thyself, when with wicked whispering it said: &lsquo;Speak
+      and succumb!&rsquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;When it disgusted thee with all thy waiting and silence, and
+      discouraged thy humble courage: THAT was forsakenness!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O lonesomeness! My home, lonesomeness! How blessedly and tenderly speaketh
+      thy voice unto me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We do not question each other, we do not complain to each other; we go
+      together openly through open doors.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For all is open with thee and clear; and even the hours run here on
+      lighter feet. For in the dark, time weigheth heavier upon one than in the
+      light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here fly open unto me all being&rsquo;s words and word-cabinets: here all being
+      wanteth to become words, here all becoming wanteth to learn of me how to
+      talk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Down there, however&mdash;all talking is in vain! There, forgetting and
+      passing-by are the best wisdom: THAT have I learned now!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He who would understand everything in man must handle everything. But for
+      that I have too clean hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I do not like even to inhale their breath; alas! that I have lived so long
+      among their noise and bad breaths!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O blessed stillness around me! O pure odours around me! How from a deep
+      breast this stillness fetcheth pure breath! How it hearkeneth, this
+      blessed stillness!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But down there&mdash;there speaketh everything, there is everything
+      misheard. If one announce one&rsquo;s wisdom with bells, the shopmen in the
+      market-place will out-jingle it with pennies!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Everything among them talketh; no one knoweth any longer how to
+      understand. Everything falleth into the water; nothing falleth any longer
+      into deep wells.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Everything among them talketh, nothing succeedeth any longer and
+      accomplisheth itself. Everything cackleth, but who will still sit quietly
+      on the nest and hatch eggs?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Everything among them talketh, everything is out-talked. And that which
+      yesterday was still too hard for time itself and its tooth, hangeth
+      to-day, outchamped and outchewed, from the mouths of the men of to-day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Everything among them talketh, everything is betrayed. And what was once
+      called the secret and secrecy of profound souls, belongeth to-day to the
+      street-trumpeters and other butterflies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O human hubbub, thou wonderful thing! Thou noise in dark streets! Now art
+      thou again behind me:&mdash;my greatest danger lieth behind me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In indulging and pitying lay ever my greatest danger; and all human hubbub
+      wisheth to be indulged and tolerated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With suppressed truths, with fool&rsquo;s hand and befooled heart, and rich in
+      petty lies of pity:&mdash;thus have I ever lived among men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Disguised did I sit amongst them, ready to misjudge MYSELF that I might
+      endure THEM, and willingly saying to myself: &ldquo;Thou fool, thou dost not
+      know men!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      One unlearneth men when one liveth amongst them: there is too much
+      foreground in all men&mdash;what can far-seeing, far-longing eyes do
+      THERE!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And, fool that I was, when they misjudged me, I indulged them on that
+      account more than myself, being habitually hard on myself, and often even
+      taking revenge on myself for the indulgence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Stung all over by poisonous flies, and hollowed like the stone by many
+      drops of wickedness: thus did I sit among them, and still said to myself:
+      &ldquo;Innocent is everything petty of its pettiness!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Especially did I find those who call themselves &ldquo;the good,&rdquo; the most
+      poisonous flies; they sting in all innocence, they lie in all innocence;
+      how COULD they&mdash;be just towards me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He who liveth amongst the good&mdash;pity teacheth him to lie. Pity maketh
+      stifling air for all free souls. For the stupidity of the good is
+      unfathomable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To conceal myself and my riches&mdash;THAT did I learn down there: for
+      every one did I still find poor in spirit. It was the lie of my pity, that
+      I knew in every one,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;That I saw and scented in every one, what was ENOUGH of spirit for
+      him, and what was TOO MUCH!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Their stiff wise men: I call them wise, not stiff&mdash;thus did I learn
+      to slur over words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The grave-diggers dig for themselves diseases. Under old rubbish rest bad
+      vapours. One should not stir up the marsh. One should live on mountains.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With blessed nostrils do I again breathe mountain-freedom. Freed at last
+      is my nose from the smell of all human hubbub!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With sharp breezes tickled, as with sparkling wine, SNEEZETH my soul&mdash;
+      sneezeth, and shouteth self-congratulatingly: &ldquo;Health to thee!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0061" id="link2H_4_0061">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LIV. THE THREE EVIL THINGS.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      1.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      In my dream, in my last morning-dream, I stood to-day on a promontory&mdash;
+      beyond the world; I held a pair of scales, and WEIGHED the world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alas, that the rosy dawn came too early to me: she glowed me awake, the
+      jealous one! Jealous is she always of the glows of my morning-dream.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Measurable by him who hath time, weighable by a good weigher, attainable
+      by strong pinions, divinable by divine nut-crackers: thus did my dream
+      find the world:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My dream, a bold sailor, half-ship, half-hurricane, silent as the
+      butterfly, impatient as the falcon: how had it the patience and leisure
+      to-day for world-weighing!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Did my wisdom perhaps speak secretly to it, my laughing, wide-awake
+      day-wisdom, which mocketh at all &ldquo;infinite worlds&rdquo;? For it saith: &ldquo;Where
+      force is, there becometh NUMBER the master: it hath more force.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      How confidently did my dream contemplate this finite world, not
+      new-fangledly, not old-fangledly, not timidly, not entreatingly:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;As if a big round apple presented itself to my hand, a ripe golden
+      apple, with a coolly-soft, velvety skin:&mdash;thus did the world present
+      itself unto me:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;As if a tree nodded unto me, a broad-branched, strong-willed tree,
+      curved as a recline and a foot-stool for weary travellers: thus did the
+      world stand on my promontory:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;As if delicate hands carried a casket towards me&mdash;a casket
+      open for the delectation of modest adoring eyes: thus did the world
+      present itself before me to-day:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Not riddle enough to scare human love from it, not solution enough
+      to put to sleep human wisdom:&mdash;a humanly good thing was the world to
+      me to-day, of which such bad things are said!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How I thank my morning-dream that I thus at to-day&rsquo;s dawn, weighed the
+      world! As a humanly good thing did it come unto me, this dream and
+      heart-comforter!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And that I may do the like by day, and imitate and copy its best, now will
+      I put the three worst things on the scales, and weigh them humanly well.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He who taught to bless taught also to curse: what are the three best
+      cursed things in the world? These will I put on the scales.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      VOLUPTUOUSNESS, PASSION FOR POWER, and SELFISHNESS: these three things
+      have hitherto been best cursed, and have been in worst and falsest repute&mdash;these
+      three things will I weigh humanly well.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well! Here is my promontory, and there is the sea&mdash;IT rolleth hither
+      unto me, shaggily and fawningly, the old, faithful, hundred-headed
+      dog-monster that I love!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well! Here will I hold the scales over the weltering sea: and also a
+      witness do I choose to look on&mdash;thee, the anchorite-tree, thee, the
+      strong-odoured, broad-arched tree that I love!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On what bridge goeth the now to the hereafter? By what constraint doth the
+      high stoop to the low? And what enjoineth even the highest still&mdash;to
+      grow upwards?&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now stand the scales poised and at rest: three heavy questions have I
+      thrown in; three heavy answers carrieth the other scale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      2.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Voluptuousness: unto all hair-shirted despisers of the body, a sting and
+      stake; and, cursed as &ldquo;the world,&rdquo; by all backworldsmen: for it mocketh
+      and befooleth all erring, misinferring teachers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Voluptuousness: to the rabble, the slow fire at which it is burnt; to all
+      wormy wood, to all stinking rags, the prepared heat and stew furnace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Voluptuousness: to free hearts, a thing innocent and free, the
+      garden-happiness of the earth, all the future&rsquo;s thanks-overflow to the
+      present.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Voluptuousness: only to the withered a sweet poison; to the lion-willed,
+      however, the great cordial, and the reverently saved wine of wines.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Voluptuousness: the great symbolic happiness of a higher happiness and
+      highest hope. For to many is marriage promised, and more than marriage,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;To many that are more unknown to each other than man and woman:&mdash;and
+      who hath fully understood HOW UNKNOWN to each other are man and woman!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Voluptuousness:&mdash;but I will have hedges around my thoughts, and even
+      around my words, lest swine and libertine should break into my gardens!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Passion for power: the glowing scourge of the hardest of the heart-hard;
+      the cruel torture reserved for the cruellest themselves; the gloomy flame
+      of living pyres.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Passion for power: the wicked gadfly which is mounted on the vainest
+      peoples; the scorner of all uncertain virtue; which rideth on every horse
+      and on every pride.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Passion for power: the earthquake which breaketh and upbreaketh all that
+      is rotten and hollow; the rolling, rumbling, punitive demolisher of whited
+      sepulchres; the flashing interrogative-sign beside premature answers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Passion for power: before whose glance man creepeth and croucheth and
+      drudgeth, and becometh lower than the serpent and the swine:&mdash;until
+      at last great contempt crieth out of him&mdash;,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Passion for power: the terrible teacher of great contempt, which preacheth
+      to their face to cities and empires: &ldquo;Away with thee!&rdquo;&mdash;until a voice
+      crieth out of themselves: &ldquo;Away with ME!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Passion for power: which, however, mounteth alluringly even to the pure
+      and lonesome, and up to self-satisfied elevations, glowing like a love
+      that painteth purple felicities alluringly on earthly heavens.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Passion for power: but who would call it PASSION, when the height longeth
+      to stoop for power! Verily, nothing sick or diseased is there in such
+      longing and descending!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That the lonesome height may not for ever remain lonesome and
+      self-sufficing; that the mountains may come to the valleys and the winds
+      of the heights to the plains:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, who could find the right prenomen and honouring name for such longing!
+      &ldquo;Bestowing virtue&rdquo;&mdash;thus did Zarathustra once name the unnamable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then it happened also,&mdash;and verily, it happened for the first
+      time!&mdash;that his word blessed SELFISHNESS, the wholesome, healthy
+      selfishness, that springeth from the powerful soul:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;From the powerful soul, to which the high body appertaineth, the
+      handsome, triumphing, refreshing body, around which everything becometh a
+      mirror:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;The pliant, persuasive body, the dancer, whose symbol and epitome
+      is the self-enjoying soul. Of such bodies and souls the self-enjoyment
+      calleth itself &ldquo;virtue.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With its words of good and bad doth such self-enjoyment shelter itself as
+      with sacred groves; with the names of its happiness doth it banish from
+      itself everything contemptible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Away from itself doth it banish everything cowardly; it saith: &ldquo;Bad&mdash;THAT
+      IS cowardly!&rdquo; Contemptible seem to it the ever-solicitous, the sighing,
+      the complaining, and whoever pick up the most trifling advantage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It despiseth also all bitter-sweet wisdom: for verily, there is also
+      wisdom that bloometh in the dark, a night-shade wisdom, which ever
+      sigheth: &ldquo;All is vain!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Shy distrust is regarded by it as base, and every one who wanteth oaths
+      instead of looks and hands: also all over-distrustful wisdom,&mdash;for
+      such is the mode of cowardly souls.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Baser still it regardeth the obsequious, doggish one, who immediately
+      lieth on his back, the submissive one; and there is also wisdom that is
+      submissive, and doggish, and pious, and obsequious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hateful to it altogether, and a loathing, is he who will never defend
+      himself, he who swalloweth down poisonous spittle and bad looks, the
+      all-too-patient one, the all-endurer, the all-satisfied one: for that is
+      the mode of slaves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Whether they be servile before Gods and divine spurnings, or before men
+      and stupid human opinions: at ALL kinds of slaves doth it spit, this
+      blessed selfishness!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bad: thus doth it call all that is spirit-broken, and sordidly-servile&mdash;constrained,
+      blinking eyes, depressed hearts, and the false submissive style, which
+      kisseth with broad cowardly lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And spurious wisdom: so doth it call all the wit that slaves, and
+      hoary-headed and weary ones affect; and especially all the cunning,
+      spurious-witted, curious-witted foolishness of priests!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The spurious wise, however, all the priests, the world-weary, and those
+      whose souls are of feminine and servile nature&mdash;oh, how hath their
+      game all along abused selfishness!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And precisely THAT was to be virtue and was to be called virtue&mdash;to
+      abuse selfishness! And &ldquo;selfless&rdquo;&mdash;so did they wish themselves with
+      good reason, all those world-weary cowards and cross-spiders!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But to all those cometh now the day, the change, the sword of judgment,
+      THE GREAT NOONTIDE: then shall many things be revealed!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he who proclaimeth the EGO wholesome and holy, and selfishness
+      blessed, verily, he, the prognosticator, speaketh also what he knoweth:
+      &ldquo;BEHOLD, IT COMETH, IT IS NIGH, THE GREAT NOONTIDE!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0062" id="link2H_4_0062">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LV. THE SPIRIT OF GRAVITY.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      1.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      My mouthpiece&mdash;is of the people: too coarsely and cordially do I talk
+      for Angora rabbits. And still stranger soundeth my word unto all ink-fish
+      and pen-foxes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My hand&mdash;is a fool&rsquo;s hand: woe unto all tables and walls, and
+      whatever hath room for fool&rsquo;s sketching, fool&rsquo;s scrawling!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My foot&mdash;is a horse-foot; therewith do I trample and trot over stick
+      and stone, in the fields up and down, and am bedevilled with delight in
+      all fast racing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My stomach&mdash;is surely an eagle&rsquo;s stomach? For it preferreth lamb&rsquo;s
+      flesh. Certainly it is a bird&rsquo;s stomach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nourished with innocent things, and with few, ready and impatient to fly,
+      to fly away&mdash;that is now my nature: why should there not be something
+      of bird-nature therein!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And especially that I am hostile to the spirit of gravity, that is
+      bird-nature:&mdash;verily, deadly hostile, supremely hostile, originally
+      hostile! Oh, whither hath my hostility not flown and misflown!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thereof could I sing a song&mdash;and WILL sing it: though I be alone in
+      an empty house, and must sing it to mine own ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Other singers are there, to be sure, to whom only the full house maketh
+      the voice soft, the hand eloquent, the eye expressive, the heart wakeful:&mdash;those
+      do I not resemble.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      2.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He who one day teacheth men to fly will have shifted all landmarks; to him
+      will all landmarks themselves fly into the air; the earth will he christen
+      anew&mdash;as &ldquo;the light body.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The ostrich runneth faster than the fastest horse, but it also thrusteth
+      its head heavily into the heavy earth: thus is it with the man who cannot
+      yet fly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Heavy unto him are earth and life, and so WILLETH the spirit of gravity!
+      But he who would become light, and be a bird, must love himself:&mdash;thus
+      do <i>I</i> teach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not, to be sure, with the love of the sick and infected, for with them
+      stinketh even self-love!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One must learn to love oneself&mdash;thus do I teach&mdash;with a
+      wholesome and healthy love: that one may endure to be with oneself, and
+      not go roving about.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Such roving about christeneth itself &ldquo;brotherly love&rdquo;; with these words
+      hath there hitherto been the best lying and dissembling, and especially by
+      those who have been burdensome to every one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And verily, it is no commandment for to-day and to-morrow to LEARN to love
+      oneself. Rather is it of all arts the finest, subtlest, last and
+      patientest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For to its possessor is all possession well concealed, and of all
+      treasure-pits one&rsquo;s own is last excavated&mdash;so causeth the spirit of
+      gravity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Almost in the cradle are we apportioned with heavy words and worths:
+      &ldquo;good&rdquo; and &ldquo;evil&rdquo;&mdash;so calleth itself this dowry. For the sake of it
+      we are forgiven for living.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And therefore suffereth one little children to come unto one, to forbid
+      them betimes to love themselves&mdash;so causeth the spirit of gravity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And we&mdash;we bear loyally what is apportioned unto us, on hard
+      shoulders, over rugged mountains! And when we sweat, then do people say to
+      us: &ldquo;Yea, life is hard to bear!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But man himself only is hard to bear! The reason thereof is that he
+      carrieth too many extraneous things on his shoulders. Like the camel
+      kneeleth he down, and letteth himself be well laden.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Especially the strong load-bearing man in whom reverence resideth. Too
+      many EXTRANEOUS heavy words and worths loadeth he upon himself&mdash;then
+      seemeth life to him a desert!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And verily! Many a thing also that is OUR OWN is hard to bear! And many
+      internal things in man are like the oyster&mdash;repulsive and slippery
+      and hard to grasp;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So that an elegant shell, with elegant adornment, must plead for them. But
+      this art also must one learn: to HAVE a shell, and a fine appearance, and
+      sagacious blindness!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again, it deceiveth about many things in man, that many a shell is poor
+      and pitiable, and too much of a shell. Much concealed goodness and power
+      is never dreamt of; the choicest dainties find no tasters!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Women know that, the choicest of them: a little fatter a little leaner&mdash;
+      oh, how much fate is in so little!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Man is difficult to discover, and unto himself most difficult of all;
+      often lieth the spirit concerning the soul. So causeth the spirit of
+      gravity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He, however, hath discovered himself who saith: This is MY good and evil:
+      therewith hath he silenced the mole and the dwarf, who say: &ldquo;Good for all,
+      evil for all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, neither do I like those who call everything good, and this world
+      the best of all. Those do I call the all-satisfied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All-satisfiedness, which knoweth how to taste everything,&mdash;that is
+      not the best taste! I honour the refractory, fastidious tongues and
+      stomachs, which have learned to say &ldquo;I&rdquo; and &ldquo;Yea&rdquo; and &ldquo;Nay.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To chew and digest everything, however&mdash;that is the genuine
+      swine-nature! Ever to say YE-A&mdash;that hath only the ass learnt, and
+      those like it!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Deep yellow and hot red&mdash;so wanteth MY taste&mdash;it mixeth blood
+      with all colours. He, however, who whitewasheth his house, betrayeth unto
+      me a whitewashed soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With mummies, some fall in love; others with phantoms: both alike hostile
+      to all flesh and blood&mdash;oh, how repugnant are both to my taste! For I
+      love blood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And there will I not reside and abide where every one spitteth and
+      speweth: that is now MY taste,&mdash;rather would I live amongst thieves
+      and perjurers. Nobody carrieth gold in his mouth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still more repugnant unto me, however, are all lickspittles; and the most
+      repugnant animal of man that I found, did I christen &ldquo;parasite&rdquo;: it would
+      not love, and would yet live by love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Unhappy do I call all those who have only one choice: either to become
+      evil beasts, or evil beast-tamers. Amongst such would I not build my
+      tabernacle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Unhappy do I also call those who have ever to WAIT,&mdash;they are
+      repugnant to my taste&mdash;all the toll-gatherers and traders, and kings,
+      and other landkeepers and shopkeepers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, I learned waiting also, and thoroughly so,&mdash;but only waiting
+      for MYSELF. And above all did I learn standing and walking and running and
+      leaping and climbing and dancing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This however is my teaching: he who wisheth one day to fly, must first
+      learn standing and walking and running and climbing and dancing:&mdash;one
+      doth not fly into flying!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With rope-ladders learned I to reach many a window, with nimble legs did I
+      climb high masts: to sit on high masts of perception seemed to me no small
+      bliss;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;To flicker like small flames on high masts: a small light,
+      certainly, but a great comfort to cast-away sailors and ship-wrecked ones!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By divers ways and wendings did I arrive at my truth; not by one ladder
+      did I mount to the height where mine eye roveth into my remoteness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And unwillingly only did I ask my way&mdash;that was always counter to my
+      taste! Rather did I question and test the ways themselves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A testing and a questioning hath been all my travelling:&mdash;and verily,
+      one must also LEARN to answer such questioning! That, however,&mdash;is my
+      taste:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Neither a good nor a bad taste, but MY taste, of which I have no
+      longer either shame or secrecy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This&mdash;is now MY way,&mdash;where is yours?&rdquo; Thus did I answer those
+      who asked me &ldquo;the way.&rdquo; For THE way&mdash;it doth not exist!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0063" id="link2H_4_0063">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LVI. OLD AND NEW TABLES.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      1.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Here do I sit and wait, old broken tables around me and also new
+      half-written tables. When cometh mine hour?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;The hour of my descent, of my down-going: for once more will I go
+      unto men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For that hour do I now wait: for first must the signs come unto me that it
+      is MINE hour&mdash;namely, the laughing lion with the flock of doves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile do I talk to myself as one who hath time. No one telleth me
+      anything new, so I tell myself mine own story.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      2.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When I came unto men, then found I them resting on an old infatuation: all
+      of them thought they had long known what was good and bad for men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An old wearisome business seemed to them all discourse about virtue; and
+      he who wished to sleep well spake of &ldquo;good&rdquo; and &ldquo;bad&rdquo; ere retiring to
+      rest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This somnolence did I disturb when I taught that NO ONE YET KNOWETH what
+      is good and bad:&mdash;unless it be the creating one!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;It is he, however, who createth man&rsquo;s goal, and giveth to the earth
+      its meaning and its future: he only EFFECTETH it THAT aught is good or
+      bad.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And I bade them upset their old academic chairs, and wherever that old
+      infatuation had sat; I bade them laugh at their great moralists, their
+      saints, their poets, and their Saviours.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At their gloomy sages did I bid them laugh, and whoever had sat
+      admonishing as a black scarecrow on the tree of life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On their great grave-highway did I seat myself, and even beside the
+      carrion and vultures&mdash;and I laughed at all their bygone and its
+      mellow decaying glory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, like penitential preachers and fools did I cry wrath and shame on
+      all their greatness and smallness. Oh, that their best is so very small!
+      Oh, that their worst is so very small! Thus did I laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus did my wise longing, born in the mountains, cry and laugh in me; a
+      wild wisdom, verily!&mdash;my great pinion-rustling longing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And oft did it carry me off and up and away and in the midst of laughter;
+      then flew I quivering like an arrow with sun-intoxicated rapture:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Out into distant futures, which no dream hath yet seen, into warmer
+      souths than ever sculptor conceived,&mdash;where gods in their dancing are
+      ashamed of all clothes:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      (That I may speak in parables and halt and stammer like the poets: and
+      verily I am ashamed that I have still to be a poet!)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Where all becoming seemed to me dancing of Gods, and wantoning of Gods,
+      and the world unloosed and unbridled and fleeing back to itself:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;As an eternal self-fleeing and re-seeking of one another of many
+      Gods, as the blessed self-contradicting, recommuning, and refraternising
+      with one another of many Gods:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Where all time seemed to me a blessed mockery of moments, where necessity
+      was freedom itself, which played happily with the goad of freedom:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Where I also found again mine old devil and arch-enemy, the spirit of
+      gravity, and all that it created: constraint, law, necessity and
+      consequence and purpose and will and good and evil:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For must there not be that which is danced OVER, danced beyond? Must there
+      not, for the sake of the nimble, the nimblest,&mdash;be moles and clumsy
+      dwarfs?&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      3.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was it also where I picked up from the path the word &ldquo;Superman,&rdquo; and
+      that man is something that must be surpassed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;That man is a bridge and not a goal&mdash;rejoicing over his
+      noontides and evenings, as advances to new rosy dawns:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;The Zarathustra word of the great noontide, and whatever else I
+      have hung up over men like purple evening-afterglows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, also new stars did I make them see, along with new nights; and
+      over cloud and day and night, did I spread out laughter like a
+      gay-coloured canopy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I taught them all MY poetisation and aspiration: to compose and collect
+      into unity what is fragment in man, and riddle and fearful chance;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;As composer, riddle-reader, and redeemer of chance, did I teach
+      them to create the future, and all that HATH BEEN&mdash;to redeem by
+      creating.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The past of man to redeem, and every &ldquo;It was&rdquo; to transform, until the Will
+      saith: &ldquo;But so did I will it! So shall I will it&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;This did I call redemption; this alone taught I them to call
+      redemption.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now do I await MY redemption&mdash;that I may go unto them for the last
+      time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For once more will I go unto men: AMONGST them will my sun set; in dying
+      will I give them my choicest gift!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From the sun did I learn this, when it goeth down, the exuberant one: gold
+      doth it then pour into the sea, out of inexhaustible riches,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;So that the poorest fisherman roweth even with GOLDEN oars! For
+      this did I once see, and did not tire of weeping in beholding it.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Like the sun will also Zarathustra go down: now sitteth he here and
+      waiteth, old broken tables around him, and also new tables&mdash;half-written.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      4.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Behold, here is a new table; but where are my brethren who will carry it
+      with me to the valley and into hearts of flesh?&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus demandeth my great love to the remotest ones: BE NOT CONSIDERATE OF
+      THY NEIGHBOUR! Man is something that must be surpassed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There are many divers ways and modes of surpassing: see THOU thereto! But
+      only a buffoon thinketh: &ldquo;man can also be OVERLEAPT.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Surpass thyself even in thy neighbour: and a right which thou canst seize
+      upon, shalt thou not allow to be given thee!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What thou doest can no one do to thee again. Lo, there is no requital.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He who cannot command himself shall obey. And many a one CAN command
+      himself, but still sorely lacketh self-obedience!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      5.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus wisheth the type of noble souls: they desire to have nothing
+      GRATUITOUSLY, least of all, life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He who is of the populace wisheth to live gratuitously; we others,
+      however, to whom life hath given itself&mdash;we are ever considering WHAT
+      we can best give IN RETURN!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And verily, it is a noble dictum which saith: &ldquo;What life promiseth US,
+      that promise will WE keep&mdash;to life!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      One should not wish to enjoy where one doth not contribute to the
+      enjoyment. And one should not WISH to enjoy!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For enjoyment and innocence are the most bashful things. Neither like to
+      be sought for. One should HAVE them,&mdash;but one should rather SEEK for
+      guilt and pain!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      6.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my brethren, he who is a firstling is ever sacrificed. Now, however, are
+      we firstlings!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We all bleed on secret sacrificial altars, we all burn and broil in honour
+      of ancient idols.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Our best is still young: this exciteth old palates. Our flesh is tender,
+      our skin is only lambs&rsquo; skin:&mdash;how could we not excite old
+      idol-priests!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      IN OURSELVES dwelleth he still, the old idol-priest, who broileth our best
+      for his banquet. Ah, my brethren, how could firstlings fail to be
+      sacrifices!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But so wisheth our type; and I love those who do not wish to preserve
+      themselves, the down-going ones do I love with mine entire love: for they
+      go beyond.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      7.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To be true&mdash;that CAN few be! And he who can, will not! Least of all,
+      however, can the good be true.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, those good ones! GOOD MEN NEVER SPEAK THE TRUTH. For the spirit, thus
+      to be good, is a malady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They yield, those good ones, they submit themselves; their heart
+      repeateth, their soul obeyeth: HE, however, who obeyeth, DOTH NOT LISTEN
+      TO HIMSELF!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All that is called evil by the good, must come together in order that one
+      truth may be born. O my brethren, are ye also evil enough for THIS truth?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The daring venture, the prolonged distrust, the cruel Nay, the tedium, the
+      cutting-into-the-quick&mdash;how seldom do THESE come together! Out of
+      such seed, however&mdash;is truth produced!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      BESIDE the bad conscience hath hitherto grown all KNOWLEDGE! Break up,
+      break up, ye discerning ones, the old tables!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      8.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the water hath planks, when gangways and railings o&rsquo;erspan the
+      stream, verily, he is not believed who then saith: &ldquo;All is in flux.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But even the simpletons contradict him. &ldquo;What?&rdquo; say the simpletons, &ldquo;all
+      in flux? Planks and railings are still OVER the stream!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;OVER the stream all is stable, all the values of things, the bridges and
+      bearings, all &lsquo;good&rsquo; and &lsquo;evil&rsquo;: these are all STABLE!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cometh, however, the hard winter, the stream-tamer, then learn even the
+      wittiest distrust, and verily, not only the simpletons then say: &ldquo;Should
+      not everything&mdash;STAND STILL?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fundamentally standeth everything still&rdquo;&mdash;that is an appropriate
+      winter doctrine, good cheer for an unproductive period, a great comfort
+      for winter-sleepers and fireside-loungers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fundamentally standeth everything still&rdquo;&mdash;: but CONTRARY thereto,
+      preacheth the thawing wind!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The thawing wind, a bullock, which is no ploughing bullock&mdash;a furious
+      bullock, a destroyer, which with angry horns breaketh the ice! The ice
+      however&mdash;BREAKETH GANGWAYS!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my brethren, is not everything AT PRESENT IN FLUX? Have not all railings
+      and gangways fallen into the water? Who would still HOLD ON to &ldquo;good&rdquo; and
+      &ldquo;evil&rdquo;?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Woe to us! Hail to us! The thawing wind bloweth!&rdquo;&mdash;Thus preach, my
+      brethren, through all the streets!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      9.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There is an old illusion&mdash;it is called good and evil. Around
+      soothsayers and astrologers hath hitherto revolved the orbit of this
+      illusion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once did one BELIEVE in soothsayers and astrologers; and THEREFORE did one
+      believe, &ldquo;Everything is fate: thou shalt, for thou must!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then again did one distrust all soothsayers and astrologers; and THEREFORE
+      did one believe, &ldquo;Everything is freedom: thou canst, for thou willest!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      O my brethren, concerning the stars and the future there hath hitherto
+      been only illusion, and not knowledge; and THEREFORE concerning good and
+      evil there hath hitherto been only illusion and not knowledge!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      10.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thou shalt not rob! Thou shalt not slay!&rdquo;&mdash;such precepts were once
+      called holy; before them did one bow the knee and the head, and take off
+      one&rsquo;s shoes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But I ask you: Where have there ever been better robbers and slayers in
+      the world than such holy precepts?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Is there not even in all life&mdash;robbing and slaying? And for such
+      precepts to be called holy, was not TRUTH itself thereby&mdash;slain?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Or was it a sermon of death that called holy what contradicted and
+      dissuaded from life?&mdash;O my brethren, break up, break up for me the
+      old tables!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      11.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is my sympathy with all the past that I see it is abandoned,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Abandoned to the favour, the spirit and the madness of every
+      generation that cometh, and reinterpreteth all that hath been as its
+      bridge!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A great potentate might arise, an artful prodigy, who with approval and
+      disapproval could strain and constrain all the past, until it became for
+      him a bridge, a harbinger, a herald, and a cock-crowing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This however is the other danger, and mine other sympathy:&mdash;he who is
+      of the populace, his thoughts go back to his grandfather,&mdash;with his
+      grandfather, however, doth time cease.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus is all the past abandoned: for it might some day happen for the
+      populace to become master, and drown all time in shallow waters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Therefore, O my brethren, a NEW NOBILITY is needed, which shall be the
+      adversary of all populace and potentate rule, and shall inscribe anew the
+      word &ldquo;noble&rdquo; on new tables.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For many noble ones are needed, and many kinds of noble ones, FOR A NEW
+      NOBILITY! Or, as I once said in parable: &ldquo;That is just divinity, that
+      there are Gods, but no God!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      12.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my brethren, I consecrate you and point you to a new nobility: ye shall
+      become procreators and cultivators and sowers of the future;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Verily, not to a nobility which ye could purchase like traders with
+      traders&rsquo; gold; for little worth is all that hath its price.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Let it not be your honour henceforth whence ye come, but whither ye go!
+      Your Will and your feet which seek to surpass you&mdash;let these be your
+      new honour!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, not that ye have served a prince&mdash;of what account are princes
+      now!&mdash;nor that ye have become a bulwark to that which standeth, that
+      it may stand more firmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not that your family have become courtly at courts, and that ye have
+      learned&mdash;gay-coloured, like the flamingo&mdash;to stand long hours in
+      shallow pools:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      (For ABILITY-to-stand is a merit in courtiers; and all courtiers believe
+      that unto blessedness after death pertaineth&mdash;PERMISSION-to-sit!)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nor even that a Spirit called Holy, led your forefathers into promised
+      lands, which I do not praise: for where the worst of all trees grew&mdash;the
+      cross,&mdash;in that land there is nothing to praise!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;And verily, wherever this &ldquo;Holy Spirit&rdquo; led its knights, always in
+      such campaigns did&mdash;goats and geese, and wryheads and guyheads run
+      FOREMOST!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my brethren, not backward shall your nobility gaze, but OUTWARD! Exiles
+      shall ye be from all fatherlands and forefather-lands!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Your CHILDREN&rsquo;S LAND shall ye love: let this love be your new nobility,&mdash;the
+      undiscovered in the remotest seas! For it do I bid your sails search and
+      search!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Unto your children shall ye MAKE AMENDS for being the children of your
+      fathers: all the past shall ye THUS redeem! This new table do I place over
+      you!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      13.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why should one live? All is vain! To live&mdash;that is to thrash straw;
+      to live&mdash;that is to burn oneself and yet not get warm.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Such ancient babbling still passeth for &ldquo;wisdom&rdquo;; because it is old,
+      however, and smelleth mustily, THEREFORE is it the more honoured. Even
+      mould ennobleth.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Children might thus speak: they SHUN the fire because it hath burnt them!
+      There is much childishness in the old books of wisdom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he who ever &ldquo;thrasheth straw,&rdquo; why should he be allowed to rail at
+      thrashing! Such a fool one would have to muzzle!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Such persons sit down to the table and bring nothing with them, not even
+      good hunger:&mdash;and then do they rail: &ldquo;All is vain!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But to eat and drink well, my brethren, is verily no vain art! Break up,
+      break up for me the tables of the never-joyous ones!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      14.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To the clean are all things clean&rdquo;&mdash;thus say the people. I, however,
+      say unto you: To the swine all things become swinish!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Therefore preach the visionaries and bowed-heads (whose hearts are also
+      bowed down): &ldquo;The world itself is a filthy monster.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For these are all unclean spirits; especially those, however, who have no
+      peace or rest, unless they see the world FROM THE BACKSIDE&mdash;the
+      backworldsmen!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      TO THOSE do I say it to the face, although it sound unpleasantly: the
+      world resembleth man, in that it hath a backside,&mdash;SO MUCH is true!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There is in the world much filth: SO MUCH is true! But the world itself is
+      not therefore a filthy monster!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There is wisdom in the fact that much in the world smelleth badly:
+      loathing itself createth wings, and fountain-divining powers!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the best there is still something to loathe; and the best is still
+      something that must be surpassed!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my brethren, there is much wisdom in the fact that much filth is in the
+      world!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      15.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Such sayings did I hear pious backworldsmen speak to their consciences,
+      and verily without wickedness or guile,&mdash;although there is nothing
+      more guileful in the world, or more wicked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let the world be as it is! Raise not a finger against it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let whoever will choke and stab and skin and scrape the people: raise not
+      a finger against it! Thereby will they learn to renounce the world.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And thine own reason&mdash;this shalt thou thyself stifle and choke; for
+      it is a reason of this world,&mdash;thereby wilt thou learn thyself to
+      renounce the world.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Shatter, shatter, O my brethren, those old tables of the pious!
+      Tatter the maxims of the world-maligners!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      16.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He who learneth much unlearneth all violent cravings&rdquo;&mdash;that do
+      people now whisper to one another in all the dark lanes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wisdom wearieth, nothing is worth while; thou shalt not crave!&rdquo;&mdash;this
+      new table found I hanging even in the public markets.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Break up for me, O my brethren, break up also that NEW table! The
+      weary-o&rsquo;-the-world put it up, and the preachers of death and the jailer:
+      for lo, it is also a sermon for slavery:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Because they learned badly and not the best, and everything too early and
+      everything too fast; because they ATE badly: from thence hath resulted
+      their ruined stomach;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;For a ruined stomach, is their spirit: IT persuadeth to death! For
+      verily, my brethren, the spirit IS a stomach!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Life is a well of delight, but to him in whom the ruined stomach speaketh,
+      the father of affliction, all fountains are poisoned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To discern: that is DELIGHT to the lion-willed! But he who hath become
+      weary, is himself merely &ldquo;willed&rdquo;; with him play all the waves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And such is always the nature of weak men: they lose themselves on their
+      way. And at last asketh their weariness: &ldquo;Why did we ever go on the way?
+      All is indifferent!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      TO THEM soundeth it pleasant to have preached in their ears: &ldquo;Nothing is
+      worth while! Ye shall not will!&rdquo; That, however, is a sermon for slavery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my brethren, a fresh blustering wind cometh Zarathustra unto all
+      way-weary ones; many noses will he yet make sneeze!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even through walls bloweth my free breath, and in into prisons and
+      imprisoned spirits!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Willing emancipateth: for willing is creating: so do I teach. And ONLY for
+      creating shall ye learn!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And also the learning shall ye LEARN only from me, the learning well!&mdash;He
+      who hath ears let him hear!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      17.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There standeth the boat&mdash;thither goeth it over, perhaps into vast
+      nothingness&mdash;but who willeth to enter into this &ldquo;Perhaps&rdquo;?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      None of you want to enter into the death-boat! How should ye then be
+      WORLD-WEARY ones!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      World-weary ones! And have not even withdrawn from the earth! Eager did I
+      ever find you for the earth, amorous still of your own earth-weariness!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not in vain doth your lip hang down:&mdash;a small worldly wish still
+      sitteth thereon! And in your eye&mdash;floateth there not a cloudlet of
+      unforgotten earthly bliss?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There are on the earth many good inventions, some useful, some pleasant:
+      for their sake is the earth to be loved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And many such good inventions are there, that they are like woman&rsquo;s
+      breasts: useful at the same time, and pleasant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye world-weary ones, however! Ye earth-idlers! You, shall one beat with
+      stripes! With stripes shall one again make you sprightly limbs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For if ye be not invalids, or decrepit creatures, of whom the earth is
+      weary, then are ye sly sloths, or dainty, sneaking pleasure-cats. And if
+      ye will not again RUN gaily, then shall ye&mdash;pass away!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To the incurable shall one not seek to be a physician: thus teacheth
+      Zarathustra:&mdash;so shall ye pass away!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But more COURAGE is needed to make an end than to make a new verse: that
+      do all physicians and poets know well.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      18.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my brethren, there are tables which weariness framed, and tables which
+      slothfulness framed, corrupt slothfulness: although they speak similarly,
+      they want to be heard differently.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      See this languishing one! Only a span-breadth is he from his goal; but
+      from weariness hath he lain down obstinately in the dust, this brave one!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From weariness yawneth he at the path, at the earth, at the goal, and at
+      himself: not a step further will he go,&mdash;this brave one!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now gloweth the sun upon him, and the dogs lick at his sweat: but he lieth
+      there in his obstinacy and preferreth to languish:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;A span-breadth from his goal, to languish! Verily, ye will have to
+      drag him into his heaven by the hair of his head&mdash;this hero!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Better still that ye let him lie where he hath lain down, that sleep may
+      come unto him, the comforter, with cooling patter-rain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Let him lie, until of his own accord he awakeneth,&mdash;until of his own
+      accord he repudiateth all weariness, and what weariness hath taught
+      through him!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only, my brethren, see that ye scare the dogs away from him, the idle
+      skulkers, and all the swarming vermin:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;All the swarming vermin of the &ldquo;cultured,&rdquo; that&mdash;feast on the
+      sweat of every hero!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      19.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I form circles around me and holy boundaries; ever fewer ascend with me
+      ever higher mountains: I build a mountain-range out of ever holier
+      mountains.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But wherever ye would ascend with me, O my brethren, take care lest a
+      PARASITE ascend with you!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A parasite: that is a reptile, a creeping, cringing reptile, that trieth
+      to fatten on your infirm and sore places.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And THIS is its art: it divineth where ascending souls are weary, in your
+      trouble and dejection, in your sensitive modesty, doth it build its
+      loathsome nest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Where the strong are weak, where the noble are all-too-gentle&mdash;there
+      buildeth it its loathsome nest; the parasite liveth where the great have
+      small sore-places.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What is the highest of all species of being, and what is the lowest? The
+      parasite is the lowest species; he, however, who is of the highest species
+      feedeth most parasites.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the soul which hath the longest ladder, and can go deepest down: how
+      could there fail to be most parasites upon it?&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;The most comprehensive soul, which can run and stray and rove
+      furthest in itself; the most necessary soul, which out of joy flingeth
+      itself into chance:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;The soul in Being, which plungeth into Becoming; the possessing
+      soul, which SEEKETH to attain desire and longing:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;The soul fleeing from itself, which overtaketh itself in the widest
+      circuit; the wisest soul, unto which folly speaketh most sweetly:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;The soul most self-loving, in which all things have their current
+      and counter-current, their ebb and their flow:&mdash;oh, how could THE
+      LOFTIEST SOUL fail to have the worst parasites?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      20.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my brethren, am I then cruel? But I say: What falleth, that shall one
+      also push!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Everything of to-day&mdash;it falleth, it decayeth; who would preserve it!
+      But I&mdash;I wish also to push it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Know ye the delight which rolleth stones into precipitous depths?&mdash;Those
+      men of to-day, see just how they roll into my depths!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A prelude am I to better players, O my brethren! An example! DO according
+      to mine example!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And him whom ye do not teach to fly, teach I pray you&mdash;TO FALL
+      FASTER!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      21.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I love the brave: but it is not enough to be a swordsman,&mdash;one must
+      also know WHEREON to use swordsmanship!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And often is it greater bravery to keep quiet and pass by, that THEREBY
+      one may reserve oneself for a worthier foe!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye shall only have foes to be hated; but not foes to be despised: ye must
+      be proud of your foes. Thus have I already taught.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the worthier foe, O my brethren, shall ye reserve yourselves:
+      therefore must ye pass by many a one,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Especially many of the rabble, who din your ears with noise about
+      people and peoples.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Keep your eye clear of their For and Against! There is there much right,
+      much wrong: he who looketh on becometh wroth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Therein viewing, therein hewing&mdash;they are the same thing: therefore
+      depart into the forests and lay your sword to sleep!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Go YOUR ways! and let the people and peoples go theirs!&mdash;gloomy ways,
+      verily, on which not a single hope glinteth any more!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Let there the trader rule, where all that still glittereth is&mdash;traders&rsquo; 
+      gold. It is the time of kings no longer: that which now calleth itself the
+      people is unworthy of kings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      See how these peoples themselves now do just like the traders: they pick
+      up the smallest advantage out of all kinds of rubbish!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They lay lures for one another, they lure things out of one another,&mdash;that
+      they call &ldquo;good neighbourliness.&rdquo; O blessed remote period when a people
+      said to itself: &ldquo;I will be&mdash;MASTER over peoples!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For, my brethren, the best shall rule, the best also WILLETH to rule! And
+      where the teaching is different, there&mdash;the best is LACKING.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      22.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If THEY had&mdash;bread for nothing, alas! for what would THEY cry! Their
+      maintainment&mdash;that is their true entertainment; and they shall have
+      it hard!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beasts of prey, are they: in their &ldquo;working&rdquo;&mdash;there is even
+      plundering, in their &ldquo;earning&rdquo;&mdash;there is even overreaching! Therefore
+      shall they have it hard!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Better beasts of prey shall they thus become, subtler, cleverer, MORE
+      MAN-LIKE: for man is the best beast of prey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All the animals hath man already robbed of their virtues: that is why of
+      all animals it hath been hardest for man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only the birds are still beyond him. And if man should yet learn to fly,
+      alas! TO WHAT HEIGHT&mdash;would his rapacity fly!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      23.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus would I have man and woman: fit for war, the one; fit for maternity,
+      the other; both, however, fit for dancing with head and legs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And lost be the day to us in which a measure hath not been danced. And
+      false be every truth which hath not had laughter along with it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      24.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Your marriage-arranging: see that it be not a bad ARRANGING! Ye have
+      arranged too hastily: so there FOLLOWETH therefrom&mdash;marriage-breaking!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And better marriage-breaking than marriage-bending, marriage-lying!&mdash;Thus
+      spake a woman unto me: &ldquo;Indeed, I broke the marriage, but first did the
+      marriage break&mdash;me!&rdquo;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The badly paired found I ever the most revengeful: they make every one
+      suffer for it that they no longer run singly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On that account want I the honest ones to say to one another: &ldquo;We love
+      each other: let us SEE TO IT that we maintain our love! Or shall our
+      pledging be blundering?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;&ldquo;Give us a set term and a small marriage, that we may see if we are
+      fit for the great marriage! It is a great matter always to be twain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus do I counsel all honest ones; and what would be my love to the
+      Superman, and to all that is to come, if I should counsel and speak
+      otherwise!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not only to propagate yourselves onwards but UPWARDS&mdash;thereto, O my
+      brethren, may the garden of marriage help you!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      25.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He who hath grown wise concerning old origins, lo, he will at last seek
+      after the fountains of the future and new origins.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my brethren, not long will it be until NEW PEOPLES shall arise and new
+      fountains shall rush down into new depths.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the earthquake&mdash;it choketh up many wells, it causeth much
+      languishing: but it bringeth also to light inner powers and secrets.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The earthquake discloseth new fountains. In the earthquake of old peoples
+      new fountains burst forth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And whoever calleth out: &ldquo;Lo, here is a well for many thirsty ones, one
+      heart for many longing ones, one will for many instruments&rdquo;:&mdash;around
+      him collecteth a PEOPLE, that is to say, many attempting ones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Who can command, who must obey&mdash;THAT IS THERE ATTEMPTED! Ah, with
+      what long seeking and solving and failing and learning and re-attempting!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Human society: it is an attempt&mdash;so I teach&mdash;a long seeking: it
+      seeketh however the ruler!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;An attempt, my brethren! And NO &ldquo;contract&rdquo;! Destroy, I pray you,
+      destroy that word of the soft-hearted and half-and-half!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      26.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my brethren! With whom lieth the greatest danger to the whole human
+      future? Is it not with the good and just?&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;As those who say and feel in their hearts: &ldquo;We already know what is
+      good and just, we possess it also; woe to those who still seek thereafter!&rdquo;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And whatever harm the wicked may do, the harm of the good is the
+      harmfulest harm!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And whatever harm the world-maligners may do, the harm of the good is the
+      harmfulest harm!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my brethren, into the hearts of the good and just looked some one once
+      on a time, who said: &ldquo;They are the Pharisees.&rdquo; But people did not
+      understand him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The good and just themselves were not free to understand him; their spirit
+      was imprisoned in their good conscience. The stupidity of the good is
+      unfathomably wise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is the truth, however, that the good MUST be Pharisees&mdash;they have
+      no choice!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The good MUST crucify him who deviseth his own virtue! That IS the truth!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The second one, however, who discovered their country&mdash;the country,
+      heart and soil of the good and just,&mdash;it was he who asked: &ldquo;Whom do
+      they hate most?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The CREATOR, hate they most, him who breaketh the tables and old values,
+      the breaker,&mdash;him they call the law-breaker.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the good&mdash;they CANNOT create; they are always the beginning of
+      the end:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;They crucify him who writeth new values on new tables, they
+      sacrifice UNTO THEMSELVES the future&mdash;they crucify the whole human
+      future!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The good&mdash;they have always been the beginning of the end.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      27.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my brethren, have ye also understood this word? And what I once said of
+      the &ldquo;last man&rdquo;?&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With whom lieth the greatest danger to the whole human future? Is it not
+      with the good and just?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      BREAK UP, BREAK UP, I PRAY YOU, THE GOOD AND JUST!&mdash;O my brethren,
+      have ye understood also this word?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      28.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye flee from me? Ye are frightened? Ye tremble at this word?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my brethren, when I enjoined you to break up the good, and the tables of
+      the good, then only did I embark man on his high seas.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now only cometh unto him the great terror, the great outlook, the
+      great sickness, the great nausea, the great sea-sickness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      False shores and false securities did the good teach you; in the lies of
+      the good were ye born and bred. Everything hath been radically contorted
+      and distorted by the good.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he who discovered the country of &ldquo;man,&rdquo; discovered also the country of
+      &ldquo;man&rsquo;s future.&rdquo; Now shall ye be sailors for me, brave, patient!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Keep yourselves up betimes, my brethren, learn to keep yourselves up! The
+      sea stormeth: many seek to raise themselves again by you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sea stormeth: all is in the sea. Well! Cheer up! Ye old seaman-hearts!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What of fatherland! THITHER striveth our helm where our CHILDREN&rsquo;S LAND
+      is! Thitherwards, stormier than the sea, stormeth our great longing!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      29.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why so hard!&rdquo;&mdash;said to the diamond one day the charcoal; &ldquo;are we
+      then not near relatives?&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why so soft? O my brethren; thus do <i>I</i> ask you: are ye then not&mdash;my
+      brethren?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why so soft, so submissive and yielding? Why is there so much negation and
+      abnegation in your hearts? Why is there so little fate in your looks?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And if ye will not be fates and inexorable ones, how can ye one day&mdash;
+      conquer with me?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And if your hardness will not glance and cut and chip to pieces, how can
+      ye one day&mdash;create with me?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the creators are hard. And blessedness must it seem to you to press
+      your hand upon millenniums as upon wax,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Blessedness to write upon the will of millenniums as upon brass,&mdash;harder
+      than brass, nobler than brass. Entirely hard is only the noblest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This new table, O my brethren, put I up over you: BECOME HARD!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      30.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O thou, my Will! Thou change of every need, MY needfulness! Preserve me
+      from all small victories!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou fatedness of my soul, which I call fate! Thou In-me! Over-me!
+      Preserve and spare me for one great fate!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And thy last greatness, my Will, spare it for thy last&mdash;that thou
+      mayest be inexorable IN thy victory! Ah, who hath not succumbed to his
+      victory!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, whose eye hath not bedimmed in this intoxicated twilight! Ah, whose
+      foot hath not faltered and forgotten in victory&mdash;how to stand!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;That I may one day be ready and ripe in the great noontide: ready
+      and ripe like the glowing ore, the lightning-bearing cloud, and the
+      swelling milk-udder:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Ready for myself and for my most hidden Will: a bow eager for its
+      arrow, an arrow eager for its star:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;A star, ready and ripe in its noontide, glowing, pierced, blessed,
+      by annihilating sun-arrows:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;A sun itself, and an inexorable sun-will, ready for annihilation in
+      victory!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O Will, thou change of every need, MY needfulness! Spare me for one great
+      victory!&mdash;-
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0064" id="link2H_4_0064">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LVII. THE CONVALESCENT.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      1.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      One morning, not long after his return to his cave, Zarathustra sprang up
+      from his couch like a madman, crying with a frightful voice, and acting as
+      if some one still lay on the couch who did not wish to rise. Zarathustra&rsquo;s
+      voice also resounded in such a manner that his animals came to him
+      frightened, and out of all the neighbouring caves and lurking-places all
+      the creatures slipped away&mdash;flying, fluttering, creeping or leaping,
+      according to their variety of foot or wing. Zarathustra, however, spake
+      these words:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Up, abysmal thought out of my depth! I am thy cock and morning dawn, thou
+      overslept reptile: Up! Up! My voice shall soon crow thee awake!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Unbind the fetters of thine ears: listen! For I wish to hear thee! Up! Up!
+      There is thunder enough to make the very graves listen!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And rub the sleep and all the dimness and blindness out of thine eyes!
+      Hear me also with thine eyes: my voice is a medicine even for those born
+      blind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And once thou art awake, then shalt thou ever remain awake. It is not MY
+      custom to awake great-grandmothers out of their sleep that I may bid them&mdash;sleep
+      on!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou stirrest, stretchest thyself, wheezest? Up! Up! Not wheeze, shalt
+      thou,&mdash;but speak unto me! Zarathustra calleth thee, Zarathustra the
+      godless!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I, Zarathustra, the advocate of living, the advocate of suffering, the
+      advocate of the circuit&mdash;thee do I call, my most abysmal thought!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Joy to me! Thou comest,&mdash;I hear thee! Mine abyss SPEAKETH, my lowest
+      depth have I turned over into the light!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Joy to me! Come hither! Give me thy hand&mdash;ha! let be! aha!&mdash;Disgust,
+      disgust, disgust&mdash;alas to me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      2.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hardly, however, had Zarathustra spoken these words, when he fell down as
+      one dead, and remained long as one dead. When however he again came to
+      himself, then was he pale and trembling, and remained lying; and for long
+      he would neither eat nor drink. This condition continued for seven days;
+      his animals, however, did not leave him day nor night, except that the
+      eagle flew forth to fetch food. And what it fetched and foraged, it laid
+      on Zarathustra&rsquo;s couch: so that Zarathustra at last lay among yellow and
+      red berries, grapes, rosy apples, sweet-smelling herbage, and pine-cones.
+      At his feet, however, two lambs were stretched, which the eagle had with
+      difficulty carried off from their shepherds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last, after seven days, Zarathustra raised himself upon his couch, took
+      a rosy apple in his hand, smelt it and found its smell pleasant. Then did
+      his animals think the time had come to speak unto him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O Zarathustra,&rdquo; said they, &ldquo;now hast thou lain thus for seven days with
+      heavy eyes: wilt thou not set thyself again upon thy feet?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Step out of thy cave: the world waiteth for thee as a garden. The wind
+      playeth with heavy fragrance which seeketh for thee; and all brooks would
+      like to run after thee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All things long for thee, since thou hast remained alone for seven days&mdash;step
+      forth out of thy cave! All things want to be thy physicians!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Did perhaps a new knowledge come to thee, a bitter, grievous knowledge?
+      Like leavened dough layest thou, thy soul arose and swelled beyond all its
+      bounds.&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;O mine animals, answered Zarathustra, talk on thus and let me
+      listen! It refresheth me so to hear your talk: where there is talk, there
+      is the world as a garden unto me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How charming it is that there are words and tones; are not words and tones
+      rainbows and seeming bridges &lsquo;twixt the eternally separated?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To each soul belongeth another world; to each soul is every other soul a
+      back-world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Among the most alike doth semblance deceive most delightfully: for the
+      smallest gap is most difficult to bridge over.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For me&mdash;how could there be an outside-of-me? There is no outside! But
+      this we forget on hearing tones; how delightful it is that we forget!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Have not names and tones been given unto things that man may refresh
+      himself with them? It is a beautiful folly, speaking; therewith danceth
+      man over everything.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How lovely is all speech and all falsehoods of tones! With tones danceth
+      our love on variegated rainbows.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;&ldquo;O Zarathustra,&rdquo; said then his animals, &ldquo;to those who think like
+      us, things all dance themselves: they come and hold out the hand and laugh
+      and flee&mdash;and return.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Everything goeth, everything returneth; eternally rolleth the wheel of
+      existence. Everything dieth, everything blossometh forth again; eternally
+      runneth on the year of existence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Everything breaketh, everything is integrated anew; eternally buildeth
+      itself the same house of existence. All things separate, all things again
+      greet one another; eternally true to itself remaineth the ring of
+      existence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Every moment beginneth existence, around every &lsquo;Here&rsquo; rolleth the ball
+      &lsquo;There.&rsquo; The middle is everywhere. Crooked is the path of eternity.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;O ye wags and barrel-organs! answered Zarathustra, and smiled once
+      more, how well do ye know what had to be fulfilled in seven days:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;And how that monster crept into my throat and choked me! But I bit
+      off its head and spat it away from me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And ye&mdash;ye have made a lyre-lay out of it? Now, however, do I lie
+      here, still exhausted with that biting and spitting-away, still sick with
+      mine own salvation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      AND YE LOOKED ON AT IT ALL? O mine animals, are ye also cruel? Did ye like
+      to look at my great pain as men do? For man is the cruellest animal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At tragedies, bull-fights, and crucifixions hath he hitherto been happiest
+      on earth; and when he invented his hell, behold, that was his heaven on
+      earth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the great man crieth&mdash;: immediately runneth the little man
+      thither, and his tongue hangeth out of his mouth for very lusting. He,
+      however, calleth it his &ldquo;pity.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man, especially the poet&mdash;how passionately doth he accuse
+      life in words! Hearken to him, but do not fail to hear the delight which
+      is in all accusation!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Such accusers of life&mdash;them life overcometh with a glance of the eye.
+      &ldquo;Thou lovest me?&rdquo; saith the insolent one; &ldquo;wait a little, as yet have I no
+      time for thee.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Towards himself man is the cruellest animal; and in all who call
+      themselves &ldquo;sinners&rdquo; and &ldquo;bearers of the cross&rdquo; and &ldquo;penitents,&rdquo; do not
+      overlook the voluptuousness in their plaints and accusations!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And I myself&mdash;do I thereby want to be man&rsquo;s accuser? Ah, mine
+      animals, this only have I learned hitherto, that for man his baddest is
+      necessary for his best,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;That all that is baddest is the best POWER, and the hardest stone
+      for the highest creator; and that man must become better AND badder:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not to THIS torture-stake was I tied, that I know man is bad,&mdash;but I
+      cried, as no one hath yet cried:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, that his baddest is so very small! Ah, that his best is so very
+      small!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The great disgust at man&mdash;IT strangled me and had crept into my
+      throat: and what the soothsayer had presaged: &ldquo;All is alike, nothing is
+      worth while, knowledge strangleth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A long twilight limped on before me, a fatally weary, fatally intoxicated
+      sadness, which spake with yawning mouth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eternally he returneth, the man of whom thou art weary, the small man&rdquo;&mdash;so
+      yawned my sadness, and dragged its foot and could not go to sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A cavern, became the human earth to me; its breast caved in; everything
+      living became to me human dust and bones and mouldering past.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My sighing sat on all human graves, and could no longer arise: my sighing
+      and questioning croaked and choked, and gnawed and nagged day and night:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;&ldquo;Ah, man returneth eternally! The small man returneth eternally!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Naked had I once seen both of them, the greatest man and the smallest man:
+      all too like one another&mdash;all too human, even the greatest man!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All too small, even the greatest man!&mdash;that was my disgust at man!
+      And the eternal return also of the smallest man!&mdash;that was my disgust
+      at all existence!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, Disgust! Disgust! Disgust!&mdash;Thus spake Zarathustra, and sighed
+      and shuddered; for he remembered his sickness. Then did his animals
+      prevent him from speaking further.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do not speak further, thou convalescent!&rdquo;&mdash;so answered his animals,
+      &ldquo;but go out where the world waiteth for thee like a garden.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Go out unto the roses, the bees, and the flocks of doves! Especially,
+      however, unto the singing-birds, to learn SINGING from them!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For singing is for the convalescent; the sound ones may talk. And when the
+      sound also want songs, then want they other songs than the convalescent.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;&ldquo;O ye wags and barrel-organs, do be silent!&rdquo; answered Zarathustra,
+      and smiled at his animals. &ldquo;How well ye know what consolation I devised
+      for myself in seven days!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That I have to sing once more&mdash;THAT consolation did I devise for
+      myself, and THIS convalescence: would ye also make another lyre-lay
+      thereof?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;&ldquo;Do not talk further,&rdquo; answered his animals once more; &ldquo;rather,
+      thou convalescent, prepare for thyself first a lyre, a new lyre!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For behold, O Zarathustra! For thy new lays there are needed new lyres.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sing and bubble over, O Zarathustra, heal thy soul with new lays: that
+      thou mayest bear thy great fate, which hath not yet been any one&rsquo;s fate!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For thine animals know it well, O Zarathustra, who thou art and must
+      become: behold, THOU ART THE TEACHER OF THE ETERNAL RETURN,&mdash;that is
+      now THY fate!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That thou must be the first to teach this teaching&mdash;how could this
+      great fate not be thy greatest danger and infirmity!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Behold, we know what thou teachest: that all things eternally return, and
+      ourselves with them, and that we have already existed times without
+      number, and all things with us.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou teachest that there is a great year of Becoming, a prodigy of a great
+      year; it must, like a sand-glass, ever turn up anew, that it may anew run
+      down and run out:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;So that all those years are like one another in the greatest and
+      also in the smallest, so that we ourselves, in every great year, are like
+      ourselves in the greatest and also in the smallest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And if thou wouldst now die, O Zarathustra, behold, we know also how thou
+      wouldst then speak to thyself:&mdash;but thine animals beseech thee not to
+      die yet!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou wouldst speak, and without trembling, buoyant rather with bliss, for
+      a great weight and worry would be taken from thee, thou patientest one!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Now do I die and disappear,&rsquo; wouldst thou say, &lsquo;and in a moment I am
+      nothing. Souls are as mortal as bodies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the plexus of causes returneth in which I am intertwined,&mdash;it
+      will again create me! I myself pertain to the causes of the eternal
+      return.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I come again with this sun, with this earth, with this eagle, with this
+      serpent&mdash;NOT to a new life, or a better life, or a similar life:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;I come again eternally to this identical and selfsame life, in its
+      greatest and its smallest, to teach again the eternal return of all
+      things,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;To speak again the word of the great noontide of earth and man, to
+      announce again to man the Superman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I have spoken my word. I break down by my word: so willeth mine eternal
+      fate&mdash;as announcer do I succumb!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The hour hath now come for the down-goer to bless himself. Thus&mdash;ENDETH
+      Zarathustra&rsquo;s down-going.&rsquo;&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the animals had spoken these words they were silent and waited, so
+      that Zarathustra might say something to them: but Zarathustra did not hear
+      that they were silent. On the contrary, he lay quietly with closed eyes
+      like a person sleeping, although he did not sleep; for he communed just
+      then with his soul. The serpent, however, and the eagle, when they found
+      him silent in such wise, respected the great stillness around him, and
+      prudently retired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0065" id="link2H_4_0065">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LVIII. THE GREAT LONGING.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      O my soul, I have taught thee to say &ldquo;to-day&rdquo; as &ldquo;once on a time&rdquo; and
+      &ldquo;formerly,&rdquo; and to dance thy measure over every Here and There and Yonder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my soul, I delivered thee from all by-places, I brushed down from thee
+      dust and spiders and twilight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my soul, I washed the petty shame and the by-place virtue from thee, and
+      persuaded thee to stand naked before the eyes of the sun.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With the storm that is called &ldquo;spirit&rdquo; did I blow over thy surging sea;
+      all clouds did I blow away from it; I strangled even the strangler called
+      &ldquo;sin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      O my soul, I gave thee the right to say Nay like the storm, and to say Yea
+      as the open heaven saith Yea: calm as the light remainest thou, and now
+      walkest through denying storms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my soul, I restored to thee liberty over the created and the uncreated;
+      and who knoweth, as thou knowest, the voluptuousness of the future?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my soul, I taught thee the contempt which doth not come like
+      worm-eating, the great, the loving contempt, which loveth most where it
+      contemneth most.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my soul, I taught thee so to persuade that thou persuadest even the
+      grounds themselves to thee: like the sun, which persuadeth even the sea to
+      its height.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my soul, I have taken from thee all obeying and knee-bending and
+      homage-paying; I have myself given thee the names, &ldquo;Change of need&rdquo; and
+      &ldquo;Fate.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      O my soul, I have given thee new names and gay-coloured playthings, I have
+      called thee &ldquo;Fate&rdquo; and &ldquo;the Circuit of circuits&rdquo; and &ldquo;the Navel-string of
+      time&rdquo; and &ldquo;the Azure bell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      O my soul, to thy domain gave I all wisdom to drink, all new wines, and
+      also all immemorially old strong wines of wisdom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my soul, every sun shed I upon thee, and every night and every silence
+      and every longing:&mdash;then grewest thou up for me as a vine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my soul, exuberant and heavy dost thou now stand forth, a vine with
+      swelling udders and full clusters of brown golden grapes:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Filled and weighted by thy happiness, waiting from superabundance,
+      and yet ashamed of thy waiting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my soul, there is nowhere a soul which could be more loving and more
+      comprehensive and more extensive! Where could future and past be closer
+      together than with thee?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my soul, I have given thee everything, and all my hands have become
+      empty by thee:&mdash;and now! Now sayest thou to me, smiling and full of
+      melancholy: &ldquo;Which of us oweth thanks?&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Doth the giver not owe thanks because the receiver received? Is
+      bestowing not a necessity? Is receiving not&mdash;pitying?&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my soul, I understand the smiling of thy melancholy: thine
+      over-abundance itself now stretcheth out longing hands!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thy fulness looketh forth over raging seas, and seeketh and waiteth: the
+      longing of over-fulness looketh forth from the smiling heaven of thine
+      eyes!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And verily, O my soul! Who could see thy smiling and not melt into tears?
+      The angels themselves melt into tears through the over-graciousness of thy
+      smiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thy graciousness and over-graciousness, is it which will not complain and
+      weep: and yet, O my soul, longeth thy smiling for tears, and thy trembling
+      mouth for sobs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is not all weeping complaining? And all complaining, accusing?&rdquo; Thus
+      speakest thou to thyself; and therefore, O my soul, wilt thou rather smile
+      than pour forth thy grief&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Than in gushing tears pour forth all thy grief concerning thy
+      fulness, and concerning the craving of the vine for the vintager and
+      vintage-knife!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But wilt thou not weep, wilt thou not weep forth thy purple melancholy,
+      then wilt thou have to SING, O my soul!&mdash;Behold, I smile myself, who
+      foretell thee this:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Thou wilt have to sing with passionate song, until all seas turn
+      calm to hearken unto thy longing,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Until over calm longing seas the bark glideth, the golden marvel,
+      around the gold of which all good, bad, and marvellous things frisk:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Also many large and small animals, and everything that hath light
+      marvellous feet, so that it can run on violet-blue paths,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Towards the golden marvel, the spontaneous bark, and its master:
+      he, however, is the vintager who waiteth with the diamond vintage-knife,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Thy great deliverer, O my soul, the nameless one&mdash;for whom
+      future songs only will find names! And verily, already hath thy breath the
+      fragrance of future songs,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Already glowest thou and dreamest, already drinkest thou thirstily
+      at all deep echoing wells of consolation, already reposeth thy melancholy
+      in the bliss of future songs!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my soul, now have I given thee all, and even my last possession, and all
+      my hands have become empty by thee:&mdash;THAT I BADE THEE SING, behold,
+      that was my last thing to give!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That I bade thee sing,&mdash;say now, say: WHICH of us now&mdash;oweth
+      thanks?&mdash; Better still, however: sing unto me, sing, O my soul! And
+      let me thank thee!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0066" id="link2H_4_0066">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LIX. THE SECOND DANCE-SONG.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      1.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Into thine eyes gazed I lately, O Life: gold saw I gleam in thy
+      night-eyes,&mdash;my heart stood still with delight:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;A golden bark saw I gleam on darkened waters, a sinking, drinking,
+      reblinking, golden swing-bark!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At my dance-frantic foot, dost thou cast a glance, a laughing,
+      questioning, melting, thrown glance:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Twice only movedst thou thy rattle with thy little hands&mdash;then did my
+      feet swing with dance-fury.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My heels reared aloft, my toes they hearkened,&mdash;thee they would know:
+      hath not the dancer his ear&mdash;in his toe!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Unto thee did I spring: then fledst thou back from my bound; and towards
+      me waved thy fleeing, flying tresses round!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Away from thee did I spring, and from thy snaky tresses: then stoodst thou
+      there half-turned, and in thine eye caresses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With crooked glances&mdash;dost thou teach me crooked courses; on crooked
+      courses learn my feet&mdash;crafty fancies!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I fear thee near, I love thee far; thy flight allureth me, thy seeking
+      secureth me:&mdash;I suffer, but for thee, what would I not gladly bear!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For thee, whose coldness inflameth, whose hatred misleadeth, whose flight
+      enchaineth, whose mockery&mdash;pleadeth:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Who would not hate thee, thou great bindress, inwindress,
+      temptress, seekress, findress! Who would not love thee, thou innocent,
+      impatient, wind-swift, child-eyed sinner!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Whither pullest thou me now, thou paragon and tomboy? And now foolest thou
+      me fleeing; thou sweet romp dost annoy!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I dance after thee, I follow even faint traces lonely. Where art thou?
+      Give me thy hand! Or thy finger only!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here are caves and thickets: we shall go astray!&mdash;Halt! Stand still!
+      Seest thou not owls and bats in fluttering fray?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou bat! Thou owl! Thou wouldst play me foul? Where are we? From the dogs
+      hast thou learned thus to bark and howl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou gnashest on me sweetly with little white teeth; thine evil eyes shoot
+      out upon me, thy curly little mane from underneath!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This is a dance over stock and stone: I am the hunter,&mdash;wilt thou be
+      my hound, or my chamois anon?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now beside me! And quickly, wickedly springing! Now up! And over!&mdash;Alas!
+      I have fallen myself overswinging!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, see me lying, thou arrogant one, and imploring grace! Gladly would I
+      walk with thee&mdash;in some lovelier place!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;In the paths of love, through bushes variegated, quiet, trim! Or
+      there along the lake, where gold-fishes dance and swim!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou art now a-weary? There above are sheep and sun-set stripes: is it not
+      sweet to sleep&mdash;the shepherd pipes?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou art so very weary? I carry thee thither; let just thine arm sink! And
+      art thou thirsty&mdash;I should have something; but thy mouth would not
+      like it to drink!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Oh, that cursed, nimble, supple serpent and lurking-witch! Where
+      art thou gone? But in my face do I feel through thy hand, two spots and
+      red blotches itch!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I am verily weary of it, ever thy sheepish shepherd to be. Thou witch, if
+      I have hitherto sung unto thee, now shalt THOU&mdash;cry unto me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To the rhythm of my whip shalt thou dance and cry! I forget not my whip?&mdash;Not
+      I!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      2.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then did Life answer me thus, and kept thereby her fine ears closed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O Zarathustra! Crack not so terribly with thy whip! Thou knowest surely
+      that noise killeth thought,&mdash;and just now there came to me such
+      delicate thoughts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We are both of us genuine ne&rsquo;er-do-wells and ne&rsquo;er-do-ills. Beyond good
+      and evil found we our island and our green meadow&mdash;we two alone!
+      Therefore must we be friendly to each other!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And even should we not love each other from the bottom of our hearts,&mdash;must
+      we then have a grudge against each other if we do not love each other
+      perfectly?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And that I am friendly to thee, and often too friendly, that knowest thou:
+      and the reason is that I am envious of thy Wisdom. Ah, this mad old fool,
+      Wisdom!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If thy Wisdom should one day run away from thee, ah! then would also my
+      love run away from thee quickly.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thereupon did Life look thoughtfully behind and around, and said softly:
+      &ldquo;O Zarathustra, thou art not faithful enough to me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou lovest me not nearly so much as thou sayest; I know thou thinkest of
+      soon leaving me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There is an old heavy, heavy, booming-clock: it boometh by night up to thy
+      cave:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;When thou hearest this clock strike the hours at midnight, then
+      thinkest thou between one and twelve thereon&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Thou thinkest thereon, O Zarathustra, I know it&mdash;of soon
+      leaving me!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yea,&rdquo; answered I, hesitatingly, &ldquo;but thou knowest it also&rdquo;&mdash;And I
+      said something into her ear, in amongst her confused, yellow, foolish
+      tresses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thou KNOWEST that, O Zarathustra? That knoweth no one&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And we gazed at each other, and looked at the green meadow o&rsquo;er which the
+      cool evening was just passing, and we wept together.&mdash;Then, however,
+      was Life dearer unto me than all my Wisdom had ever been.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      3.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>One!</i>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O man! Take heed!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>Two!</i>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What saith deep midnight&rsquo;s voice indeed?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>Three!</i>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I slept my sleep&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>Four!</i>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;From deepest dream I&rsquo;ve woke and plead:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>Five!</i>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The world is deep,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>Six!</i>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And deeper than the day could read.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>Seven!</i>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Deep is its woe&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>Eight!</i>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Joy&mdash;deeper still than grief can be:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>Nine!</i>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Woe saith: Hence! Go!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>Ten!</i>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But joys all want eternity&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>Eleven!</i>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Want deep profound eternity!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <i>Twelve!</i>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0067" id="link2H_4_0067">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LX. THE SEVEN SEALS.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      (OR THE YEA AND AMEN LAY.)
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      1.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If I be a diviner and full of the divining spirit which wandereth on high
+      mountain-ridges, &lsquo;twixt two seas,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Wandereth &lsquo;twixt the past and the future as a heavy cloud&mdash;hostile to
+      sultry plains, and to all that is weary and can neither die nor live:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ready for lightning in its dark bosom, and for the redeeming flash of
+      light, charged with lightnings which say Yea! which laugh Yea! ready for
+      divining flashes of lightning:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Blessed, however, is he who is thus charged! And verily, long must
+      he hang like a heavy tempest on the mountain, who shall one day kindle the
+      light of the future!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity and for the marriage-ring of
+      rings&mdash;the ring of the return?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+      unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY! 2.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If ever my wrath hath burst graves, shifted landmarks, or rolled old
+      shattered tables into precipitous depths:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If ever my scorn hath scattered mouldered words to the winds, and if I
+      have come like a besom to cross-spiders, and as a cleansing wind to old
+      charnel-houses:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If ever I have sat rejoicing where old Gods lie buried, world-blessing,
+      world-loving, beside the monuments of old world-maligners:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;For even churches and Gods&rsquo;-graves do I love, if only heaven
+      looketh through their ruined roofs with pure eyes; gladly do I sit like
+      grass and red poppies on ruined churches&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of
+      rings&mdash;the ring of the return?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+      unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY! 3.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If ever a breath hath come to me of the creative breath, and of the
+      heavenly necessity which compelleth even chances to dance star-dances:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If ever I have laughed with the laughter of the creative lightning, to
+      which the long thunder of the deed followeth, grumblingly, but obediently:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If ever I have played dice with the Gods at the divine table of the earth,
+      so that the earth quaked and ruptured, and snorted forth fire-streams:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;For a divine table is the earth, and trembling with new creative
+      dictums and dice-casts of the Gods:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of
+      rings&mdash;the ring of the return?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+      unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY! 4.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If ever I have drunk a full draught of the foaming spice- and
+      confection-bowl in which all things are well mixed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If ever my hand hath mingled the furthest with the nearest, fire with
+      spirit, joy with sorrow, and the harshest with the kindest:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If I myself am a grain of the saving salt which maketh everything in the
+      confection-bowl mix well:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;For there is a salt which uniteth good with evil; and even the
+      evilest is worthy, as spicing and as final over-foaming:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of
+      rings&mdash;the ring of the return?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+      unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY! 5.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If I be fond of the sea, and all that is sealike, and fondest of it when
+      it angrily contradicteth me:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If the exploring delight be in me, which impelleth sails to the
+      undiscovered, if the seafarer&rsquo;s delight be in my delight:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If ever my rejoicing hath called out: &ldquo;The shore hath vanished,&mdash;now
+      hath fallen from me the last chain&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The boundless roareth around me, far away sparkle for me space and time,&mdash;well!
+      cheer up! old heart!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of
+      rings&mdash;the ring of the return?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+      unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY! 6.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If my virtue be a dancer&rsquo;s virtue, and if I have often sprung with both
+      feet into golden-emerald rapture:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If my wickedness be a laughing wickedness, at home among rose-banks and
+      hedges of lilies:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;For in laughter is all evil present, but it is sanctified and
+      absolved by its own bliss:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And if it be my Alpha and Omega that everything heavy shall become light,
+      every body a dancer, and every spirit a bird: and verily, that is my Alpha
+      and Omega!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of
+      rings&mdash;the ring of the return?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+      unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY! 7.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If ever I have spread out a tranquil heaven above me, and have flown into
+      mine own heaven with mine own pinions:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If I have swum playfully in profound luminous distances, and if my
+      freedom&rsquo;s avian wisdom hath come to me:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Thus however speaketh avian wisdom:&mdash;&ldquo;Lo, there is no above
+      and no below! Throw thyself about,&mdash;outward, backward, thou light
+      one! Sing! speak no more!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Are not all words made for the heavy? Do not all words lie to the
+      light ones? Sing! speak no more!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of
+      rings&mdash;the ring of the return?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+      unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY! <a name="link2H_4_0068" id="link2H_4_0068">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      FOURTH AND LAST PART.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Ah, where in the world have there been greater follies than with the
+      pitiful? And what in the world hath caused more suffering than the follies
+      of the pitiful?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Woe unto all loving ones who have not an elevation which is above their
+      pity!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake the devil unto me, once on a time: &ldquo;Even God hath his hell: it
+      is his love for man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And lately did I hear him say these words: &ldquo;God is dead: of his pity for
+      man hath God died.&rdquo;&mdash;ZARATHUSTRA, II., &ldquo;The Pitiful.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0069" id="link2H_4_0069">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LXI. THE HONEY SACRIFICE.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;And again passed moons and years over Zarathustra&rsquo;s soul, and he
+      heeded it not; his hair, however, became white. One day when he sat on a
+      stone in front of his cave, and gazed calmly into the distance&mdash;one
+      there gazeth out on the sea, and away beyond sinuous abysses,&mdash;then
+      went his animals thoughtfully round about him, and at last set themselves
+      in front of him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O Zarathustra,&rdquo; said they, &ldquo;gazest thou out perhaps for thy happiness?&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Of
+      what account is my happiness!&rdquo; answered he, &ldquo;I have long ceased to strive
+      any more for happiness, I strive for my work.&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;O Zarathustra,&rdquo; said
+      the animals once more, &ldquo;that sayest thou as one who hath overmuch of good
+      things. Liest thou not in a sky-blue lake of happiness?&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Ye wags,&rdquo;
+       answered Zarathustra, and smiled, &ldquo;how well did ye choose the simile! But
+      ye know also that my happiness is heavy, and not like a fluid wave of
+      water: it presseth me and will not leave me, and is like molten pitch.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then went his animals again thoughtfully around him, and placed themselves
+      once more in front of him. &ldquo;O Zarathustra,&rdquo; said they, &ldquo;it is consequently
+      FOR THAT REASON that thou thyself always becometh yellower and darker,
+      although thy hair looketh white and flaxen? Lo, thou sittest in thy
+      pitch!&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;What do ye say, mine animals?&rdquo; said Zarathustra, laughing;
+      &ldquo;verily I reviled when I spake of pitch. As it happeneth with me, so is it
+      with all fruits that turn ripe. It is the HONEY in my veins that maketh my
+      blood thicker, and also my soul stiller.&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;So will it be, O
+      Zarathustra,&rdquo; answered his animals, and pressed up to him; &ldquo;but wilt thou
+      not to-day ascend a high mountain? The air is pure, and to-day one seeth
+      more of the world than ever.&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Yea, mine animals,&rdquo; answered he, &ldquo;ye
+      counsel admirably and according to my heart: I will to-day ascend a high
+      mountain! But see that honey is there ready to hand, yellow, white, good,
+      ice-cool, golden-comb-honey. For know that when aloft I will make the
+      honey-sacrifice.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Zarathustra, however, was aloft on the summit, he sent his animals
+      home that had accompanied him, and found that he was now alone:&mdash;then
+      he laughed from the bottom of his heart, looked around him, and spake
+      thus:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That I spake of sacrifices and honey-sacrifices, it was merely a ruse in
+      talking and verily, a useful folly! Here aloft can I now speak freer than
+      in front of mountain-caves and anchorites&rsquo; domestic animals.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What to sacrifice! I squander what is given me, a squanderer with a
+      thousand hands: how could I call that&mdash;sacrificing?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when I desired honey I only desired bait, and sweet mucus and
+      mucilage, for which even the mouths of growling bears, and strange, sulky,
+      evil birds, water:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;The best bait, as huntsmen and fishermen require it. For if the
+      world be as a gloomy forest of animals, and a pleasure-ground for all wild
+      huntsmen, it seemeth to me rather&mdash;and preferably&mdash;a fathomless,
+      rich sea;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;A sea full of many-hued fishes and crabs, for which even the Gods
+      might long, and might be tempted to become fishers in it, and casters of
+      nets,&mdash;so rich is the world in wonderful things, great and small!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Especially the human world, the human sea:&mdash;towards IT do I now throw
+      out my golden angle-rod and say: Open up, thou human abyss!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Open up, and throw unto me thy fish and shining crabs! With my best bait
+      shall I allure to myself to-day the strangest human fish!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;My happiness itself do I throw out into all places far and wide
+      &lsquo;twixt orient, noontide, and occident, to see if many human fish will not
+      learn to hug and tug at my happiness;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Until, biting at my sharp hidden hooks, they have to come up unto MY
+      height, the motleyest abyss-groundlings, to the wickedest of all fishers
+      of men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For THIS am I from the heart and from the beginning&mdash;drawing,
+      hither-drawing, upward-drawing, upbringing; a drawer, a trainer, a
+      training-master, who not in vain counselled himself once on a time:
+      &ldquo;Become what thou art!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus may men now come UP to me; for as yet do I await the signs that it is
+      time for my down-going; as yet do I not myself go down, as I must do,
+      amongst men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Therefore do I here wait, crafty and scornful upon high mountains, no
+      impatient one, no patient one; rather one who hath even unlearnt patience,&mdash;because
+      he no longer &ldquo;suffereth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For my fate giveth me time: it hath forgotten me perhaps? Or doth it sit
+      behind a big stone and catch flies?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And verily, I am well-disposed to mine eternal fate, because it doth not
+      hound and hurry me, but leaveth me time for merriment and mischief; so
+      that I have to-day ascended this high mountain to catch fish.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Did ever any one catch fish upon high mountains? And though it be a folly
+      what I here seek and do, it is better so than that down below I should
+      become solemn with waiting, and green and yellow&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;A posturing wrath-snorter with waiting, a holy howl-storm from the
+      mountains, an impatient one that shouteth down into the valleys: &ldquo;Hearken,
+      else I will scourge you with the scourge of God!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Not that I would have a grudge against such wrathful ones on that account:
+      they are well enough for laughter to me! Impatient must they now be, those
+      big alarm-drums, which find a voice now or never!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Myself, however, and my fate&mdash;we do not talk to the Present, neither
+      do we talk to the Never: for talking we have patience and time and more
+      than time. For one day must it yet come, and may not pass by.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What must one day come and may not pass by? Our great Hazar, that is to
+      say, our great, remote human-kingdom, the Zarathustra-kingdom of a
+      thousand years&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How remote may such &ldquo;remoteness&rdquo; be? What doth it concern me? But on that
+      account it is none the less sure unto me&mdash;, with both feet stand I
+      secure on this ground;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;On an eternal ground, on hard primary rock, on this highest,
+      hardest, primary mountain-ridge, unto which all winds come, as unto the
+      storm-parting, asking Where? and Whence? and Whither?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here laugh, laugh, my hearty, healthy wickedness! From high mountains cast
+      down thy glittering scorn-laughter! Allure for me with thy glittering the
+      finest human fish!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And whatever belongeth unto ME in all seas, my in-and-for-me in all things&mdash;fish
+      THAT out for me, bring THAT up to me: for that do I wait, the wickedest of
+      all fish-catchers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Out! out! my fishing-hook! In and down, thou bait of my happiness! Drip
+      thy sweetest dew, thou honey of my heart! Bite, my fishing-hook, into the
+      belly of all black affliction!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Look out, look out, mine eye! Oh, how many seas round about me, what
+      dawning human futures! And above me&mdash;what rosy red stillness! What
+      unclouded silence!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0070" id="link2H_4_0070">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LXII. THE CRY OF DISTRESS.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The next day sat Zarathustra again on the stone in front of his cave,
+      whilst his animals roved about in the world outside to bring home new
+      food,&mdash;also new honey: for Zarathustra had spent and wasted the old
+      honey to the very last particle. When he thus sat, however, with a stick
+      in his hand, tracing the shadow of his figure on the earth, and reflecting&mdash;verily!
+      not upon himself and his shadow,&mdash;all at once he startled and shrank
+      back: for he saw another shadow beside his own. And when he hastily looked
+      around and stood up, behold, there stood the soothsayer beside him, the
+      same whom he had once given to eat and drink at his table, the proclaimer
+      of the great weariness, who taught: &ldquo;All is alike, nothing is worth while,
+      the world is without meaning, knowledge strangleth.&rdquo; But his face had
+      changed since then; and when Zarathustra looked into his eyes, his heart
+      was startled once more: so much evil announcement and ashy-grey lightnings
+      passed over that countenance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The soothsayer, who had perceived what went on in Zarathustra&rsquo;s soul,
+      wiped his face with his hand, as if he would wipe out the impression; the
+      same did also Zarathustra. And when both of them had thus silently
+      composed and strengthened themselves, they gave each other the hand, as a
+      token that they wanted once more to recognise each other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Welcome hither,&rdquo; said Zarathustra, &ldquo;thou soothsayer of the great
+      weariness, not in vain shalt thou once have been my messmate and guest.
+      Eat and drink also with me to-day, and forgive it that a cheerful old man
+      sitteth with thee at table!&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;A cheerful old man?&rdquo; answered the
+      soothsayer, shaking his head, &ldquo;but whoever thou art, or wouldst be, O
+      Zarathustra, thou hast been here aloft the longest time,&mdash;in a little
+      while thy bark shall no longer rest on dry land!&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Do I then rest on
+      dry land?&rdquo;&mdash;asked Zarathustra, laughing.&mdash;&ldquo;The waves around thy
+      mountain,&rdquo; answered the soothsayer, &ldquo;rise and rise, the waves of great
+      distress and affliction: they will soon raise thy bark also and carry thee
+      away.&rdquo;&mdash;Thereupon was Zarathustra silent and wondered.&mdash;&ldquo;Dost
+      thou still hear nothing?&rdquo; continued the soothsayer: &ldquo;doth it not rush and
+      roar out of the depth?&rdquo;&mdash;Zarathustra was silent once more and
+      listened: then heard he a long, long cry, which the abysses threw to one
+      another and passed on; for none of them wished to retain it: so evil did
+      it sound.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thou ill announcer,&rdquo; said Zarathustra at last, &ldquo;that is a cry of
+      distress, and the cry of a man; it may come perhaps out of a black sea.
+      But what doth human distress matter to me! My last sin which hath been
+      reserved for me,&mdash;knowest thou what it is called?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;&ldquo;PITY!&rdquo; answered the soothsayer from an overflowing heart, and
+      raised both his hands aloft&mdash;&ldquo;O Zarathustra, I have come that I may
+      seduce thee to thy last sin!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And hardly had those words been uttered when there sounded the cry once
+      more, and longer and more alarming than before&mdash;also much nearer.
+      &ldquo;Hearest thou? Hearest thou, O Zarathustra?&rdquo; called out the soothsayer,
+      &ldquo;the cry concerneth thee, it calleth thee: Come, come, come; it is time,
+      it is the highest time!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Zarathustra was silent thereupon, confused and staggered; at last he
+      asked, like one who hesitateth in himself: &ldquo;And who is it that there
+      calleth me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But thou knowest it, certainly,&rdquo; answered the soothsayer warmly, &ldquo;why
+      dost thou conceal thyself? It is THE HIGHER MAN that crieth for thee!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The higher man?&rdquo; cried Zarathustra, horror-stricken: &ldquo;what wanteth HE?
+      What wanteth HE? The higher man! What wanteth he here?&rdquo;&mdash;and his skin
+      covered with perspiration.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The soothsayer, however, did not heed Zarathustra&rsquo;s alarm, but listened
+      and listened in the downward direction. When, however, it had been still
+      there for a long while, he looked behind, and saw Zarathustra standing
+      trembling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O Zarathustra,&rdquo; he began, with sorrowful voice, &ldquo;thou dost not stand
+      there like one whose happiness maketh him giddy: thou wilt have to dance
+      lest thou tumble down!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But although thou shouldst dance before me, and leap all thy side-leaps,
+      no one may say unto me: &lsquo;Behold, here danceth the last joyous man!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In vain would any one come to this height who sought HIM here: caves would
+      he find, indeed, and back-caves, hiding-places for hidden ones; but not
+      lucky mines, nor treasure-chambers, nor new gold-veins of happiness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Happiness&mdash;how indeed could one find happiness among such
+      buried-alive and solitary ones! Must I yet seek the last happiness on the
+      Happy Isles, and far away among forgotten seas?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But all is alike, nothing is worth while, no seeking is of service, there
+      are no longer any Happy Isles!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus sighed the soothsayer; with his last sigh, however, Zarathustra again
+      became serene and assured, like one who hath come out of a deep chasm into
+      the light. &ldquo;Nay! Nay! Three times Nay!&rdquo; exclaimed he with a strong voice,
+      and stroked his beard&mdash;&ldquo;THAT do I know better! There are still Happy
+      Isles! Silence THEREON, thou sighing sorrow-sack!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cease to splash THEREON, thou rain-cloud of the forenoon! Do I not already
+      stand here wet with thy misery, and drenched like a dog?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now do I shake myself and run away from thee, that I may again become dry:
+      thereat mayest thou not wonder! Do I seem to thee discourteous? Here
+      however is MY court.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But as regards the higher man: well! I shall seek him at once in those
+      forests: FROM THENCE came his cry. Perhaps he is there hard beset by an
+      evil beast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He is in MY domain: therein shall he receive no scath! And verily, there
+      are many evil beasts about me.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With those words Zarathustra turned around to depart. Then said the
+      soothsayer: &ldquo;O Zarathustra, thou art a rogue!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I know it well: thou wouldst fain be rid of me! Rather wouldst thou run
+      into the forest and lay snares for evil beasts!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But what good will it do thee? In the evening wilt thou have me again: in
+      thine own cave will I sit, patient and heavy like a block&mdash;and wait
+      for thee!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So be it!&rdquo; shouted back Zarathustra, as he went away: &ldquo;and what is mine
+      in my cave belongeth also unto thee, my guest!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Shouldst thou however find honey therein, well! just lick it up, thou
+      growling bear, and sweeten thy soul! For in the evening we want both to be
+      in good spirits;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;In good spirits and joyful, because this day hath come to an end!
+      And thou thyself shalt dance to my lays, as my dancing-bear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou dost not believe this? Thou shakest thy head? Well! Cheer up, old
+      bear! But I also&mdash;am a soothsayer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0071" id="link2H_4_0071">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LXIII. TALK WITH THE KINGS.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      1.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Ere Zarathustra had been an hour on his way in the mountains and forests,
+      he saw all at once a strange procession. Right on the path which he was
+      about to descend came two kings walking, bedecked with crowns and purple
+      girdles, and variegated like flamingoes: they drove before them a laden
+      ass. &ldquo;What do these kings want in my domain?&rdquo; said Zarathustra in
+      astonishment to his heart, and hid himself hastily behind a thicket. When
+      however the kings approached to him, he said half-aloud, like one speaking
+      only to himself: &ldquo;Strange! Strange! How doth this harmonise? Two kings do
+      I see&mdash;and only one ass!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thereupon the two kings made a halt; they smiled and looked towards the
+      spot whence the voice proceeded, and afterwards looked into each other&rsquo;s
+      faces. &ldquo;Such things do we also think among ourselves,&rdquo; said the king on
+      the right, &ldquo;but we do not utter them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The king on the left, however, shrugged his shoulders and answered: &ldquo;That
+      may perhaps be a goat-herd. Or an anchorite who hath lived too long among
+      rocks and trees. For no society at all spoileth also good manners.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good manners?&rdquo; replied angrily and bitterly the other king: &ldquo;what then do
+      we run out of the way of? Is it not &lsquo;good manners&rsquo;? Our &lsquo;good society&rsquo;?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Better, verily, to live among anchorites and goat-herds, than with our
+      gilded, false, over-rouged populace&mdash;though it call itself &lsquo;good
+      society.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Though it call itself &lsquo;nobility.&rsquo; But there all is false and foul,
+      above all the blood&mdash;thanks to old evil diseases and worse curers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The best and dearest to me at present is still a sound peasant, coarse,
+      artful, obstinate and enduring: that is at present the noblest type.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The peasant is at present the best; and the peasant type should be master!
+      But it is the kingdom of the populace&mdash;I no longer allow anything to
+      be imposed upon me. The populace, however&mdash;that meaneth, hodgepodge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Populace-hodgepodge: therein is everything mixed with everything, saint
+      and swindler, gentleman and Jew, and every beast out of Noah&rsquo;s ark.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Good manners! Everything is false and foul with us. No one knoweth any
+      longer how to reverence: it is THAT precisely that we run away from. They
+      are fulsome obtrusive dogs; they gild palm-leaves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This loathing choketh me, that we kings ourselves have become false,
+      draped and disguised with the old faded pomp of our ancestors, show-pieces
+      for the stupidest, the craftiest, and whosoever at present trafficketh for
+      power.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We ARE NOT the first men&mdash;and have nevertheless to STAND FOR them: of
+      this imposture have we at last become weary and disgusted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From the rabble have we gone out of the way, from all those bawlers and
+      scribe-blowflies, from the trader-stench, the ambition-fidgeting, the bad
+      breath&mdash;: fie, to live among the rabble;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Fie, to stand for the first men among the rabble! Ah, loathing!
+      Loathing! Loathing! What doth it now matter about us kings!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thine old sickness seizeth thee,&rdquo; said here the king on the left, &ldquo;thy
+      loathing seizeth thee, my poor brother. Thou knowest, however, that some
+      one heareth us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Immediately thereupon, Zarathustra, who had opened ears and eyes to this
+      talk, rose from his hiding-place, advanced towards the kings, and thus
+      began:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He who hearkeneth unto you, he who gladly hearkeneth unto you, is called
+      Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I am Zarathustra who once said: &lsquo;What doth it now matter about kings!&rsquo; 
+      Forgive me; I rejoiced when ye said to each other: &lsquo;What doth it matter
+      about us kings!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here, however, is MY domain and jurisdiction: what may ye be seeking in my
+      domain? Perhaps, however, ye have FOUND on your way what <i>I</i> seek:
+      namely, the higher man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When the kings heard this, they beat upon their breasts and said with one
+      voice: &ldquo;We are recognised!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With the sword of thine utterance severest thou the thickest darkness of
+      our hearts. Thou hast discovered our distress; for lo! we are on our way
+      to find the higher man&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;The man that is higher than we, although we are kings. To him do we
+      convey this ass. For the highest man shall also be the highest lord on
+      earth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There is no sorer misfortune in all human destiny, than when the mighty of
+      the earth are not also the first men. Then everything becometh false and
+      distorted and monstrous.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when they are even the last men, and more beast than man, then riseth
+      and riseth the populace in honour, and at last saith even the
+      populace-virtue: &lsquo;Lo, I alone am virtue!&rsquo;&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What have I just heard? answered Zarathustra. What wisdom in kings! I am
+      enchanted, and verily, I have already promptings to make a rhyme thereon:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Even if it should happen to be a rhyme not suited for every one&rsquo;s
+      ears. I unlearned long ago to have consideration for long ears. Well then!
+      Well now!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      (Here, however, it happened that the ass also found utterance: it said
+      distinctly and with malevolence, Y-E-A.)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Twas once&mdash;methinks year one of our blessed Lord,&mdash;Drunk
+      without wine, the Sybil thus deplored:&mdash;&ldquo;How ill things go! Decline!
+      Decline! Ne&rsquo;er sank the world so low! Rome now hath turned harlot and
+      harlot-stew, Rome&rsquo;s Caesar a beast, and God&mdash;hath turned Jew!&rdquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      2.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With those rhymes of Zarathustra the kings were delighted; the king on the
+      right, however, said: &ldquo;O Zarathustra, how well it was that we set out to
+      see thee!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For thine enemies showed us thy likeness in their mirror: there lookedst
+      thou with the grimace of a devil, and sneeringly: so that we were afraid
+      of thee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But what good did it do! Always didst thou prick us anew in heart and ear
+      with thy sayings. Then did we say at last: What doth it matter how he
+      look!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We must HEAR him; him who teacheth: &lsquo;Ye shall love peace as a means to new
+      wars, and the short peace more than the long!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No one ever spake such warlike words: &lsquo;What is good? To be brave is good.
+      It is the good war that halloweth every cause.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O Zarathustra, our fathers&rsquo; blood stirred in our veins at such words: it
+      was like the voice of spring to old wine-casks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the swords ran among one another like red-spotted serpents, then did
+      our fathers become fond of life; the sun of every peace seemed to them
+      languid and lukewarm, the long peace, however, made them ashamed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How they sighed, our fathers, when they saw on the wall brightly
+      furbished, dried-up swords! Like those they thirsted for war. For a sword
+      thirsteth to drink blood, and sparkleth with desire.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;When the kings thus discoursed and talked eagerly of the happiness
+      of their fathers, there came upon Zarathustra no little desire to mock at
+      their eagerness: for evidently they were very peaceable kings whom he saw
+      before him, kings with old and refined features. But he restrained
+      himself. &ldquo;Well!&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;thither leadeth the way, there lieth the cave
+      of Zarathustra; and this day is to have a long evening! At present,
+      however, a cry of distress calleth me hastily away from you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It will honour my cave if kings want to sit and wait in it: but, to be
+      sure, ye will have to wait long!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well! What of that! Where doth one at present learn better to wait than at
+      courts? And the whole virtue of kings that hath remained unto them&mdash;is
+      it not called to-day: ABILITY to wait?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0072" id="link2H_4_0072">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LXIV. THE LEECH.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      And Zarathustra went thoughtfully on, further and lower down, through
+      forests and past moory bottoms; as it happeneth, however, to every one who
+      meditateth upon hard matters, he trod thereby unawares upon a man. And lo,
+      there spurted into his face all at once a cry of pain, and two curses and
+      twenty bad invectives, so that in his fright he raised his stick and also
+      struck the trodden one. Immediately afterwards, however, he regained his
+      composure, and his heart laughed at the folly he had just committed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pardon me,&rdquo; said he to the trodden one, who had got up enraged, and had
+      seated himself, &ldquo;pardon me, and hear first of all a parable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As a wanderer who dreameth of remote things on a lonesome highway, runneth
+      unawares against a sleeping dog, a dog which lieth in the sun:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;As both of them then start up and snap at each other, like deadly
+      enemies, those two beings mortally frightened&mdash;so did it happen unto
+      us.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And yet! And yet&mdash;how little was lacking for them to caress each
+      other, that dog and that lonesome one! Are they not both&mdash;lonesome
+      ones!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;&ldquo;Whoever thou art,&rdquo; said the trodden one, still enraged, &ldquo;thou
+      treadest also too nigh me with thy parable, and not only with thy foot!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lo! am I then a dog?&rdquo;&mdash;And thereupon the sitting one got up, and
+      pulled his naked arm out of the swamp. For at first he had lain
+      outstretched on the ground, hidden and indiscernible, like those who lie
+      in wait for swamp-game.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But whatever art thou about!&rdquo; called out Zarathustra in alarm, for he saw
+      a deal of blood streaming over the naked arm,&mdash;&ldquo;what hath hurt thee?
+      Hath an evil beast bit thee, thou unfortunate one?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The bleeding one laughed, still angry, &ldquo;What matter is it to thee!&rdquo; said
+      he, and was about to go on. &ldquo;Here am I at home and in my province. Let him
+      question me whoever will: to a dolt, however, I shall hardly answer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thou art mistaken,&rdquo; said Zarathustra sympathetically, and held him fast;
+      &ldquo;thou art mistaken. Here thou art not at home, but in my domain, and
+      therein shall no one receive any hurt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Call me however what thou wilt&mdash;I am who I must be. I call myself
+      Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well! Up thither is the way to Zarathustra&rsquo;s cave: it is not far,&mdash;wilt
+      thou not attend to thy wounds at my home?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It hath gone badly with thee, thou unfortunate one, in this life: first a
+      beast bit thee, and then&mdash;a man trod upon thee!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When however the trodden one had heard the name of Zarathustra he was
+      transformed. &ldquo;What happeneth unto me!&rdquo; he exclaimed, &ldquo;WHO preoccupieth me
+      so much in this life as this one man, namely Zarathustra, and that one
+      animal that liveth on blood, the leech?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the sake of the leech did I lie here by this swamp, like a fisher, and
+      already had mine outstretched arm been bitten ten times, when there biteth
+      a still finer leech at my blood, Zarathustra himself!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O happiness! O miracle! Praised be this day which enticed me into the
+      swamp! Praised be the best, the livest cupping-glass, that at present
+      liveth; praised be the great conscience-leech Zarathustra!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake the trodden one, and Zarathustra rejoiced at his words and
+      their refined reverential style. &ldquo;Who art thou?&rdquo; asked he, and gave him
+      his hand, &ldquo;there is much to clear up and elucidate between us, but already
+      methinketh pure clear day is dawning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am THE SPIRITUALLY CONSCIENTIOUS ONE,&rdquo; answered he who was asked, &ldquo;and
+      in matters of the spirit it is difficult for any one to take it more
+      rigorously, more restrictedly, and more severely than I, except him from
+      whom I learnt it, Zarathustra himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Better know nothing than half-know many things! Better be a fool on one&rsquo;s
+      own account, than a sage on other people&rsquo;s approbation! I&mdash;go to the
+      basis:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;What matter if it be great or small? If it be called swamp or sky?
+      A handbreadth of basis is enough for me, if it be actually basis and
+      ground!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;A handbreadth of basis: thereon can one stand. In the true
+      knowing-knowledge there is nothing great and nothing small.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then thou art perhaps an expert on the leech?&rdquo; asked Zarathustra; &ldquo;and
+      thou investigatest the leech to its ultimate basis, thou conscientious
+      one?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O Zarathustra,&rdquo; answered the trodden one, &ldquo;that would be something
+      immense; how could I presume to do so!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That, however, of which I am master and knower, is the BRAIN of the leech:&mdash;that
+      is MY world!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And it is also a world! Forgive it, however, that my pride here findeth
+      expression, for here I have not mine equal. Therefore said I: &lsquo;here am I
+      at home.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How long have I investigated this one thing, the brain of the leech, so
+      that here the slippery truth might no longer slip from me! Here is MY
+      domain!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;For the sake of this did I cast everything else aside, for the sake
+      of this did everything else become indifferent to me; and close beside my
+      knowledge lieth my black ignorance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My spiritual conscience requireth from me that it should be so&mdash;that
+      I should know one thing, and not know all else: they are a loathing unto
+      me, all the semi-spiritual, all the hazy, hovering, and visionary.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Where mine honesty ceaseth, there am I blind, and want also to be blind.
+      Where I want to know, however, there want I also to be honest&mdash;namely,
+      severe, rigorous, restricted, cruel and inexorable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Because THOU once saidest, O Zarathustra: &lsquo;Spirit is life which itself
+      cutteth into life&rsquo;;&mdash;that led and allured me to thy doctrine. And
+      verily, with mine own blood have I increased mine own knowledge!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;&ldquo;As the evidence indicateth,&rdquo; broke in Zarathustra; for still was
+      the blood flowing down on the naked arm of the conscientious one. For
+      there had ten leeches bitten into it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O thou strange fellow, how much doth this very evidence teach me&mdash;namely,
+      thou thyself! And not all, perhaps, might I pour into thy rigorous ear!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well then! We part here! But I would fain find thee again. Up thither is
+      the way to my cave: to-night shalt thou there be my welcome guest!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fain would I also make amends to thy body for Zarathustra treading upon
+      thee with his feet: I think about that. Just now, however, a cry of
+      distress calleth me hastily away from thee.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0073" id="link2H_4_0073">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LXV. THE MAGICIAN.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      1.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      When however Zarathustra had gone round a rock, then saw he on the same
+      path, not far below him, a man who threw his limbs about like a maniac,
+      and at last tumbled to the ground on his belly. &ldquo;Halt!&rdquo; said then
+      Zarathustra to his heart, &ldquo;he there must surely be the higher man, from
+      him came that dreadful cry of distress,&mdash;I will see if I can help
+      him.&rdquo; When, however, he ran to the spot where the man lay on the ground,
+      he found a trembling old man, with fixed eyes; and in spite of all
+      Zarathustra&rsquo;s efforts to lift him and set him again on his feet, it was
+      all in vain. The unfortunate one, also, did not seem to notice that some
+      one was beside him; on the contrary, he continually looked around with
+      moving gestures, like one forsaken and isolated from all the world. At
+      last, however, after much trembling, and convulsion, and
+      curling-himself-up, he began to lament thus:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     Who warm&rsquo;th me, who lov&rsquo;th me still?
+     Give ardent fingers!
+     Give heartening charcoal-warmers!
+     Prone, outstretched, trembling,
+     Like him, half dead and cold, whose feet one warm&rsquo;th&mdash;
+     And shaken, ah! by unfamiliar fevers,
+     Shivering with sharpened, icy-cold frost-arrows,
+     By thee pursued, my fancy!
+     Ineffable!  Recondite!  Sore-frightening!
+     Thou huntsman &rsquo;hind the cloud-banks!
+     Now lightning-struck by thee,
+     Thou mocking eye that me in darkness watcheth:
+     &mdash;Thus do I lie,
+     Bend myself, twist myself, convulsed
+     With all eternal torture,
+     And smitten
+     By thee, cruellest huntsman,
+     Thou unfamiliar&mdash;GOD...
+
+     Smite deeper!
+     Smite yet once more!
+     Pierce through and rend my heart!
+     What mean&rsquo;th this torture
+     With dull, indented arrows?
+     Why look&rsquo;st thou hither,
+     Of human pain not weary,
+     With mischief-loving, godly flash-glances?
+     Not murder wilt thou,
+     But torture, torture?
+     For why&mdash;ME torture,
+     Thou mischief-loving, unfamiliar God?&mdash;
+
+     Ha!  Ha!
+     Thou stealest nigh
+     In midnight&rsquo;s gloomy hour?...
+     What wilt thou?
+     Speak!
+     Thou crowdst me, pressest&mdash;
+     Ha! now far too closely!
+     Thou hearst me breathing,
+     Thou o&rsquo;erhearst my heart,
+     Thou ever jealous one!
+     &mdash;Of what, pray, ever jealous?
+     Off!  Off!
+     For why the ladder?
+     Wouldst thou GET IN?
+     To heart in-clamber?
+     To mine own secretest
+     Conceptions in-clamber?
+     Shameless one!  Thou unknown one!&mdash;Thief!
+     What seekst thou by thy stealing?
+     What seekst thou by thy hearkening?
+     What seekst thou by thy torturing?
+     Thou torturer!
+     Thou&mdash;hangman-God!
+     Or shall I, as the mastiffs do,
+     Roll me before thee?
+     And cringing, enraptured, frantical,
+     My tail friendly&mdash;waggle!
+
+     In vain!
+     Goad further!
+     Cruellest goader!
+     No dog&mdash;thy game just am I,
+     Cruellest huntsman!
+     Thy proudest of captives,
+     Thou robber &rsquo;hind the cloud-banks...
+     Speak finally!
+     Thou lightning-veiled one!  Thou unknown one!  Speak!
+     What wilt thou, highway-ambusher, from&mdash;ME?
+     What WILT thou, unfamiliar&mdash;God?
+     What?
+     Ransom-gold?
+     How much of ransom-gold?
+     Solicit much&mdash;that bid&rsquo;th my pride!
+     And be concise&mdash;that bid&rsquo;th mine other pride!
+
+     Ha!  Ha!
+     ME&mdash;wantst thou?  me?
+     &mdash;Entire?...
+
+     Ha!  Ha!
+     And torturest me, fool that thou art,
+     Dead-torturest quite my pride?
+     Give LOVE to me&mdash;who warm&rsquo;th me still?
+     Who lov&rsquo;th me still?&mdash;
+     Give ardent fingers,
+     Give heartening charcoal-warmers,
+     Give me, the lonesomest,
+     The ice (ah! seven-fold frozen ice,
+     For very enemies,
+     For foes, doth make one thirst),
+     Give, yield to me,
+     Cruellest foe,
+     &mdash;THYSELF!&mdash;
+
+     Away!
+     There fled he surely,
+     My final, only comrade,
+     My greatest foe,
+     Mine unfamiliar&mdash;
+     My hangman-God!...
+
+     &mdash;Nay!
+     Come thou back!
+     WITH all of thy great tortures!
+     To me the last of lonesome ones,
+     Oh, come thou back!
+     All my hot tears in streamlets trickle
+     Their course to thee!
+     And all my final hearty fervour&mdash;
+     Up-glow&rsquo;th to THEE!
+     Oh, come thou back,
+     Mine unfamiliar God! my PAIN!
+     My final bliss!
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      2.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Here, however, Zarathustra could no longer restrain himself; he
+      took his staff and struck the wailer with all his might. &ldquo;Stop this,&rdquo;
+       cried he to him with wrathful laughter, &ldquo;stop this, thou stage-player!
+      Thou false coiner! Thou liar from the very heart! I know thee well!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I will soon make warm legs to thee, thou evil magician: I know well how&mdash;to
+      make it hot for such as thou!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;&ldquo;Leave off,&rdquo; said the old man, and sprang up from the ground,
+      &ldquo;strike me no more, O Zarathustra! I did it only for amusement!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That kind of thing belongeth to mine art. Thee thyself, I wanted to put to
+      the proof when I gave this performance. And verily, thou hast well
+      detected me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But thou thyself&mdash;hast given me no small proof of thyself: thou art
+      HARD, thou wise Zarathustra! Hard strikest thou with thy &lsquo;truths,&rsquo; thy
+      cudgel forceth from me&mdash;THIS truth!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;&ldquo;Flatter not,&rdquo; answered Zarathustra, still excited and frowning,
+      &ldquo;thou stage-player from the heart! Thou art false: why speakest thou&mdash;of
+      truth!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou peacock of peacocks, thou sea of vanity; WHAT didst thou represent
+      before me, thou evil magician; WHOM was I meant to believe in when thou
+      wailedst in such wise?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;THE PENITENT IN SPIRIT,&rdquo; said the old man, &ldquo;it was him&mdash;I
+      represented; thou thyself once devisedst this expression&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;The poet and magician who at last turneth his spirit against
+      himself, the transformed one who freezeth to death by his bad science and
+      conscience.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And just acknowledge it: it was long, O Zarathustra, before thou
+      discoveredst my trick and lie! Thou BELIEVEDST in my distress when thou
+      heldest my head with both thy hands,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;I heard thee lament &lsquo;we have loved him too little, loved him too
+      little!&rsquo; Because I so far deceived thee, my wickedness rejoiced in me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thou mayest have deceived subtler ones than I,&rdquo; said Zarathustra sternly.
+      &ldquo;I am not on my guard against deceivers; I HAVE TO BE without precaution:
+      so willeth my lot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou, however,&mdash;MUST deceive: so far do I know thee! Thou must ever
+      be equivocal, trivocal, quadrivocal, and quinquivocal! Even what thou hast
+      now confessed, is not nearly true enough nor false enough for me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou bad false coiner, how couldst thou do otherwise! Thy very malady
+      wouldst thou whitewash if thou showed thyself naked to thy physician.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus didst thou whitewash thy lie before me when thou saidst: &lsquo;I did so
+      ONLY for amusement!&rsquo; There was also SERIOUSNESS therein, thou ART
+      something of a penitent-in-spirit!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I divine thee well: thou hast become the enchanter of all the world; but
+      for thyself thou hast no lie or artifice left,&mdash;thou art disenchanted
+      to thyself!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou hast reaped disgust as thy one truth. No word in thee is any longer
+      genuine, but thy mouth is so: that is to say, the disgust that cleaveth
+      unto thy mouth.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;&ldquo;Who art thou at all!&rdquo; cried here the old magician with defiant
+      voice, &ldquo;who dareth to speak thus unto ME, the greatest man now living?&rdquo;&mdash;and
+      a green flash shot from his eye at Zarathustra. But immediately after he
+      changed, and said sadly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O Zarathustra, I am weary of it, I am disgusted with mine arts, I am not
+      GREAT, why do I dissemble! But thou knowest it well&mdash;I sought for
+      greatness!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A great man I wanted to appear, and persuaded many; but the lie hath been
+      beyond my power. On it do I collapse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O Zarathustra, everything is a lie in me; but that I collapse&mdash;this
+      my collapsing is GENUINE!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It honoureth thee,&rdquo; said Zarathustra gloomily, looking down with sidelong
+      glance, &ldquo;it honoureth thee that thou soughtest for greatness, but it
+      betrayeth thee also. Thou art not great.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou bad old magician, THAT is the best and the honestest thing I honour
+      in thee, that thou hast become weary of thyself, and hast expressed it: &lsquo;I
+      am not great.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      THEREIN do I honour thee as a penitent-in-spirit, and although only for
+      the twinkling of an eye, in that one moment wast thou&mdash;genuine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But tell me, what seekest thou here in MY forests and rocks? And if thou
+      hast put thyself in MY way, what proof of me wouldst thou have?&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Wherein didst thou put ME to the test?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra, and his eyes sparkled. But the old magician kept
+      silence for a while; then said he: &ldquo;Did I put thee to the test? I&mdash;seek
+      only.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O Zarathustra, I seek a genuine one, a right one, a simple one, an
+      unequivocal one, a man of perfect honesty, a vessel of wisdom, a saint of
+      knowledge, a great man!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Knowest thou it not, O Zarathustra? I SEEK ZARATHUSTRA.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;And here there arose a long silence between them: Zarathustra,
+      however, became profoundly absorbed in thought, so that he shut his eyes.
+      But afterwards coming back to the situation, he grasped the hand of the
+      magician, and said, full of politeness and policy:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well! Up thither leadeth the way, there is the cave of Zarathustra. In it
+      mayest thou seek him whom thou wouldst fain find.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And ask counsel of mine animals, mine eagle and my serpent: they shall
+      help thee to seek. My cave however is large.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I myself, to be sure&mdash;I have as yet seen no great man. That which is
+      great, the acutest eye is at present insensible to it. It is the kingdom
+      of the populace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Many a one have I found who stretched and inflated himself, and the people
+      cried: &lsquo;Behold; a great man!&rsquo; But what good do all bellows do! The wind
+      cometh out at last.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last bursteth the frog which hath inflated itself too long: then cometh
+      out the wind. To prick a swollen one in the belly, I call good pastime.
+      Hear that, ye boys!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Our to-day is of the populace: who still KNOWETH what is great and what is
+      small! Who could there seek successfully for greatness! A fool only: it
+      succeedeth with fools.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou seekest for great men, thou strange fool? Who TAUGHT that to thee? Is
+      to-day the time for it? Oh, thou bad seeker, why dost thou&mdash;tempt
+      me?&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra, comforted in his heart, and went laughing on his
+      way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0074" id="link2H_4_0074">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LXVI. OUT OF SERVICE.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Not long, however, after Zarathustra had freed himself from the magician,
+      he again saw a person sitting beside the path which he followed, namely a
+      tall, black man, with a haggard, pale countenance: THIS MAN grieved him
+      exceedingly. &ldquo;Alas,&rdquo; said he to his heart, &ldquo;there sitteth disguised
+      affliction; methinketh he is of the type of the priests: what do THEY want
+      in my domain?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What! Hardly have I escaped from that magician, and must another
+      necromancer again run across my path,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Some sorcerer with laying-on-of-hands, some sombre wonder-worker by
+      the grace of God, some anointed world-maligner, whom, may the devil take!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the devil is never at the place which would be his right place: he
+      always cometh too late, that cursed dwarf and club-foot!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus cursed Zarathustra impatiently in his heart, and considered how with
+      averted look he might slip past the black man. But behold, it came about
+      otherwise. For at the same moment had the sitting one already perceived
+      him; and not unlike one whom an unexpected happiness overtaketh, he sprang
+      to his feet, and went straight towards Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whoever thou art, thou traveller,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;help a strayed one, a
+      seeker, an old man, who may here easily come to grief!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The world here is strange to me, and remote; wild beasts also did I hear
+      howling; and he who could have given me protection&mdash;he is himself no
+      more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I was seeking the pious man, a saint and an anchorite, who, alone in his
+      forest, had not yet heard of what all the world knoweth at present.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;WHAT doth all the world know at present?&rdquo; asked Zarathustra. &ldquo;Perhaps
+      that the old God no longer liveth, in whom all the world once believed?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thou sayest it,&rdquo; answered the old man sorrowfully. &ldquo;And I served that old
+      God until his last hour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now, however, am I out of service, without master, and yet not free;
+      likewise am I no longer merry even for an hour, except it be in
+      recollections.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Therefore did I ascend into these mountains, that I might finally have a
+      festival for myself once more, as becometh an old pope and church-father:
+      for know it, that I am the last pope!&mdash;a festival of pious
+      recollections and divine services.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now, however, is he himself dead, the most pious of men, the saint in the
+      forest, who praised his God constantly with singing and mumbling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He himself found I no longer when I found his cot&mdash;but two wolves
+      found I therein, which howled on account of his death,&mdash;for all
+      animals loved him. Then did I haste away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Had I thus come in vain into these forests and mountains? Then did my
+      heart determine that I should seek another, the most pious of all those
+      who believe not in God&mdash;, my heart determined that I should seek
+      Zarathustra!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake the hoary man, and gazed with keen eyes at him who stood before
+      him. Zarathustra however seized the hand of the old pope and regarded it a
+      long while with admiration.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lo! thou venerable one,&rdquo; said he then, &ldquo;what a fine and long hand! That
+      is the hand of one who hath ever dispensed blessings. Now, however, doth
+      it hold fast him whom thou seekest, me, Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is I, the ungodly Zarathustra, who saith: &lsquo;Who is ungodlier than I,
+      that I may enjoy his teaching?&rsquo;&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra, and penetrated with his glances the thoughts and
+      arrear-thoughts of the old pope. At last the latter began:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He who most loved and possessed him hath now also lost him most&mdash;:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Lo, I myself am surely the most godless of us at present? But who
+      could rejoice at that!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;&ldquo;Thou servedst him to the last?&rdquo; asked Zarathustra thoughtfully,
+      after a deep silence, &ldquo;thou knowest HOW he died? Is it true what they say,
+      that sympathy choked him;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;That he saw how MAN hung on the cross, and could not endure it;&mdash;that
+      his love to man became his hell, and at last his death?&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old pope however did not answer, but looked aside timidly, with a
+      painful and gloomy expression.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let him go,&rdquo; said Zarathustra, after prolonged meditation, still looking
+      the old man straight in the eye.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let him go, he is gone. And though it honoureth thee that thou speakest
+      only in praise of this dead one, yet thou knowest as well as I WHO he was,
+      and that he went curious ways.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To speak before three eyes,&rdquo; said the old pope cheerfully (he was blind
+      of one eye), &ldquo;in divine matters I am more enlightened than Zarathustra
+      himself&mdash;and may well be so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My love served him long years, my will followed all his will. A good
+      servant, however, knoweth everything, and many a thing even which a master
+      hideth from himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was a hidden God, full of secrecy. Verily, he did not come by his son
+      otherwise than by secret ways. At the door of his faith standeth adultery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Whoever extolleth him as a God of love, doth not think highly enough of
+      love itself. Did not that God want also to be judge? But the loving one
+      loveth irrespective of reward and requital.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he was young, that God out of the Orient, then was he harsh and
+      revengeful, and built himself a hell for the delight of his favourites.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last, however, he became old and soft and mellow and pitiful, more like
+      a grandfather than a father, but most like a tottering old grandmother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There did he sit shrivelled in his chimney-corner, fretting on account of
+      his weak legs, world-weary, will-weary, and one day he suffocated of his
+      all-too-great pity.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thou old pope,&rdquo; said here Zarathustra interposing, &ldquo;hast thou seen THAT
+      with thine eyes? It could well have happened in that way: in that way, AND
+      also otherwise. When Gods die they always die many kinds of death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well! At all events, one way or other&mdash;he is gone! He was counter to
+      the taste of mine ears and eyes; worse than that I should not like to say
+      against him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I love everything that looketh bright and speaketh honestly. But he&mdash;thou
+      knowest it, forsooth, thou old priest, there was something of thy type in
+      him, the priest-type&mdash;he was equivocal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was also indistinct. How he raged at us, this wrath-snorter, because we
+      understood him badly! But why did he not speak more clearly?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And if the fault lay in our ears, why did he give us ears that heard him
+      badly? If there was dirt in our ears, well! who put it in them?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Too much miscarried with him, this potter who had not learned thoroughly!
+      That he took revenge on his pots and creations, however, because they
+      turned out badly&mdash;that was a sin against GOOD TASTE.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There is also good taste in piety: THIS at last said: &lsquo;Away with SUCH a
+      God! Better to have no God, better to set up destiny on one&rsquo;s own account,
+      better to be a fool, better to be God oneself!&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;&ldquo;What do I hear!&rdquo; said then the old pope, with intent ears; &ldquo;O
+      Zarathustra, thou art more pious than thou believest, with such an
+      unbelief! Some God in thee hath converted thee to thine ungodliness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Is it not thy piety itself which no longer letteth thee believe in a God?
+      And thine over-great honesty will yet lead thee even beyond good and evil!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Behold, what hath been reserved for thee? Thou hast eyes and hands and
+      mouth, which have been predestined for blessing from eternity. One doth
+      not bless with the hand alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nigh unto thee, though thou professest to be the ungodliest one, I feel a
+      hale and holy odour of long benedictions: I feel glad and grieved thereby.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Let me be thy guest, O Zarathustra, for a single night! Nowhere on earth
+      shall I now feel better than with thee!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Amen! So shall it be!&rdquo; said Zarathustra, with great astonishment; &ldquo;up
+      thither leadeth the way, there lieth the cave of Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Gladly, forsooth, would I conduct thee thither myself, thou venerable one;
+      for I love all pious men. But now a cry of distress calleth me hastily
+      away from thee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In my domain shall no one come to grief; my cave is a good haven. And best
+      of all would I like to put every sorrowful one again on firm land and firm
+      legs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Who, however, could take THY melancholy off thy shoulders? For that I am
+      too weak. Long, verily, should we have to wait until some one re-awoke thy
+      God for thee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For that old God liveth no more: he is indeed dead.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0075" id="link2H_4_0075">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LXVII. THE UGLIEST MAN.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;And again did Zarathustra&rsquo;s feet run through mountains and forests,
+      and his eyes sought and sought, but nowhere was he to be seen whom they
+      wanted to see&mdash;the sorely distressed sufferer and crier. On the whole
+      way, however, he rejoiced in his heart and was full of gratitude. &ldquo;What
+      good things,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;hath this day given me, as amends for its bad
+      beginning! What strange interlocutors have I found!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At their words will I now chew a long while as at good corn; small shall
+      my teeth grind and crush them, until they flow like milk into my soul!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When, however, the path again curved round a rock, all at once the
+      landscape changed, and Zarathustra entered into a realm of death. Here
+      bristled aloft black and red cliffs, without any grass, tree, or bird&rsquo;s
+      voice. For it was a valley which all animals avoided, even the beasts of
+      prey, except that a species of ugly, thick, green serpent came here to die
+      when they became old. Therefore the shepherds called this valley:
+      &ldquo;Serpent-death.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Zarathustra, however, became absorbed in dark recollections, for it seemed
+      to him as if he had once before stood in this valley. And much heaviness
+      settled on his mind, so that he walked slowly and always more slowly, and
+      at last stood still. Then, however, when he opened his eyes, he saw
+      something sitting by the wayside shaped like a man, and hardly like a man,
+      something nondescript. And all at once there came over Zarathustra a great
+      shame, because he had gazed on such a thing. Blushing up to the very roots
+      of his white hair, he turned aside his glance, and raised his foot that he
+      might leave this ill-starred place. Then, however, became the dead
+      wilderness vocal: for from the ground a noise welled up, gurgling and
+      rattling, as water gurgleth and rattleth at night through stopped-up
+      water-pipes; and at last it turned into human voice and human speech:&mdash;it
+      sounded thus:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Zarathustra! Zarathustra! Read my riddle! Say, say! WHAT IS THE REVENGE
+      ON THE WITNESS?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I entice thee back; here is smooth ice! See to it, see to it, that thy
+      pride doth not here break its legs!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou thinkest thyself wise, thou proud Zarathustra! Read then the riddle,
+      thou hard nut-cracker,&mdash;the riddle that I am! Say then: who am <i>I</i>!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;When however Zarathustra had heard these words,&mdash;what think ye
+      then took place in his soul? PITY OVERCAME HIM; and he sank down all at
+      once, like an oak that hath long withstood many tree-fellers,&mdash;heavily,
+      suddenly, to the terror even of those who meant to fell it. But
+      immediately he got up again from the ground, and his countenance became
+      stern.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know thee well,&rdquo; said he, with a brazen voice, &ldquo;THOU ART THE MURDERER
+      OF GOD! Let me go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou couldst not ENDURE him who beheld THEE,&mdash;who ever beheld thee
+      through and through, thou ugliest man. Thou tookest revenge on this
+      witness!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra and was about to go; but the nondescript grasped at
+      a corner of his garment and began anew to gurgle and seek for words.
+      &ldquo;Stay,&rdquo; said he at last&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;&ldquo;Stay! Do not pass by! I have divined what axe it was that struck
+      thee to the ground: hail to thee, O Zarathustra, that thou art again upon
+      thy feet!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou hast divined, I know it well, how the man feeleth who killed him,&mdash;the
+      murderer of God. Stay! Sit down here beside me; it is not to no purpose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To whom would I go but unto thee? Stay, sit down! Do not however look at
+      me! Honour thus&mdash;mine ugliness!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They persecute me: now art THOU my last refuge. NOT with their hatred, NOT
+      with their bailiffs;&mdash;Oh, such persecution would I mock at, and be
+      proud and cheerful!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hath not all success hitherto been with the well-persecuted ones? And he
+      who persecuteth well learneth readily to be OBSEQUENT&mdash;when once he
+      is&mdash;put behind! But it is their PITY&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Their pity is it from which I flee away and flee to thee. O
+      Zarathustra, protect me, thou, my last refuge, thou sole one who divinedst
+      me:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Thou hast divined how the man feeleth who killed HIM. Stay! And if
+      thou wilt go, thou impatient one, go not the way that I came. THAT way is
+      bad.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Art thou angry with me because I have already racked language too long?
+      Because I have already counselled thee? But know that it is I, the ugliest
+      man,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Who have also the largest, heaviest feet. Where <i>I</i> have gone,
+      the way is bad. I tread all paths to death and destruction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But that thou passedst me by in silence, that thou blushedst&mdash;I saw
+      it well: thereby did I know thee as Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Every one else would have thrown to me his alms, his pity, in look and
+      speech. But for that&mdash;I am not beggar enough: that didst thou divine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For that I am too RICH, rich in what is great, frightful, ugliest, most
+      unutterable! Thy shame, O Zarathustra, HONOURED me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With difficulty did I get out of the crowd of the pitiful,&mdash;that I
+      might find the only one who at present teacheth that &lsquo;pity is obtrusive&rsquo;&mdash;
+      thyself, O Zarathustra!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Whether it be the pity of a God, or whether it be human pity, it is
+      offensive to modesty. And unwillingness to help may be nobler than the
+      virtue that rusheth to do so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      THAT however&mdash;namely, pity&mdash;is called virtue itself at present
+      by all petty people:&mdash;they have no reverence for great misfortune,
+      great ugliness, great failure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beyond all these do I look, as a dog looketh over the backs of thronging
+      flocks of sheep. They are petty, good-wooled, good-willed, grey people.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As the heron looketh contemptuously at shallow pools, with backward-bent
+      head, so do I look at the throng of grey little waves and wills and souls.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Too long have we acknowledged them to be right, those petty people: SO we
+      have at last given them power as well;&mdash;and now do they teach that
+      &lsquo;good is only what petty people call good.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And &lsquo;truth&rsquo; is at present what the preacher spake who himself sprang from
+      them, that singular saint and advocate of the petty people, who testified
+      of himself: &lsquo;I&mdash;am the truth.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That immodest one hath long made the petty people greatly puffed up,&mdash;he
+      who taught no small error when he taught: &lsquo;I&mdash;am the truth.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hath an immodest one ever been answered more courteously?&mdash;Thou,
+      however, O Zarathustra, passedst him by, and saidst: &lsquo;Nay! Nay! Three
+      times Nay!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou warnedst against his error; thou warnedst&mdash;the first to do so&mdash;against
+      pity:&mdash;not every one, not none, but thyself and thy type.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou art ashamed of the shame of the great sufferer; and verily when thou
+      sayest: &lsquo;From pity there cometh a heavy cloud; take heed, ye men!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;When thou teachest: &lsquo;All creators are hard, all great love is
+      beyond their pity:&rsquo; O Zarathustra, how well versed dost thou seem to me in
+      weather-signs!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou thyself, however,&mdash;warn thyself also against THY pity! For many
+      are on their way to thee, many suffering, doubting, despairing, drowning,
+      freezing ones&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I warn thee also against myself. Thou hast read my best, my worst riddle,
+      myself, and what I have done. I know the axe that felleth thee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he&mdash;HAD TO die: he looked with eyes which beheld EVERYTHING,&mdash;he
+      beheld men&rsquo;s depths and dregs, all his hidden ignominy and ugliness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His pity knew no modesty: he crept into my dirtiest corners. This most
+      prying, over-intrusive, over-pitiful one had to die.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He ever beheld ME: on such a witness I would have revenge&mdash;or not
+      live myself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The God who beheld everything, AND ALSO MAN: that God had to die! Man
+      cannot ENDURE it that such a witness should live.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake the ugliest man. Zarathustra however got up, and prepared to go
+      on: for he felt frozen to the very bowels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thou nondescript,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;thou warnedst me against thy path. As thanks
+      for it I praise mine to thee. Behold, up thither is the cave of
+      Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My cave is large and deep and hath many corners; there findeth he that is
+      most hidden his hiding-place. And close beside it, there are a hundred
+      lurking-places and by-places for creeping, fluttering, and hopping
+      creatures.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou outcast, who hast cast thyself out, thou wilt not live amongst men
+      and men&rsquo;s pity? Well then, do like me! Thus wilt thou learn also from me;
+      only the doer learneth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And talk first and foremost to mine animals! The proudest animal and the
+      wisest animal&mdash;they might well be the right counsellors for us both!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra and went his way, more thoughtfully and slowly even
+      than before: for he asked himself many things, and hardly knew what to
+      answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How poor indeed is man,&rdquo; thought he in his heart, &ldquo;how ugly, how wheezy,
+      how full of hidden shame!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They tell me that man loveth himself. Ah, how great must that self-love
+      be! How much contempt is opposed to it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even this man hath loved himself, as he hath despised himself,&mdash;a
+      great lover methinketh he is, and a great despiser.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No one have I yet found who more thoroughly despised himself: even THAT is
+      elevation. Alas, was THIS perhaps the higher man whose cry I heard?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I love the great despisers. Man is something that hath to be surpassed.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0076" id="link2H_4_0076">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LXVIII. THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      When Zarathustra had left the ugliest man, he was chilled and felt
+      lonesome: for much coldness and lonesomeness came over his spirit, so that
+      even his limbs became colder thereby. When, however, he wandered on and
+      on, uphill and down, at times past green meadows, though also sometimes
+      over wild stony couches where formerly perhaps an impatient brook had made
+      its bed, then he turned all at once warmer and heartier again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What hath happened unto me?&rdquo; he asked himself, &ldquo;something warm and living
+      quickeneth me; it must be in the neighbourhood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Already am I less alone; unconscious companions and brethren rove around
+      me; their warm breath toucheth my soul.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When, however, he spied about and sought for the comforters of his
+      lonesomeness, behold, there were kine there standing together on an
+      eminence, whose proximity and smell had warmed his heart. The kine,
+      however, seemed to listen eagerly to a speaker, and took no heed of him
+      who approached. When, however, Zarathustra was quite nigh unto them, then
+      did he hear plainly that a human voice spake in the midst of the kine, and
+      apparently all of them had turned their heads towards the speaker.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then ran Zarathustra up speedily and drove the animals aside; for he
+      feared that some one had here met with harm, which the pity of the kine
+      would hardly be able to relieve. But in this he was deceived; for behold,
+      there sat a man on the ground who seemed to be persuading the animals to
+      have no fear of him, a peaceable man and Preacher-on-the-Mount, out of
+      whose eyes kindness itself preached. &ldquo;What dost thou seek here?&rdquo; called
+      out Zarathustra in astonishment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do I here seek?&rdquo; answered he: &ldquo;the same that thou seekest, thou
+      mischief-maker; that is to say, happiness upon earth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To that end, however, I would fain learn of these kine. For I tell thee
+      that I have already talked half a morning unto them, and just now were
+      they about to give me their answer. Why dost thou disturb them?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Except we be converted and become as kine, we shall in no wise enter into
+      the kingdom of heaven. For we ought to learn from them one thing:
+      ruminating.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And verily, although a man should gain the whole world, and yet not learn
+      one thing, ruminating, what would it profit him! He would not be rid of
+      his affliction,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;His great affliction: that, however, is at present called DISGUST.
+      Who hath not at present his heart, his mouth and his eyes full of disgust?
+      Thou also! Thou also! But behold these kine!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake the Preacher-on-the-Mount, and turned then his own look towards
+      Zarathustra&mdash;for hitherto it had rested lovingly on the kine&mdash;:
+      then, however, he put on a different expression. &ldquo;Who is this with whom I
+      talk?&rdquo; he exclaimed frightened, and sprang up from the ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This is the man without disgust, this is Zarathustra himself, the
+      surmounter of the great disgust, this is the eye, this is the mouth, this
+      is the heart of Zarathustra himself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And whilst he thus spake he kissed with o&rsquo;erflowing eyes the hands of him
+      with whom he spake, and behaved altogether like one to whom a precious
+      gift and jewel hath fallen unawares from heaven. The kine, however, gazed
+      at it all and wondered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Speak not of me, thou strange one; thou amiable one!&rdquo; said Zarathustra,
+      and restrained his affection, &ldquo;speak to me firstly of thyself! Art thou
+      not the voluntary beggar who once cast away great riches,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Who was ashamed of his riches and of the rich, and fled to the
+      poorest to bestow upon them his abundance and his heart? But they received
+      him not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But they received me not,&rdquo; said the voluntary beggar, &ldquo;thou knowest it,
+      forsooth. So I went at last to the animals and to those kine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then learnedst thou,&rdquo; interrupted Zarathustra, &ldquo;how much harder it is to
+      give properly than to take properly, and that bestowing well is an ART&mdash;the
+      last, subtlest master-art of kindness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Especially nowadays,&rdquo; answered the voluntary beggar: &ldquo;at present, that is
+      to say, when everything low hath become rebellious and exclusive and
+      haughty in its manner&mdash;in the manner of the populace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the hour hath come, thou knowest it forsooth, for the great, evil,
+      long, slow mob-and-slave-insurrection: it extendeth and extendeth!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now doth it provoke the lower classes, all benevolence and petty giving;
+      and the overrich may be on their guard!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Whoever at present drip, like bulgy bottles out of all-too-small necks:&mdash;of
+      such bottles at present one willingly breaketh the necks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Wanton avidity, bilious envy, careworn revenge, populace-pride: all these
+      struck mine eye. It is no longer true that the poor are blessed. The
+      kingdom of heaven, however, is with the kine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And why is it not with the rich?&rdquo; asked Zarathustra temptingly, while he
+      kept back the kine which sniffed familiarly at the peaceful one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why dost thou tempt me?&rdquo; answered the other. &ldquo;Thou knowest it thyself
+      better even than I. What was it drove me to the poorest, O Zarathustra?
+      Was it not my disgust at the richest?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;At the culprits of riches, with cold eyes and rank thoughts, who
+      pick up profit out of all kinds of rubbish&mdash;at this rabble that
+      stinketh to heaven,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;At this gilded, falsified populace, whose fathers were pickpockets,
+      or carrion-crows, or rag-pickers, with wives compliant, lewd and
+      forgetful:&mdash;for they are all of them not far different from harlots&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Populace above, populace below! What are &lsquo;poor&rsquo; and &lsquo;rich&rsquo; at present!
+      That distinction did I unlearn,&mdash;then did I flee away further and
+      ever further, until I came to those kine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake the peaceful one, and puffed himself and perspired with his
+      words: so that the kine wondered anew. Zarathustra, however, kept looking
+      into his face with a smile, all the time the man talked so severely&mdash;and
+      shook silently his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thou doest violence to thyself, thou Preacher-on-the-Mount, when thou
+      usest such severe words. For such severity neither thy mouth nor thine eye
+      have been given thee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nor, methinketh, hath thy stomach either: unto IT all such rage and hatred
+      and foaming-over is repugnant. Thy stomach wanteth softer things: thou art
+      not a butcher.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Rather seemest thou to me a plant-eater and a root-man. Perhaps thou
+      grindest corn. Certainly, however, thou art averse to fleshly joys, and
+      thou lovest honey.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thou hast divined me well,&rdquo; answered the voluntary beggar, with lightened
+      heart. &ldquo;I love honey, I also grind corn; for I have sought out what
+      tasteth sweetly and maketh pure breath:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Also what requireth a long time, a day&rsquo;s-work and a mouth&rsquo;s-work
+      for gentle idlers and sluggards.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Furthest, to be sure, have those kine carried it: they have devised
+      ruminating and lying in the sun. They also abstain from all heavy thoughts
+      which inflate the heart.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;&ldquo;Well!&rdquo; said Zarathustra, &ldquo;thou shouldst also see MINE animals,
+      mine eagle and my serpent,&mdash;their like do not at present exist on
+      earth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Behold, thither leadeth the way to my cave: be to-night its guest. And
+      talk to mine animals of the happiness of animals,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Until I myself come home. For now a cry of distress calleth me
+      hastily away from thee. Also, shouldst thou find new honey with me,
+      ice-cold, golden-comb-honey, eat it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now, however, take leave at once of thy kine, thou strange one! thou
+      amiable one! though it be hard for thee. For they are thy warmest friends
+      and preceptors!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;&ldquo;One excepted, whom I hold still dearer,&rdquo; answered the voluntary
+      beggar. &ldquo;Thou thyself art good, O Zarathustra, and better even than a
+      cow!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Away, away with thee! thou evil flatterer!&rdquo; cried Zarathustra
+      mischievously, &ldquo;why dost thou spoil me with such praise and
+      flattery-honey?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Away, away from me!&rdquo; cried he once more, and heaved his stick at the fond
+      beggar, who, however, ran nimbly away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0077" id="link2H_4_0077">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LXIX. THE SHADOW.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Scarcely however was the voluntary beggar gone in haste, and Zarathustra
+      again alone, when he heard behind him a new voice which called out: &ldquo;Stay!
+      Zarathustra! Do wait! It is myself, forsooth, O Zarathustra, myself, thy
+      shadow!&rdquo; But Zarathustra did not wait; for a sudden irritation came over
+      him on account of the crowd and the crowding in his mountains. &ldquo;Whither
+      hath my lonesomeness gone?&rdquo; spake he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is verily becoming too much for me; these mountains swarm; my kingdom
+      is no longer of THIS world; I require new mountains.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My shadow calleth me? What matter about my shadow! Let it run after me! I&mdash;run
+      away from it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra to his heart and ran away. But the one behind
+      followed after him, so that immediately there were three runners, one
+      after the other&mdash;namely, foremost the voluntary beggar, then
+      Zarathustra, and thirdly, and hindmost, his shadow. But not long had they
+      run thus when Zarathustra became conscious of his folly, and shook off
+      with one jerk all his irritation and detestation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What!&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;have not the most ludicrous things always happened to us
+      old anchorites and saints?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Verily, my folly hath grown big in the mountains! Now do I hear six old
+      fools&rsquo; legs rattling behind one another!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But doth Zarathustra need to be frightened by his shadow? Also, methinketh
+      that after all it hath longer legs than mine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra, and, laughing with eyes and entrails, he stood
+      still and turned round quickly&mdash;and behold, he almost thereby threw
+      his shadow and follower to the ground, so closely had the latter followed
+      at his heels, and so weak was he. For when Zarathustra scrutinised him
+      with his glance he was frightened as by a sudden apparition, so slender,
+      swarthy, hollow and worn-out did this follower appear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who art thou?&rdquo; asked Zarathustra vehemently, &ldquo;what doest thou here? And
+      why callest thou thyself my shadow? Thou art not pleasing unto me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Forgive me,&rdquo; answered the shadow, &ldquo;that it is I; and if I please thee not&mdash;well,
+      O Zarathustra! therein do I admire thee and thy good taste.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A wanderer am I, who have walked long at thy heels; always on the way, but
+      without a goal, also without a home: so that verily, I lack little of
+      being the eternally Wandering Jew, except that I am not eternal and not a
+      Jew.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What? Must I ever be on the way? Whirled by every wind, unsettled, driven
+      about? O earth, thou hast become too round for me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On every surface have I already sat, like tired dust have I fallen asleep
+      on mirrors and window-panes: everything taketh from me, nothing giveth; I
+      become thin&mdash;I am almost equal to a shadow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After thee, however, O Zarathustra, did I fly and hie longest; and though
+      I hid myself from thee, I was nevertheless thy best shadow: wherever thou
+      hast sat, there sat I also.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With thee have I wandered about in the remotest, coldest worlds, like a
+      phantom that voluntarily haunteth winter roofs and snows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With thee have I pushed into all the forbidden, all the worst and the
+      furthest: and if there be anything of virtue in me, it is that I have had
+      no fear of any prohibition.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With thee have I broken up whatever my heart revered; all boundary-stones
+      and statues have I o&rsquo;erthrown; the most dangerous wishes did I pursue,&mdash;verily,
+      beyond every crime did I once go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With thee did I unlearn the belief in words and worths and in great names.
+      When the devil casteth his skin, doth not his name also fall away? It is
+      also skin. The devil himself is perhaps&mdash;skin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Nothing is true, all is permitted&rsquo;: so said I to myself. Into the coldest
+      water did I plunge with head and heart. Ah, how oft did I stand there
+      naked on that account, like a red crab!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah, where have gone all my goodness and all my shame and all my belief in
+      the good! Ah, where is the lying innocence which I once possessed, the
+      innocence of the good and of their noble lies!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Too oft, verily, did I follow close to the heels of truth: then did it
+      kick me on the face. Sometimes I meant to lie, and behold! then only did I
+      hit&mdash;the truth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Too much hath become clear unto me: now it doth not concern me any more.
+      Nothing liveth any longer that I love,&mdash;how should I still love
+      myself?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;To live as I incline, or not to live at all&rsquo;: so do I wish; so wisheth
+      also the holiest. But alas! how have <i>I</i> still&mdash;inclination?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Have <i>I</i>&mdash;still a goal? A haven towards which MY sail is set?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A good wind? Ah, he only who knoweth WHITHER he saileth, knoweth what wind
+      is good, and a fair wind for him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What still remaineth to me? A heart weary and flippant; an unstable will;
+      fluttering wings; a broken backbone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This seeking for MY home: O Zarathustra, dost thou know that this seeking
+      hath been MY home-sickening; it eateth me up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;WHERE is&mdash;MY home?&rsquo; For it do I ask and seek, and have sought, but
+      have not found it. O eternal everywhere, O eternal nowhere, O eternal&mdash;in-vain!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake the shadow, and Zarathustra&rsquo;s countenance lengthened at his
+      words. &ldquo;Thou art my shadow!&rdquo; said he at last sadly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thy danger is not small, thou free spirit and wanderer! Thou hast had a
+      bad day: see that a still worse evening doth not overtake thee!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To such unsettled ones as thou, seemeth at last even a prisoner blessed.
+      Didst thou ever see how captured criminals sleep? They sleep quietly, they
+      enjoy their new security.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beware lest in the end a narrow faith capture thee, a hard, rigorous
+      delusion! For now everything that is narrow and fixed seduceth and
+      tempteth thee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou hast lost thy goal. Alas, how wilt thou forego and forget that loss?
+      Thereby&mdash;hast thou also lost thy way!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou poor rover and rambler, thou tired butterfly! wilt thou have a rest
+      and a home this evening? Then go up to my cave!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thither leadeth the way to my cave. And now will I run quickly away from
+      thee again. Already lieth as it were a shadow upon me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I will run alone, so that it may again become bright around me. Therefore
+      must I still be a long time merrily upon my legs. In the evening, however,
+      there will be&mdash;dancing with me!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0078" id="link2H_4_0078">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LXX. NOONTIDE.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;And Zarathustra ran and ran, but he found no one else, and was
+      alone and ever found himself again; he enjoyed and quaffed his solitude,
+      and thought of good things&mdash;for hours. About the hour of noontide,
+      however, when the sun stood exactly over Zarathustra&rsquo;s head, he passed an
+      old, bent and gnarled tree, which was encircled round by the ardent love
+      of a vine, and hidden from itself; from this there hung yellow grapes in
+      abundance, confronting the wanderer. Then he felt inclined to quench a
+      little thirst, and to break off for himself a cluster of grapes. When,
+      however, he had already his arm out-stretched for that purpose, he felt
+      still more inclined for something else&mdash;namely, to lie down beside
+      the tree at the hour of perfect noontide and sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This Zarathustra did; and no sooner had he laid himself on the ground in
+      the stillness and secrecy of the variegated grass, than he had forgotten
+      his little thirst, and fell asleep. For as the proverb of Zarathustra
+      saith: &ldquo;One thing is more necessary than the other.&rdquo; Only that his eyes
+      remained open:&mdash;for they never grew weary of viewing and admiring the
+      tree and the love of the vine. In falling asleep, however, Zarathustra
+      spake thus to his heart:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hush! Hush! Hath not the world now become perfect? What hath happened
+      unto me?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As a delicate wind danceth invisibly upon parqueted seas, light,
+      feather-light, so&mdash;danceth sleep upon me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No eye doth it close to me, it leaveth my soul awake. Light is it, verily,
+      feather-light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It persuadeth me, I know not how, it toucheth me inwardly with a caressing
+      hand, it constraineth me. Yea, it constraineth me, so that my soul
+      stretcheth itself out:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;How long and weary it becometh, my strange soul! Hath a seventh-day
+      evening come to it precisely at noontide? Hath it already wandered too
+      long, blissfully, among good and ripe things?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It stretcheth itself out, long&mdash;longer! it lieth still, my strange
+      soul. Too many good things hath it already tasted; this golden sadness
+      oppresseth it, it distorteth its mouth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;As a ship that putteth into the calmest cove:&mdash;it now draweth
+      up to the land, weary of long voyages and uncertain seas. Is not the land
+      more faithful?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As such a ship huggeth the shore, tuggeth the shore:&mdash;then it
+      sufficeth for a spider to spin its thread from the ship to the land. No
+      stronger ropes are required there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As such a weary ship in the calmest cove, so do I also now repose, nigh to
+      the earth, faithful, trusting, waiting, bound to it with the lightest
+      threads.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O happiness! O happiness! Wilt thou perhaps sing, O my soul? Thou liest in
+      the grass. But this is the secret, solemn hour, when no shepherd playeth
+      his pipe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Take care! Hot noontide sleepeth on the fields. Do not sing! Hush! The
+      world is perfect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Do not sing, thou prairie-bird, my soul! Do not even whisper! Lo&mdash;hush!
+      The old noontide sleepeth, it moveth its mouth: doth it not just now drink
+      a drop of happiness&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;An old brown drop of golden happiness, golden wine? Something
+      whisketh over it, its happiness laugheth. Thus&mdash;laugheth a God. Hush!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;&lsquo;For happiness, how little sufficeth for happiness!&rsquo; Thus spake I
+      once and thought myself wise. But it was a blasphemy: THAT have I now
+      learned. Wise fools speak better.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The least thing precisely, the gentlest thing, the lightest thing, a
+      lizard&rsquo;s rustling, a breath, a whisk, an eye-glance&mdash;LITTLE maketh up
+      the BEST happiness. Hush!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;What hath befallen me: Hark! Hath time flown away? Do I not fall?
+      Have I not fallen&mdash;hark! into the well of eternity?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;What happeneth to me? Hush! It stingeth me&mdash;alas&mdash;to the
+      heart? To the heart! Oh, break up, break up, my heart, after such
+      happiness, after such a sting!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;What? Hath not the world just now become perfect? Round and ripe?
+      Oh, for the golden round ring&mdash;whither doth it fly? Let me run after
+      it! Quick!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hush&mdash;&rdquo; (and here Zarathustra stretched himself, and felt that he was
+      asleep.)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Up!&rdquo; said he to himself, &ldquo;thou sleeper! Thou noontide sleeper! Well then,
+      up, ye old legs! It is time and more than time; many a good stretch of
+      road is still awaiting you&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now have ye slept your fill; for how long a time? A half-eternity! Well
+      then, up now, mine old heart! For how long after such a sleep mayest thou&mdash;remain
+      awake?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      (But then did he fall asleep anew, and his soul spake against him and
+      defended itself, and lay down again)&mdash;&ldquo;Leave me alone! Hush! Hath not
+      the world just now become perfect? Oh, for the golden round ball!&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get up,&rdquo; said Zarathustra, &ldquo;thou little thief, thou sluggard! What! Still
+      stretching thyself, yawning, sighing, falling into deep wells?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Who art thou then, O my soul!&rdquo; (and here he became frightened, for a
+      sunbeam shot down from heaven upon his face.)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O heaven above me,&rdquo; said he sighing, and sat upright, &ldquo;thou gazest at me?
+      Thou hearkenest unto my strange soul?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When wilt thou drink this drop of dew that fell down upon all earthly
+      things,&mdash;when wilt thou drink this strange soul&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;When, thou well of eternity! thou joyous, awful, noontide abyss!
+      when wilt thou drink my soul back into thee?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra, and rose from his couch beside the tree, as if
+      awakening from a strange drunkenness: and behold! there stood the sun
+      still exactly above his head. One might, however, rightly infer therefrom
+      that Zarathustra had not then slept long.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0079" id="link2H_4_0079">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LXXI. THE GREETING.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      It was late in the afternoon only when Zarathustra, after long useless
+      searching and strolling about, again came home to his cave. When, however,
+      he stood over against it, not more than twenty paces therefrom, the thing
+      happened which he now least of all expected: he heard anew the great CRY
+      OF DISTRESS. And extraordinary! this time the cry came out of his own
+      cave. It was a long, manifold, peculiar cry, and Zarathustra plainly
+      distinguished that it was composed of many voices: although heard at a
+      distance it might sound like the cry out of a single mouth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thereupon Zarathustra rushed forward to his cave, and behold! what a
+      spectacle awaited him after that concert! For there did they all sit
+      together whom he had passed during the day: the king on the right and the
+      king on the left, the old magician, the pope, the voluntary beggar, the
+      shadow, the intellectually conscientious one, the sorrowful soothsayer,
+      and the ass; the ugliest man, however, had set a crown on his head, and
+      had put round him two purple girdles,&mdash;for he liked, like all ugly
+      ones, to disguise himself and play the handsome person. In the midst,
+      however, of that sorrowful company stood Zarathustra&rsquo;s eagle, ruffled and
+      disquieted, for it had been called upon to answer too much for which its
+      pride had not any answer; the wise serpent however hung round its neck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All this did Zarathustra behold with great astonishment; then however he
+      scrutinised each individual guest with courteous curiosity, read their
+      souls and wondered anew. In the meantime the assembled ones had risen from
+      their seats, and waited with reverence for Zarathustra to speak.
+      Zarathustra however spake thus:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye despairing ones! Ye strange ones! So it was YOUR cry of distress that
+      I heard? And now do I know also where he is to be sought, whom I have
+      sought for in vain to-day: THE HIGHER MAN&mdash;:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;In mine own cave sitteth he, the higher man! But why do I wonder!
+      Have not I myself allured him to me by honey-offerings and artful
+      lure-calls of my happiness?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it seemeth to me that ye are badly adapted for company: ye make one
+      another&rsquo;s hearts fretful, ye that cry for help, when ye sit here together?
+      There is one that must first come,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;One who will make you laugh once more, a good jovial buffoon, a
+      dancer, a wind, a wild romp, some old fool:&mdash;what think ye?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Forgive me, however, ye despairing ones, for speaking such trivial words
+      before you, unworthy, verily, of such guests! But ye do not divine WHAT
+      maketh my heart wanton:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Ye yourselves do it, and your aspect, forgive it me! For every one
+      becometh courageous who beholdeth a despairing one. To encourage a
+      despairing one&mdash;every one thinketh himself strong enough to do so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To myself have ye given this power,&mdash;a good gift, mine honourable
+      guests! An excellent guest&rsquo;s-present! Well, do not then upbraid when I
+      also offer you something of mine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This is mine empire and my dominion: that which is mine, however, shall
+      this evening and tonight be yours. Mine animals shall serve you: let my
+      cave be your resting-place!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At house and home with me shall no one despair: in my purlieus do I
+      protect every one from his wild beasts. And that is the first thing which
+      I offer you: security!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The second thing, however, is my little finger. And when ye have THAT,
+      then take the whole hand also, yea, and the heart with it! Welcome here,
+      welcome to you, my guests!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra, and laughed with love and mischief. After this
+      greeting his guests bowed once more and were reverentially silent; the
+      king on the right, however, answered him in their name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O Zarathustra, by the way in which thou hast given us thy hand and thy
+      greeting, we recognise thee as Zarathustra. Thou hast humbled thyself
+      before us; almost hast thou hurt our reverence&mdash;:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Who however could have humbled himself as thou hast done, with such
+      pride? THAT uplifteth us ourselves; a refreshment is it, to our eyes and
+      hearts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To behold this, merely, gladly would we ascend higher mountains than this.
+      For as eager beholders have we come; we wanted to see what brighteneth dim
+      eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And lo! now is it all over with our cries of distress. Now are our minds
+      and hearts open and enraptured. Little is lacking for our spirits to
+      become wanton.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There is nothing, O Zarathustra, that groweth more pleasingly on earth
+      than a lofty, strong will: it is the finest growth. An entire landscape
+      refresheth itself at one such tree.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To the pine do I compare him, O Zarathustra, which groweth up like thee&mdash;tall,
+      silent, hardy, solitary, of the best, supplest wood, stately,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;In the end, however, grasping out for ITS dominion with strong,
+      green branches, asking weighty questions of the wind, the storm, and
+      whatever is at home on high places;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Answering more weightily, a commander, a victor! Oh! who should not
+      ascend high mountains to behold such growths?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At thy tree, O Zarathustra, the gloomy and ill-constituted also refresh
+      themselves; at thy look even the wavering become steady and heal their
+      hearts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And verily, towards thy mountain and thy tree do many eyes turn to-day; a
+      great longing hath arisen, and many have learned to ask: &lsquo;Who is
+      Zarathustra?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And those into whose ears thou hast at any time dripped thy song and thy
+      honey: all the hidden ones, the lone-dwellers and the twain-dwellers, have
+      simultaneously said to their hearts:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Doth Zarathustra still live? It is no longer worth while to live,
+      everything is indifferent, everything is useless: or else&mdash;we must
+      live with Zarathustra!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Why doth he not come who hath so long announced himself?&rsquo; thus do many
+      people ask; &lsquo;hath solitude swallowed him up? Or should we perhaps go to
+      him?&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now doth it come to pass that solitude itself becometh fragile and
+      breaketh open, like a grave that breaketh open and can no longer hold its
+      dead. Everywhere one seeth resurrected ones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now do the waves rise and rise around thy mountain, O Zarathustra. And
+      however high be thy height, many of them must rise up to thee: thy boat
+      shall not rest much longer on dry ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And that we despairing ones have now come into thy cave, and already no
+      longer despair:&mdash;it is but a prognostic and a presage that better
+      ones are on the way to thee,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;For they themselves are on the way to thee, the last remnant of God
+      among men&mdash;that is to say, all the men of great longing, of great
+      loathing, of great satiety,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;All who do not want to live unless they learn again to HOPE&mdash;unless
+      they learn from thee, O Zarathustra, the GREAT hope!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake the king on the right, and seized the hand of Zarathustra in
+      order to kiss it; but Zarathustra checked his veneration, and stepped back
+      frightened, fleeing as it were, silently and suddenly into the far
+      distance. After a little while, however, he was again at home with his
+      guests, looked at them with clear scrutinising eyes, and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My guests, ye higher men, I will speak plain language and plainly with
+      you. It is not for YOU that I have waited here in these mountains.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      (&ldquo;&lsquo;Plain language and plainly?&rsquo; Good God!&rdquo; said here the king on the left
+      to himself; &ldquo;one seeth he doth not know the good Occidentals, this sage
+      out of the Orient!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he meaneth &lsquo;blunt language and bluntly&rsquo;&mdash;well! That is not the
+      worst taste in these days!&rdquo;)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye may, verily, all of you be higher men,&rdquo; continued Zarathustra; &ldquo;but
+      for me&mdash;ye are neither high enough, nor strong enough.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For me, that is to say, for the inexorable which is now silent in me, but
+      will not always be silent. And if ye appertain to me, still it is not as
+      my right arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For he who himself standeth, like you, on sickly and tender legs, wisheth
+      above all to be TREATED INDULGENTLY, whether he be conscious of it or hide
+      it from himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My arms and my legs, however, I do not treat indulgently, I DO NOT TREAT
+      MY WARRIORS INDULGENTLY: how then could ye be fit for MY warfare?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With you I should spoil all my victories. And many of you would tumble
+      over if ye but heard the loud beating of my drums.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Moreover, ye are not sufficiently beautiful and well-born for me. I
+      require pure, smooth mirrors for my doctrines; on your surface even mine
+      own likeness is distorted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On your shoulders presseth many a burden, many a recollection; many a
+      mischievous dwarf squatteth in your corners. There is concealed populace
+      also in you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And though ye be high and of a higher type, much in you is crooked and
+      misshapen. There is no smith in the world that could hammer you right and
+      straight for me.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye are only bridges: may higher ones pass over upon you! Ye signify steps:
+      so do not upbraid him who ascendeth beyond you into HIS height!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Out of your seed there may one day arise for me a genuine son and perfect
+      heir: but that time is distant. Ye yourselves are not those unto whom my
+      heritage and name belong.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not for you do I wait here in these mountains; not with you may I descend
+      for the last time. Ye have come unto me only as a presage that higher ones
+      are on the way to me,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;NOT the men of great longing, of great loathing, of great satiety,
+      and that which ye call the remnant of God;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Nay! Nay! Three times Nay! For OTHERS do I wait here in these
+      mountains, and will not lift my foot from thence without them;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;For higher ones, stronger ones, triumphanter ones, merrier ones,
+      for such as are built squarely in body and soul: LAUGHING LIONS must come!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my guests, ye strange ones&mdash;have ye yet heard nothing of my
+      children? And that they are on the way to me?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Do speak unto me of my gardens, of my Happy Isles, of my new beautiful
+      race&mdash;why do ye not speak unto me thereof?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This guests&rsquo;-present do I solicit of your love, that ye speak unto me of
+      my children. For them am I rich, for them I became poor: what have I not
+      surrendered,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;What would I not surrender that I might have one thing: THESE
+      children, THIS living plantation, THESE life-trees of my will and of my
+      highest hope!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra, and stopped suddenly in his discourse: for his
+      longing came over him, and he closed his eyes and his mouth, because of
+      the agitation of his heart. And all his guests also were silent, and stood
+      still and confounded: except only that the old soothsayer made signs with
+      his hands and his gestures.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0080" id="link2H_4_0080">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LXXII. THE SUPPER.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      For at this point the soothsayer interrupted the greeting of Zarathustra
+      and his guests: he pressed forward as one who had no time to lose, seized
+      Zarathustra&rsquo;s hand and exclaimed: &ldquo;But Zarathustra!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One thing is more necessary than the other, so sayest thou thyself: well,
+      one thing is now more necessary UNTO ME than all others.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A word at the right time: didst thou not invite me to TABLE? And here are
+      many who have made long journeys. Thou dost not mean to feed us merely
+      with discourses?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Besides, all of you have thought too much about freezing, drowning,
+      suffocating, and other bodily dangers: none of you, however, have thought
+      of MY danger, namely, perishing of hunger&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      (Thus spake the soothsayer. When Zarathustra&rsquo;s animals, however, heard
+      these words, they ran away in terror. For they saw that all they had
+      brought home during the day would not be enough to fill the one
+      soothsayer.)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Likewise perishing of thirst,&rdquo; continued the soothsayer. &ldquo;And although I
+      hear water splashing here like words of wisdom&mdash;that is to say,
+      plenteously and unweariedly, I&mdash;want WINE!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not every one is a born water-drinker like Zarathustra. Neither doth water
+      suit weary and withered ones: WE deserve wine&mdash;IT alone giveth
+      immediate vigour and improvised health!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On this occasion, when the soothsayer was longing for wine, it happened
+      that the king on the left, the silent one, also found expression for once.
+      &ldquo;WE took care,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;about wine, I, along with my brother the king on
+      the right: we have enough of wine,&mdash;a whole ass-load of it. So there
+      is nothing lacking but bread.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bread,&rdquo; replied Zarathustra, laughing when he spake, &ldquo;it is precisely
+      bread that anchorites have not. But man doth not live by bread alone, but
+      also by the flesh of good lambs, of which I have two:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;THESE shall we slaughter quickly, and cook spicily with sage: it is
+      so that I like them. And there is also no lack of roots and fruits, good
+      enough even for the fastidious and dainty,&mdash;nor of nuts and other
+      riddles for cracking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus will we have a good repast in a little while. But whoever wish to eat
+      with us must also give a hand to the work, even the kings. For with
+      Zarathustra even a king may be a cook.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This proposal appealed to the hearts of all of them, save that the
+      voluntary beggar objected to the flesh and wine and spices.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just hear this glutton Zarathustra!&rdquo; said he jokingly: &ldquo;doth one go into
+      caves and high mountains to make such repasts?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now indeed do I understand what he once taught us: Blessed be moderate
+      poverty!&rsquo; And why he wisheth to do away with beggars.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be of good cheer,&rdquo; replied Zarathustra, &ldquo;as I am. Abide by thy customs,
+      thou excellent one: grind thy corn, drink thy water, praise thy cooking,&mdash;if
+      only it make thee glad!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I am a law only for mine own; I am not a law for all. He, however, who
+      belongeth unto me must be strong of bone and light of foot,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Joyous in fight and feast, no sulker, no John o&rsquo; Dreams, ready for
+      the hardest task as for the feast, healthy and hale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The best belongeth unto mine and me; and if it be not given us, then do we
+      take it:&mdash;the best food, the purest sky, the strongest thoughts, the
+      fairest women!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra; the king on the right however answered and said:
+      &ldquo;Strange! Did one ever hear such sensible things out of the mouth of a
+      wise man?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And verily, it is the strangest thing in a wise man, if over and above, he
+      be still sensible, and not an ass.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake the king on the right and wondered; the ass however, with
+      ill-will, said YE-A to his remark. This however was the beginning of that
+      long repast which is called &ldquo;The Supper&rdquo; in the history-books. At this
+      there was nothing else spoken of but THE HIGHER MAN.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0081" id="link2H_4_0081">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LXXIII. THE HIGHER MAN.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      1.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      When I came unto men for the first time, then did I commit the anchorite
+      folly, the great folly: I appeared on the market-place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when I spake unto all, I spake unto none. In the evening, however,
+      rope-dancers were my companions, and corpses; and I myself almost a
+      corpse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With the new morning, however, there came unto me a new truth: then did I
+      learn to say: &ldquo;Of what account to me are market-place and populace and
+      populace-noise and long populace-ears!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye higher men, learn THIS from me: On the market-place no one believeth in
+      higher men. But if ye will speak there, very well! The populace, however,
+      blinketh: &ldquo;We are all equal.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye higher men,&rdquo;&mdash;so blinketh the populace&mdash;&ldquo;there are no higher
+      men, we are all equal; man is man, before God&mdash;we are all equal!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Before God!&mdash;Now, however, this God hath died. Before the populace,
+      however, we will not be equal. Ye higher men, away from the market-place!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      2.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before God!&mdash;Now however this God hath died! Ye higher men, this God
+      was your greatest danger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only since he lay in the grave have ye again arisen. Now only cometh the
+      great noontide, now only doth the higher man become&mdash;master!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Have ye understood this word, O my brethren? Ye are frightened: do your
+      hearts turn giddy? Doth the abyss here yawn for you? Doth the hell-hound
+      here yelp at you?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well! Take heart! ye higher men! Now only travaileth the mountain of the
+      human future. God hath died: now do WE desire&mdash;the Superman to live.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      3.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The most careful ask to-day: &ldquo;How is man to be maintained?&rdquo; Zarathustra
+      however asketh, as the first and only one: &ldquo;How is man to be SURPASSED?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Superman, I have at heart; THAT is the first and only thing to me&mdash;and
+      NOT man: not the neighbour, not the poorest, not the sorriest, not the
+      best.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O my brethren, what I can love in man is that he is an over-going and a
+      down-going. And also in you there is much that maketh me love and hope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In that ye have despised, ye higher men, that maketh me hope. For the
+      great despisers are the great reverers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In that ye have despaired, there is much to honour. For ye have not
+      learned to submit yourselves, ye have not learned petty policy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For to-day have the petty people become master: they all preach submission
+      and humility and policy and diligence and consideration and the long et
+      cetera of petty virtues.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Whatever is of the effeminate type, whatever originateth from the servile
+      type, and especially the populace-mishmash:&mdash;THAT wisheth now to be
+      master of all human destiny&mdash;O disgust! Disgust! Disgust!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      THAT asketh and asketh and never tireth: &ldquo;How is man to maintain himself
+      best, longest, most pleasantly?&rdquo; Thereby&mdash;are they the masters of
+      to-day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      These masters of to-day&mdash;surpass them, O my brethren&mdash;these
+      petty people: THEY are the Superman&rsquo;s greatest danger!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Surpass, ye higher men, the petty virtues, the petty policy, the
+      sand-grain considerateness, the ant-hill trumpery, the pitiable
+      comfortableness, the &ldquo;happiness of the greatest number&rdquo;&mdash;!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And rather despair than submit yourselves. And verily, I love you, because
+      ye know not to-day how to live, ye higher men! For thus do YE live&mdash;best!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      4.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Have ye courage, O my brethren? Are ye stout-hearted? NOT the courage
+      before witnesses, but anchorite and eagle courage, which not even a God
+      any longer beholdeth?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cold souls, mules, the blind and the drunken, I do not call stout-hearted.
+      He hath heart who knoweth fear, but VANQUISHETH it; who seeth the abyss,
+      but with PRIDE.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He who seeth the abyss, but with eagle&rsquo;s eyes,&mdash;he who with eagle&rsquo;s
+      talons GRASPETH the abyss: he hath courage.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      5.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Man is evil&rdquo;&mdash;so said to me for consolation, all the wisest ones.
+      Ah, if only it be still true to-day! For the evil is man&rsquo;s best force.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Man must become better and eviler&rdquo;&mdash;so do <i>I</i> teach. The
+      evilest is necessary for the Superman&rsquo;s best.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It may have been well for the preacher of the petty people to suffer and
+      be burdened by men&rsquo;s sin. I, however, rejoice in great sin as my great
+      CONSOLATION.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Such things, however, are not said for long ears. Every word, also, is not
+      suited for every mouth. These are fine far-away things: at them sheep&rsquo;s
+      claws shall not grasp!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      6.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye higher men, think ye that I am here to put right what ye have put
+      wrong?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Or that I wished henceforth to make snugger couches for you sufferers? Or
+      show you restless, miswandering, misclimbing ones, new and easier
+      footpaths?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nay! Nay! Three times Nay! Always more, always better ones of your type
+      shall succumb,&mdash;for ye shall always have it worse and harder. Thus
+      only&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Thus only groweth man aloft to the height where the lightning
+      striketh and shattereth him: high enough for the lightning!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Towards the few, the long, the remote go forth my soul and my seeking: of
+      what account to me are your many little, short miseries!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye do not yet suffer enough for me! For ye suffer from yourselves, ye have
+      not yet suffered FROM MAN. Ye would lie if ye spake otherwise! None of you
+      suffereth from what <i>I</i> have suffered.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      7.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is not enough for me that the lightning no longer doeth harm. I do not
+      wish to conduct it away: it shall learn&mdash;to work for ME.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My wisdom hath accumulated long like a cloud, it becometh stiller and
+      darker. So doeth all wisdom which shall one day bear LIGHTNINGS.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Unto these men of to-day will I not be LIGHT, nor be called light. THEM&mdash;will
+      I blind: lightning of my wisdom! put out their eyes!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      8.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Do not will anything beyond your power: there is a bad falseness in those
+      who will beyond their power.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Especially when they will great things! For they awaken distrust in great
+      things, these subtle false-coiners and stage-players:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Until at last they are false towards themselves, squint-eyed,
+      whited cankers, glossed over with strong words, parade virtues and
+      brilliant false deeds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Take good care there, ye higher men! For nothing is more precious to me,
+      and rarer, than honesty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Is this to-day not that of the populace? The populace however knoweth not
+      what is great and what is small, what is straight and what is honest: it
+      is innocently crooked, it ever lieth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      9.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Have a good distrust to-day ye, higher men, ye enheartened ones! Ye
+      open-hearted ones! And keep your reasons secret! For this to-day is that
+      of the populace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What the populace once learned to believe without reasons, who could&mdash;
+      refute it to them by means of reasons?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And on the market-place one convinceth with gestures. But reasons make the
+      populace distrustful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And when truth hath once triumphed there, then ask yourselves with good
+      distrust: &ldquo;What strong error hath fought for it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Be on your guard also against the learned! They hate you, because they are
+      unproductive! They have cold, withered eyes before which every bird is
+      unplumed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Such persons vaunt about not lying: but inability to lie is still far from
+      being love to truth. Be on your guard!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Freedom from fever is still far from being knowledge! Refrigerated spirits
+      I do not believe in. He who cannot lie, doth not know what truth is.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      10.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If ye would go up high, then use your own legs! Do not get yourselves
+      CARRIED aloft; do not seat yourselves on other people&rsquo;s backs and heads!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou hast mounted, however, on horseback? Thou now ridest briskly up to
+      thy goal? Well, my friend! But thy lame foot is also with thee on
+      horseback!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When thou reachest thy goal, when thou alightest from thy horse: precisely
+      on thy HEIGHT, thou higher man,&mdash;then wilt thou stumble!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      11.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye creating ones, ye higher men! One is only pregnant with one&rsquo;s own
+      child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Do not let yourselves be imposed upon or put upon! Who then is YOUR
+      neighbour? Even if ye act &ldquo;for your neighbour&rdquo;&mdash;ye still do not
+      create for him!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Unlearn, I pray you, this &ldquo;for,&rdquo; ye creating ones: your very virtue
+      wisheth you to have naught to do with &ldquo;for&rdquo; and &ldquo;on account of&rdquo; and
+      &ldquo;because.&rdquo; Against these false little words shall ye stop your ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For one&rsquo;s neighbour,&rdquo; is the virtue only of the petty people: there it is
+      said &ldquo;like and like,&rdquo; and &ldquo;hand washeth hand&rdquo;:&mdash;they have neither the
+      right nor the power for YOUR self-seeking!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In your self-seeking, ye creating ones, there is the foresight and
+      foreseeing of the pregnant! What no one&rsquo;s eye hath yet seen, namely, the
+      fruit&mdash;this, sheltereth and saveth and nourisheth your entire love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Where your entire love is, namely, with your child, there is also your
+      entire virtue! Your work, your will is YOUR &ldquo;neighbour&rdquo;: let no false
+      values impose upon you!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      12.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye creating ones, ye higher men! Whoever hath to give birth is sick;
+      whoever hath given birth, however, is unclean.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ask women: one giveth birth, not because it giveth pleasure. The pain
+      maketh hens and poets cackle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye creating ones, in you there is much uncleanliness. That is because ye
+      have had to be mothers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A new child: oh, how much new filth hath also come into the world! Go
+      apart! He who hath given birth shall wash his soul!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      13.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Be not virtuous beyond your powers! And seek nothing from yourselves
+      opposed to probability!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Walk in the footsteps in which your fathers&rsquo; virtue hath already walked!
+      How would ye rise high, if your fathers&rsquo; will should not rise with you?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He, however, who would be a firstling, let him take care lest he also
+      become a lastling! And where the vices of your fathers are, there should
+      ye not set up as saints!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He whose fathers were inclined for women, and for strong wine and flesh of
+      wildboar swine; what would it be if he demanded chastity of himself?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A folly would it be! Much, verily, doth it seem to me for such a one, if
+      he should be the husband of one or of two or of three women.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And if he founded monasteries, and inscribed over their portals: &ldquo;The way
+      to holiness,&rdquo;&mdash;I should still say: What good is it! it is a new
+      folly!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He hath founded for himself a penance-house and refuge-house: much good
+      may it do! But I do not believe in it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In solitude there groweth what any one bringeth into it&mdash;also the
+      brute in one&rsquo;s nature. Thus is solitude inadvisable unto many.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hath there ever been anything filthier on earth than the saints of the
+      wilderness? AROUND THEM was not only the devil loose&mdash;but also the
+      swine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      14.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Shy, ashamed, awkward, like the tiger whose spring hath failed&mdash;thus,
+      ye higher men, have I often seen you slink aside. A CAST which ye made had
+      failed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But what doth it matter, ye dice-players! Ye had not learned to play and
+      mock, as one must play and mock! Do we not ever sit at a great table of
+      mocking and playing?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And if great things have been a failure with you, have ye yourselves
+      therefore&mdash;been a failure? And if ye yourselves have been a failure,
+      hath man therefore&mdash;been a failure? If man, however, hath been a
+      failure: well then! never mind!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      15.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The higher its type, always the seldomer doth a thing succeed. Ye higher
+      men here, have ye not all&mdash;been failures?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Be of good cheer; what doth it matter? How much is still possible! Learn
+      to laugh at yourselves, as ye ought to laugh!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What wonder even that ye have failed and only half-succeeded, ye
+      half-shattered ones! Doth not&mdash;man&rsquo;s FUTURE strive and struggle in
+      you?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Man&rsquo;s furthest, profoundest, star-highest issues, his prodigious powers&mdash;do
+      not all these foam through one another in your vessel?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What wonder that many a vessel shattereth! Learn to laugh at yourselves,
+      as ye ought to laugh! Ye higher men, O, how much is still possible!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And verily, how much hath already succeeded! How rich is this earth in
+      small, good, perfect things, in well-constituted things!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Set around you small, good, perfect things, ye higher men. Their golden
+      maturity healeth the heart. The perfect teacheth one to hope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      16.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What hath hitherto been the greatest sin here on earth? Was it not the
+      word of him who said: &ldquo;Woe unto them that laugh now!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Did he himself find no cause for laughter on the earth? Then he sought
+      badly. A child even findeth cause for it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He&mdash;did not love sufficiently: otherwise would he also have loved us,
+      the laughing ones! But he hated and hooted us; wailing and teeth-gnashing
+      did he promise us.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Must one then curse immediately, when one doth not love? That&mdash;seemeth
+      to me bad taste. Thus did he, however, this absolute one. He sprang from
+      the populace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he himself just did not love sufficiently; otherwise would he have
+      raged less because people did not love him. All great love doth not SEEK
+      love:&mdash;it seeketh more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Go out of the way of all such absolute ones! They are a poor sickly type,
+      a populace-type: they look at this life with ill-will, they have an evil
+      eye for this earth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Go out of the way of all such absolute ones! They have heavy feet and
+      sultry hearts:&mdash;they do not know how to dance. How could the earth be
+      light to such ones!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      17.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Tortuously do all good things come nigh to their goal. Like cats they
+      curve their backs, they purr inwardly with their approaching happiness,&mdash;all
+      good things laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His step betrayeth whether a person already walketh on HIS OWN path: just
+      see me walk! He, however, who cometh nigh to his goal, danceth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And verily, a statue have I not become, not yet do I stand there stiff,
+      stupid and stony, like a pillar; I love fast racing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And though there be on earth fens and dense afflictions, he who hath light
+      feet runneth even across the mud, and danceth, as upon well-swept ice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lift up your hearts, my brethren, high, higher! And do not forget your
+      legs! Lift up also your legs, ye good dancers, and better still, if ye
+      stand upon your heads!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      18.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This crown of the laughter, this rose-garland crown: I myself have put on
+      this crown, I myself have consecrated my laughter. No one else have I
+      found to-day potent enough for this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Zarathustra the dancer, Zarathustra the light one, who beckoneth with his
+      pinions, one ready for flight, beckoning unto all birds, ready and
+      prepared, a blissfully light-spirited one:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Zarathustra the soothsayer, Zarathustra the sooth-laugher, no impatient
+      one, no absolute one, one who loveth leaps and side-leaps; I myself have
+      put on this crown!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      19.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lift up your hearts, my brethren, high, higher! And do not forget your
+      legs! Lift up also your legs, ye good dancers, and better still if ye
+      stand upon your heads!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There are also heavy animals in a state of happiness, there are
+      club-footed ones from the beginning. Curiously do they exert themselves,
+      like an elephant which endeavoureth to stand upon its head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Better, however, to be foolish with happiness than foolish with
+      misfortune, better to dance awkwardly than walk lamely. So learn, I pray
+      you, my wisdom, ye higher men: even the worst thing hath two good reverse
+      sides,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Even the worst thing hath good dancing-legs: so learn, I pray you,
+      ye higher men, to put yourselves on your proper legs!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So unlearn, I pray you, the sorrow-sighing, and all the populace-sadness!
+      Oh, how sad the buffoons of the populace seem to me to-day! This to-day,
+      however, is that of the populace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      20.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Do like unto the wind when it rusheth forth from its mountain-caves: unto
+      its own piping will it dance; the seas tremble and leap under its
+      footsteps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That which giveth wings to asses, that which milketh the lionesses:&mdash;
+      praised be that good, unruly spirit, which cometh like a hurricane unto
+      all the present and unto all the populace,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Which is hostile to thistle-heads and puzzle-heads, and to all
+      withered leaves and weeds:&mdash;praised be this wild, good, free spirit
+      of the storm, which danceth upon fens and afflictions, as upon meadows!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Which hateth the consumptive populace-dogs, and all the ill-constituted,
+      sullen brood:&mdash;praised be this spirit of all free spirits, the
+      laughing storm, which bloweth dust into the eyes of all the melanopic and
+      melancholic!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye higher men, the worst thing in you is that ye have none of you learned
+      to dance as ye ought to dance&mdash;to dance beyond yourselves! What doth
+      it matter that ye have failed!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How many things are still possible! So LEARN to laugh beyond yourselves!
+      Lift up your hearts, ye good dancers, high! higher! And do not forget the
+      good laughter!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This crown of the laughter, this rose-garland crown: to you my brethren do
+      I cast this crown! Laughing have I consecrated; ye higher men, LEARN, I
+      pray you&mdash;to laugh!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0082" id="link2H_4_0082">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LXXIV. THE SONG OF MELANCHOLY.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      1.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      When Zarathustra spake these sayings, he stood nigh to the entrance of his
+      cave; with the last words, however, he slipped away from his guests, and
+      fled for a little while into the open air.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O pure odours around me,&rdquo; cried he, &ldquo;O blessed stillness around me! But
+      where are mine animals? Hither, hither, mine eagle and my serpent!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Tell me, mine animals: these higher men, all of them&mdash;do they perhaps
+      not SMELL well? O pure odours around me! Now only do I know and feel how I
+      love you, mine animals.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;And Zarathustra said once more: &ldquo;I love you, mine animals!&rdquo; The
+      eagle, however, and the serpent pressed close to him when he spake these
+      words, and looked up to him. In this attitude were they all three silent
+      together, and sniffed and sipped the good air with one another. For the
+      air here outside was better than with the higher men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      2.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hardly, however, had Zarathustra left the cave when the old magician got
+      up, looked cunningly about him, and said: &ldquo;He is gone!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And already, ye higher men&mdash;let me tickle you with this complimentary
+      and flattering name, as he himself doeth&mdash;already doth mine evil
+      spirit of deceit and magic attack me, my melancholy devil,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Which is an adversary to this Zarathustra from the very heart:
+      forgive it for this! Now doth it wish to conjure before you, it hath just
+      ITS hour; in vain do I struggle with this evil spirit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Unto all of you, whatever honours ye like to assume in your names, whether
+      ye call yourselves &lsquo;the free spirits&rsquo; or &lsquo;the conscientious,&rsquo; or &lsquo;the
+      penitents of the spirit,&rsquo; or &lsquo;the unfettered,&rsquo; or &lsquo;the great longers,&rsquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Unto all of you, who like me suffer FROM THE GREAT LOATHING, to
+      whom the old God hath died, and as yet no new God lieth in cradles and
+      swaddling clothes&mdash;unto all of you is mine evil spirit and
+      magic-devil favourable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I know you, ye higher men, I know him,&mdash;I know also this fiend whom I
+      love in spite of me, this Zarathustra: he himself often seemeth to me like
+      the beautiful mask of a saint,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Like a new strange mummery in which mine evil spirit, the
+      melancholy devil, delighteth:&mdash;I love Zarathustra, so doth it often
+      seem to me, for the sake of mine evil spirit.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But already doth IT attack me and constrain me, this spirit of melancholy,
+      this evening-twilight devil: and verily, ye higher men, it hath a longing&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Open your eyes!&mdash;it hath a longing to come NAKED, whether male
+      or female, I do not yet know: but it cometh, it constraineth me, alas!
+      open your wits!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The day dieth out, unto all things cometh now the evening, also unto the
+      best things; hear now, and see, ye higher men, what devil&mdash;man or
+      woman&mdash;this spirit of evening-melancholy is!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake the old magician, looked cunningly about him, and then seized
+      his harp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      3.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     In evening&rsquo;s limpid air,
+     What time the dew&rsquo;s soothings
+     Unto the earth downpour,
+     Invisibly and unheard&mdash;
+     For tender shoe-gear wear
+     The soothing dews, like all that&rsquo;s kind-gentle&mdash;:
+     Bethinkst thou then, bethinkst thou, burning heart,
+     How once thou thirstedest
+     For heaven&rsquo;s kindly teardrops and dew&rsquo;s down-droppings,
+     All singed and weary thirstedest,
+     What time on yellow grass-pathways
+     Wicked, occidental sunny glances
+     Through sombre trees about thee sported,
+     Blindingly sunny glow-glances, gladly-hurting?
+
+     &ldquo;Of TRUTH the wooer?  Thou?&rdquo;&mdash;so taunted they&mdash;
+     &ldquo;Nay!  Merely poet!
+     A brute insidious, plundering, grovelling,
+     That aye must lie,
+     That wittingly, wilfully, aye must lie:
+     For booty lusting,
+     Motley masked,
+     Self-hidden, shrouded,
+     Himself his booty&mdash;
+     HE&mdash;of truth the wooer?
+     Nay!  Mere fool!  Mere poet!
+     Just motley speaking,
+     From mask of fool confusedly shouting,
+     Circumambling on fabricated word-bridges,
+     On motley rainbow-arches,
+     &lsquo;Twixt the spurious heavenly,
+     And spurious earthly,
+     Round us roving, round us soaring,&mdash;
+     MERE FOOL!  MERE POET!
+
+     HE&mdash;of truth the wooer?
+     Not still, stiff, smooth and cold,
+     Become an image,
+     A godlike statue,
+     Set up in front of temples,
+     As a God&rsquo;s own door-guard:
+     Nay! hostile to all such truthfulness-statues,
+     In every desert homelier than at temples,
+     With cattish wantonness,
+     Through every window leaping
+     Quickly into chances,
+     Every wild forest a-sniffing,
+     Greedily-longingly, sniffing,
+     That thou, in wild forests,
+     &rsquo;Mong the motley-speckled fierce creatures,
+     Shouldest rove, sinful-sound and fine-coloured,
+     With longing lips smacking,
+     Blessedly mocking, blessedly hellish, blessedly bloodthirsty,
+     Robbing, skulking, lying&mdash;roving:&mdash;
+
+     Or unto eagles like which fixedly,
+     Long adown the precipice look,
+     Adown THEIR precipice:&mdash;
+     Oh, how they whirl down now,
+     Thereunder, therein,
+     To ever deeper profoundness whirling!&mdash;
+     Then,
+     Sudden,
+     With aim aright,
+     With quivering flight,
+     On LAMBKINS pouncing,
+     Headlong down, sore-hungry,
+     For lambkins longing,
+     Fierce &rsquo;gainst all lamb-spirits,
+     Furious-fierce &rsquo;gainst all that look
+     Sheeplike, or lambeyed, or crisp-woolly,
+     &mdash;Grey, with lambsheep kindliness!
+
+     Even thus,
+     Eaglelike, pantherlike,
+     Are the poet&rsquo;s desires,
+     Are THINE OWN desires &lsquo;neath a thousand guises,
+     Thou fool!  Thou poet!
+     Thou who all mankind viewedst&mdash;
+     So God, as sheep&mdash;:
+     The God TO REND within mankind,
+     As the sheep in mankind,
+     And in rending LAUGHING&mdash;
+
+     THAT, THAT is thine own blessedness!
+     Of a panther and eagle&mdash;blessedness!
+     Of a poet and fool&mdash;the blessedness!&mdash;
+
+     In evening&rsquo;s limpid air,
+     What time the moon&rsquo;s sickle,
+     Green, &lsquo;twixt the purple-glowings,
+     And jealous, steal&rsquo;th forth:
+     &mdash;Of day the foe,
+     With every step in secret,
+     The rosy garland-hammocks
+     Downsickling, till they&rsquo;ve sunken
+     Down nightwards, faded, downsunken:&mdash;
+
+     Thus had I sunken one day
+     From mine own truth-insanity,
+     From mine own fervid day-longings,
+     Of day aweary, sick of sunshine,
+     &mdash;Sunk downwards, evenwards, shadowwards:
+     By one sole trueness
+     All scorched and thirsty:
+     &mdash;Bethinkst thou still, bethinkst thou, burning heart,
+     How then thou thirstedest?&mdash;
+     THAT I SHOULD BANNED BE
+     FROM ALL THE TRUENESS!
+     MERE FOOL!  MERE POET!
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0083" id="link2H_4_0083">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LXXV. SCIENCE.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Thus sang the magician; and all who were present went like birds unawares
+      into the net of his artful and melancholy voluptuousness. Only the
+      spiritually conscientious one had not been caught: he at once snatched the
+      harp from the magician and called out: &ldquo;Air! Let in good air! Let in
+      Zarathustra! Thou makest this cave sultry and poisonous, thou bad old
+      magician!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou seducest, thou false one, thou subtle one, to unknown desires and
+      deserts. And alas, that such as thou should talk and make ado about the
+      TRUTH!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alas, to all free spirits who are not on their guard against SUCH
+      magicians! It is all over with their freedom: thou teachest and temptest
+      back into prisons,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Thou old melancholy devil, out of thy lament soundeth a lurement:
+      thou resemblest those who with their praise of chastity secretly invite to
+      voluptuousness!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake the conscientious one; the old magician, however, looked about
+      him, enjoying his triumph, and on that account put up with the annoyance
+      which the conscientious one caused him. &ldquo;Be still!&rdquo; said he with modest
+      voice, &ldquo;good songs want to re-echo well; after good songs one should be
+      long silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus do all those present, the higher men. Thou, however, hast perhaps
+      understood but little of my song? In thee there is little of the magic
+      spirit.&rdquo;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thou praisest me,&rdquo; replied the conscientious one, &ldquo;in that thou
+      separatest me from thyself; very well! But, ye others, what do I see? Ye
+      still sit there, all of you, with lusting eyes&mdash;:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye free spirits, whither hath your freedom gone! Ye almost seem to me to
+      resemble those who have long looked at bad girls dancing naked: your souls
+      themselves dance!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In you, ye higher men, there must be more of that which the magician
+      calleth his evil spirit of magic and deceit:&mdash;we must indeed be
+      different.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And verily, we spake and thought long enough together ere Zarathustra came
+      home to his cave, for me not to be unaware that we ARE different.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We SEEK different things even here aloft, ye and I. For I seek more
+      SECURITY; on that account have I come to Zarathustra. For he is still the
+      most steadfast tower and will&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;To-day, when everything tottereth, when all the earth quaketh. Ye,
+      however, when I see what eyes ye make, it almost seemeth to me that ye
+      seek MORE INSECURITY,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;More horror, more danger, more earthquake. Ye long (it almost
+      seemeth so to me&mdash;forgive my presumption, ye higher men)&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Ye long for the worst and dangerousest life, which frighteneth ME
+      most,&mdash;for the life of wild beasts, for forests, caves, steep
+      mountains and labyrinthine gorges.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And it is not those who lead OUT OF danger that please you best, but those
+      who lead you away from all paths, the misleaders. But if such longing in
+      you be ACTUAL, it seemeth to me nevertheless to be IMPOSSIBLE.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For fear&mdash;that is man&rsquo;s original and fundamental feeling; through
+      fear everything is explained, original sin and original virtue. Through
+      fear there grew also MY virtue, that is to say: Science.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For fear of wild animals&mdash;that hath been longest fostered in man,
+      inclusive of the animal which he concealeth and feareth in himself:&mdash;Zarathustra
+      calleth it &lsquo;the beast inside.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Such prolonged ancient fear, at last become subtle, spiritual and
+      intellectual&mdash;at present, me thinketh, it is called SCIENCE.&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake the conscientious one; but Zarathustra, who had just come back
+      into his cave and had heard and divined the last discourse, threw a
+      handful of roses to the conscientious one, and laughed on account of his
+      &ldquo;truths.&rdquo; &ldquo;Why!&rdquo; he exclaimed, &ldquo;what did I hear just now? Verily, it
+      seemeth to me, thou art a fool, or else I myself am one: and quietly and
+      quickly will I put thy &lsquo;truth&rsquo; upside down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For FEAR&mdash;is an exception with us. Courage, however, and adventure,
+      and delight in the uncertain, in the unattempted&mdash;COURAGE seemeth to
+      me the entire primitive history of man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The wildest and most courageous animals hath he envied and robbed of all
+      their virtues: thus only did he become&mdash;man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      THIS courage, at last become subtle, spiritual and intellectual, this
+      human courage, with eagle&rsquo;s pinions and serpent&rsquo;s wisdom: THIS, it seemeth
+      to me, is called at present&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;ZARATHUSTRA!&rdquo; cried all of them there assembled, as if with one voice,
+      and burst out at the same time into a great laughter; there arose,
+      however, from them as it were a heavy cloud. Even the magician laughed,
+      and said wisely: &ldquo;Well! It is gone, mine evil spirit!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And did I not myself warn you against it when I said that it was a
+      deceiver, a lying and deceiving spirit?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Especially when it showeth itself naked. But what can <i>I</i> do with
+      regard to its tricks! Have <i>I</i> created it and the world?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well! Let us be good again, and of good cheer! And although Zarathustra
+      looketh with evil eye&mdash;just see him! he disliketh me&mdash;:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Ere night cometh will he again learn to love and laud me; he cannot
+      live long without committing such follies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      HE&mdash;loveth his enemies: this art knoweth he better than any one I
+      have seen. But he taketh revenge for it&mdash;on his friends!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake the old magician, and the higher men applauded him; so that
+      Zarathustra went round, and mischievously and lovingly shook hands with
+      his friends,&mdash;like one who hath to make amends and apologise to every
+      one for something. When however he had thereby come to the door of his
+      cave, lo, then had he again a longing for the good air outside, and for
+      his animals,&mdash;and wished to steal out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0084" id="link2H_4_0084">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LXXVI. AMONG DAUGHTERS OF THE DESERT.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      1.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go not away!&rdquo; said then the wanderer who called himself Zarathustra&rsquo;s
+      shadow, &ldquo;abide with us&mdash;otherwise the old gloomy affliction might
+      again fall upon us.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;The bad game of drifting clouds, of damp melancholy, of curtained
+      heavens, of stolen suns, of howling autumn-winds,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou hast nourished us with strong food for men, and powerful proverbs: do
+      not let the weakly, womanly spirits attack us anew at dessert!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Unless it be,&mdash;unless it be&mdash;, do forgive an old recollection!
+      Forgive me an old after-dinner song, which I once composed amongst
+      daughters of the desert:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For with them was there equally good, clear, Oriental air; there was I
+      furthest from cloudy, damp, melancholy Old-Europe!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then did I love such Oriental maidens and other blue kingdoms of heaven,
+      over which hang no clouds and no thoughts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      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&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Many-hued and foreign, forsooth! but without clouds: riddles which can be
+      guessed: to please such maidens I then composed an after-dinner psalm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake the wanderer who called himself Zarathustra&rsquo;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:&mdash;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.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      2. THE DESERTS GROW: WOE HIM WHO DOTH THEM HIDE!
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &mdash;Ha!
+     Solemnly!
+     In effect solemnly!
+     A worthy beginning!
+     Afric manner, solemnly!
+     Of a lion worthy,
+     Or perhaps of a virtuous howl-monkey&mdash;
+     &mdash;But it&rsquo;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&rsquo;m swallowed down
+     By this the smallest oasis&mdash;:
+     &mdash;It opened up just yawning,
+     Its loveliest mouth agape,
+     Most sweet-odoured of all mouthlets:
+     Then fell I right in,
+     Right down, right through&mdash;in &rsquo;mong you,
+     Ye friendly damsels dearly loved!  Selah.
+
+     Hail! hail! to that whale, fishlike,
+     If it thus for its guest&rsquo;s convenience
+     Made things nice!&mdash;(ye well know,
+     Surely, my learned allusion?)
+     Hail to its belly,
+     If it had e&rsquo;er
+     A such loveliest oasis-belly
+     As this is:  though however I doubt about it,
+     &mdash;With this come I out of Old-Europe,
+     That doubt&rsquo;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,&mdash;
+     Environed by you,
+     Ye silent, presentientest
+     Maiden-kittens,
+     Dudu and Suleika,
+     &mdash;ROUNDSPHINXED, that into one word
+     I may crowd much feeling:
+     (Forgive me, O God,
+     All such speech-sinning!)
+     &mdash;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&mdash;
+     Be it by hazard,
+     Or supervened it by arrogancy?
+     As the ancient poets relate it.
+     But doubter, I&rsquo;m now calling it
+     In question:  with this do I come indeed
+     Out of Europe,
+     That doubt&rsquo;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,
+     &mdash;One doth it too, when one view&rsquo;th it long!&mdash;
+     To a dance-girl like, who as it seem&rsquo;th to me,
+     Too long, and dangerously persistent,
+     Always, always, just on SINGLE leg hath stood?
+     &mdash;Then forgot she thereby, as it seem&rsquo;th to me,
+     The OTHER leg?
+     For vainly I, at least,
+     Did search for the amissing
+     Fellow-jewel
+     &mdash;Namely, the other leg&mdash;
+     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&mdash;
+     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!
+     &mdash;Or else should there perhaps
+     Something strengthening, heart-strengthening,
+     Here most proper be?
+     Some inspiring text?
+     Some solemn exhortation?&mdash;
+     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!
+     &mdash;For virtue&rsquo;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&rsquo;t be different, God&rsquo;s help to me!
+     Amen!
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      THE DESERTS GROW: WOE HIM WHO DOTH THEM HIDE! <a name="link2H_4_0085" id="link2H_4_0085">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LXXVII. THE AWAKENING.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      1.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      After the song of the wanderer and shadow, the cave became all at once
+      full of noise and laughter: and since the assembled guests all spake
+      simultaneously, and even the ass, encouraged thereby, no longer remained
+      silent, a little aversion and scorn for his visitors came over
+      Zarathustra, although he rejoiced at their gladness. For it seemed to him
+      a sign of convalescence. So he slipped out into the open air and spake to
+      his animals.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whither hath their distress now gone?&rdquo; said he, and already did he
+      himself feel relieved of his petty disgust&mdash;&ldquo;with me, it seemeth that
+      they have unlearned their cries of distress!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Though, alas! not yet their crying.&rdquo; And Zarathustra stopped his
+      ears, for just then did the YE-A of the ass mix strangely with the noisy
+      jubilation of those higher men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They are merry,&rdquo; he began again, &ldquo;and who knoweth? perhaps at their
+      host&rsquo;s expense; and if they have learned of me to laugh, still it is not
+      MY laughter they have learned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But what matter about that! They are old people: they recover in their own
+      way, they laugh in their own way; mine ears have already endured worse and
+      have not become peevish.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This day is a victory: he already yieldeth, he fleeth, THE SPIRIT OF
+      GRAVITY, mine old arch-enemy! How well this day is about to end, which
+      began so badly and gloomily!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And it is ABOUT TO end. Already cometh the evening: over the sea rideth it
+      hither, the good rider! How it bobbeth, the blessed one, the
+      home-returning one, in its purple saddles!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sky gazeth brightly thereon, the world lieth deep. Oh, all ye strange
+      ones who have come to me, it is already worth while to have lived with
+      me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra. And again came the cries and laughter of the
+      higher men out of the cave: then began he anew:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They bite at it, my bait taketh, there departeth also from them their
+      enemy, the spirit of gravity. Now do they learn to laugh at themselves: do
+      I hear rightly?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My virile food taketh effect, my strong and savoury sayings: and verily, I
+      did not nourish them with flatulent vegetables! But with warrior-food,
+      with conqueror-food: new desires did I awaken.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      New hopes are in their arms and legs, their hearts expand. They find new
+      words, soon will their spirits breathe wantonness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Such food may sure enough not be proper for children, nor even for longing
+      girls old and young. One persuadeth their bowels otherwise; I am not their
+      physician and teacher.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The DISGUST departeth from these higher men; well! that is my victory. In
+      my domain they become assured; all stupid shame fleeth away; they empty
+      themselves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They empty their hearts, good times return unto them, they keep holiday
+      and ruminate,&mdash;they become THANKFUL.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      THAT do I take as the best sign: they become thankful. Not long will it be
+      ere they devise festivals, and put up memorials to their old joys.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They are CONVALESCENTS!&rdquo; Thus spake Zarathustra joyfully to his heart and
+      gazed outward; his animals, however, pressed up to him, and honoured his
+      happiness and his silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      2.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All on a sudden however, Zarathustra&rsquo;s ear was frightened: for the cave
+      which had hitherto been full of noise and laughter, became all at once
+      still as death;&mdash;his nose, however, smelt a sweet-scented vapour and
+      incense-odour, as if from burning pine-cones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What happeneth? What are they about?&rdquo; he asked himself, and stole up to
+      the entrance, that he might be able unobserved to see his guests. But
+      wonder upon wonder! what was he then obliged to behold with his own eyes!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They have all of them become PIOUS again, they PRAY, they are mad!&rdquo;&mdash;said
+      he, and was astonished beyond measure. And forsooth! all these higher men,
+      the two kings, the pope out of service, the evil magician, the voluntary
+      beggar, the wanderer and shadow, the old soothsayer, the spiritually
+      conscientious one, and the ugliest man&mdash;they all lay on their knees
+      like children and credulous old women, and worshipped the ass. And just
+      then began the ugliest man to gurgle and snort, as if something
+      unutterable in him tried to find expression; when, however, he had
+      actually found words, behold! it was a pious, strange litany in praise of
+      the adored and censed ass. And the litany sounded thus:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Amen! And glory and honour and wisdom and thanks and praise and strength
+      be to our God, from everlasting to everlasting!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He carrieth our burdens, he hath taken upon him the form of a servant, he
+      is patient of heart and never saith Nay; and he who loveth his God
+      chastiseth him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He speaketh not: except that he ever saith Yea to the world which he
+      created: thus doth he extol his world. It is his artfulness that speaketh
+      not: thus is he rarely found wrong.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Uncomely goeth he through the world. Grey is the favourite colour in which
+      he wrappeth his virtue. Hath he spirit, then doth he conceal it; every
+      one, however, believeth in his long ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What hidden wisdom it is to wear long ears, and only to say Yea and never
+      Nay! Hath he not created the world in his own image, namely, as stupid as
+      possible?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou goest straight and crooked ways; it concerneth thee little what
+      seemeth straight or crooked unto us men. Beyond good and evil is thy
+      domain. It is thine innocence not to know what innocence is.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lo! how thou spurnest none from thee, neither beggars nor kings. Thou
+      sufferest little children to come unto thee, and when the bad boys decoy
+      thee, then sayest thou simply, YE-A.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou lovest she-asses and fresh figs, thou art no food-despiser. A thistle
+      tickleth thy heart when thou chancest to be hungry. There is the wisdom of
+      a God therein.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0086" id="link2H_4_0086">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LXXVIII. THE ASS-FESTIVAL.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      1.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      At this place in the litany, however, Zarathustra could no longer control
+      himself; he himself cried out YE-A, louder even than the ass, and sprang
+      into the midst of his maddened guests. &ldquo;Whatever are you about, ye
+      grown-up children?&rdquo; he exclaimed, pulling up the praying ones from the
+      ground. &ldquo;Alas, if any one else, except Zarathustra, had seen you:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Every one would think you the worst blasphemers, or the very foolishest
+      old women, with your new belief!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And thou thyself, thou old pope, how is it in accordance with thee, to
+      adore an ass in such a manner as God?&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O Zarathustra,&rdquo; answered the pope, &ldquo;forgive me, but in divine matters I
+      am more enlightened even than thou. And it is right that it should be so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Better to adore God so, in this form, than in no form at all! Think over
+      this saying, mine exalted friend: thou wilt readily divine that in such a
+      saying there is wisdom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He who said &lsquo;God is a Spirit&rsquo;&mdash;made the greatest stride and slide
+      hitherto made on earth towards unbelief: such a dictum is not easily
+      amended again on earth!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mine old heart leapeth and boundeth because there is still something to
+      adore on earth. Forgive it, O Zarathustra, to an old, pious pontiff-heart!&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;&ldquo;And thou,&rdquo; said Zarathustra to the wanderer and shadow, &ldquo;thou
+      callest and thinkest thyself a free spirit? And thou here practisest such
+      idolatry and hierolatry?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Worse verily, doest thou here than with thy bad brown girls, thou bad, new
+      believer!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is sad enough,&rdquo; answered the wanderer and shadow, &ldquo;thou art right: but
+      how can I help it! The old God liveth again, O Zarathustra, thou mayst say
+      what thou wilt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The ugliest man is to blame for it all: he hath reawakened him. And if he
+      say that he once killed him, with Gods DEATH is always just a prejudice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;&ldquo;And thou,&rdquo; said Zarathustra, &ldquo;thou bad old magician, what didst
+      thou do! Who ought to believe any longer in thee in this free age, when
+      THOU believest in such divine donkeyism?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a stupid thing that thou didst; how couldst thou, a shrewd man, do
+      such a stupid thing!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O Zarathustra,&rdquo; answered the shrewd magician, &ldquo;thou art right, it was a
+      stupid thing,&mdash;it was also repugnant to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;&ldquo;And thou even,&rdquo; said Zarathustra to the spiritually conscientious
+      one, &ldquo;consider, and put thy finger to thy nose! Doth nothing go against
+      thy conscience here? Is thy spirit not too cleanly for this praying and
+      the fumes of those devotees?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is something therein,&rdquo; said the spiritually conscientious one, and
+      put his finger to his nose, &ldquo;there is something in this spectacle which
+      even doeth good to my conscience.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Perhaps I dare not believe in God: certain it is however, that God seemeth
+      to me most worthy of belief in this form.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      God is said to be eternal, according to the testimony of the most pious:
+      he who hath so much time taketh his time. As slow and as stupid as
+      possible: THEREBY can such a one nevertheless go very far.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he who hath too much spirit might well become infatuated with
+      stupidity and folly. Think of thyself, O Zarathustra!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou thyself&mdash;verily! even thou couldst well become an ass through
+      superabundance of wisdom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Doth not the true sage willingly walk on the crookedest paths? The
+      evidence teacheth it, O Zarathustra,&mdash;THINE OWN evidence!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;&ldquo;And thou thyself, finally,&rdquo; said Zarathustra, and turned towards
+      the ugliest man, who still lay on the ground stretching up his arm to the
+      ass (for he gave it wine to drink). &ldquo;Say, thou nondescript, what hast thou
+      been about!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou seemest to me transformed, thine eyes glow, the mantle of the sublime
+      covereth thine ugliness: WHAT didst thou do?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Is it then true what they say, that thou hast again awakened him? And why?
+      Was he not for good reasons killed and made away with?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou thyself seemest to me awakened: what didst thou do? why didst THOU
+      turn round? Why didst THOU get converted? Speak, thou nondescript!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O Zarathustra,&rdquo; answered the ugliest man, &ldquo;thou art a rogue!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Whether HE yet liveth, or again liveth, or is thoroughly dead&mdash;which
+      of us both knoweth that best? I ask thee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One thing however do I know,&mdash;from thyself did I learn it once, O
+      Zarathustra: he who wanteth to kill most thoroughly, LAUGHETH.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Not by wrath but by laughter doth one kill&rsquo;&mdash;thus spakest thou once,
+      O Zarathustra, thou hidden one, thou destroyer without wrath, thou
+      dangerous saint,&mdash;thou art a rogue!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      2.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, however, did it come to pass that Zarathustra, astonished at such
+      merely roguish answers, jumped back to the door of his cave, and turning
+      towards all his guests, cried out with a strong voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O ye wags, all of you, ye buffoons! Why do ye dissemble and disguise
+      yourselves before me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How the hearts of all of you convulsed with delight and wickedness,
+      because ye had at last become again like little children&mdash;namely,
+      pious,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Because ye at last did again as children do&mdash;namely, prayed,
+      folded your hands and said &lsquo;good God&rsquo;!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But now leave, I pray you, THIS nursery, mine own cave, where to-day all
+      childishness is carried on. Cool down, here outside, your hot
+      child-wantonness and heart-tumult!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To be sure: except ye become as little children ye shall not enter into
+      THAT kingdom of heaven.&rdquo; (And Zarathustra pointed aloft with his hands.)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But we do not at all want to enter into the kingdom of heaven: we have
+      become men,&mdash;SO WE WANT THE KINGDOM OF EARTH.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      3.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And once more began Zarathustra to speak. &ldquo;O my new friends,&rdquo; said he,&mdash;
+      &ldquo;ye strange ones, ye higher men, how well do ye now please me,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Since ye have again become joyful! Ye have, verily, all blossomed
+      forth: it seemeth to me that for such flowers as you, NEW FESTIVALS are
+      required.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;A little valiant nonsense, some divine service and ass-festival,
+      some old joyful Zarathustra fool, some blusterer to blow your souls
+      bright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Forget not this night and this ass-festival, ye higher men! THAT did ye
+      devise when with me, that do I take as a good omen,&mdash;such things only
+      the convalescents devise!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And should ye celebrate it again, this ass-festival, do it from love to
+      yourselves, do it also from love to me! And in remembrance of me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0087" id="link2H_4_0087">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LXXIX. THE DRUNKEN SONG.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      1.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile one after another had gone out into the open air, and into the
+      cool, thoughtful night; Zarathustra himself, however, led the ugliest man
+      by the hand, that he might show him his night-world, and the great round
+      moon, and the silvery water-falls near his cave. There they at last stood
+      still beside one another; all of them old people, but with comforted,
+      brave hearts, and astonished in themselves that it was so well with them
+      on earth; the mystery of the night, however, came nigher and nigher to
+      their hearts. And anew Zarathustra thought to himself: &ldquo;Oh, how well do
+      they now please me, these higher men!&rdquo;&mdash;but he did not say it aloud,
+      for he respected their happiness and their silence.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, however, there happened that which in this astonishing long day was
+      most astonishing: the ugliest man began once more and for the last time to
+      gurgle and snort, and when he had at length found expression, behold!
+      there sprang a question plump and plain out of his mouth, a good, deep,
+      clear question, which moved the hearts of all who listened to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My friends, all of you,&rdquo; said the ugliest man, &ldquo;what think ye? For the
+      sake of this day&mdash;<i>I</i> am for the first time content to have
+      lived mine entire life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And that I testify so much is still not enough for me. It is worth while
+      living on the earth: one day, one festival with Zarathustra, hath taught
+      me to love the earth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &lsquo;Was THAT&mdash;life?&rsquo; will I say unto death. &lsquo;Well! Once more!&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My friends, what think ye? Will ye not, like me, say unto death: &lsquo;Was THAT&mdash;life?
+      For the sake of Zarathustra, well! Once more!&rsquo;&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake the ugliest man; it was not, however, far from midnight. And
+      what took place then, think ye? As soon as the higher men heard his
+      question, they became all at once conscious of their transformation and
+      convalescence, and of him who was the cause thereof: then did they rush up
+      to Zarathustra, thanking, honouring, caressing him, and kissing his hands,
+      each in his own peculiar way; so that some laughed and some wept. The old
+      soothsayer, however, danced with delight; and though he was then, as some
+      narrators suppose, full of sweet wine, he was certainly still fuller of
+      sweet life, and had renounced all weariness. There are even those who
+      narrate that the ass then danced: for not in vain had the ugliest man
+      previously given it wine to drink. That may be the case, or it may be
+      otherwise; and if in truth the ass did not dance that evening, there
+      nevertheless happened then greater and rarer wonders than the dancing of
+      an ass would have been. In short, as the proverb of Zarathustra saith:
+      &ldquo;What doth it matter!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      2.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When, however, this took place with the ugliest man, Zarathustra stood
+      there like one drunken: his glance dulled, his tongue faltered and his
+      feet staggered. And who could divine what thoughts then passed through
+      Zarathustra&rsquo;s soul? Apparently, however, his spirit retreated and fled in
+      advance and was in remote distances, and as it were &ldquo;wandering on high
+      mountain-ridges,&rdquo; as it standeth written, &ldquo;&lsquo;twixt two seas,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Wandering &lsquo;twixt the past and the future as a heavy cloud.&rdquo;
+       Gradually, however, while the higher men held him in their arms, he came
+      back to himself a little, and resisted with his hands the crowd of the
+      honouring and caring ones; but he did not speak. All at once, however, he
+      turned his head quickly, for he seemed to hear something: then laid he his
+      finger on his mouth and said: &ldquo;COME!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And immediately it became still and mysterious round about; from the depth
+      however there came up slowly the sound of a clock-bell. Zarathustra
+      listened thereto, like the higher men; then, however, laid he his finger
+      on his mouth the second time, and said again: &ldquo;COME! COME! IT IS GETTING
+      ON TO MIDNIGHT!&rdquo;&mdash;and his voice had changed. But still he had not
+      moved from the spot. Then it became yet stiller and more mysterious, and
+      everything hearkened, even the ass, and Zarathustra&rsquo;s noble animals, the
+      eagle and the serpent,&mdash;likewise the cave of Zarathustra and the big
+      cool moon, and the night itself. Zarathustra, however, laid his hand upon
+      his mouth for the third time, and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      COME! COME! COME! LET US NOW WANDER! IT IS THE HOUR: LET US WANDER INTO
+      THE NIGHT!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      3.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye higher men, it is getting on to midnight: then will I say something
+      into your ears, as that old clock-bell saith it into mine ear,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;As mysteriously, as frightfully, and as cordially as that midnight
+      clock-bell speaketh it to me, which hath experienced more than one man:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Which hath already counted the smarting throbbings of your fathers&rsquo; 
+      hearts&mdash;ah! ah! how it sigheth! how it laugheth in its dream! the
+      old, deep, deep midnight!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hush! Hush! Then is there many a thing heard which may not be heard by
+      day; now however, in the cool air, when even all the tumult of your hearts
+      hath become still,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Now doth it speak, now is it heard, now doth it steal into
+      overwakeful, nocturnal souls: ah! ah! how the midnight sigheth! how it
+      laugheth in its dream!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Hearest thou not how it mysteriously, frightfully, and cordially
+      speaketh unto THEE, the old deep, deep midnight?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O MAN, TAKE HEED! 4.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Woe to me! Whither hath time gone? Have I not sunk into deep wells? The
+      world sleepeth&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ah! Ah! The dog howleth, the moon shineth. Rather will I die, rather will
+      I die, than say unto you what my midnight-heart now thinketh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Already have I died. It is all over. Spider, why spinnest thou around me?
+      Wilt thou have blood? Ah! Ah! The dew falleth, the hour cometh&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;The hour in which I frost and freeze, which asketh and asketh and
+      asketh: &ldquo;Who hath sufficient courage for it?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Who is to be master of the world? Who is going to say: THUS shall
+      ye flow, ye great and small streams!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;The hour approacheth: O man, thou higher man, take heed! this talk
+      is for fine ears, for thine ears&mdash;WHAT SAITH DEEP MIDNIGHT&rsquo;S VOICE
+      INDEED?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      5.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It carrieth me away, my soul danceth. Day&rsquo;s-work! Day&rsquo;s-work! Who is to be
+      master of the world?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The moon is cool, the wind is still. Ah! Ah! Have ye already flown high
+      enough? Ye have danced: a leg, nevertheless, is not a wing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye good dancers, now is all delight over: wine hath become lees, every cup
+      hath become brittle, the sepulchres mutter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye have not flown high enough: now do the sepulchres mutter: &ldquo;Free the
+      dead! Why is it so long night? Doth not the moon make us drunken?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye higher men, free the sepulchres, awaken the corpses! Ah, why doth the
+      worm still burrow? There approacheth, there approacheth, the hour,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;There boometh the clock-bell, there thrilleth still the heart,
+      there burroweth still the wood-worm, the heart-worm. Ah! Ah! THE WORLD IS
+      DEEP!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      6.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sweet lyre! Sweet lyre! I love thy tone, thy drunken, ranunculine tone!&mdash;how
+      long, how far hath come unto me thy tone, from the distance, from the
+      ponds of love!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou old clock-bell, thou sweet lyre! Every pain hath torn thy heart,
+      father-pain, fathers&rsquo;-pain, forefathers&rsquo;-pain; thy speech hath become
+      ripe,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Ripe like the golden autumn and the afternoon, like mine anchorite
+      heart&mdash;now sayest thou: The world itself hath become ripe, the grape
+      turneth brown,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Now doth it wish to die, to die of happiness. Ye higher men, do ye
+      not feel it? There welleth up mysteriously an odour,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;A perfume and odour of eternity, a rosy-blessed, brown,
+      gold-wine-odour of old happiness,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Of drunken midnight-death happiness, which singeth: the world is
+      deep, AND DEEPER THAN THE DAY COULD READ!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      7.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Leave me alone! Leave me alone! I am too pure for thee. Touch me not! Hath
+      not my world just now become perfect?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My skin is too pure for thy hands. Leave me alone, thou dull, doltish,
+      stupid day! Is not the midnight brighter?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The purest are to be masters of the world, the least known, the strongest,
+      the midnight-souls, who are brighter and deeper than any day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O day, thou gropest for me? Thou feelest for my happiness? For thee am I
+      rich, lonesome, a treasure-pit, a gold chamber?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O world, thou wantest ME? Am I worldly for thee? Am I spiritual for thee?
+      Am I divine for thee? But day and world, ye are too coarse,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Have cleverer hands, grasp after deeper happiness, after deeper
+      unhappiness, grasp after some God; grasp not after me:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Mine unhappiness, my happiness is deep, thou strange day, but yet
+      am I no God, no God&rsquo;s-hell: DEEP IS ITS WOE.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      8.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      God&rsquo;s woe is deeper, thou strange world! Grasp at God&rsquo;s woe, not at me!
+      What am I! A drunken sweet lyre,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;A midnight-lyre, a bell-frog, which no one understandeth, but which
+      MUST speak before deaf ones, ye higher men! For ye do not understand me!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Gone! Gone! O youth! O noontide! O afternoon! Now have come evening and
+      night and midnight,&mdash;the dog howleth, the wind:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Is the wind not a dog? It whineth, it barketh, it howleth. Ah! Ah!
+      how she sigheth! how she laugheth, how she wheezeth and panteth, the
+      midnight!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How she just now speaketh soberly, this drunken poetess! hath she perhaps
+      overdrunk her drunkenness? hath she become overawake? doth she ruminate?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Her woe doth she ruminate over, in a dream, the old, deep midnight&mdash;and
+      still more her joy. For joy, although woe be deep, JOY IS DEEPER STILL
+      THAN GRIEF CAN BE.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      9.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thou grape-vine! Why dost thou praise me? Have I not cut thee! I am cruel,
+      thou bleedest&mdash;: what meaneth thy praise of my drunken cruelty?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whatever hath become perfect, everything mature&mdash;wanteth to die!&rdquo; so
+      sayest thou. Blessed, blessed be the vintner&rsquo;s knife! But everything
+      immature wanteth to live: alas!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Woe saith: &ldquo;Hence! Go! Away, thou woe!&rdquo; But everything that suffereth
+      wanteth to live, that it may become mature and lively and longing,
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Longing for the further, the higher, the brighter. &ldquo;I want heirs,&rdquo;
+       so saith everything that suffereth, &ldquo;I want children, I do not want
+      MYSELF,&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Joy, however, doth not want heirs, it doth not want children,&mdash;joy
+      wanteth itself, it wanteth eternity, it wanteth recurrence, it wanteth
+      everything eternally-like-itself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Woe saith: &ldquo;Break, bleed, thou heart! Wander, thou leg! Thou wing, fly!
+      Onward! upward! thou pain!&rdquo; Well! Cheer up! O mine old heart: WOE SAITH:
+      &ldquo;HENCE! GO!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      10.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye higher men, what think ye? Am I a soothsayer? Or a dreamer? Or a
+      drunkard? Or a dream-reader? Or a midnight-bell?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Or a drop of dew? Or a fume and fragrance of eternity? Hear ye it not?
+      Smell ye it not? Just now hath my world become perfect, midnight is also
+      mid-day,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pain is also a joy, curse is also a blessing, night is also a sun,&mdash;go
+      away! or ye will learn that a sage is also a fool.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Said ye ever Yea to one joy? O my friends, then said ye Yea also unto ALL
+      woe. All things are enlinked, enlaced and enamoured,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Wanted ye ever once to come twice; said ye ever: &ldquo;Thou pleasest me,
+      happiness! Instant! Moment!&rdquo; then wanted ye ALL to come back again!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;All anew, all eternal, all enlinked, enlaced and enamoured, Oh,
+      then did ye LOVE the world,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Ye eternal ones, ye love it eternally and for all time: and also
+      unto woe do ye say: Hence! Go! but come back! FOR JOYS ALL WANT&mdash;ETERNITY!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      11.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All joy wanteth the eternity of all things, it wanteth honey, it wanteth
+      lees, it wanteth drunken midnight, it wanteth graves, it wanteth
+      grave-tears&rsquo; consolation, it wanteth gilded evening-red&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;WHAT doth not joy want! it is thirstier, heartier, hungrier, more
+      frightful, more mysterious, than all woe: it wanteth ITSELF, it biteth
+      into ITSELF, the ring&rsquo;s will writheth in it,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;It wanteth love, it wanteth hate, it is over-rich, it bestoweth, it
+      throweth away, it beggeth for some one to take from it, it thanketh the
+      taker, it would fain be hated,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;So rich is joy that it thirsteth for woe, for hell, for hate, for
+      shame, for the lame, for the WORLD,&mdash;for this world, Oh, ye know it
+      indeed!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ye higher men, for you doth it long, this joy, this irrepressible, blessed
+      joy&mdash;for your woe, ye failures! For failures, longeth all eternal
+      joy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For joys all want themselves, therefore do they also want grief! O
+      happiness, O pain! Oh break, thou heart! Ye higher men, do learn it, that
+      joys want eternity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Joys want the eternity of ALL things, they WANT DEEP, PROFOUND
+      ETERNITY!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      12.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Have ye now learned my song? Have ye divined what it would say? Well!
+      Cheer up! Ye higher men, sing now my roundelay!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sing now yourselves the song, the name of which is &ldquo;Once more,&rdquo; the
+      signification of which is &ldquo;Unto all eternity!&rdquo;&mdash;sing, ye higher men,
+      Zarathustra&rsquo;s roundelay!
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     O man!  Take heed!
+     What saith deep midnight&rsquo;s voice indeed?
+     &ldquo;I slept my sleep&mdash;,
+     &ldquo;From deepest dream I&rsquo;ve woke, and plead:&mdash;
+     &ldquo;The world is deep,
+     &ldquo;And deeper than the day could read.
+     &ldquo;Deep is its woe&mdash;,
+     &ldquo;Joy&mdash;deeper still than grief can be:
+     &ldquo;Woe saith:  Hence!  Go!
+     &ldquo;But joys all want eternity-,
+     &ldquo;-Want deep, profound eternity!&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0088" id="link2H_4_0088">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      LXXX. THE SIGN.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      In the morning, however, after this night, Zarathustra jumped up from his
+      couch, and, having girded his loins, he came out of his cave glowing and
+      strong, like a morning sun coming out of gloomy mountains.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thou great star,&rdquo; spake he, as he had spoken once before, &ldquo;thou deep eye
+      of happiness, what would be all thy happiness if thou hadst not THOSE for
+      whom thou shinest!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And if they remained in their chambers whilst thou art already awake, and
+      comest and bestowest and distributest, how would thy proud modesty upbraid
+      for it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well! they still sleep, these higher men, whilst <i>I</i> am awake: THEY
+      are not my proper companions! Not for them do I wait here in my mountains.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At my work I want to be, at my day: but they understand not what are the
+      signs of my morning, my step&mdash;is not for them the awakening-call.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They still sleep in my cave; their dream still drinketh at my drunken
+      songs. The audient ear for ME&mdash;the OBEDIENT ear, is yet lacking in
+      their limbs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;This had Zarathustra spoken to his heart when the sun arose: then
+      looked he inquiringly aloft, for he heard above him the sharp call of his
+      eagle. &ldquo;Well!&rdquo; called he upwards, &ldquo;thus is it pleasing and proper to me.
+      Mine animals are awake, for I am awake.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mine eagle is awake, and like me honoureth the sun. With eagle-talons doth
+      it grasp at the new light. Ye are my proper animals; I love you.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But still do I lack my proper men!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra; then, however, it happened that all on a sudden he
+      became aware that he was flocked around and fluttered around, as if by
+      innumerable birds,&mdash;the whizzing of so many wings, however, and the
+      crowding around his head was so great that he shut his eyes. And verily,
+      there came down upon him as it were a cloud, like a cloud of arrows which
+      poureth upon a new enemy. But behold, here it was a cloud of love, and
+      showered upon a new friend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What happeneth unto me?&rdquo; thought Zarathustra in his astonished heart, and
+      slowly seated himself on the big stone which lay close to the exit from
+      his cave. But while he grasped about with his hands, around him, above him
+      and below him, and repelled the tender birds, behold, there then happened
+      to him something still stranger: for he grasped thereby unawares into a
+      mass of thick, warm, shaggy hair; at the same time, however, there sounded
+      before him a roar,&mdash;a long, soft lion-roar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;THE SIGN COMETH,&rdquo; said Zarathustra, and a change came over his heart. And
+      in truth, when it turned clear before him, there lay a yellow, powerful
+      animal at his feet, resting its head on his knee,&mdash;unwilling to leave
+      him out of love, and doing like a dog which again findeth its old master.
+      The doves, however, were no less eager with their love than the lion; and
+      whenever a dove whisked over its nose, the lion shook its head and
+      wondered and laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When all this went on Zarathustra spake only a word: &ldquo;MY CHILDREN ARE
+      NIGH, MY CHILDREN&rdquo;&mdash;, then he became quite mute. His heart, however,
+      was loosed, and from his eyes there dropped down tears and fell upon his
+      hands. And he took no further notice of anything, but sat there
+      motionless, without repelling the animals further. Then flew the doves to
+      and fro, and perched on his shoulder, and caressed his white hair, and did
+      not tire of their tenderness and joyousness. The strong lion, however,
+      licked always the tears that fell on Zarathustra&rsquo;s hands, and roared and
+      growled shyly. Thus did these animals do.&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All this went on for a long time, or a short time: for properly speaking,
+      there is NO time on earth for such things&mdash;. Meanwhile, however, the
+      higher men had awakened in Zarathustra&rsquo;s cave, and marshalled themselves
+      for a procession to go to meet Zarathustra, and give him their morning
+      greeting: for they had found when they awakened that he no longer tarried
+      with them. When, however, they reached the door of the cave and the noise
+      of their steps had preceded them, the lion started violently; it turned
+      away all at once from Zarathustra, and roaring wildly, sprang towards the
+      cave. The higher men, however, when they heard the lion roaring, cried all
+      aloud as with one voice, fled back and vanished in an instant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Zarathustra himself, however, stunned and strange, rose from his seat,
+      looked around him, stood there astonished, inquired of his heart,
+      bethought himself, and remained alone. &ldquo;What did I hear?&rdquo; said he at last,
+      slowly, &ldquo;what happened unto me just now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But soon there came to him his recollection, and he took in at a glance
+      all that had taken place between yesterday and to-day. &ldquo;Here is indeed the
+      stone,&rdquo; said he, and stroked his beard, &ldquo;on IT sat I yester-morn; and here
+      came the soothsayer unto me, and here heard I first the cry which I heard
+      just now, the great cry of distress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      O ye higher men, YOUR distress was it that the old soothsayer foretold to
+      me yester-morn,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;Unto your distress did he want to seduce and tempt me: &lsquo;O
+      Zarathustra,&rsquo; said he to me, &lsquo;I come to seduce thee to thy last sin.&rsquo; 
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To my last sin?&rdquo; cried Zarathustra, and laughed angrily at his own words:
+      &ldquo;WHAT hath been reserved for me as my last sin?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &mdash;And once more Zarathustra became absorbed in himself, and sat down
+      again on the big stone and meditated. Suddenly he sprang up,&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;FELLOW-SUFFERING! FELLOW-SUFFERING WITH THE HIGHER MEN!&rdquo; he cried out,
+      and his countenance changed into brass. &ldquo;Well! THAT&mdash;hath had its
+      time!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      My suffering and my fellow-suffering&mdash;what matter about them! Do I
+      then strive after HAPPINESS? I strive after my WORK!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well! The lion hath come, my children are nigh, Zarathustra hath grown
+      ripe, mine hour hath come:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This is MY morning, MY day beginneth: ARISE NOW, ARISE, THOU GREAT
+      NOONTIDE!&rdquo;&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus spake Zarathustra and left his cave, glowing and strong, like a
+      morning sun coming out of gloomy mountains.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_APPE" id="link2H_APPE">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      APPENDIX.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_NOTE" id="link2H_NOTE">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      NOTES ON &ldquo;THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA&rdquo; BY ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      I have had some opportunities of studying the conditions under which
+      Nietzsche is read in Germany, France, and England, and I have found that,
+      in each of these countries, students of his philosophy, as if actuated by
+      precisely similar motives and desires, and misled by the same mistaken
+      tactics on the part of most publishers, all proceed in the same
+      happy-go-lucky style when &ldquo;taking him up.&rdquo; They have had it said to them
+      that he wrote without any system, and they very naturally conclude that it
+      does not matter in the least whether they begin with his first, third, or
+      last book, provided they can obtain a few vague ideas as to what his
+      leading and most sensational principles were.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now, it is clear that the book with the most mysterious, startling, or
+      suggestive title, will always stand the best chance of being purchased by
+      those who have no other criteria to guide them in their choice than the
+      aspect of a title-page; and this explains why &ldquo;Thus Spake Zarathustra&rdquo; is
+      almost always the first and often the only one of Nietzsche&rsquo;s books that
+      falls into the hands of the uninitiated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The title suggests all kinds of mysteries; a glance at the
+      chapter-headings quickly confirms the suspicions already aroused, and the
+      sub-title: &ldquo;A Book for All and None&rdquo;, generally succeeds in dissipating
+      the last doubts the prospective purchaser may entertain concerning his
+      fitness for the book or its fitness for him. And what happens?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thus Spake Zarathustra&rdquo; is taken home; the reader, who perchance may know
+      no more concerning Nietzsche than a magazine article has told him, tries
+      to read it and, understanding less than half he reads, probably never gets
+      further than the second or third part,&mdash;and then only to feel
+      convinced that Nietzsche himself was &ldquo;rather hazy&rdquo; as to what he was
+      talking about. Such chapters as &ldquo;The Child with the Mirror&rdquo;, &ldquo;In the Happy
+      Isles&rdquo;, &ldquo;The Grave-Song,&rdquo; &ldquo;Immaculate Perception,&rdquo; &ldquo;The Stillest Hour&rdquo;,
+      &ldquo;The Seven Seals&rdquo;, and many others, are almost utterly devoid of meaning
+      to all those who do not know something of Nietzsche&rsquo;s life, his aims and
+      his friendships.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As a matter of fact, &ldquo;Thus Spake Zarathustra&rdquo;, though it is unquestionably
+      Nietzsche&rsquo;s opus magnum, is by no means the first of Nietzsche&rsquo;s works
+      that the beginner ought to undertake to read. The author himself refers to
+      it as the deepest work ever offered to the German public, and elsewhere
+      speaks of his other writings as being necessary for the understanding of
+      it. But when it is remembered that in Zarathustra we not only have the
+      history of his most intimate experiences, friendships, feuds,
+      disappointments, triumphs and the like, but that the very form in which
+      they are narrated is one which tends rather to obscure than to throw light
+      upon them, the difficulties which meet the reader who starts quite
+      unprepared will be seen to be really formidable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Zarathustra, then,&mdash;this shadowy, allegorical personality, speaking
+      in allegories and parables, and at times not even refraining from relating
+      his own dreams&mdash;is a figure we can understand but very imperfectly if
+      we have no knowledge of his creator and counterpart, Friedrich Nietzsche;
+      and it were therefore well, previous to our study of the more abstruse
+      parts of this book, if we were to turn to some authoritative book on
+      Nietzsche&rsquo;s life and works and to read all that is there said on the
+      subject. Those who can read German will find an excellent guide, in this
+      respect, in Frau Foerster-Nietzsche&rsquo;s exhaustive and highly interesting
+      biography of her brother: &ldquo;Das Leben Friedrich Nietzsche&rsquo;s&rdquo; (published by
+      Naumann); while the works of Deussen, Raoul Richter, and Baroness Isabelle
+      von Unger-Sternberg, will be found to throw useful and necessary light
+      upon many questions which it would be difficult for a sister to touch
+      upon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In regard to the actual philosophical views expounded in this work, there
+      is an excellent way of clearing up any difficulties they may present, and
+      that is by an appeal to Nietzsche&rsquo;s other works. Again and again, of
+      course, he will be found to express himself so clearly that all reference
+      to his other writings may be dispensed with; but where this is not the
+      case, the advice he himself gives is after all the best to be followed
+      here, viz.:&mdash;to regard such works as: &ldquo;Joyful Science&rdquo;, &ldquo;Beyond Good
+      and Evil&rdquo;, &ldquo;The Genealogy of Morals&rdquo;, &ldquo;The Twilight of the Idols&rdquo;, &ldquo;The
+      Antichrist&rdquo;, &ldquo;The Will to Power&rdquo;, etc., etc., as the necessary preparation
+      for &ldquo;Thus Spake Zarathustra&rdquo;.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      These directions, though they are by no means simple to carry out, seem at
+      least to possess the quality of definiteness and straightforwardness.
+      &ldquo;Follow them and all will be clear,&rdquo; I seem to imply. But I regret to say
+      that this is not really the case. For my experience tells me that even
+      after the above directions have been followed with the greatest possible
+      zeal, the student will still halt in perplexity before certain passages in
+      the book before us, and wonder what they mean. Now, it is with the view of
+      giving a little additional help to all those who find themselves in this
+      position that I proceed to put forth my own personal interpretation of the
+      more abstruse passages in this work.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In offering this little commentary to the Nietzsche student, I should like
+      it to be understood that I make no claim as to its infallibility or
+      indispensability. It represents but an attempt on my part&mdash;a very
+      feeble one perhaps&mdash;to give the reader what little help I can in
+      surmounting difficulties which a long study of Nietzsche&rsquo;s life and works
+      has enabled me, partially I hope, to overcome.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      ...
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Perhaps it would be as well to start out with a broad and rapid sketch of
+      Nietzsche as a writer on Morals, Evolution, and Sociology, so that the
+      reader may be prepared to pick out for himself, so to speak, all passages
+      in this work bearing in any way upon Nietzsche&rsquo;s views in those three
+      important branches of knowledge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      (A.) Nietzsche and Morality.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In morality, Nietzsche starts out by adopting the position of the
+      relativist. He says there are no absolute values &ldquo;good&rdquo; and &ldquo;evil&rdquo;; these
+      are mere means adopted by all in order to acquire power to maintain their
+      place in the world, or to become supreme. It is the lion&rsquo;s good to devour
+      an antelope. It is the dead-leaf butterfly&rsquo;s good to tell a foe a
+      falsehood. For when the dead-leaf butterfly is in danger, it clings to the
+      side of a twig, and what it says to its foe is practically this: &ldquo;I am not
+      a butterfly, I am a dead leaf, and can be of no use to thee.&rdquo; This is a
+      lie which is good to the butterfly, for it preserves it. In nature every
+      species of organic being instinctively adopts and practises those acts
+      which most conduce to the prevalence or supremacy of its kind. Once the
+      most favourable order of conduct is found, proved efficient and
+      established, it becomes the ruling morality of the species that adopts it
+      and bears them along to victory. All species must not and cannot value
+      alike, for what is the lion&rsquo;s good is the antelope&rsquo;s evil and vice versa.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Concepts of good and evil are therefore, in their origin, merely a means
+      to an end, they are expedients for acquiring power.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Applying this principle to mankind, Nietzsche attacked Christian moral
+      values. He declared them to be, like all other morals, merely an expedient
+      for protecting a certain type of man. In the case of Christianity this
+      type was, according to Nietzsche, a low one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Conflicting moral codes have been no more than the conflicting weapons of
+      different classes of men; for in mankind there is a continual war between
+      the powerful, the noble, the strong, and the well-constituted on the one
+      side, and the impotent, the mean, the weak, and the ill-constituted on the
+      other. The war is a war of moral principles. The morality of the powerful
+      class, Nietzsche calls NOBLE- or MASTER-MORALITY; that of the weak and
+      subordinate class he calls SLAVE-MORALITY. In the first morality it is the
+      eagle which, looking down upon a browsing lamb, contends that &ldquo;eating lamb
+      is good.&rdquo; In the second, the slave-morality, it is the lamb which, looking
+      up from the sward, bleats dissentingly: &ldquo;Eating lamb is evil.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      (B.) The Master- and Slave-Morality Compared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The first morality is active, creative, Dionysian. The second is passive,
+      defensive,&mdash;to it belongs the &ldquo;struggle for existence.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Where attempts have not been made to reconcile the two moralities, they
+      may be described as follows:&mdash;All is GOOD in the noble morality which
+      proceeds from strength, power, health, well-constitutedness, happiness,
+      and awfulness; for, the motive force behind the people practising it is
+      &ldquo;the struggle for power.&rdquo; The antithesis &ldquo;good and bad&rdquo; to this first
+      class means the same as &ldquo;noble&rdquo; and &ldquo;despicable.&rdquo; &ldquo;Bad&rdquo; in the
+      master-morality must be applied to the coward, to all acts that spring
+      from weakness, to the man with &ldquo;an eye to the main chance,&rdquo; who would
+      forsake everything in order to live.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With the second, the slave-morality, the case is different. There,
+      inasmuch as the community is an oppressed, suffering, unemancipated, and
+      weary one, all THAT will be held to be good which alleviates the state of
+      suffering. Pity, the obliging hand, the warm heart, patience, industry,
+      and humility&mdash;these are unquestionably the qualities we shall here
+      find flooded with the light of approval and admiration; because they are
+      the most USEFUL qualities&mdash;; they make life endurable, they are of
+      assistance in the &ldquo;struggle for existence&rdquo; which is the motive force
+      behind the people practising this morality. To this class, all that is
+      AWFUL is bad, in fact it is THE evil par excellence. Strength, health,
+      superabundance of animal spirits and power, are regarded with hate,
+      suspicion, and fear by the subordinate class.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now Nietzsche believed that the first or the noble-morality conduced to an
+      ascent in the line of life; because it was creative and active. On the
+      other hand, he believed that the second or slave-morality, where it became
+      paramount, led to degeneration, because it was passive and defensive,
+      wanting merely to keep those who practised it alive. Hence his earnest
+      advocacy of noble-morality.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      (C.) Nietzsche and Evolution.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nietzsche as an evolutionist I shall have occasion to define and discuss
+      in the course of these notes (see Notes on Chapter LVI., par.10, and on
+      Chapter LVII.). For the present let it suffice for us to know that he
+      accepted the &ldquo;Development Hypothesis&rdquo; as an explanation of the origin of
+      species: but he did not halt where most naturalists have halted. He by no
+      means regarded man as the highest possible being which evolution could
+      arrive at; for though his physical development may have reached its limit,
+      this is not the case with his mental or spiritual attributes. If the
+      process be a fact; if things have BECOME what they are, then, he contends,
+      we may describe no limit to man&rsquo;s aspirations. If he struggled up from
+      barbarism, and still more remotely from the lower Primates, his ideal
+      should be to surpass man himself and reach Superman (see especially the
+      Prologue).
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      (D.) Nietzsche and Sociology.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nietzsche as a sociologist aims at an aristocratic arrangement of society.
+      He would have us rear an ideal race. Honest and truthful in intellectual
+      matters, he could not even think that men are equal. &ldquo;With these preachers
+      of equality will I not be mixed up and confounded. For thus speaketh
+      justice unto ME: &lsquo;Men are not equal.&rsquo;&rdquo; He sees precisely in this
+      inequality a purpose to be served, a condition to be exploited. &ldquo;Every
+      elevation of the type &lsquo;man,&rsquo;&rdquo; he writes in &ldquo;Beyond Good and Evil&rdquo;, &ldquo;has
+      hitherto been the work of an aristocratic society&mdash;and so will it
+      always be&mdash;a society believing in a long scale of gradations of rank
+      and differences of worth among human beings.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Those who are sufficiently interested to desire to read his own detailed
+      account of the society he would fain establish, will find an excellent
+      passage in Aphorism 57 of &ldquo;The Antichrist&rdquo;.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      ... <a name="link2H_PART1" id="link2H_PART1">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      PART I. THE PROLOGUE.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      In Part I. including the Prologue, no very great difficulties will appear.
+      Zarathustra&rsquo;s habit of designating a whole class of men or a whole school
+      of thought by a single fitting nickname may perhaps lead to a little
+      confusion at first; but, as a rule, when the general drift of his
+      arguments is grasped, it requires but a slight effort of the imagination
+      to discover whom he is referring to. In the ninth paragraph of the
+      Prologue, for instance, it is quite obvious that &ldquo;Herdsmen&rdquo; in the verse
+      &ldquo;Herdsmen, I say, etc., etc.,&rdquo; stands for all those to-day who are the
+      advocates of gregariousness&mdash;of the ant-hill. And when our author
+      says: &ldquo;A robber shall Zarathustra be called by the herdsmen,&rdquo; it is clear
+      that these words may be taken almost literally from one whose ideal was
+      the rearing of a higher aristocracy. Again, &ldquo;the good and just,&rdquo;
+       throughout the book, is the expression used in referring to the
+      self-righteous of modern times,&mdash;those who are quite sure that they
+      know all that is to be known concerning good and evil, and are satisfied
+      that the values their little world of tradition has handed down to them,
+      are destined to rule mankind as long as it lasts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the last paragraph of the Prologue, verse 7, Zarathustra gives us a
+      foretaste of his teaching concerning the big and the little sagacities,
+      expounded subsequently. He says he would he were as wise as his serpent;
+      this desire will be found explained in the discourse entitled &ldquo;The
+      Despisers of the Body&rdquo;, which I shall have occasion to refer to later.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      ... THE DISCOURSES. <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter I. The Three Metamorphoses.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      This opening discourse is a parable in which Zarathustra discloses the
+      mental development of all creators of new values. It is the story of a
+      life which reaches its consummation in attaining to a second ingenuousness
+      or in returning to childhood. Nietzsche, the supposed anarchist, here
+      plainly disclaims all relationship whatever to anarchy, for he shows us
+      that only by bearing the burdens of the existing law and submitting to it
+      patiently, as the camel submits to being laden, does the free spirit
+      acquire that ascendancy over tradition which enables him to meet and
+      master the dragon &ldquo;Thou shalt,&rdquo;&mdash;the dragon with the values of a
+      thousand years glittering on its scales. There are two lessons in this
+      discourse: first, that in order to create one must be as a little child;
+      secondly, that it is only through existing law and order that one attains
+      to that height from which new law and new order may be promulgated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter II. The Academic Chairs of Virtue.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Almost the whole of this is quite comprehensible. It is a discourse
+      against all those who confound virtue with tameness and smug ease, and who
+      regard as virtuous only that which promotes security and tends to deepen
+      sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter IV. The Despisers of the Body.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Here Zarathustra gives names to the intellect and the instincts; he calls
+      the one &ldquo;the little sagacity&rdquo; and the latter &ldquo;the big sagacity.&rdquo;
+       Schopenhauer&rsquo;s teaching concerning the intellect is fully endorsed here.
+      &ldquo;An instrument of thy body is also thy little sagacity, my brother, which
+      thou callest &lsquo;spirit,&rsquo;&rdquo; says Zarathustra. From beginning to end it is a
+      warning to those who would think too lightly of the instincts and unduly
+      exalt the intellect and its derivatives: Reason and Understanding.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter IX. The Preachers of Death.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      This is an analysis of the psychology of all those who have the &ldquo;evil eye&rdquo;
+       and are pessimists by virtue of their constitutions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XV. The Thousand and One Goals.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      In this discourse Zarathustra opens his exposition of the doctrine of
+      relativity in morality, and declares all morality to be a mere means to
+      power. Needless to say that verses 9, 10, 11, and 12 refer to the Greeks,
+      the Persians, the Jews, and the Germans respectively. In the penultimate
+      verse he makes known his discovery concerning the root of modern Nihilism
+      and indifference,&mdash;i.e., that modern man has no goal, no aim, no
+      ideals (see Note A).
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XVIII. Old and Young Women.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Nietzsche&rsquo;s views on women have either to be loved at first sight or they
+      become perhaps the greatest obstacle in the way of those who otherwise
+      would be inclined to accept his philosophy. Women especially, of course,
+      have been taught to dislike them, because it has been rumoured that his
+      views are unfriendly to themselves. Now, to my mind, all this is pure
+      misunderstanding and error.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      German philosophers, thanks to Schopenhauer, have earned rather a bad name
+      for their views on women. It is almost impossible for one of them to write
+      a line on the subject, however kindly he may do so, without being
+      suspected of wishing to open a crusade against the fair sex. Despite the
+      fact, therefore, that all Nietzsche&rsquo;s views in this respect were dictated
+      to him by the profoundest love; despite Zarathustra&rsquo;s reservation in this
+      discourse, that &ldquo;with women nothing (that can be said) is impossible,&rdquo; and
+      in the face of other overwhelming evidence to the contrary, Nietzsche is
+      universally reported to have mis son pied dans le plat, where the female
+      sex is concerned. And what is the fundamental doctrine which has given
+      rise to so much bitterness and aversion?&mdash;Merely this: that the sexes
+      are at bottom ANTAGONISTIC&mdash;that is to say, as different as blue is
+      from yellow, and that the best possible means of rearing anything
+      approaching a desirable race is to preserve and to foster this profound
+      hostility. What Nietzsche strives to combat and to overthrow is the modern
+      democratic tendency which is slowly labouring to level all things&mdash;even
+      the sexes. His quarrel is not with women&mdash;what indeed could be more
+      undignified?&mdash;it is with those who would destroy the natural
+      relationship between the sexes, by modifying either the one or the other
+      with a view to making them more alike. The human world is just as
+      dependent upon women&rsquo;s powers as upon men&rsquo;s. It is women&rsquo;s strongest and
+      most valuable instincts which help to determine who are to be the fathers
+      of the next generation. By destroying these particular instincts, that is
+      to say by attempting to masculinise woman, and to feminise men, we
+      jeopardise the future of our people. The general democratic movement of
+      modern times, in its frantic struggle to mitigate all differences, is now
+      invading even the world of sex. It is against this movement that Nietzsche
+      raises his voice; he would have woman become ever more woman and man
+      become ever more man. Only thus, and he is undoubtedly right, can their
+      combined instincts lead to the excellence of humanity. Regarded in this
+      light, all his views on woman appear not only necessary but just (see Note
+      on Chapter LVI., par. 21.)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is interesting to observe that the last line of the discourse, which
+      has so frequently been used by women as a weapon against Nietzsche&rsquo;s views
+      concerning them, was suggested to Nietzsche by a woman (see &ldquo;Das Leben F.
+      Nietzsche&rsquo;s&rdquo;).
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXI. Voluntary Death.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      In regard to this discourse, I should only like to point out that
+      Nietzsche had a particular aversion to the word &ldquo;suicide&rdquo;&mdash;self-murder.
+      He disliked the evil it suggested, and in rechristening the act Voluntary
+      Death, i.e., the death that comes from no other hand than one&rsquo;s own, he
+      was desirous of elevating it to the position it held in classical
+      antiquity (see Aphorism 36 in &ldquo;The Twilight of the Idols&rdquo;).
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXII. The Bestowing Virtue.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      An important aspect of Nietzsche&rsquo;s philosophy is brought to light in this
+      discourse. His teaching, as is well known, places the Aristotelian man of
+      spirit, above all others in the natural divisions of man. The man with
+      overflowing strength, both of mind and body, who must discharge this
+      strength or perish, is the Nietzschean ideal. To such a man, giving from
+      his overflow becomes a necessity; bestowing develops into a means of
+      existence, and this is the only giving, the only charity, that Nietzsche
+      recognises. In paragraph 3 of the discourse, we read Zarathustra&rsquo;s healthy
+      exhortation to his disciples to become independent thinkers and to find
+      themselves before they learn any more from him (see Notes on Chapters
+      LVI., par. 5, and LXXIII., pars. 10, 11).
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      ... <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      PART II.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXIII. The Child with the Mirror.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Nietzsche tells us here, in a poetical form, how deeply grieved he was by
+      the manifold misinterpretations and misunderstandings which were becoming
+      rife concerning his publications. He does not recognise himself in the
+      mirror of public opinion, and recoils terrified from the distorted
+      reflection of his features. In verse 20 he gives us a hint which it were
+      well not to pass over too lightly; for, in the introduction to &ldquo;The
+      Genealogy of Morals&rdquo; (written in 1887) he finds it necessary to refer to
+      the matter again and with greater precision. The point is this, that a
+      creator of new values meets with his surest and strongest obstacles in the
+      very spirit of the language which is at his disposal. Words, like all
+      other manifestations of an evolving race, are stamped with the values that
+      have long been paramount in that race. Now, the original thinker who finds
+      himself compelled to use the current speech of his country in order to
+      impart new and hitherto untried views to his fellows, imposes a task upon
+      the natural means of communication which it is totally unfitted to
+      perform,&mdash;hence the obscurities and prolixities which are so
+      frequently met with in the writings of original thinkers. In the &ldquo;Dawn of
+      Day&rdquo;, Nietzsche actually cautions young writers against THE DANGER OF
+      ALLOWING THEIR THOUGHTS TO BE MOULDED BY THE WORDS AT THEIR DISPOSAL.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXIV. In the Happy Isles.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      While writing this, Nietzsche is supposed to have been thinking of the
+      island of Ischia which was ultimately destroyed by an earthquake. His
+      teaching here is quite clear. He was among the first thinkers of Europe to
+      overcome the pessimism which godlessness generally brings in its wake. He
+      points to creating as the surest salvation from the suffering which is a
+      concomitant of all higher life. &ldquo;What would there be to create,&rdquo; he asks,
+      &ldquo;if there were&mdash;Gods?&rdquo; His ideal, the Superman, lends him the
+      cheerfulness necessary to the overcoming of that despair usually attendant
+      upon godlessness and upon the apparent aimlessness of a world without a
+      god.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXIX. The Tarantulas.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The tarantulas are the Socialists and Democrats. This discourse offers us
+      an analysis of their mental attitude. Nietzsche refuses to be confounded
+      with those resentful and revengeful ones who condemn society FROM BELOW,
+      and whose criticism is only suppressed envy. &ldquo;There are those who preach
+      my doctrine of life,&rdquo; he says of the Nietzschean Socialists, &ldquo;and are at
+      the same time preachers of equality and tarantulas&rdquo; (see Notes on Chapter
+      XL. and Chapter LI.).
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXX. The Famous Wise Ones.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      This refers to all those philosophers hitherto, who have run in the
+      harness of established values and have not risked their reputation with
+      the people in pursuit of truth. The philosopher, however, as Nietzsche
+      understood him, is a man who creates new values, and thus leads mankind in
+      a new direction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXXIII. The Grave-Song.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Here Zarathustra sings about the ideals and friendships of his youth.
+      Verses 27 to 31 undoubtedly refer to Richard Wagner (see Note on Chapter
+      LXV.).
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXXIV. Self-Surpassing.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      In this discourse we get the best exposition in the whole book of
+      Nietzsche&rsquo;s doctrine of the Will to Power. I go into this question
+      thoroughly in the Note on Chapter LVII.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nietzsche was not an iconoclast from choice. Those who hastily class him
+      with the anarchists (or the Progressivists of the last century) fail to
+      understand the high esteem in which he always held both law and
+      discipline. In verse 41 of this most decisive discourse he truly explains
+      his position when he says: &ldquo;...he who hath to be a creator in good and
+      evil&mdash;verily he hath first to be a destroyer, and break values in
+      pieces.&rdquo; This teaching in regard to self-control is evidence enough of his
+      reverence for law.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXXV. The Sublime Ones.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      These belong to a type which Nietzsche did not altogether dislike, but
+      which he would fain have rendered more subtle and plastic. It is the type
+      that takes life and itself too seriously, that never surmounts the
+      camel-stage mentioned in the first discourse, and that is obdurately
+      sublime and earnest. To be able to smile while speaking of lofty things
+      and NOT TO BE OPPRESSED by them, is the secret of real greatness. He whose
+      hand trembles when it lays hold of a beautiful thing, has the quality of
+      reverence, without the artist&rsquo;s unembarrassed friendship with the
+      beautiful. Hence the mistakes which have arisen in regard to confounding
+      Nietzsche with his extreme opposites the anarchists and agitators. For
+      what they dare to touch and break with the impudence and irreverence of
+      the unappreciative, he seems likewise to touch and break,&mdash;but with
+      other fingers&mdash;with the fingers of the loving and unembarrassed
+      artist who is on good terms with the beautiful and who feels able to
+      create it and to enhance it with his touch. The question of taste plays an
+      important part in Nietzsche&rsquo;s philosophy, and verses 9, 10 of this
+      discourse exactly state Nietzsche&rsquo;s ultimate views on the subject. In the
+      &ldquo;Spirit of Gravity&rdquo;, he actually cries:&mdash;&ldquo;Neither a good nor a bad
+      taste, but MY taste, of which I have no longer either shame or secrecy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXXVI. The Land of Culture.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      This is a poetical epitome of some of the scathing criticism of scholars
+      which appears in the first of the &ldquo;Thoughts out of Season&rdquo;&mdash;the
+      polemical pamphlet (written in 1873) against David Strauss and his school.
+      He reproaches his former colleagues with being sterile and shows them that
+      their sterility is the result of their not believing in anything. &ldquo;He who
+      had to create, had always his presaging dreams and astral premonitions&mdash;and
+      believed in believing!&rdquo; (See Note on Chapter LXXVII.) In the last two
+      verses he reveals the nature of his altruism. How far it differs from that
+      of Christianity we have already read in the discourse &ldquo;Neighbour-Love&rdquo;,
+      but here he tells us definitely the nature of his love to mankind; he
+      explains why he was compelled to assail the Christian values of pity and
+      excessive love of the neighbour, not only because they are slave-values
+      and therefore tend to promote degeneration (see Note B.), but because he
+      could only love his children&rsquo;s land, the undiscovered land in a remote
+      sea; because he would fain retrieve the errors of his fathers in his
+      children.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXXVII. Immaculate Perception.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      An important feature of Nietzsche&rsquo;s interpretation of Life is disclosed in
+      this discourse. As Buckle suggests in his &ldquo;Influence of Women on the
+      Progress of Knowledge&rdquo;, the scientific spirit of the investigator is both
+      helped and supplemented by the latter&rsquo;s emotions and personality, and the
+      divorce of all emotionalism and individual temperament from science is a
+      fatal step towards sterility. Zarathustra abjures all those who would fain
+      turn an IMPERSONAL eye upon nature and contemplate her phenomena with that
+      pure objectivity to which the scientific idealists of to-day would so much
+      like to attain. He accuses such idealists of hypocrisy and guile; he says
+      they lack innocence in their desires and therefore slander all desiring.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXXVIII. Scholars.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      This is a record of Nietzsche&rsquo;s final breach with his former colleagues&mdash;the
+      scholars of Germany. Already after the publication of the &ldquo;Birth of
+      Tragedy&rdquo;, numbers of German philologists and professional philosophers had
+      denounced him as one who had strayed too far from their flock, and his
+      lectures at the University of Bale were deserted in consequence; but it
+      was not until 1879, when he finally severed all connection with University
+      work, that he may be said to have attained to the freedom and independence
+      which stamp this discourse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXXIX. Poets.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      People have sometimes said that Nietzsche had no sense of humour. I have
+      no intention of defending him here against such foolish critics; I should
+      only like to point out to the reader that we have him here at his best,
+      poking fun at himself, and at his fellow-poets (see Note on Chapter
+      LXIII., pars. 16, 17, 18, 19, 20).
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XL. Great Events.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Here we seem to have a puzzle. Zarathustra himself, while relating his
+      experience with the fire-dog to his disciples, fails to get them
+      interested in his narrative, and we also may be only too ready to turn
+      over these pages under the impression that they are little more than a
+      mere phantasy or poetical flight. Zarathustra&rsquo;s interview with the
+      fire-dog is, however, of great importance. In it we find Nietzsche face to
+      face with the creature he most sincerely loathes&mdash;the spirit of
+      revolution, and we obtain fresh hints concerning his hatred of the
+      anarchist and rebel. &ldquo;&lsquo;Freedom&rsquo; ye all roar most eagerly,&rdquo; he says to the
+      fire-dog, &ldquo;but I have unlearned the belief in &lsquo;Great Events&rsquo; when there is
+      much roaring and smoke about them. Not around the inventors of new noise,
+      but around the inventors of new values, doth the world revolve; INAUDIBLY
+      it revolveth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XLI. The Soothsayer.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      This refers, of course, to Schopenhauer. Nietzsche, as is well known, was
+      at one time an ardent follower of Schopenhauer. He overcame Pessimism by
+      discovering an object in existence; he saw the possibility of raising
+      society to a higher level and preached the profoundest Optimism in
+      consequence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XLII. Redemption.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Zarathustra here addresses cripples. He tells them of other cripples&mdash;the
+      GREAT MEN in this world who have one organ or faculty inordinately
+      developed at the cost of their other faculties. This is doubtless a
+      reference to a fact which is too often noticeable in the case of so many
+      of the world&rsquo;s giants in art, science, or religion. In verse 19 we are
+      told what Nietzsche called Redemption&mdash;that is to say, the ability to
+      say of all that is past: &ldquo;Thus would I have it.&rdquo; The in ability to say
+      this, and the resentment which results therefrom, he regards as the source
+      of all our feelings of revenge, and all our desires to punish&mdash;punishment
+      meaning to him merely a euphemism for the word revenge, invented in order
+      to still our consciences. He who can be proud of his enemies, who can be
+      grateful to them for the obstacles they have put in his way; he who can
+      regard his worst calamity as but the extra strain on the bow of his life,
+      which is to send the arrow of his longing even further than he could have
+      hoped;&mdash;this man knows no revenge, neither does he know despair, he
+      truly has found redemption and can turn on the worst in his life and even
+      in himself, and call it his best (see Notes on Chapter LVII.).
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XLIII. Manly Prudence.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      This discourse is very important. In &ldquo;Beyond Good and Evil&rdquo; we hear often
+      enough that the select and superior man must wear a mask, and here we find
+      this injunction explained. &ldquo;And he who would not languish amongst men,
+      must learn to drink out of all glasses: and he who would keep clean
+      amongst men, must know how to wash himself even with dirty water.&rdquo; This, I
+      venture to suggest, requires some explanation. At a time when
+      individuality is supposed to be shown most tellingly by putting boots on
+      one&rsquo;s hands and gloves on one&rsquo;s feet, it is somewhat refreshing to come
+      across a true individualist who feels the chasm between himself and others
+      so deeply, that he must perforce adapt himself to them outwardly, at
+      least, in all respects, so that the inner difference should be overlooked.
+      Nietzsche practically tells us here that it is not he who intentionally
+      wears eccentric clothes or does eccentric things who is truly the
+      individualist. The profound man, who is by nature differentiated from his
+      fellows, feels this difference too keenly to call attention to it by any
+      outward show. He is shamefast and bashful with those who surround him and
+      wishes not to be discovered by them, just as one instinctively avoids all
+      lavish display of comfort or wealth in the presence of a poor friend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XLIV. The Stillest Hour.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      This seems to me to give an account of the great struggle which must have
+      taken place in Nietzsche&rsquo;s soul before he finally resolved to make known
+      the more esoteric portions of his teaching. Our deepest feelings crave
+      silence. There is a certain self-respect in the serious man which makes
+      him hold his profoundest feelings sacred. Before they are uttered they are
+      full of the modesty of a virgin, and often the oldest sage will blush like
+      a girl when this virginity is violated by an indiscretion which forces him
+      to reveal his deepest thoughts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      ... <a name="link2H_PART3" id="link2H_PART3">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      PART III.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      This is perhaps the most important of all the four parts. If it contained
+      only &ldquo;The Vision and the Enigma&rdquo; and &ldquo;The Old and New Tables&rdquo; I should
+      still be of this opinion; for in the former of these discourses we meet
+      with what Nietzsche regarded as the crowning doctrine of his philosophy
+      and in &ldquo;The Old and New Tables&rdquo; we have a valuable epitome of practically
+      all his leading principles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XLVI. The Vision and the Enigma.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Vision and the Enigma&rdquo; is perhaps an example of Nietzsche in his most
+      obscure vein. We must know how persistently he inveighed against the
+      oppressing and depressing influence of man&rsquo;s sense of guilt and
+      consciousness of sin in order fully to grasp the significance of this
+      discourse. Slowly but surely, he thought the values of Christianity and
+      Judaic traditions had done their work in the minds of men. What were once
+      but expedients devised for the discipline of a certain portion of
+      humanity, had now passed into man&rsquo;s blood and had become instincts. This
+      oppressive and paralysing sense of guilt and of sin is what Nietzsche
+      refers to when he speaks of &ldquo;the spirit of gravity.&rdquo; This creature
+      half-dwarf, half-mole, whom he bears with him a certain distance on his
+      climb and finally defies, and whom he calls his devil and arch-enemy, is
+      nothing more than the heavy millstone &ldquo;guilty conscience,&rdquo; together with
+      the concept of sin which at present hangs round the neck of men. To rise
+      above it&mdash;to soar&mdash;is the most difficult of all things to-day.
+      Nietzsche is able to think cheerfully and optimistically of the
+      possibility of life in this world recurring again and again, when he has
+      once cast the dwarf from his shoulders, and he announces his doctrine of
+      the Eternal Recurrence of all things great and small to his arch-enemy and
+      in defiance of him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That there is much to be said for Nietzsche&rsquo;s hypothesis of the Eternal
+      Recurrence of all things great and small, nobody who has read the
+      literature on the subject will doubt for an instant; but it remains a very
+      daring conjecture notwithstanding and even in its ultimate effect, as a
+      dogma, on the minds of men, I venture to doubt whether Nietzsche ever
+      properly estimated its worth (see Note on Chapter LVII.).
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What follows is clear enough. Zarathustra sees a young shepherd struggling
+      on the ground with a snake holding fast to the back of his throat. The
+      sage, assuming that the snake must have crawled into the young man&rsquo;s mouth
+      while he lay sleeping, runs to his help and pulls at the loathsome reptile
+      with all his might, but in vain. At last, in despair, Zarathustra appeals
+      to the young man&rsquo;s will. Knowing full well what a ghastly operation he is
+      recommending, he nevertheless cries, &ldquo;Bite! Bite! Its head off! Bite!&rdquo; as
+      the only possible solution of the difficulty. The young shepherd bites,
+      and far away he spits the snake&rsquo;s head, whereupon he rises, &ldquo;No longer
+      shepherd, no longer man&mdash;a transfigured being, a light-surrounded
+      being, that LAUGHED! Never on earth laughed a man as he laughed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In this parable the young shepherd is obviously the man of to-day; the
+      snake that chokes him represents the stultifying and paralysing social
+      values that threaten to shatter humanity, and the advice &ldquo;Bite! Bite!&rdquo; is
+      but Nietzsche&rsquo;s exasperated cry to mankind to alter their values before it
+      is too late.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XLVII. Involuntary Bliss.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      This, like &ldquo;The Wanderer&rdquo;, is one of the many introspective passages in
+      the work, and is full of innuendos and hints as to the Nietzschean outlook
+      on life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XLVIII. Before Sunrise.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Here we have a record of Zarathustra&rsquo;s avowal of optimism, as also the
+      important statement concerning &ldquo;Chance&rdquo; or &ldquo;Accident&rdquo; (verse 27). Those
+      who are familiar with Nietzsche&rsquo;s philosophy will not require to be told
+      what an important role his doctrine of chance plays in his teaching. The
+      Giant Chance has hitherto played with the puppet &ldquo;man,&rdquo;&mdash;this is the
+      fact he cannot contemplate with equanimity. Man shall now exploit chance,
+      he says again and again, and make it fall on its knees before him! (See
+      verse 33 in &ldquo;On the Olive Mount&rdquo;, and verses 9-10 in &ldquo;The Bedwarfing
+      Virtue&rdquo;).
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XLIX. The Bedwarfing Virtue.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      This requires scarcely any comment. It is a satire on modern man and his
+      belittling virtues. In verses 23 and 24 of the second part of the
+      discourse we are reminded of Nietzsche&rsquo;s powerful indictment of the great
+      of to-day, in the Antichrist (Aphorism 43):&mdash;&ldquo;At present nobody has
+      any longer the courage for separate rights, for rights of domination, for
+      a feeling of reverence for himself and his equals,&mdash;FOR PATHOS OF
+      DISTANCE...Our politics are MORBID from this want of courage!&mdash;The
+      aristocracy of character has been undermined most craftily by the lie of
+      the equality of souls; and if the belief in the &lsquo;privilege of the many,&rsquo; 
+      makes revolutions and WILL CONTINUE TO MAKE them, it is Christianity, let
+      us not doubt it, it is CHRISTIAN valuations, which translate every
+      revolution merely into blood and crime!&rdquo; (see also &ldquo;Beyond Good and Evil&rdquo;,
+      pages 120, 121). Nietzsche thought it was a bad sign of the times that
+      even rulers have lost the courage of their positions, and that a man of
+      Frederick the Great&rsquo;s power and distinguished gifts should have been able
+      to say: &ldquo;Ich bin der erste Diener des Staates&rdquo; (I am the first servant of
+      the State.) To this utterance of the great sovereign, verse 24 undoubtedly
+      refers. &ldquo;Cowardice&rdquo; and &ldquo;Mediocrity,&rdquo; are the names with which he labels
+      modern notions of virtue and moderation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In Part III., we get the sentiments of the discourse &ldquo;In the Happy Isles&rdquo;,
+      but perhaps in stronger terms. Once again we find Nietzsche thoroughly at
+      ease, if not cheerful, as an atheist, and speaking with vertiginous daring
+      of making chance go on its knees to him. In verse 20, Zarathustra makes
+      yet another attempt at defining his entirely anti-anarchical attitude, and
+      unless such passages have been completely overlooked or deliberately
+      ignored hitherto by those who will persist in laying anarchy at his door,
+      it is impossible to understand how he ever became associated with that
+      foul political party.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The last verse introduces the expression, &ldquo;THE GREAT NOONTIDE!&rdquo; In the
+      poem to be found at the end of &ldquo;Beyond Good and Evil&rdquo;, we meet with the
+      expression again, and we shall find it occurring time and again in
+      Nietzsche&rsquo;s works. It will be found fully elucidated in the fifth part of
+      &ldquo;The Twilight of the Idols&rdquo;; but for those who cannot refer to this book,
+      it were well to point out that Nietzsche called the present period&mdash;our
+      period&mdash;the noon of man&rsquo;s history. Dawn is behind us. The childhood
+      of mankind is over. Now we KNOW; there is now no longer any excuse for
+      mistakes which will tend to botch and disfigure the type man. &ldquo;With
+      respect to what is past,&rdquo; he says, &ldquo;I have, like all discerning ones,
+      great toleration, that is to say, GENEROUS self-control...But my feeling
+      changes suddenly, and breaks out as soon as I enter the modern period, OUR
+      period. Our age KNOWS...&rdquo; (See Note on Chapter LXX.).
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LI. On Passing-by.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Here we find Nietzsche confronted with his extreme opposite, with him
+      therefore for whom he is most frequently mistaken by the unwary.
+      &ldquo;Zarathustra&rsquo;s ape&rdquo; he is called in the discourse. He is one of those at
+      whose hands Nietzsche had to suffer most during his life-time, and at
+      whose hands his philosophy has suffered most since his death. In this
+      respect it may seem a little trivial to speak of extremes meeting; but it
+      is wonderfully apt. Many have adopted Nietzsche&rsquo;s mannerisms and
+      word-coinages, who had nothing in common with him beyond the ideas and
+      &ldquo;business&rdquo; they plagiarised; but the superficial observer and a large
+      portion of the public, not knowing of these things,&mdash;not knowing
+      perhaps that there are iconoclasts who destroy out of love and are
+      therefore creators, and that there are others who destroy out of
+      resentment and revengefulness and who are therefore revolutionists and
+      anarchists,&mdash;are prone to confound the two, to the detriment of the
+      nobler type.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      If we now read what the fool says to Zarathustra, and note the tricks of
+      speech he has borrowed from him: if we carefully follow the attitude he
+      assumes, we shall understand why Zarathustra finally interrupts him. &ldquo;Stop
+      this at once,&rdquo; Zarathustra cries, &ldquo;long have thy speech and thy species
+      disgusted me...Out of love alone shall my contempt and my warning bird
+      take wing; BUT NOT OUT OF THE SWAMP!&rdquo; It were well if this discourse were
+      taken to heart by all those who are too ready to associate Nietzsche with
+      lesser and noiser men,&mdash;with mountebanks and mummers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LII. The Apostates.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      It is clear that this applies to all those breathless and hasty &ldquo;tasters
+      of everything,&rdquo; who plunge too rashly into the sea of independent thought
+      and &ldquo;heresy,&rdquo; and who, having miscalculated their strength, find it
+      impossible to keep their head above water. &ldquo;A little older, a little
+      colder,&rdquo; says Nietzsche. They soon clamber back to the conventions of the
+      age they intended reforming. The French then say &ldquo;le diable se fait
+      hermite,&rdquo; but these men, as a rule, have never been devils, neither do
+      they become angels; for, in order to be really good or evil, some strength
+      and deep breathing is required. Those who are more interested in
+      supporting orthodoxy than in being over nice concerning the kind of
+      support they give it, often refer to these people as evidence in favour of
+      the true faith.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LIII. The Return Home.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      This is an example of a class of writing which may be passed over too
+      lightly by those whom poetasters have made distrustful of poetry. From
+      first to last it is extremely valuable as an autobiographical note. The
+      inevitable superficiality of the rabble is contrasted with the peaceful
+      and profound depths of the anchorite. Here we first get a direct hint
+      concerning Nietzsche&rsquo;s fundamental passion&mdash;the main force behind all
+      his new values and scathing criticism of existing values. In verse 30 we
+      are told that pity was his greatest danger. The broad altruism of the
+      law-giver, thinking over vast eras of time, was continually being pitted
+      by Nietzsche, in himself, against that transient and meaner sympathy for
+      the neighbour which he more perhaps than any of his contemporaries had
+      suffered from, but which he was certain involved enormous dangers not only
+      for himself but also to the next and subsequent generations (see Note B.,
+      where &ldquo;pity&rdquo; is mentioned among the degenerate virtues). Later in the book
+      we shall see how his profound compassion leads him into temptation, and
+      how frantically he struggles against it. In verses 31 and 32, he tells us
+      to what extent he had to modify himself in order to be endured by his
+      fellows whom he loved (see also verse 12 in &ldquo;Manly Prudence&rdquo;). Nietzsche&rsquo;s
+      great love for his fellows, which he confesses in the Prologue, and which
+      is at the root of all his teaching, seems rather to elude the discerning
+      powers of the average philanthropist and modern man. He cannot see the
+      wood for the trees. A philanthropy that sacrifices the minority of the
+      present-day for the majority constituting posterity, completely evades his
+      mental grasp, and Nietzsche&rsquo;s philosophy, because it declares Christian
+      values to be a danger to the future of our kind, is therefore shelved as
+      brutal, cold, and hard (see Note on Chapter XXXVI.). Nietzsche tried to be
+      all things to all men; he was sufficiently fond of his fellows for that:
+      in the Return Home he describes how he ultimately returns to loneliness in
+      order to recover from the effects of his experiment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LIV. The Three Evil Things.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Nietzsche is here completely in his element. Three things hitherto
+      best-cursed and most calumniated on earth, are brought forward to be
+      weighed. Voluptuousness, thirst of power, and selfishness,&mdash;the three
+      forces in humanity which Christianity has done most to garble and
+      besmirch,&mdash;Nietzsche endeavours to reinstate in their former places
+      of honour. Voluptuousness, or sensual pleasure, is a dangerous thing to
+      discuss nowadays. If we mention it with favour we may be regarded, however
+      unjustly, as the advocate of savages, satyrs, and pure sensuality. If we
+      condemn it, we either go over to the Puritans or we join those who are
+      wont to come to table with no edge to their appetites and who therefore
+      grumble at all good fare. There can be no doubt that the value of healthy
+      innocent voluptuousness, like the value of health itself, must have been
+      greatly discounted by all those who, resenting their inability to partake
+      of this world&rsquo;s goods, cried like St Paul: &ldquo;I would that all men were even
+      as I myself.&rdquo; Now Nietzsche&rsquo;s philosophy might be called an attempt at
+      giving back to healthy and normal men innocence and a clean conscience in
+      their desires&mdash;NOT to applaud the vulgar sensualists who respond to
+      every stimulus and whose passions are out of hand; not to tell the mean,
+      selfish individual, whose selfishness is a pollution (see Aphorism 33,
+      &ldquo;Twilight of the Idols&rdquo;), that he is right, nor to assure the weak, the
+      sick, and the crippled, that the thirst of power, which they gratify by
+      exploiting the happier and healthier individuals, is justified;&mdash;but
+      to save the clean healthy man from the values of those around him, who
+      look at everything through the mud that is in their own bodies,&mdash;to
+      give him, and him alone, a clean conscience in his manhood and the desires
+      of his manhood. &ldquo;Do I counsel you to slay your instincts? I counsel to
+      innocence in your instincts.&rdquo; In verse 7 of the second paragraph (as in
+      verse I of paragraph 19 in &ldquo;The Old and New Tables&rdquo;) Nietzsche gives us a
+      reason for his occasional obscurity (see also verses 3 to 7 of &ldquo;Poets&rdquo;).
+      As I have already pointed out, his philosophy is quite esoteric. It can
+      serve no purpose with the ordinary, mediocre type of man. I, personally,
+      can no longer have any doubt that Nietzsche&rsquo;s only object, in that part of
+      his philosophy where he bids his friends stand &ldquo;Beyond Good and Evil&rdquo; with
+      him, was to save higher men, whose growth and scope might be limited by
+      the too strict observance of modern values from foundering on the rocks of
+      a &ldquo;Compromise&rdquo; between their own genius and traditional conventions. The
+      only possible way in which the great man can achieve greatness is by means
+      of exceptional freedom&mdash;the freedom which assists him in experiencing
+      HIMSELF. Verses 20 to 30 afford an excellent supplement to Nietzsche&rsquo;s
+      description of the attitude of the noble type towards the slaves in
+      Aphorism 260 of the work &ldquo;Beyond Good and Evil&rdquo; (see also Note B.)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LV. The Spirit of Gravity.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      (See Note on Chapter XLVI.) In Part II. of this discourse we meet with a
+      doctrine not touched upon hitherto, save indirectly;&mdash;I refer to the
+      doctrine of self-love. We should try to understand this perfectly before
+      proceeding; for it is precisely views of this sort which, after having
+      been cut out of the original context, are repeated far and wide as
+      internal evidence proving the general unsoundness of Nietzsche&rsquo;s
+      philosophy. Already in the last of the &ldquo;Thoughts out of Season&rdquo; Nietzsche
+      speaks as follows about modern men: &ldquo;...these modern creatures wish rather
+      to be hunted down, wounded and torn to shreds, than to live alone with
+      themselves in solitary calm. Alone with oneself!&mdash;this thought
+      terrifies the modern soul; it is his one anxiety, his one ghastly fear&rdquo;
+       (English Edition, page 141). In his feverish scurry to find entertainment
+      and diversion, whether in a novel, a newspaper, or a play, the modern man
+      condemns his own age utterly; for he shows that in his heart of hearts he
+      despises himself. One cannot change a condition of this sort in a day; to
+      become endurable to oneself an inner transformation is necessary. Too long
+      have we lost ourselves in our friends and entertainments to be able to
+      find ourselves so soon at another&rsquo;s bidding. &ldquo;And verily, it is no
+      commandment for to-day and to-morrow to LEARN to love oneself. Rather is
+      it of all arts the finest, subtlest, last, and patientest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In the last verse Nietzsche challenges us to show that our way is the
+      right way. In his teaching he does not coerce us, nor does he
+      overpersuade; he simply says: &ldquo;I am a law only for mine own, I am not a
+      law for all. This&mdash;is now MY way,&mdash;where is yours?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LVI. Old and New Tables. Par. 2.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Nietzsche himself declares this to be the most decisive portion of the
+      whole of &ldquo;Thus Spake Zarathustra&rdquo;. It is a sort of epitome of his leading
+      doctrines. In verse 12 of the second paragraph, we learn how he himself
+      would fain have abandoned the poetical method of expression had he not
+      known only too well that the only chance a new doctrine has of surviving,
+      nowadays, depends upon its being given to the world in some kind of
+      art-form. Just as prophets, centuries ago, often had to have recourse to
+      the mask of madness in order to mitigate the hatred of those who did not
+      and could not see as they did; so, to-day, the struggle for existence
+      among opinions and values is so great, that an art-form is practically the
+      only garb in which a new philosophy can dare to introduce itself to us.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pars. 3 and 4.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Many of the paragraphs will be found to be merely reminiscent of former
+      discourses. For instance, par. 3 recalls &ldquo;Redemption&rdquo;. The last verse of
+      par. 4 is important. Freedom which, as I have pointed out before,
+      Nietzsche considered a dangerous acquisition in inexperienced or unworthy
+      hands, here receives its death-blow as a general desideratum. In the first
+      Part we read under &ldquo;The Way of the Creating One&rdquo;, that freedom as an end
+      in itself does not concern Zarathustra at all. He says there: &ldquo;Free from
+      what? What doth that matter to Zarathustra? Clearly, however, shall thine
+      eye answer me: free FOR WHAT?&rdquo; And in &ldquo;The Bedwarfing Virtue&rdquo;: &ldquo;Ah that ye
+      understood my word: &lsquo;Do ever what ye will&mdash;but first be such as CAN
+      WILL.&rsquo;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Par. 5.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here we have a description of the kind of altruism Nietzsche exacted from
+      higher men. It is really a comment upon &ldquo;The Bestowing Virtue&rdquo; (see Note
+      on Chapter XXII.).
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Par. 6.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This refers, of course, to the reception pioneers of Nietzsche&rsquo;s stamp
+      meet with at the hands of their contemporaries.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Par. 8.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nietzsche teaches that nothing is stable,&mdash;not even values,&mdash;not
+      even the concepts good and evil. He likens life unto a stream. But
+      foot-bridges and railings span the stream, and they seem to stand firm.
+      Many will be reminded of good and evil when they look upon these
+      structures; for thus these same values stand over the stream of life, and
+      life flows on beneath them and leaves them standing. When, however, winter
+      comes and the stream gets frozen, many inquire: &ldquo;Should not everything&mdash;STAND
+      STILL? Fundamentally everything standeth still.&rdquo; But soon the spring
+      cometh and with it the thaw-wind. It breaks the ice, and the ice breaks
+      down the foot-bridges and railings, whereupon everything is swept away.
+      This state of affairs, according to Nietzsche, has now been reached. &ldquo;Oh,
+      my brethren, is not everything AT PRESENT IN FLUX? Have not all railings
+      and foot-bridges fallen into the water? Who would still HOLD ON to &lsquo;good&rsquo; 
+      and &lsquo;evil&rsquo;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Par. 9.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This is complementary to the first three verses of par. 2.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Par. 10.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So far, this is perhaps the most important paragraph. It is a protest
+      against reading a moral order of things in life. &ldquo;Life is something
+      essentially immoral!&rdquo; Nietzsche tells us in the introduction to the &ldquo;Birth
+      of Tragedy&rdquo;. Even to call life &ldquo;activity,&rdquo; or to define it further as &ldquo;the
+      continuous adjustment of internal relations to external relations,&rdquo; as
+      Spencer has it, Nietzsche characterises as a &ldquo;democratic idiosyncracy.&rdquo; He
+      says to define it in this way, &ldquo;is to mistake the true nature and function
+      of life, which is Will to Power...Life is ESSENTIALLY appropriation,
+      injury, conquest of the strange and weak, suppression, severity, obtrusion
+      of its own forms, incorporation and at least, putting it mildest,
+      exploitation.&rdquo; Adaptation is merely a secondary activity, a mere
+      re-activity (see Note on Chapter LVII.).
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pars. 11, 12.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      These deal with Nietzsche&rsquo;s principle of the desirability of rearing a
+      select race. The biological and historical grounds for his insistence upon
+      this principle are, of course, manifold. Gobineau in his great work,
+      &ldquo;L&rsquo;Inegalite des Races Humaines&rdquo;, lays strong emphasis upon the evils
+      which arise from promiscuous and inter-social marriages. He alone would
+      suffice to carry Nietzsche&rsquo;s point against all those who are opposed to
+      the other conditions, to the conditions which would have saved Rome, which
+      have maintained the strength of the Jewish race, and which are strictly
+      maintained by every breeder of animals throughout the world. Darwin in his
+      remarks relative to the degeneration of CULTIVATED types of animals
+      through the action of promiscuous breeding, brings Gobineau support from
+      the realm of biology.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The last two verses of par. 12 were discussed in the Notes on Chapters
+      XXXVI. and LIII.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Par. 13.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This, like the first part of &ldquo;The Soothsayer&rdquo;, is obviously a reference to
+      the Schopenhauerian Pessimism.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pars. 14, 15, 16, 17.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      These are supplementary to the discourse &ldquo;Backworld&rsquo;s-men&rdquo;.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Par. 18.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We must be careful to separate this paragraph, in sense, from the previous
+      four paragraphs. Nietzsche is still dealing with Pessimism here; but it is
+      the pessimism of the hero&mdash;the man most susceptible of all to
+      desperate views of life, owing to the obstacles that are arrayed against
+      him in a world where men of his kind are very rare and are continually
+      being sacrificed. It was to save this man that Nietzsche wrote. Heroism
+      foiled, thwarted, and wrecked, hoping and fighting until the last, is at
+      length overtaken by despair, and renounces all struggle for sleep. This is
+      not the natural or constitutional pessimism which proceeds from an
+      unhealthy body&mdash;the dyspeptic&rsquo;s lack of appetite; it is rather the
+      desperation of the netted lion that ultimately stops all movement, because
+      the more it moves the more involved it becomes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Par. 20.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All that increases power is good, all that springs from weakness is bad.
+      The weak and ill-constituted shall perish: first principle of our charity.
+      And one shall also help them thereto.&rdquo; Nietzsche partly divined the kind
+      of reception moral values of this stamp would meet with at the hands of
+      the effeminate manhood of Europe. Here we see that he had anticipated the
+      most likely form their criticism would take (see also the last two verses
+      of par. 17).
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Par. 21.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The first ten verses, here, are reminiscent of &ldquo;War and Warriors&rdquo; and of
+      &ldquo;The Flies in the Market-place.&rdquo; Verses 11 and 12, however, are
+      particularly important. There is a strong argument in favour of the sharp
+      differentiation of castes and of races (and even of sexes; see Note on
+      Chapter XVIII.) running all through Nietzsche&rsquo;s writings. But sharp
+      differentiation also implies antagonism in some form or other&mdash;hence
+      Nietzsche&rsquo;s fears for modern men. What modern men desire above all, is
+      peace and the cessation of pain. But neither great races nor great castes
+      have ever been built up in this way. &ldquo;Who still wanteth to rule?&rdquo;
+       Zarathustra asks in the &ldquo;Prologue&rdquo;. &ldquo;Who still wanteth to obey? Both are
+      too burdensome.&rdquo; This is rapidly becoming everybody&rsquo;s attitude to-day. The
+      tame moral reading of the face of nature, together with such democratic
+      interpretations of life as those suggested by Herbert Spencer, are signs
+      of a physiological condition which is the reverse of that bounding and
+      irresponsible healthiness in which harder and more tragic values rule.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Par. 24.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This should be read in conjunction with &ldquo;Child and Marriage&rdquo;. In the fifth
+      verse we shall recognise our old friend &ldquo;Marriage on the ten-years
+      system,&rdquo; which George Meredith suggested some years ago. This, however,
+      must not be taken too literally. I do not think Nietzsche&rsquo;s profoundest
+      views on marriage were ever intended to be given over to the public at
+      all, at least not for the present. They appear in the biography by his
+      sister, and although their wisdom is unquestionable, the nature of the
+      reforms he suggests render it impossible for them to become popular just
+      now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pars. 26, 27.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      See Note on &ldquo;The Prologue&rdquo;.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Par. 28.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nietzsche was not an iconoclast from predilection. No bitterness or empty
+      hate dictated his vituperations against existing values and against the
+      dogmas of his parents and forefathers. He knew too well what these things
+      meant to the millions who profess them, to approach the task of uprooting
+      them with levity or even with haste. He saw what modern anarchists and
+      revolutionists do NOT see&mdash;namely, that man is in danger of actual
+      destruction when his customs and values are broken. I need hardly point
+      out, therefore, how deeply he was conscious of the responsibility he threw
+      upon our shoulders when he invited us to reconsider our position. The
+      lines in this paragraph are evidence enough of his earnestness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LVII. The Convalescent.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      We meet with several puzzles here. Zarathustra calls himself the advocate
+      of the circle (the Eternal Recurrence of all things), and he calls this
+      doctrine his abysmal thought. In the last verse of the first paragraph,
+      however, after hailing his deepest thought, he cries: &ldquo;Disgust, disgust,
+      disgust!&rdquo; We know Nietzsche&rsquo;s ideal man was that &ldquo;world-approving,
+      exuberant, and vivacious creature, who has not only learnt to compromise
+      and arrange with that which was and is, but wishes to have it again, AS IT
+      WAS AND IS, for all eternity insatiably calling out da capo, not only to
+      himself, but to the whole piece and play&rdquo; (see Note on Chapter XLII.). But
+      if one ask oneself what the conditions to such an attitude are, one will
+      realise immediately how utterly different Nietzsche was from his ideal.
+      The man who insatiably cries da capo to himself and to the whole of his
+      mise-en-scene, must be in a position to desire every incident in his life
+      to be repeated, not once, but again and again eternally. Now, Nietzsche&rsquo;s
+      life had been too full of disappointments, illness, unsuccessful
+      struggles, and snubs, to allow of his thinking of the Eternal Recurrence
+      without loathing&mdash;hence probably the words of the last verse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In verses 15 and 16, we have Nietzsche declaring himself an evolutionist
+      in the broadest sense&mdash;that is to say, that he believes in the
+      Development Hypothesis as the description of the process by which species
+      have originated. Now, to understand his position correctly we must show
+      his relationship to the two greatest of modern evolutionists&mdash;Darwin
+      and Spencer. As a philosopher, however, Nietzsche does not stand or fall
+      by his objections to the Darwinian or Spencerian cosmogony. He never laid
+      claim to a very profound knowledge of biology, and his criticism is far
+      more valuable as the attitude of a fresh mind than as that of a specialist
+      towards the question. Moreover, in his objections many difficulties are
+      raised which are not settled by an appeal to either of the men above
+      mentioned. We have given Nietzsche&rsquo;s definition of life in the Note on
+      Chapter LVI., par. 10. Still, there remains a hope that Darwin and
+      Nietzsche may some day become reconciled by a new description of the
+      processes by which varieties occur. The appearance of varieties among
+      animals and of &ldquo;sporting plants&rdquo; in the vegetable kingdom, is still
+      shrouded in mystery, and the question whether this is not precisely the
+      ground on which Darwin and Nietzsche will meet, is an interesting one. The
+      former says in his &ldquo;Origin of Species&rdquo;, concerning the causes of
+      variability: &ldquo;...there are two factors, namely, the nature of the
+      organism, and the nature of the conditions. THE FORMER SEEMS TO BE MUCH
+      THE MORE IMPORTANT (The italics are mine.), for nearly similar variations
+      sometimes arise under, as far as we can judge, dissimilar conditions; and
+      on the other hand, dissimilar variations arise under conditions which
+      appear to be nearly uniform.&rdquo; Nietzsche, recognising this same truth,
+      would ascribe practically all the importance to the &ldquo;highest functionaries
+      in the organism, in which the life-will appears as an active and formative
+      principle,&rdquo; and except in certain cases (where passive organisms alone are
+      concerned) would not give such a prominent place to the influence of
+      environment. Adaptation, according to him, is merely a secondary activity,
+      a mere re-activity, and he is therefore quite opposed to Spencer&rsquo;s
+      definition: &ldquo;Life is the continuous adjustment of internal relations to
+      external relations.&rdquo; Again in the motive force behind animal and plant
+      life, Nietzsche disagrees with Darwin. He transforms the &ldquo;Struggle for
+      Existence&rdquo;&mdash;the passive and involuntary condition&mdash;into the
+      &ldquo;Struggle for Power,&rdquo; which is active and creative, and much more in
+      harmony with Darwin&rsquo;s own view, given above, concerning the importance of
+      the organism itself. The change is one of such far-reaching importance
+      that we cannot dispose of it in a breath, as a mere play upon words. &ldquo;Much
+      is reckoned higher than life itself by the living one.&rdquo; Nietzsche says
+      that to speak of the activity of life as a &ldquo;struggle for existence,&rdquo; is to
+      state the case inadequately. He warns us not to confound Malthus with
+      nature. There is something more than this struggle between the organic
+      beings on this earth; want, which is supposed to bring this struggle
+      about, is not so common as is supposed; some other force must be
+      operative. The Will to Power is this force, &ldquo;the instinct of
+      self-preservation is only one of the indirect and most frequent results
+      thereof.&rdquo; A certain lack of acumen in psychological questions and the
+      condition of affairs in England at the time Darwin wrote, may both,
+      according to Nietzsche, have induced the renowned naturalist to describe
+      the forces of nature as he did in his &ldquo;Origin of Species&rdquo;.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In verses 28, 29, and 30 of the second portion of this discourse we meet
+      with a doctrine which, at first sight, seems to be merely &ldquo;le manoir a
+      l&rsquo;envers,&rdquo; indeed one English critic has actually said of Nietzsche, that
+      &ldquo;Thus Spake Zarathustra&rdquo; is no more than a compendium of modern views and
+      maxims turned upside down. Examining these heterodox pronouncements a
+      little more closely, however, we may possibly perceive their truth.
+      Regarding good and evil as purely relative values, it stands to reason
+      that what may be bad or evil in a given man, relative to a certain
+      environment, may actually be good if not highly virtuous in him relative
+      to a certain other environment. If this hypothetical man represent the
+      ascending line of life&mdash;that is to say, if he promise all that which
+      is highest in a Graeco-Roman sense, then it is likely that he will be
+      condemned as wicked if introduced into the society of men representing the
+      opposite and descending line of life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By depriving a man of his wickedness&mdash;more particularly nowadays&mdash;
+      therefore, one may unwittingly be doing violence to the greatest in him.
+      It may be an outrage against his wholeness, just as the lopping-off of a
+      leg would be. Fortunately, the natural so-called &ldquo;wickedness&rdquo; of higher
+      men has in a certain measure been able to resist this lopping process
+      which successive slave-moralities have practised; but signs are not
+      wanting which show that the noblest wickedness is fast vanishing from
+      society&mdash;the wickedness of courage and determination&mdash;and that
+      Nietzsche had good reasons for crying: &ldquo;Ah, that (man&rsquo;s) baddest is so
+      very small! Ah, that his best is so very small. What is good? To be brave
+      is good! It is the good war which halloweth every cause!&rdquo; (see also par.
+      5, &ldquo;Higher Man&rdquo;).
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LX. The Seven Seals.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      This is a final paean which Zarathustra sings to Eternity and the
+      marriage-ring of rings, the ring of the Eternal Recurrence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      ... <a name="link2H_PART4" id="link2H_PART4">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      PART IV.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      In my opinion this part is Nietzsche&rsquo;s open avowal that all his
+      philosophy, together with all his hopes, enthusiastic outbursts,
+      blasphemies, prolixities, and obscurities, were merely so many gifts laid
+      at the feet of higher men. He had no desire to save the world. What he
+      wished to determine was: Who is to be master of the world? This is a very
+      different thing. He came to save higher men;&mdash;to give them that
+      freedom by which, alone, they can develop and reach their zenith (see Note
+      on Chapter LIV., end). It has been argued, and with considerable force,
+      that no such philosophy is required by higher men, that, as a matter of
+      fact, higher men, by virtue of their constitutions always, do stand Beyond
+      Good and Evil, and never allow anything to stand in the way of their
+      complete growth. Nietzsche, however, was evidently not so confident about
+      this. He would probably have argued that we only see the successful cases.
+      Being a great man himself, he was well aware of the dangers threatening
+      greatness in our age. In &ldquo;Beyond Good and Evil&rdquo; he writes: &ldquo;There are few
+      pains so grievous as to have seen, divined, or experienced how an
+      exceptional man has missed his way and deteriorated...&rdquo; He knew &ldquo;from his
+      painfullest recollections on what wretched obstacles promising
+      developments of the highest rank have hitherto usually gone to pieces,
+      broken down, sunk, and become contemptible.&rdquo; Now in Part IV. we shall find
+      that his strongest temptation to descend to the feeling of &ldquo;pity&rdquo; for his
+      contemporaries, is the &ldquo;cry for help&rdquo; which he hears from the lips of the
+      higher men exposed to the dreadful danger of their modern environment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LXI. The Honey Sacrifice.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      In the fourteenth verse of this discourse Nietzsche defines the solemn
+      duty he imposed upon himself: &ldquo;Become what thou art.&rdquo; Surely the criticism
+      which has been directed against this maxim must all fall to the ground
+      when it is remembered, once and for all, that Nietzsche&rsquo;s teaching was
+      never intended to be other than an esoteric one. &ldquo;I am a law only for mine
+      own,&rdquo; he says emphatically, &ldquo;I am not a law for all.&rdquo; It is of the
+      greatest importance to humanity that its highest individuals should be
+      allowed to attain to their full development; for, only by means of its
+      heroes can the human race be led forward step by step to higher and yet
+      higher levels. &ldquo;Become what thou art&rdquo; applied to all, of course, becomes a
+      vicious maxim; it is to be hoped, however, that we may learn in time that
+      the same action performed by a given number of men, loses its identity
+      precisely that same number of times.&mdash;&ldquo;Quod licet Jovi, non licet
+      bovi.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the last eight verses many readers may be tempted to laugh. In England
+      we almost always laugh when a man takes himself seriously at anything save
+      sport. And there is of course no reason why the reader should not be
+      hilarious.&mdash;A certain greatness is requisite, both in order to be
+      sublime and to have reverence for the sublime. Nietzsche earnestly
+      believed that the Zarathustra-kingdom&mdash;his dynasty of a thousand
+      years&mdash;would one day come; if he had not believed it so earnestly, if
+      every artist in fact had not believed so earnestly in his Hazar, whether
+      of ten, fifteen, a hundred, or a thousand years, we should have lost all
+      our higher men; they would have become pessimists, suicides, or merchants.
+      If the minor poet and philosopher has made us shy of the prophetic
+      seriousness which characterized an Isaiah or a Jeremiah, it is surely our
+      loss and the minor poet&rsquo;s gain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LXII. The Cry of Distress.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      We now meet with Zarathustra in extraordinary circumstances. He is
+      confronted with Schopenhauer and tempted by the old Soothsayer to commit
+      the sin of pity. &ldquo;I have come that I may seduce thee to thy last sin!&rdquo;
+       says the Soothsayer to Zarathustra. It will be remembered that in
+      Schopenhauer&rsquo;s ethics, pity is elevated to the highest place among the
+      virtues, and very consistently too, seeing that the Weltanschauung is a
+      pessimistic one. Schopenhauer appeals to Nietzsche&rsquo;s deepest and strongest
+      sentiment&mdash;his sympathy for higher men. &ldquo;Why dost thou conceal
+      thyself?&rdquo; he cries. &ldquo;It is THE HIGHER MAN that calleth for thee!&rdquo;
+       Zarathustra is almost overcome by the Soothsayer&rsquo;s pleading, as he had
+      been once already in the past, but he resists him step by step. At length
+      he can withstand him no longer, and, on the plea that the higher man is on
+      his ground and therefore under his protection, Zarathustra departs in
+      search of him, leaving Schopenhauer&mdash;a higher man in Nietzsche&rsquo;s
+      opinion&mdash;in the cave as a guest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LXIII. Talk with the Kings.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      On his way Zarathustra meets two more higher men of his time; two kings
+      cross his path. They are above the average modern type; for their
+      instincts tell them what real ruling is, and they despise the mockery
+      which they have been taught to call &ldquo;Reigning.&rdquo; &ldquo;We ARE NOT the first
+      men,&rdquo; they say, &ldquo;and have nevertheless to STAND FOR them: of this
+      imposture have we at last become weary and disgusted.&rdquo; It is the kings who
+      tell Zarathustra: &ldquo;There is no sorer misfortune in all human destiny than
+      when the mighty of the earth are not also the first men. There everything
+      becometh false and distorted and monstrous.&rdquo; The kings are also asked by
+      Zarathustra to accept the shelter of his cave, whereupon he proceeds on
+      his way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LXIV. The Leech.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Among the higher men whom Zarathustra wishes to save, is also the
+      scientific specialist&mdash;the man who honestly and scrupulously pursues
+      his investigations, as Darwin did, in one department of knowledge. &ldquo;I love
+      him who liveth in order to know, and seeketh to know in order that the
+      Superman may hereafter live. Thus seeketh he his own down-going.&rdquo; &ldquo;The
+      spiritually conscientious one,&rdquo; he is called in this discourse.
+      Zarathustra steps on him unawares, and the slave of science, bleeding from
+      the violence he has done to himself by his self-imposed task, speaks
+      proudly of his little sphere of knowledge&mdash;his little hand&rsquo;s breadth
+      of ground on Zarathustra&rsquo;s territory, philosophy. &ldquo;Where mine honesty
+      ceaseth,&rdquo; says the true scientific specialist, &ldquo;there am I blind and want
+      also to be blind. Where I want to know, however, there want I also to be
+      honest&mdash;namely, severe, rigorous, restricted, cruel, and inexorable.&rdquo;
+       Zarathustra greatly respecting this man, invites him too to the cave, and
+      then vanishes in answer to another cry for help.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LXV. The Magician.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The Magician is of course an artist, and Nietzsche&rsquo;s intimate knowledge of
+      perhaps the greatest artist of his age rendered the selection of Wagner,
+      as the type in this discourse, almost inevitable. Most readers will be
+      acquainted with the facts relating to Nietzsche&rsquo;s and Wagner&rsquo;s friendship
+      and ultimate separation. As a boy and a youth Nietzsche had shown such a
+      remarkable gift for music that it had been a question at one time whether
+      he should not perhaps give up everything else in order to develop this
+      gift, but he became a scholar notwithstanding, although he never entirely
+      gave up composing, and playing the piano. While still in his teens, he
+      became acquainted with Wagner&rsquo;s music and grew passionately fond of it.
+      Long before he met Wagner he must have idealised him in his mind to an
+      extent which only a profoundly artistic nature could have been capable of.
+      Nietzsche always had high ideals for humanity. If one were asked whether,
+      throughout his many changes, there was yet one aim, one direction, and one
+      hope to which he held fast, one would be forced to reply in the
+      affirmative and declare that aim, direction, and hope to have been &ldquo;the
+      elevation of the type man.&rdquo; Now, when Nietzsche met Wagner he was actually
+      casting about for an incarnation of his dreams for the German people, and
+      we have only to remember his youth (he was twenty-one when he was
+      introduced to Wagner), his love of Wagner&rsquo;s music, and the undoubted power
+      of the great musician&rsquo;s personality, in order to realise how very
+      uncritical his attitude must have been in the first flood of his
+      enthusiasm. Again, when the friendship ripened, we cannot well imagine
+      Nietzsche, the younger man, being anything less than intoxicated by his
+      senior&rsquo;s attention and love, and we are therefore not surprised to find
+      him pressing Wagner forward as the great Reformer and Saviour of mankind.
+      &ldquo;Wagner in Bayreuth&rdquo; (English Edition, 1909) gives us the best proof of
+      Nietzsche&rsquo;s infatuation, and although signs are not wanting in this essay
+      which show how clearly and even cruelly he was sub-consciously &ldquo;taking
+      stock&rdquo; of his friend&mdash;even then, the work is a record of what great
+      love and admiration can do in the way of endowing the object of one&rsquo;s
+      affection with all the qualities and ideals that a fertile imagination can
+      conceive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the blow came it was therefore all the more severe. Nietzsche at
+      length realised that the friend of his fancy and the real Richard Wagner&mdash;the
+      composer of Parsifal&mdash;were not one; the fact dawned upon him slowly;
+      disappointment upon disappointment, revelation after revelation,
+      ultimately brought it home to him, and though his best instincts were
+      naturally opposed to it at first, the revulsion of feeling at last became
+      too strong to be ignored, and Nietzsche was plunged into the blackest
+      despair. Years after his break with Wagner, he wrote &ldquo;The Case of Wagner&rdquo;,
+      and &ldquo;Nietzsche contra Wagner&rdquo;, and these works are with us to prove the
+      sincerity and depth of his views on the man who was the greatest event of
+      his life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The poem in this discourse is, of course, reminiscent of Wagner&rsquo;s own
+      poetical manner, and it must be remembered that the whole was written
+      subsequent to Nietzsche&rsquo;s final break with his friend. The dialogue
+      between Zarathustra and the Magician reveals pretty fully what it was that
+      Nietzsche grew to loathe so intensely in Wagner,&mdash;viz., his
+      pronounced histrionic tendencies, his dissembling powers, his inordinate
+      vanity, his equivocalness, his falseness. &ldquo;It honoureth thee,&rdquo; says
+      Zarathustra, &ldquo;that thou soughtest for greatness, but it betrayeth thee
+      also. Thou art not great.&rdquo; The Magician is nevertheless sent as a guest to
+      Zarathustra&rsquo;s cave; for, in his heart, Zarathustra believed until the end
+      that the Magician was a higher man broken by modern values.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LXVI. Out of Service.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Zarathustra now meets the last pope, and, in a poetical form, we get
+      Nietzsche&rsquo;s description of the course Judaism and Christianity pursued
+      before they reached their final break-up in Atheism, Agnosticism, and the
+      like. The God of a strong, warlike race&mdash;the God of Israel&mdash;is a
+      jealous, revengeful God. He is a power that can be pictured and endured
+      only by a hardy and courageous race, a race rich enough to sacrifice and
+      to lose in sacrifice. The image of this God degenerates with the people
+      that appropriate it, and gradually He becomes a God of love&mdash;&ldquo;soft
+      and mellow,&rdquo; a lower middle-class deity, who is &ldquo;pitiful.&rdquo; He can no
+      longer be a God who requires sacrifice, for we ourselves are no longer
+      rich enough for that. The tables are therefore turned upon Him; HE must
+      sacrifice to us. His pity becomes so great that he actually does sacrifice
+      something to us&mdash;His only begotten Son. Such a process carried to its
+      logical conclusions must ultimately end in His own destruction, and thus
+      we find the pope declaring that God was one day suffocated by His
+      all-too-great pity. What follows is clear enough. Zarathustra recognises
+      another higher man in the ex-pope and sends him too as a guest to the
+      cave.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LXVII. The Ugliest Man.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      This discourse contains perhaps the boldest of Nietzsche&rsquo;s suggestions
+      concerning Atheism, as well as some extremely penetrating remarks upon the
+      sentiment of pity. Zarathustra comes across the repulsive creature sitting
+      on the wayside, and what does he do? He manifests the only correct
+      feelings that can be manifested in the presence of any great misery&mdash;that
+      is to say, shame, reverence, embarrassment. Nietzsche detested the
+      obtrusive and gushing pity that goes up to misery without a blush either
+      on its cheek or in its heart&mdash;the pity which is only another form of
+      self-glorification. &ldquo;Thank God that I am not like thee!&rdquo;&mdash;only this
+      self-glorifying sentiment can lend a well-constituted man the impudence to
+      SHOW his pity for the cripple and the ill-constituted. In the presence of
+      the ugliest man Nietzsche blushes,&mdash;he blushes for his race; his own
+      particular kind of altruism&mdash;the altruism that might have prevented
+      the existence of this man&mdash;strikes him with all its force. He will
+      have the world otherwise. He will have a world where one need not blush
+      for one&rsquo;s fellows&mdash;hence his appeal to us to love only our children&rsquo;s
+      land, the land undiscovered in the remotest sea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Zarathustra calls the ugliest man the murderer of God! Certainly, this is
+      one aspect of a certain kind of Atheism&mdash;the Atheism of the man who
+      reveres beauty to such an extent that his own ugliness, which outrages
+      him, must be concealed from every eye lest it should not be respected as
+      Zarathustra respected it. If there be a God, He too must be evaded. His
+      pity must be foiled. But God is ubiquitous and omniscient. Therefore, for
+      the really GREAT ugly man, He must not exist. &ldquo;Their pity IS it from which
+      I flee away,&rdquo; he says&mdash;that is to say: &ldquo;It is from their want of
+      reverence and lack of shame in presence of my great misery!&rdquo; The ugliest
+      man despises himself; but Zarathustra said in his Prologue: &ldquo;I love the
+      great despisers because they are the great adorers, and arrows of longing
+      for the other shore.&rdquo; He therefore honours the ugliest man: sees height in
+      his self-contempt, and invites him to join the other higher men in the
+      cave.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LXVIII. The Voluntary Beggar.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      In this discourse, we undoubtedly have the ideal Buddhist, if not Gautama
+      Buddha himself. Nietzsche had the greatest respect for Buddhism, and
+      almost wherever he refers to it in his works, it is in terms of praise. He
+      recognised that though Buddhism is undoubtedly a religion for decadents,
+      its decadent values emanate from the higher and not, as in Christianity,
+      from the lower grades of society. In Aphorism 20 of &ldquo;The Antichrist&rdquo;, he
+      compares it exhaustively with Christianity, and the result of his
+      investigation is very much in favour of the older religion. Still, he
+      recognised a most decided Buddhistic influence in Christ&rsquo;s teaching, and
+      the words in verses 29, 30, and 31 are very reminiscent of his views in
+      regard to the Christian Savior.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The figure of Christ has been introduced often enough into fiction, and
+      many scholars have undertaken to write His life according to their own
+      lights, but few perhaps have ever attempted to present Him to us bereft of
+      all those characteristics which a lack of the sense of harmony has
+      attached to His person through the ages in which His doctrines have been
+      taught. Now Nietzsche disagreed entirely with Renan&rsquo;s view, that Christ
+      was &ldquo;le grand maitre en ironie&rdquo;; in Aphorism 31 of &ldquo;The Antichrist&rdquo;, he
+      says that he (Nietzsche) always purged his picture of the Humble Nazarene
+      of all those bitter and spiteful outbursts which, in view of the struggle
+      the first Christians went through, may very well have been added to the
+      original character by Apologists and Sectarians who, at that time, could
+      ill afford to consider nice psychological points, seeing that what they
+      needed, above all, was a wrangling and abusive deity. These two
+      conflicting halves in the character of the Christ of the Gospels, which no
+      sound psychology can ever reconcile, Nietzsche always kept distinct in his
+      own mind; he could not credit the same man with sentiments sometimes so
+      noble and at other times so vulgar, and in presenting us with this new
+      portrait of the Saviour, purged of all impurities, Nietzsche rendered
+      military honours to a foe, which far exceed in worth all that His most
+      ardent disciples have ever claimed for Him. In verse 26 we are vividly
+      reminded of Herbert Spencer&rsquo;s words &ldquo;&lsquo;Le mariage de convenance&rsquo; is
+      legalised prostitution.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0045" id="link2HCH0045">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LXIX. The Shadow.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Here we have a description of that courageous and wayward spirit that
+      literally haunts the footsteps of every great thinker and every great
+      leader; sometimes with the result that it loses all aims, all hopes, and
+      all trust in a definite goal. It is the case of the bravest and most
+      broad-minded men of to-day. These literally shadow the most daring
+      movements in the science and art of their generation; they completely lose
+      their bearings and actually find themselves, in the end, without a way, a
+      goal, or a home. &ldquo;On every surface have I already sat!...I become thin, I
+      am almost equal to a shadow!&rdquo; At last, in despair, such men do indeed cry
+      out: &ldquo;Nothing is true; all is permitted,&rdquo; and then they become mere
+      wreckage. &ldquo;Too much hath become clear unto me: now nothing mattereth to me
+      any more. Nothing liveth any longer that I love,&mdash;how should I still
+      love myself! Have I still a goal? Where is MY home?&rdquo; Zarathustra realises
+      the danger threatening such a man. &ldquo;Thy danger is not small, thou free
+      spirit and wanderer,&rdquo; he says. &ldquo;Thou hast had a bad day. See that a still
+      worse evening doth not overtake thee!&rdquo; The danger Zarathustra refers to is
+      precisely this, that even a prison may seem a blessing to such a man. At
+      least the bars keep him in a place of rest; a place of confinement, at its
+      worst, is real. &ldquo;Beware lest in the end a narrow faith capture thee,&rdquo; says
+      Zarathustra, &ldquo;for now everything that is narrow and fixed seduceth and
+      tempteth thee.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0046" id="link2HCH0046">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LXX. Noontide.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      At the noon of life Nietzsche said he entered the world; with him man came
+      of age. We are now held responsible for our actions; our old guardians,
+      the gods and demi-gods of our youth, the superstitions and fears of our
+      childhood, withdraw; the field lies open before us; we lived through our
+      morning with but one master&mdash;chance&mdash;; let us see to it that we
+      MAKE our afternoon our own (see Note XLIX., Part III.).
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0047" id="link2HCH0047">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LXXI. The Greeting.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Here I think I may claim that my contention in regard to the purpose and
+      aim of the whole of Nietzsche&rsquo;s philosophy (as stated at the beginning of
+      my Notes on Part IV.) is completely upheld. He fought for &ldquo;all who do not
+      want to live, unless they learn again to HOPE&mdash;unless THEY learn
+      (from him) the GREAT hope!&rdquo; Zarathustra&rsquo;s address to his guests shows
+      clearly enough how he wished to help them: &ldquo;I DO NOT TREAT MY WARRIORS
+      INDULGENTLY,&rdquo; he says: &ldquo;how then could ye be fit for MY warfare?&rdquo; He
+      rebukes and spurns them, no word of love comes from his lips. Elsewhere he
+      says a man should be a hard bed to his friend, thus alone can he be of use
+      to him. Nietzsche would be a hard bed to higher men. He would make them
+      harder; for, in order to be a law unto himself, man must possess the
+      requisite hardness. &ldquo;I wait for higher ones, stronger ones, more
+      triumphant ones, merrier ones, for such as are built squarely in body and
+      soul.&rdquo; He says in par. 6 of &ldquo;Higher Man&rdquo;:&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye higher men, think ye that I am here to put right what ye have put
+      wrong? Or that I wished henceforth to make snugger couches for you
+      sufferers? Or show you restless, miswandering, misclimbing ones new and
+      easier footpaths?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay! Nay! Three times nay! Always more, always better ones of your type
+      shall succumb&mdash;for ye shall always have it worse and harder.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0048" id="link2HCH0048">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LXXII. The Supper.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      In the first seven verses of this discourse, I cannot help seeing a gentle
+      allusion to Schopenhauer&rsquo;s habits as a bon-vivant. For a pessimist, be it
+      remembered, Schopenhauer led quite an extraordinary life. He ate well,
+      loved well, played the flute well, and I believe he smoked the best
+      cigars. What follows is clear enough.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0049" id="link2HCH0049">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LXXIII. The Higher Man. Par. 1.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Nietzsche admits, here, that at one time he had thought of appealing to
+      the people, to the crowd in the market-place, but that he had ultimately
+      to abandon the task. He bids higher men depart from the market-place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Par. 3.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here we are told quite plainly what class of men actually owe all their
+      impulses and desires to the instinct of self-preservation. The struggle
+      for existence is indeed the only spur in the case of such people. To them
+      it matters not in what shape or condition man be preserved, provided only
+      he survive. The transcendental maxim that &ldquo;Life per se is precious&rdquo; is the
+      ruling maxim here.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Par. 4.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the Note on Chapter LVII. (end) I speak of Nietzsche&rsquo;s elevation of the
+      virtue, Courage, to the highest place among the virtues. Here he tells
+      higher men the class of courage he expects from them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pars. 5, 6.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      These have already been referred to in the Notes on Chapters LVII. (end)
+      and LXXI.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Par. 7.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      I suggest that the last verse in this paragraph strongly confirms the view
+      that Nietzsche&rsquo;s teaching was always meant by him to be esoteric and for
+      higher man alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Par. 9.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the last verse, here, another shaft of light is thrown upon the
+      Immaculate Perception or so-called &ldquo;pure objectivity&rdquo; of the scientific
+      mind. &ldquo;Freedom from fever is still far from being knowledge.&rdquo; Where a
+      man&rsquo;s emotions cease to accompany him in his investigations, he is not
+      necessarily nearer the truth. Says Spencer, in the Preface to his
+      Autobiography:&mdash;&ldquo;In the genesis of a system of thought, the emotional
+      nature is a large factor: perhaps as large a factor as the intellectual
+      nature&rdquo; (see pages 134, 141 of Vol. I., &ldquo;Thoughts out of Season&rdquo;).
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pars. 10, 11.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When we approach Nietzsche&rsquo;s philosophy we must be prepared to be
+      independent thinkers; in fact, the greatest virtue of his works is perhaps
+      the subtlety with which they impose the obligation upon one of thinking
+      alone, of scoring off one&rsquo;s own bat, and of shifting intellectually for
+      oneself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Par. 13.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am a railing alongside the torrent; whoever is able to grasp me, may
+      grasp me! Your crutch, however, I am not.&rdquo; These two paragraphs are an
+      exhortation to higher men to become independent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Par. 15.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here Nietzsche perhaps exaggerates the importance of heredity. As,
+      however, the question is by no means one on which we are all agreed, what
+      he says is not without value.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A very important principle in Nietzsche&rsquo;s philosophy is enunciated in the
+      first verse of this paragraph. &ldquo;The higher its type, always the seldomer
+      doth a thing succeed&rdquo; (see page 82 of &ldquo;Beyond Good and Evil&rdquo;). Those who,
+      like some political economists, talk in a business-like way about the
+      terrific waste of human life and energy, deliberately overlook the fact
+      that the waste most to be deplored usually occurs among higher
+      individuals. Economy was never precisely one of nature&rsquo;s leading
+      principles. All this sentimental wailing over the larger proportion of
+      failures than successes in human life, does not seem to take into account
+      the fact that it is the rarest thing on earth for a highly organised being
+      to attain to the fullest development and activity of all its functions,
+      simply because it is so highly organised. The blind Will to Power in
+      nature therefore stands in urgent need of direction by man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Pars. 16, 17, 18, 19, 20.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      These paragraphs deal with Nietzsche&rsquo;s protest against the democratic
+      seriousness (Pobelernst) of modern times. &ldquo;All good things laugh,&rdquo; he
+      says, and his final command to the higher men is, &ldquo;LEARN, I pray you&mdash;to
+      laugh.&rdquo; All that is GOOD, in Nietzsche&rsquo;s sense, is cheerful. To be able to
+      crack a joke about one&rsquo;s deepest feelings is the greatest test of their
+      value. The man who does not laugh, like the man who does not make faces,
+      is already a buffoon at heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What hath hitherto been the greatest sin here on earth? Was it not the
+      word of him who said: &lsquo;Woe unto them that laugh now!&rsquo; Did he himself find
+      no cause for laughter on the earth? Then he sought badly. A child even
+      findeth cause for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0050" id="link2HCH0050">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LXXIV. The Song of Melancholy.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      After his address to the higher men, Zarathustra goes out into the open to
+      recover himself. Meanwhile the magician (Wagner), seizing the opportunity
+      in order to draw them all into his net once more, sings the Song of
+      Melancholy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0051" id="link2HCH0051">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LXXV. Science.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The only one to resist the &ldquo;melancholy voluptuousness&rdquo; of his art, is the
+      spiritually conscientious one&mdash;the scientific specialist of whom we
+      read in the discourse entitled &ldquo;The Leech&rdquo;. He takes the harp from the
+      magician and cries for air, while reproving the musician in the style of
+      &ldquo;The Case of Wagner&rdquo;. When the magician retaliates by saying that the
+      spiritually conscientious one could have understood little of his song,
+      the latter replies: &ldquo;Thou praisest me in that thou separatest me from
+      thyself.&rdquo; The speech of the scientific man to his fellow higher men is
+      well worth studying. By means of it, Nietzsche pays a high tribute to the
+      honesty of the true specialist, while, in representing him as the only one
+      who can resist the demoniacal influence of the magician&rsquo;s music, he
+      elevates him at a stroke, above all those present. Zarathustra and the
+      spiritually conscientious one join issue at the end on the question of the
+      proper place of &ldquo;fear&rdquo; in man&rsquo;s history, and Nietzsche avails himself of
+      the opportunity in order to restate his views concerning the relation of
+      courage to humanity. It is precisely because courage has played the most
+      important part in our development that he would not see it vanish from
+      among our virtues to-day. &ldquo;...courage seemeth to me the entire primitive
+      history of man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0052" id="link2HCH0052">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LXXVI. Among the Daughters of the Desert.
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      This tells its own tale.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0053" id="link2HCH0053">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LXXVII. The Awakening.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      In this discourse, Nietzsche wishes to give his followers a warning. He
+      thinks he has so far helped them that they have become convalescent, that
+      new desires are awakened in them and that new hopes are in their arms and
+      legs. But he mistakes the nature of the change. True, he has helped them,
+      he has given them back what they most need, i.e., belief in believing&mdash;the
+      confidence in having confidence in something, but how do they use it? This
+      belief in faith, if one can so express it without seeming tautological,
+      has certainly been restored to them, and in the first flood of their
+      enthusiasm they use it by bowing down and worshipping an ass! When writing
+      this passage, Nietzsche was obviously thinking of the accusations which
+      were levelled at the early Christians by their pagan contemporaries. It is
+      well known that they were supposed not only to be eaters of human flesh
+      but also ass-worshippers, and among the Roman graffiti, the most famous is
+      the one found on the Palatino, showing a man worshipping a cross on which
+      is suspended a figure with the head of an ass (see Minucius Felix,
+      &ldquo;Octavius&rdquo; IX.; Tacitus, &ldquo;Historiae&rdquo; v. 3; Tertullian, &ldquo;Apologia&rdquo;, etc.).
+      Nietzsche&rsquo;s obvious moral, however, is that great scientists and thinkers,
+      once they have reached the wall encircling scepticism and have thereby
+      learned to recover their confidence in the act of believing, as such,
+      usually manifest the change in their outlook by falling victims to the
+      narrowest and most superstitious of creeds. So much for the introduction
+      of the ass as an object of worship.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now, with regard to the actual service and Ass-Festival, no reader who
+      happens to be acquainted with the religious history of the Middle Ages
+      will fail to see the allusion here to the asinaria festa which were by no
+      means uncommon in France, Germany, and elsewhere in Europe during the
+      thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0054" id="link2HCH0054">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LXXVIII. The Ass-Festival.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      At length, in the middle of their feast, Zarathustra bursts in upon them
+      and rebukes them soundly. But he does not do so long; in the Ass-Festival,
+      it suddenly occurs to him, that he is concerned with a ceremony that may
+      not be without its purpose, as something foolish but necessary&mdash;a
+      recreation for wise men. He is therefore highly pleased that the higher
+      men have all blossomed forth; they therefore require new festivals,&mdash;&ldquo;A
+      little valiant nonsense, some divine service and ass-festival, some old
+      joyful Zarathustra fool, some blusterer to blow their souls bright.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He tells them not to forget that night and the ass-festival, for &ldquo;such
+      things only the convalescent devise! And should ye celebrate it again,&rdquo; he
+      concludes, &ldquo;do it from love to yourselves, do it also from love to me! And
+      in remembrance of ME!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0055" id="link2HCH0055">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LXXIX. The Drunken Song.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      It were the height of presumption to attempt to fix any particular
+      interpretation of my own to the words of this song. With what has gone
+      before, the reader, while reading it as poetry, should be able to seek and
+      find his own meaning in it. The doctrine of the Eternal Recurrence appears
+      for the last time here, in an art-form. Nietzsche lays stress upon the
+      fact that all happiness, all delight, longs for repetitions, and just as a
+      child cries &ldquo;Again! Again!&rdquo; to the adult who happens to be amusing him; so
+      the man who sees a meaning, and a joyful meaning, in existence must also
+      cry &ldquo;Again!&rdquo; and yet &ldquo;Again!&rdquo; to all his life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0056" id="link2HCH0056">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter LXXX. The Sign.
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      In this discourse, Nietzsche disassociates himself finally from the higher
+      men, and by the symbol of the lion, wishes to convey to us that he has won
+      over and mastered the best and the most terrible in nature. That great
+      power and tenderness are kin, was already his belief in 1875&mdash;eight
+      years before he wrote this speech, and when the birds and the lion come to
+      him, it is because he is the embodiment of the two qualities. All that is
+      terrible and great in nature, the higher men are not yet prepared for; for
+      they retreat horror-stricken into the cave when the lion springs at them;
+      but Zarathustra makes not a move towards them. He was tempted to them on
+      the previous day, he says, but &ldquo;That hath had its time! My suffering and
+      my fellow suffering,&mdash;what matter about them! Do I then strive after
+      HAPPINESS? I strive after my work! Well! the lion hath come, my children
+      are nigh. Zarathustra hath grown ripe. MY day beginneth: ARISE NOW, ARISE,
+      THOU GREAT NOONDAY!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      ...
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The above I know to be open to much criticism. I shall be grateful to all
+      those who will be kind enough to show me where and how I have gone wrong;
+      but I should like to point out that, as they stand, I have not given to
+      these Notes by any means their final form.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      London, February 1909.
+    </p>
+
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diff --git a/old/1998.txt b/old/1998.txt
new file mode 100644
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--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/1998.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,15936 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Thus Spake Zarathustra, by Friedrich Nietzsche
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Thus Spake Zarathustra
+       A Book for All and None
+
+Author: Friedrich Nietzsche
+
+Translator: Thomas Common
+
+Posting Date: November 7, 2008 [EBook #1998]
+Release Date: December, 1999
+[This file last updated on August 16, 2010]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Sue Asscher
+
+
+
+
+
+THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA
+
+A BOOK FOR ALL AND NONE
+
+
+By Friedrich Nietzsche
+
+
+Translated By Thomas Common
+
+
+PG Editor's Note:
+
+Archaic spelling and punctuation usages have not been changed.
+I particular quotations are often not closed for several paragraphs.
+
+DW
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+     INTRODUCTION BY MRS FORSTER-NIETZSCHE.
+
+
+
+     THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA.
+
+     FIRST PART.
+
+     Zarathustra's Prologue.
+
+     Zarathustra's Discourses.
+
+     I.  The Three Metamorphoses.
+
+     II.  The Academic Chairs of Virtue.
+
+     III.  Backworldsmen.
+
+     IV.  The Despisers of the Body.
+
+     V.  Joys and Passions.
+
+     VI.  The Pale Criminal.
+
+     VII.  Reading and Writing.
+
+     VIII.  The Tree on the Hill.
+
+     IX.  The Preachers of Death.
+
+     X.  War and Warriors.
+
+     XI.  The New Idol.
+
+     XII.  The Flies in the Market-place.
+
+     XIII.  Chastity.
+
+     XIV.  The Friend.
+
+     XV.  The Thousand and One Goals.
+
+     XVI.  Neighbour-Love.
+
+     XVII.  The Way of the Creating One.
+
+     XVIII.  Old and Young Women.
+
+     XIX.  The Bite of the Adder.
+
+     XX.  Child and Marriage.
+
+     XXI.  Voluntary Death.
+
+     XXII.  The Bestowing Virtue.
+
+
+     SECOND PART.
+
+     XXIII.  The Child with the Mirror.
+
+     XXIV.  In the Happy Isles.
+
+     XXV.  The Pitiful.
+
+     XXVI.  The Priests.
+
+     XXVII.  The Virtuous.
+
+     XXVIII.  The Rabble.
+
+     XXIX.  The Tarantulas.
+
+     XXX.  The Famous Wise Ones.
+
+     XXXI.  The Night-Song.
+
+     XXXII.  The Dance-Song.
+
+     XXXIII.  The Grave-Song.
+
+     XXXIV.  Self-Surpassing.
+
+     XXXV.  The Sublime Ones.
+
+     XXXVI.  The Land of Culture.
+
+     XXXVII.  Immaculate Perception.
+
+     XXXVIII.  Scholars.
+
+     XXXIX.  Poets.
+
+     XL.  Great Events.
+
+     XLI.  The Soothsayer.
+
+     XLII.  Redemption.
+
+     XLIII.  Manly Prudence.
+
+     XLIV.  The Stillest Hour.
+
+
+     THIRD PART.
+
+     XLV.  The Wanderer.
+
+     XLVI.  The Vision and the Enigma.
+
+     XLVII.  Involuntary Bliss.
+
+     XLVIII.  Before Sunrise.
+
+     XLIX.  The Bedwarfing Virtue.
+
+     L.  On the Olive-Mount.
+
+     LI.  On Passing-by.
+
+     LII.  The Apostates.
+
+     LIII.  The Return Home.
+
+     LIV.  The Three Evil Things.
+
+     LV.  The Spirit of Gravity.
+
+     LVI.  Old and New Tables.
+
+     LVII.  The Convalescent.
+
+     LVIII.  The Great Longing.
+
+     LIX.  The Second Dance-Song.
+
+     LX.  The Seven Seals.
+
+
+     FOURTH AND LAST PART.
+
+     LXI.  The Honey Sacrifice.
+
+     LXII.  The Cry of Distress.
+
+     LXIII.  Talk with the Kings.
+
+     LXIV.  The Leech.
+
+     LXV.  The Magician.
+
+     LXVI.  Out of Service.
+
+     LXVII.  The Ugliest Man.
+
+     LXVIII.  The Voluntary Beggar.
+
+     LXIX.  The Shadow.
+
+     LXX.  Noon-Tide.
+
+     LXXI.  The Greeting.
+
+     LXXII.  The Supper.
+
+     LXIII.  The Higher Man.
+
+     LXXIV.  The Song of Melancholy.
+
+     LXXV.  Science.
+
+     LXXVI.  Among Daughters of the Desert.
+
+     LXXVII.  The Awakening.
+
+     LXXVIII.  The Ass-Festival.
+
+     LXXIX.  The Drunken Song.
+
+     LXXX.  The Sign.
+
+
+     APPENDIX.
+
+     Notes on "Thus Spake Zarathustra" by Anthony M. Ludovici.
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION BY MRS FORSTER-NIETZSCHE.
+
+HOW ZARATHUSTRA CAME INTO BEING.
+
+"Zarathustra" is my brother's most personal work; it is the history of
+his most individual experiences, of his friendships, ideals, raptures,
+bitterest disappointments and sorrows. Above it all, however, there
+soars, transfiguring it, the image of his greatest hopes and remotest
+aims. My brother had the figure of Zarathustra in his mind from his very
+earliest youth: he once told me that even as a child he had dreamt of
+him. At different periods in his life, he would call this haunter of his
+dreams by different names; "but in the end," he declares in a note on
+the subject, "I had to do a PERSIAN the honour of identifying him with
+this creature of my fancy. Persians were the first to take a broad and
+comprehensive view of history. Every series of evolutions, according
+to them, was presided over by a prophet; and every prophet had his
+'Hazar,'--his dynasty of a thousand years."
+
+All Zarathustra's views, as also his personality, were early conceptions
+of my brother's mind. Whoever reads his posthumously published writings
+for the years 1869-82 with care, will constantly meet with passages
+suggestive of Zarathustra's thoughts and doctrines. For instance, the
+ideal of the Superman is put forth quite clearly in all his writings
+during the years 1873-75; and in "We Philologists", the following
+remarkable observations occur:--
+
+"How can one praise and glorify a nation as a whole?--Even among the
+Greeks, it was the INDIVIDUALS that counted."
+
+"The Greeks are interesting and extremely important because they reared
+such a vast number of great individuals. How was this possible? The
+question is one which ought to be studied.
+
+"I am interested only in the relations of a people to the rearing of
+the individual man, and among the Greeks the conditions were unusually
+favourable for the development of the individual; not by any means owing
+to the goodness of the people, but because of the struggles of their
+evil instincts.
+
+"WITH THE HELP OF FAVOURABLE MEASURES GREAT INDIVIDUALS MIGHT BE REARED
+WHO WOULD BE BOTH DIFFERENT FROM AND HIGHER THAN THOSE WHO HERETOFORE
+HAVE OWED THEIR EXISTENCE TO MERE CHANCE. Here we may still be hopeful:
+in the rearing of exceptional men."
+
+The notion of rearing the Superman is only a new form of an ideal
+Nietzsche already had in his youth, that "THE OBJECT OF MANKIND SHOULD
+LIE IN ITS HIGHEST INDIVIDUALS" (or, as he writes in "Schopenhauer as
+Educator": "Mankind ought constantly to be striving to produce great
+men--this and nothing else is its duty.") But the ideals he most revered
+in those days are no longer held to be the highest types of men. No,
+around this future ideal of a coming humanity--the Superman--the poet
+spread the veil of becoming. Who can tell to what glorious heights man
+can still ascend? That is why, after having tested the worth of our
+noblest ideal--that of the Saviour, in the light of the new valuations,
+the poet cries with passionate emphasis in "Zarathustra":
+
+"Never yet hath there been a Superman. Naked have I seen both of them,
+the greatest and the smallest man:--
+
+All-too-similar are they still to each other. Verily even the greatest
+found I--all-too-human!"--
+
+The phrase "the rearing of the Superman," has very often been
+misunderstood. By the word "rearing," in this case, is meant the act of
+modifying by means of new and higher values--values which, as laws and
+guides of conduct and opinion, are now to rule over mankind. In general
+the doctrine of the Superman can only be understood correctly in
+conjunction with other ideas of the author's, such as:--the Order
+of Rank, the Will to Power, and the Transvaluation of all Values. He
+assumes that Christianity, as a product of the resentment of the botched
+and the weak, has put in ban all that is beautiful, strong, proud, and
+powerful, in fact all the qualities resulting from strength, and that,
+in consequence, all forces which tend to promote or elevate life have
+been seriously undermined. Now, however, a new table of valuations
+must be placed over mankind--namely, that of the strong, mighty, and
+magnificent man, overflowing with life and elevated to his zenith--the
+Superman, who is now put before us with overpowering passion as the
+aim of our life, hope, and will. And just as the old system of valuing,
+which only extolled the qualities favourable to the weak, the suffering,
+and the oppressed, has succeeded in producing a weak, suffering, and
+"modern" race, so this new and reversed system of valuing ought to rear
+a healthy, strong, lively, and courageous type, which would be a glory
+to life itself. Stated briefly, the leading principle of this new system
+of valuing would be: "All that proceeds from power is good, all that
+springs from weakness is bad."
+
+This type must not be regarded as a fanciful figure: it is not a
+nebulous hope which is to be realised at some indefinitely remote
+period, thousands of years hence; nor is it a new species (in the
+Darwinian sense) of which we can know nothing, and which it would
+therefore be somewhat absurd to strive after. But it is meant to be
+a possibility which men of the present could realise with all their
+spiritual and physical energies, provided they adopted the new values.
+
+The author of "Zarathustra" never lost sight of that egregious example
+of a transvaluation of all values through Christianity, whereby the
+whole of the deified mode of life and thought of the Greeks, as well as
+strong Romedom, was almost annihilated or transvalued in a comparatively
+short time. Could not a rejuvenated Graeco-Roman system of valuing (once
+it had been refined and made more profound by the schooling which
+two thousand years of Christianity had provided) effect another such
+revolution within a calculable period of time, until that glorious type
+of manhood shall finally appear which is to be our new faith and hope,
+and in the creation of which Zarathustra exhorts us to participate?
+
+In his private notes on the subject the author uses the expression
+"Superman" (always in the singular, by-the-bye), as signifying "the most
+thoroughly well-constituted type," as opposed to "modern man"; above
+all, however, he designates Zarathustra himself as an example of the
+Superman. In "Ecco Homo" he is careful to enlighten us concerning the
+precursors and prerequisites to the advent of this highest type, in
+referring to a certain passage in the "Gay Science":--
+
+"In order to understand this type, we must first be quite clear in
+regard to the leading physiological condition on which it depends: this
+condition is what I call GREAT HEALTHINESS. I know not how to express my
+meaning more plainly or more personally than I have done already in
+one of the last chapters (Aphorism 382) of the fifth book of the 'Gaya
+Scienza'."
+
+"We, the new, the nameless, the hard-to-understand,"--it says
+there,--"we firstlings of a yet untried future--we require for a new end
+also a new means, namely, a new healthiness, stronger, sharper, tougher,
+bolder and merrier than all healthiness hitherto. He whose soul
+longeth to experience the whole range of hitherto recognised values
+and desirabilities, and to circumnavigate all the coasts of this ideal
+'Mediterranean Sea', who, from the adventures of his most personal
+experience, wants to know how it feels to be a conqueror, and discoverer
+of the ideal--as likewise how it is with the artist, the saint, the
+legislator, the sage, the scholar, the devotee, the prophet, and the
+godly non-conformist of the old style:--requires one thing above all
+for that purpose, GREAT HEALTHINESS--such healthiness as one not only
+possesses, but also constantly acquires and must acquire, because one
+unceasingly sacrifices it again, and must sacrifice it!--And now, after
+having been long on the way in this fashion, we Argonauts of the ideal,
+more courageous perhaps than prudent, and often enough shipwrecked
+and brought to grief, nevertheless dangerously healthy, always healthy
+again,--it would seem as if, in recompense for it all, that we have a
+still undiscovered country before us, the boundaries of which no one
+has yet seen, a beyond to all countries and corners of the ideal known
+hitherto, a world so over-rich in the beautiful, the strange, the
+questionable, the frightful, and the divine, that our curiosity as well
+as our thirst for possession thereof, have got out of hand--alas! that
+nothing will now any longer satisfy us!--
+
+"How could we still be content with THE MAN OF THE PRESENT DAY
+after such outlooks, and with such a craving in our conscience and
+consciousness? Sad enough; but it is unavoidable that we should look
+on the worthiest aims and hopes of the man of the present day with
+ill-concealed amusement, and perhaps should no longer look at them.
+Another ideal runs on before us, a strange, tempting ideal full of
+danger, to which we should not like to persuade any one, because we
+do not so readily acknowledge any one's RIGHT THERETO: the ideal of
+a spirit who plays naively (that is to say involuntarily and from
+overflowing abundance and power) with everything that has hitherto
+been called holy, good, intangible, or divine; to whom the loftiest
+conception which the people have reasonably made their measure of value,
+would already practically imply danger, ruin, abasement, or at least
+relaxation, blindness, or temporary self-forgetfulness; the ideal of
+a humanly superhuman welfare and benevolence, which will often enough
+appear INHUMAN, for example, when put alongside of all past seriousness
+on earth, and alongside of all past solemnities in bearing, word, tone,
+look, morality, and pursuit, as their truest involuntary parody--and
+WITH which, nevertheless, perhaps THE GREAT SERIOUSNESS only commences,
+when the proper interrogative mark is set up, the fate of the soul
+changes, the hour-hand moves, and tragedy begins..."
+
+Although the figure of Zarathustra and a large number of the leading
+thoughts in this work had appeared much earlier in the dreams and
+writings of the author, "Thus Spake Zarathustra" did not actually come
+into being until the month of August 1881 in Sils Maria; and it was the
+idea of the Eternal Recurrence of all things which finally induced my
+brother to set forth his new views in poetic language. In regard to his
+first conception of this idea, his autobiographical sketch, "Ecce Homo",
+written in the autumn of 1888, contains the following passage:--
+
+"The fundamental idea of my work--namely, the Eternal Recurrence of
+all things--this highest of all possible formulae of a Yea-saying
+philosophy, first occurred to me in August 1881. I made a note of the
+thought on a sheet of paper, with the postscript: 6,000 feet beyond
+men and time! That day I happened to be wandering through the woods
+alongside of the lake of Silvaplana, and I halted beside a huge,
+pyramidal and towering rock not far from Surlei. It was then that the
+thought struck me. Looking back now, I find that exactly two months
+previous to this inspiration, I had had an omen of its coming in the
+form of a sudden and decisive alteration in my tastes--more particularly
+in music. It would even be possible to consider all 'Zarathustra' as a
+musical composition. At all events, a very necessary condition in its
+production was a renaissance in myself of the art of hearing. In a small
+mountain resort (Recoaro) near Vicenza, where I spent the spring of
+1881, I and my friend and Maestro, Peter Gast--also one who had been
+born again--discovered that the phoenix music that hovered over us, wore
+lighter and brighter plumes than it had done theretofore."
+
+During the month of August 1881 my brother resolved to reveal the
+teaching of the Eternal Recurrence, in dithyrambic and psalmodic form,
+through the mouth of Zarathustra. Among the notes of this period, we
+found a page on which is written the first definite plan of "Thus Spake
+Zarathustra":--
+
+"MIDDAY AND ETERNITY."
+
+"GUIDE-POSTS TO A NEW WAY OF LIVING."
+
+Beneath this is written:--
+
+"Zarathustra born on lake Urmi; left his home in his thirtieth year,
+went into the province of Aria, and, during ten years of solitude in the
+mountains, composed the Zend-Avesta."
+
+"The sun of knowledge stands once more at midday; and the serpent
+of eternity lies coiled in its light--: It is YOUR time, ye midday
+brethren."
+
+In that summer of 1881, my brother, after many years of steadily
+declining health, began at last to rally, and it is to this first gush
+of the recovery of his once splendid bodily condition that we owe not
+only "The Gay Science", which in its mood may be regarded as a prelude
+to "Zarathustra", but also "Zarathustra" itself. Just as he was
+beginning to recuperate his health, however, an unkind destiny brought
+him a number of most painful personal experiences. His friends caused
+him many disappointments, which were the more bitter to him, inasmuch as
+he regarded friendship as such a sacred institution; and for the first
+time in his life he realised the whole horror of that loneliness to
+which, perhaps, all greatness is condemned. But to be forsaken is
+something very different from deliberately choosing blessed loneliness.
+How he longed, in those days, for the ideal friend who would thoroughly
+understand him, to whom he would be able to say all, and whom he
+imagined he had found at various periods in his life from his earliest
+youth onwards. Now, however, that the way he had chosen grew ever more
+perilous and steep, he found nobody who could follow him: he therefore
+created a perfect friend for himself in the ideal form of a majestic
+philosopher, and made this creation the preacher of his gospel to the
+world.
+
+Whether my brother would ever have written "Thus Spake Zarathustra"
+according to the first plan sketched in the summer of 1881, if he
+had not had the disappointments already referred to, is now an idle
+question; but perhaps where "Zarathustra" is concerned, we may also say
+with Master Eckhardt: "The fleetest beast to bear you to perfection is
+suffering."
+
+My brother writes as follows about the origin of the first part of
+"Zarathustra":--"In the winter of 1882-83, I was living on the charming
+little Gulf of Rapallo, not far from Genoa, and between Chiavari and
+Cape Porto Fino. My health was not very good; the winter was cold and
+exceptionally rainy; and the small inn in which I lived was so close
+to the water that at night my sleep would be disturbed if the sea were
+high. These circumstances were surely the very reverse of favourable;
+and yet in spite of it all, and as if in demonstration of my belief that
+everything decisive comes to life in spite of every obstacle, it was
+precisely during this winter and in the midst of these unfavourable
+circumstances that my 'Zarathustra' originated. In the morning I used to
+start out in a southerly direction up the glorious road to Zoagli, which
+rises aloft through a forest of pines and gives one a view far out into
+the sea. In the afternoon, as often as my health permitted, I walked
+round the whole bay from Santa Margherita to beyond Porto Fino. This
+spot was all the more interesting to me, inasmuch as it was so dearly
+loved by the Emperor Frederick III. In the autumn of 1886 I chanced to
+be there again when he was revisiting this small, forgotten world
+of happiness for the last time. It was on these two roads that all
+'Zarathustra' came to me, above all Zarathustra himself as a type;--I
+ought rather to say that it was on these walks that these ideas waylaid
+me."
+
+The first part of "Zarathustra" was written in about ten days--that is
+to say, from the beginning to about the middle of February 1883. "The
+last lines were written precisely in the hallowed hour when Richard
+Wagner gave up the ghost in Venice."
+
+With the exception of the ten days occupied in composing the first part
+of this book, my brother often referred to this winter as the hardest
+and sickliest he had ever experienced. He did not, however, mean thereby
+that his former disorders were troubling him, but that he was suffering
+from a severe attack of influenza which he had caught in Santa
+Margherita, and which tormented him for several weeks after his arrival
+in Genoa. As a matter of fact, however, what he complained of most was
+his spiritual condition--that indescribable forsakenness--to which he
+gives such heartrending expression in "Zarathustra". Even the reception
+which the first part met with at the hands of friends and acquaintances
+was extremely disheartening: for almost all those to whom he presented
+copies of the work misunderstood it. "I found no one ripe for many of my
+thoughts; the case of 'Zarathustra' proves that one can speak with the
+utmost clearness, and yet not be heard by any one." My brother was very
+much discouraged by the feebleness of the response he was given, and as
+he was striving just then to give up the practice of taking hydrate
+of chloral--a drug he had begun to take while ill with influenza,--the
+following spring, spent in Rome, was a somewhat gloomy one for him.
+He writes about it as follows:--"I spent a melancholy spring in Rome,
+where I only just managed to live,--and this was no easy matter. This
+city, which is absolutely unsuited to the poet-author of 'Zarathustra',
+and for the choice of which I was not responsible, made me inordinately
+miserable. I tried to leave it. I wanted to go to Aquila--the opposite
+of Rome in every respect, and actually founded in a spirit of enmity
+towards that city (just as I also shall found a city some day), as a
+memento of an atheist and genuine enemy of the Church--a person very
+closely related to me,--the great Hohenstaufen, the Emperor Frederick
+II. But Fate lay behind it all: I had to return again to Rome. In the
+end I was obliged to be satisfied with the Piazza Barberini, after I had
+exerted myself in vain to find an anti-Christian quarter. I fear that
+on one occasion, to avoid bad smells as much as possible, I actually
+inquired at the Palazzo del Quirinale whether they could not provide a
+quiet room for a philosopher. In a chamber high above the Piazza just
+mentioned, from which one obtained a general view of Rome and could
+hear the fountains plashing far below, the loneliest of all songs
+was composed--'The Night-Song'. About this time I was obsessed by an
+unspeakably sad melody, the refrain of which I recognised in the words,
+'dead through immortality.'"
+
+We remained somewhat too long in Rome that spring, and what with the
+effect of the increasing heat and the discouraging circumstances already
+described, my brother resolved not to write any more, or in any case,
+not to proceed with "Zarathustra", although I offered to relieve him
+of all trouble in connection with the proofs and the publisher. When,
+however, we returned to Switzerland towards the end of June, and he
+found himself once more in the familiar and exhilarating air of the
+mountains, all his joyous creative powers revived, and in a note to me
+announcing the dispatch of some manuscript, he wrote as follows: "I have
+engaged a place here for three months: forsooth, I am the greatest fool
+to allow my courage to be sapped from me by the climate of Italy. Now
+and again I am troubled by the thought: WHAT NEXT? My 'future' is the
+darkest thing in the world to me, but as there still remains a great
+deal for me to do, I suppose I ought rather to think of doing this than
+of my future, and leave the rest to THEE and the gods."
+
+The second part of "Zarathustra" was written between the 26th of June
+and the 6th July. "This summer, finding myself once more in the sacred
+place where the first thought of 'Zarathustra' flashed across my mind,
+I conceived the second part. Ten days sufficed. Neither for the second,
+the first, nor the third part, have I required a day longer."
+
+He often used to speak of the ecstatic mood in which he wrote
+"Zarathustra"; how in his walks over hill and dale the ideas would crowd
+into his mind, and how he would note them down hastily in a note-book
+from which he would transcribe them on his return, sometimes working
+till midnight. He says in a letter to me: "You can have no idea of the
+vehemence of such composition," and in "Ecce Homo" (autumn 1888) he
+describes as follows with passionate enthusiasm the incomparable mood in
+which he created Zarathustra:--
+
+"--Has any one at the end of the nineteenth century any distinct notion
+of what poets of a stronger age understood by the word inspiration? If
+not, I will describe it. If one had the smallest vestige of superstition
+in one, it would hardly be possible to set aside completely the idea
+that one is the mere incarnation, mouthpiece or medium of an almighty
+power. The idea of revelation in the sense that something becomes
+suddenly visible and audible with indescribable certainty and accuracy,
+which profoundly convulses and upsets one--describes simply the matter
+of fact. One hears--one does not seek; one takes--one does not ask
+who gives: a thought suddenly flashes up like lightning, it comes with
+necessity, unhesitatingly--I have never had any choice in the matter.
+There is an ecstasy such that the immense strain of it is sometimes
+relaxed by a flood of tears, along with which one's steps either rush
+or involuntarily lag, alternately. There is the feeling that one is
+completely out of hand, with the very distinct consciousness of an
+endless number of fine thrills and quiverings to the very toes;--there
+is a depth of happiness in which the painfullest and gloomiest do not
+operate as antitheses, but as conditioned, as demanded in the sense of
+necessary shades of colour in such an overflow of light. There is an
+instinct for rhythmic relations which embraces wide areas of forms
+(length, the need of a wide-embracing rhythm, is almost the measure of
+the force of an inspiration, a sort of counterpart to its pressure and
+tension). Everything happens quite involuntarily, as if in a tempestuous
+outburst of freedom, of absoluteness, of power and divinity. The
+involuntariness of the figures and similes is the most remarkable
+thing; one loses all perception of what constitutes the figure and
+what constitutes the simile; everything seems to present itself as
+the readiest, the correctest and the simplest means of expression.
+It actually seems, to use one of Zarathustra's own phrases, as if all
+things came unto one, and would fain be similes: 'Here do all things
+come caressingly to thy talk and flatter thee, for they want to ride
+upon thy back. On every simile dost thou here ride to every truth. Here
+fly open unto thee all being's words and word-cabinets; here all being
+wanteth to become words, here all becoming wanteth to learn of thee how
+to talk.' This is MY experience of inspiration. I do not doubt but that
+one would have to go back thousands of years in order to find some one
+who could say to me: It is mine also!--"
+
+In the autumn of 1883 my brother left the Engadine for Germany and
+stayed there a few weeks. In the following winter, after wandering
+somewhat erratically through Stresa, Genoa, and Spezia, he landed in
+Nice, where the climate so happily promoted his creative powers that
+he wrote the third part of "Zarathustra". "In the winter, beneath the
+halcyon sky of Nice, which then looked down upon me for the first time
+in my life, I found the third 'Zarathustra'--and came to the end of my
+task; the whole having occupied me scarcely a year. Many hidden corners
+and heights in the landscapes round about Nice are hallowed to me by
+unforgettable moments. That decisive chapter entitled 'Old and New
+Tables' was composed in the very difficult ascent from the station
+to Eza--that wonderful Moorish village in the rocks. My most creative
+moments were always accompanied by unusual muscular activity. The body
+is inspired: let us waive the question of the 'soul.' I might often have
+been seen dancing in those days. Without a suggestion of fatigue I could
+then walk for seven or eight hours on end among the hills. I slept well
+and laughed well--I was perfectly robust and patient."
+
+As we have seen, each of the three parts of "Zarathustra" was written,
+after a more or less short period of preparation, in about ten days.
+The composition of the fourth part alone was broken by occasional
+interruptions. The first notes relating to this part were written while
+he and I were staying together in Zurich in September 1884. In the
+following November, while staying at Mentone, he began to elaborate
+these notes, and after a long pause, finished the manuscript at Nice
+between the end of January and the middle of February 1885. My brother
+then called this part the fourth and last; but even before, and shortly
+after it had been privately printed, he wrote to me saying that he still
+intended writing a fifth and sixth part, and notes relating to these
+parts are now in my possession. This fourth part (the original MS. of
+which contains this note: "Only for my friends, not for the public")
+is written in a particularly personal spirit, and those few to whom he
+presented a copy of it, he pledged to the strictest secrecy concerning
+its contents. He often thought of making this fourth part public also,
+but doubted whether he would ever be able to do so without considerably
+altering certain portions of it. At all events he resolved to distribute
+this manuscript production, of which only forty copies were printed,
+only among those who had proved themselves worthy of it, and it speaks
+eloquently of his utter loneliness and need of sympathy in those days,
+that he had occasion to present only seven copies of his book according
+to this resolution.
+
+Already at the beginning of this history I hinted at the reasons which
+led my brother to select a Persian as the incarnation of his ideal of
+the majestic philosopher. His reasons, however, for choosing Zarathustra
+of all others to be his mouthpiece, he gives us in the following
+words:--"People have never asked me, as they should have done, what the
+name Zarathustra precisely means in my mouth, in the mouth of the first
+Immoralist; for what distinguishes that philosopher from all others
+in the past is the very fact that he was exactly the reverse of an
+immoralist. Zarathustra was the first to see in the struggle between
+good and evil the essential wheel in the working of things. The
+translation of morality into the metaphysical, as force, cause, end in
+itself, was HIS work. But the very question suggests its own answer.
+Zarathustra CREATED the most portentous error, MORALITY, consequently he
+should also be the first to PERCEIVE that error, not only because he
+has had longer and greater experience of the subject than any other
+thinker--all history is the experimental refutation of the theory of
+the so-called moral order of things:--the more important point is that
+Zarathustra was more truthful than any other thinker. In his teaching
+alone do we meet with truthfulness upheld as the highest virtue--i.e.:
+the reverse of the COWARDICE of the 'idealist' who flees from reality.
+Zarathustra had more courage in his body than any other thinker before
+or after him. To tell the truth and TO AIM STRAIGHT: that is the first
+Persian virtue. Am I understood?... The overcoming of morality through
+itself--through truthfulness, the overcoming of the moralist through his
+opposite--THROUGH ME--: that is what the name Zarathustra means in my
+mouth."
+
+ELIZABETH FORSTER-NIETZSCHE.
+
+Nietzsche Archives,
+
+Weimar, December 1905.
+
+
+
+
+THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA.
+
+
+
+
+FIRST PART. ZARATHUSTRA'S DISCOURSES.
+
+
+
+
+ZARATHUSTRA'S PROLOGUE.
+
+
+1.
+
+When Zarathustra was thirty years old, he left his home and the lake of
+his home, and went into the mountains. There he enjoyed his spirit and
+solitude, and for ten years did not weary of it. But at last his heart
+changed,--and rising one morning with the rosy dawn, he went before the
+sun, and spake thus unto it:
+
+Thou great star! What would be thy happiness if thou hadst not those for
+whom thou shinest!
+
+For ten years hast thou climbed hither unto my cave: thou wouldst have
+wearied of thy light and of the journey, had it not been for me, mine
+eagle, and my serpent.
+
+But we awaited thee every morning, took from thee thine overflow and
+blessed thee for it.
+
+Lo! I am weary of my wisdom, like the bee that hath gathered too much
+honey; I need hands outstretched to take it.
+
+I would fain bestow and distribute, until the wise have once more become
+joyous in their folly, and the poor happy in their riches.
+
+Therefore must I descend into the deep: as thou doest in the
+evening, when thou goest behind the sea, and givest light also to the
+nether-world, thou exuberant star!
+
+Like thee must I GO DOWN, as men say, to whom I shall descend.
+
+Bless me, then, thou tranquil eye, that canst behold even the greatest
+happiness without envy!
+
+Bless the cup that is about to overflow, that the water may flow golden
+out of it, and carry everywhere the reflection of thy bliss!
+
+Lo! This cup is again going to empty itself, and Zarathustra is again
+going to be a man.
+
+Thus began Zarathustra's down-going.
+
+2.
+
+Zarathustra went down the mountain alone, no one meeting him. When he
+entered the forest, however, there suddenly stood before him an old man,
+who had left his holy cot to seek roots. And thus spake the old man to
+Zarathustra:
+
+"No stranger to me is this wanderer: many years ago passed he by.
+Zarathustra he was called; but he hath altered.
+
+Then thou carriedst thine ashes into the mountains: wilt thou now carry
+thy fire into the valleys? Fearest thou not the incendiary's doom?
+
+Yea, I recognise Zarathustra. Pure is his eye, and no loathing lurketh
+about his mouth. Goeth he not along like a dancer?
+
+Altered is Zarathustra; a child hath Zarathustra become; an awakened one
+is Zarathustra: what wilt thou do in the land of the sleepers?
+
+As in the sea hast thou lived in solitude, and it hath borne thee up.
+Alas, wilt thou now go ashore? Alas, wilt thou again drag thy body
+thyself?"
+
+Zarathustra answered: "I love mankind."
+
+"Why," said the saint, "did I go into the forest and the desert? Was it
+not because I loved men far too well?
+
+Now I love God: men, I do not love. Man is a thing too imperfect for me.
+Love to man would be fatal to me."
+
+Zarathustra answered: "What spake I of love! I am bringing gifts unto
+men."
+
+"Give them nothing," said the saint. "Take rather part of their load,
+and carry it along with them--that will be most agreeable unto them: if
+only it be agreeable unto thee!
+
+If, however, thou wilt give unto them, give them no more than an alms,
+and let them also beg for it!"
+
+"No," replied Zarathustra, "I give no alms. I am not poor enough for
+that."
+
+The saint laughed at Zarathustra, and spake thus: "Then see to it that
+they accept thy treasures! They are distrustful of anchorites, and do
+not believe that we come with gifts.
+
+The fall of our footsteps ringeth too hollow through their streets. And
+just as at night, when they are in bed and hear a man abroad long before
+sunrise, so they ask themselves concerning us: Where goeth the thief?
+
+Go not to men, but stay in the forest! Go rather to the animals! Why not
+be like me--a bear amongst bears, a bird amongst birds?"
+
+"And what doeth the saint in the forest?" asked Zarathustra.
+
+The saint answered: "I make hymns and sing them; and in making hymns I
+laugh and weep and mumble: thus do I praise God.
+
+With singing, weeping, laughing, and mumbling do I praise the God who is
+my God. But what dost thou bring us as a gift?"
+
+When Zarathustra had heard these words, he bowed to the saint and said:
+"What should I have to give thee! Let me rather hurry hence lest I take
+aught away from thee!"--And thus they parted from one another, the old
+man and Zarathustra, laughing like schoolboys.
+
+When Zarathustra was alone, however, he said to his heart: "Could it be
+possible! This old saint in the forest hath not yet heard of it, that
+GOD IS DEAD!"
+
+3.
+
+When Zarathustra arrived at the nearest town which adjoineth the forest,
+he found many people assembled in the market-place; for it had been
+announced that a rope-dancer would give a performance. And Zarathustra
+spake thus unto the people:
+
+I TEACH YOU THE SUPERMAN. Man is something that is to be surpassed. What
+have ye done to surpass man?
+
+All beings hitherto have created something beyond themselves: and ye
+want to be the ebb of that great tide, and would rather go back to the
+beast than surpass man?
+
+What is the ape to man? A laughing-stock, a thing of shame. And just the
+same shall man be to the Superman: a laughing-stock, a thing of shame.
+
+Ye have made your way from the worm to man, and much within you is still
+worm. Once were ye apes, and even yet man is more of an ape than any of
+the apes.
+
+Even the wisest among you is only a disharmony and hybrid of plant and
+phantom. But do I bid you become phantoms or plants?
+
+Lo, I teach you the Superman!
+
+The Superman is the meaning of the earth. Let your will say: The
+Superman SHALL BE the meaning of the earth!
+
+I conjure you, my brethren, REMAIN TRUE TO THE EARTH, and believe not
+those who speak unto you of superearthly hopes! Poisoners are they,
+whether they know it or not.
+
+Despisers of life are they, decaying ones and poisoned ones themselves,
+of whom the earth is weary: so away with them!
+
+Once blasphemy against God was the greatest blasphemy; but God died,
+and therewith also those blasphemers. To blaspheme the earth is now the
+dreadfulest sin, and to rate the heart of the unknowable higher than the
+meaning of the earth!
+
+Once the soul looked contemptuously on the body, and then that contempt
+was the supreme thing:--the soul wished the body meagre, ghastly, and
+famished. Thus it thought to escape from the body and the earth.
+
+Oh, that soul was itself meagre, ghastly, and famished; and cruelty was
+the delight of that soul!
+
+But ye, also, my brethren, tell me: What doth your body say about
+your soul? Is your soul not poverty and pollution and wretched
+self-complacency?
+
+Verily, a polluted stream is man. One must be a sea, to receive a
+polluted stream without becoming impure.
+
+Lo, I teach you the Superman: he is that sea; in him can your great
+contempt be submerged.
+
+What is the greatest thing ye can experience? It is the hour of great
+contempt. The hour in which even your happiness becometh loathsome unto
+you, and so also your reason and virtue.
+
+The hour when ye say: "What good is my happiness! It is poverty and
+pollution and wretched self-complacency. But my happiness should justify
+existence itself!"
+
+The hour when ye say: "What good is my reason! Doth it long for
+knowledge as the lion for his food? It is poverty and pollution and
+wretched self-complacency!"
+
+The hour when ye say: "What good is my virtue! As yet it hath not made
+me passionate. How weary I am of my good and my bad! It is all poverty
+and pollution and wretched self-complacency!"
+
+The hour when ye say: "What good is my justice! I do not see that I am
+fervour and fuel. The just, however, are fervour and fuel!"
+
+The hour when ye say: "What good is my pity! Is not pity the cross on
+which he is nailed who loveth man? But my pity is not a crucifixion."
+
+Have ye ever spoken thus? Have ye ever cried thus? Ah! would that I had
+heard you crying thus!
+
+It is not your sin--it is your self-satisfaction that crieth unto
+heaven; your very sparingness in sin crieth unto heaven!
+
+Where is the lightning to lick you with its tongue? Where is the frenzy
+with which ye should be inoculated?
+
+Lo, I teach you the Superman: he is that lightning, he is that frenzy!--
+
+When Zarathustra had thus spoken, one of the people called out: "We have
+now heard enough of the rope-dancer; it is time now for us to see him!"
+And all the people laughed at Zarathustra. But the rope-dancer, who
+thought the words applied to him, began his performance.
+
+4.
+
+Zarathustra, however, looked at the people and wondered. Then he spake
+thus:
+
+Man is a rope stretched between the animal and the Superman--a rope over
+an abyss.
+
+A dangerous crossing, a dangerous wayfaring, a dangerous looking-back, a
+dangerous trembling and halting.
+
+What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not a goal: what is
+lovable in man is that he is an OVER-GOING and a DOWN-GOING.
+
+I love those that know not how to live except as down-goers, for they
+are the over-goers.
+
+I love the great despisers, because they are the great adorers, and
+arrows of longing for the other shore.
+
+I love those who do not first seek a reason beyond the stars for going
+down and being sacrifices, but sacrifice themselves to the earth, that
+the earth of the Superman may hereafter arrive.
+
+I love him who liveth in order to know, and seeketh to know in
+order that the Superman may hereafter live. Thus seeketh he his own
+down-going.
+
+I love him who laboureth and inventeth, that he may build the house for
+the Superman, and prepare for him earth, animal, and plant: for thus
+seeketh he his own down-going.
+
+I love him who loveth his virtue: for virtue is the will to down-going,
+and an arrow of longing.
+
+I love him who reserveth no share of spirit for himself, but wanteth to
+be wholly the spirit of his virtue: thus walketh he as spirit over the
+bridge.
+
+I love him who maketh his virtue his inclination and destiny: thus, for
+the sake of his virtue, he is willing to live on, or live no more.
+
+I love him who desireth not too many virtues. One virtue is more of a
+virtue than two, because it is more of a knot for one's destiny to cling
+to.
+
+I love him whose soul is lavish, who wanteth no thanks and doth not give
+back: for he always bestoweth, and desireth not to keep for himself.
+
+I love him who is ashamed when the dice fall in his favour, and who then
+asketh: "Am I a dishonest player?"--for he is willing to succumb.
+
+I love him who scattereth golden words in advance of his deeds, and
+always doeth more than he promiseth: for he seeketh his own down-going.
+
+I love him who justifieth the future ones, and redeemeth the past ones:
+for he is willing to succumb through the present ones.
+
+I love him who chasteneth his God, because he loveth his God: for he
+must succumb through the wrath of his God.
+
+I love him whose soul is deep even in the wounding, and may succumb
+through a small matter: thus goeth he willingly over the bridge.
+
+I love him whose soul is so overfull that he forgetteth himself, and all
+things are in him: thus all things become his down-going.
+
+I love him who is of a free spirit and a free heart: thus is his
+head only the bowels of his heart; his heart, however, causeth his
+down-going.
+
+I love all who are like heavy drops falling one by one out of the dark
+cloud that lowereth over man: they herald the coming of the lightning,
+and succumb as heralds.
+
+Lo, I am a herald of the lightning, and a heavy drop out of the cloud:
+the lightning, however, is the SUPERMAN.--
+
+5.
+
+When Zarathustra had spoken these words, he again looked at the people,
+and was silent. "There they stand," said he to his heart; "there they
+laugh: they understand me not; I am not the mouth for these ears.
+
+Must one first batter their ears, that they may learn to hear with their
+eyes? Must one clatter like kettledrums and penitential preachers? Or do
+they only believe the stammerer?
+
+They have something whereof they are proud. What do they call it, that
+which maketh them proud? Culture, they call it; it distinguisheth them
+from the goatherds.
+
+They dislike, therefore, to hear of 'contempt' of themselves. So I will
+appeal to their pride.
+
+I will speak unto them of the most contemptible thing: that, however, is
+THE LAST MAN!"
+
+And thus spake Zarathustra unto the people:
+
+It is time for man to fix his goal. It is time for man to plant the germ
+of his highest hope.
+
+Still is his soil rich enough for it. But that soil will one day be
+poor and exhausted, and no lofty tree will any longer be able to grow
+thereon.
+
+Alas! there cometh the time when man will no longer launch the arrow of
+his longing beyond man--and the string of his bow will have unlearned to
+whizz!
+
+I tell you: one must still have chaos in one, to give birth to a dancing
+star. I tell you: ye have still chaos in you.
+
+Alas! There cometh the time when man will no longer give birth to any
+star. Alas! There cometh the time of the most despicable man, who can no
+longer despise himself.
+
+Lo! I show you THE LAST MAN.
+
+"What is love? What is creation? What is longing? What is a star?"--so
+asketh the last man and blinketh.
+
+The earth hath then become small, and on it there hoppeth the last man
+who maketh everything small. His species is ineradicable like that of
+the ground-flea; the last man liveth longest.
+
+"We have discovered happiness"--say the last men, and blink thereby.
+
+They have left the regions where it is hard to live; for they need
+warmth. One still loveth one's neighbour and rubbeth against him; for
+one needeth warmth.
+
+Turning ill and being distrustful, they consider sinful: they walk
+warily. He is a fool who still stumbleth over stones or men!
+
+A little poison now and then: that maketh pleasant dreams. And much
+poison at last for a pleasant death.
+
+One still worketh, for work is a pastime. But one is careful lest the
+pastime should hurt one.
+
+One no longer becometh poor or rich; both are too burdensome. Who still
+wanteth to rule? Who still wanteth to obey? Both are too burdensome.
+
+No shepherd, and one herd! Every one wanteth the same; every one is
+equal: he who hath other sentiments goeth voluntarily into the madhouse.
+
+"Formerly all the world was insane,"--say the subtlest of them, and
+blink thereby.
+
+They are clever and know all that hath happened: so there is
+no end to their raillery. People still fall out, but are soon
+reconciled--otherwise it spoileth their stomachs.
+
+They have their little pleasures for the day, and their little pleasures
+for the night, but they have a regard for health.
+
+"We have discovered happiness,"--say the last men, and blink thereby.--
+
+And here ended the first discourse of Zarathustra, which is also
+called "The Prologue": for at this point the shouting and mirth of the
+multitude interrupted him. "Give us this last man, O Zarathustra,"--they
+called out--"make us into these last men! Then will we make thee a
+present of the Superman!" And all the people exulted and smacked their
+lips. Zarathustra, however, turned sad, and said to his heart:
+
+"They understand me not: I am not the mouth for these ears.
+
+Too long, perhaps, have I lived in the mountains; too much have I
+hearkened unto the brooks and trees: now do I speak unto them as unto
+the goatherds.
+
+Calm is my soul, and clear, like the mountains in the morning. But they
+think me cold, and a mocker with terrible jests.
+
+And now do they look at me and laugh: and while they laugh they hate me
+too. There is ice in their laughter."
+
+6.
+
+Then, however, something happened which made every mouth mute and every
+eye fixed. In the meantime, of course, the rope-dancer had commenced his
+performance: he had come out at a little door, and was going along the
+rope which was stretched between two towers, so that it hung above the
+market-place and the people. When he was just midway across, the little
+door opened once more, and a gaudily-dressed fellow like a buffoon
+sprang out, and went rapidly after the first one. "Go on, halt-foot,"
+cried his frightful voice, "go on, lazy-bones, interloper,
+sallow-face!--lest I tickle thee with my heel! What dost thou here
+between the towers? In the tower is the place for thee, thou shouldst be
+locked up; to one better than thyself thou blockest the way!"--And with
+every word he came nearer and nearer the first one. When, however, he
+was but a step behind, there happened the frightful thing which made
+every mouth mute and every eye fixed--he uttered a yell like a devil,
+and jumped over the other who was in his way. The latter, however, when
+he thus saw his rival triumph, lost at the same time his head and his
+footing on the rope; he threw his pole away, and shot downwards faster
+than it, like an eddy of arms and legs, into the depth. The market-place
+and the people were like the sea when the storm cometh on: they all flew
+apart and in disorder, especially where the body was about to fall.
+
+Zarathustra, however, remained standing, and just beside him fell the
+body, badly injured and disfigured, but not yet dead. After a while
+consciousness returned to the shattered man, and he saw Zarathustra
+kneeling beside him. "What art thou doing there?" said he at last, "I
+knew long ago that the devil would trip me up. Now he draggeth me to
+hell: wilt thou prevent him?"
+
+"On mine honour, my friend," answered Zarathustra, "there is nothing of
+all that whereof thou speakest: there is no devil and no hell. Thy soul
+will be dead even sooner than thy body: fear, therefore, nothing any
+more!"
+
+The man looked up distrustfully. "If thou speakest the truth," said he,
+"I lose nothing when I lose my life. I am not much more than an animal
+which hath been taught to dance by blows and scanty fare."
+
+"Not at all," said Zarathustra, "thou hast made danger thy calling;
+therein there is nothing contemptible. Now thou perishest by thy
+calling: therefore will I bury thee with mine own hands."
+
+When Zarathustra had said this the dying one did not reply further; but
+he moved his hand as if he sought the hand of Zarathustra in gratitude.
+
+7.
+
+Meanwhile the evening came on, and the market-place veiled itself in
+gloom. Then the people dispersed, for even curiosity and terror become
+fatigued. Zarathustra, however, still sat beside the dead man on the
+ground, absorbed in thought: so he forgot the time. But at last it
+became night, and a cold wind blew upon the lonely one. Then arose
+Zarathustra and said to his heart:
+
+Verily, a fine catch of fish hath Zarathustra made to-day! It is not a
+man he hath caught, but a corpse.
+
+Sombre is human life, and as yet without meaning: a buffoon may be
+fateful to it.
+
+I want to teach men the sense of their existence, which is the Superman,
+the lightning out of the dark cloud--man.
+
+But still am I far from them, and my sense speaketh not unto their
+sense. To men I am still something between a fool and a corpse.
+
+Gloomy is the night, gloomy are the ways of Zarathustra. Come, thou cold
+and stiff companion! I carry thee to the place where I shall bury thee
+with mine own hands.
+
+8.
+
+When Zarathustra had said this to his heart, he put the corpse upon his
+shoulders and set out on his way. Yet had he not gone a hundred steps,
+when there stole a man up to him and whispered in his ear--and lo!
+he that spake was the buffoon from the tower. "Leave this town, O
+Zarathustra," said he, "there are too many here who hate thee. The
+good and just hate thee, and call thee their enemy and despiser; the
+believers in the orthodox belief hate thee, and call thee a danger to
+the multitude. It was thy good fortune to be laughed at: and verily thou
+spakest like a buffoon. It was thy good fortune to associate with the
+dead dog; by so humiliating thyself thou hast saved thy life to-day.
+Depart, however, from this town,--or tomorrow I shall jump over thee,
+a living man over a dead one." And when he had said this, the buffoon
+vanished; Zarathustra, however, went on through the dark streets.
+
+At the gate of the town the grave-diggers met him: they shone their
+torch on his face, and, recognising Zarathustra, they sorely derided
+him. "Zarathustra is carrying away the dead dog: a fine thing that
+Zarathustra hath turned a grave-digger! For our hands are too cleanly
+for that roast. Will Zarathustra steal the bite from the devil? Well
+then, good luck to the repast! If only the devil is not a better thief
+than Zarathustra!--he will steal them both, he will eat them both!" And
+they laughed among themselves, and put their heads together.
+
+Zarathustra made no answer thereto, but went on his way. When he had
+gone on for two hours, past forests and swamps, he had heard too much of
+the hungry howling of the wolves, and he himself became a-hungry. So he
+halted at a lonely house in which a light was burning.
+
+"Hunger attacketh me," said Zarathustra, "like a robber. Among forests
+and swamps my hunger attacketh me, and late in the night.
+
+"Strange humours hath my hunger. Often it cometh to me only after a
+repast, and all day it hath failed to come: where hath it been?"
+
+And thereupon Zarathustra knocked at the door of the house. An old man
+appeared, who carried a light, and asked: "Who cometh unto me and my bad
+sleep?"
+
+"A living man and a dead one," said Zarathustra. "Give me something to
+eat and drink, I forgot it during the day. He that feedeth the hungry
+refresheth his own soul, saith wisdom."
+
+The old man withdrew, but came back immediately and offered Zarathustra
+bread and wine. "A bad country for the hungry," said he; "that is why
+I live here. Animal and man come unto me, the anchorite. But bid thy
+companion eat and drink also, he is wearier than thou." Zarathustra
+answered: "My companion is dead; I shall hardly be able to persuade him
+to eat." "That doth not concern me," said the old man sullenly; "he
+that knocketh at my door must take what I offer him. Eat, and fare ye
+well!"--
+
+Thereafter Zarathustra again went on for two hours, trusting to the path
+and the light of the stars: for he was an experienced night-walker, and
+liked to look into the face of all that slept. When the morning dawned,
+however, Zarathustra found himself in a thick forest, and no path was
+any longer visible. He then put the dead man in a hollow tree at his
+head--for he wanted to protect him from the wolves--and laid himself
+down on the ground and moss. And immediately he fell asleep, tired in
+body, but with a tranquil soul.
+
+9.
+
+Long slept Zarathustra; and not only the rosy dawn passed over his head,
+but also the morning. At last, however, his eyes opened, and amazedly he
+gazed into the forest and the stillness, amazedly he gazed into himself.
+Then he arose quickly, like a seafarer who all at once seeth the land;
+and he shouted for joy: for he saw a new truth. And he spake thus to his
+heart:
+
+A light hath dawned upon me: I need companions--living ones; not dead
+companions and corpses, which I carry with me where I will.
+
+But I need living companions, who will follow me because they want to
+follow themselves--and to the place where I will.
+
+A light hath dawned upon me. Not to the people is Zarathustra to speak,
+but to companions! Zarathustra shall not be the herd's herdsman and
+hound!
+
+To allure many from the herd--for that purpose have I come. The people
+and the herd must be angry with me: a robber shall Zarathustra be called
+by the herdsmen.
+
+Herdsmen, I say, but they call themselves the good and just. Herdsmen, I
+say, but they call themselves the believers in the orthodox belief.
+
+Behold the good and just! Whom do they hate most? Him who breaketh up
+their tables of values, the breaker, the lawbreaker:--he, however, is
+the creator.
+
+Behold the believers of all beliefs! Whom do they hate most? Him who
+breaketh up their tables of values, the breaker, the law-breaker--he,
+however, is the creator.
+
+Companions, the creator seeketh, not corpses--and not herds or believers
+either. Fellow-creators the creator seeketh--those who grave new values
+on new tables.
+
+Companions, the creator seeketh, and fellow-reapers: for everything is
+ripe for the harvest with him. But he lacketh the hundred sickles: so he
+plucketh the ears of corn and is vexed.
+
+Companions, the creator seeketh, and such as know how to whet their
+sickles. Destroyers, will they be called, and despisers of good and
+evil. But they are the reapers and rejoicers.
+
+Fellow-creators, Zarathustra seeketh; fellow-reapers and
+fellow-rejoicers, Zarathustra seeketh: what hath he to do with herds and
+herdsmen and corpses!
+
+And thou, my first companion, rest in peace! Well have I buried thee in
+thy hollow tree; well have I hid thee from the wolves.
+
+But I part from thee; the time hath arrived. 'Twixt rosy dawn and rosy
+dawn there came unto me a new truth.
+
+I am not to be a herdsman, I am not to be a grave-digger. Not any more
+will I discourse unto the people; for the last time have I spoken unto
+the dead.
+
+With the creators, the reapers, and the rejoicers will I associate: the
+rainbow will I show them, and all the stairs to the Superman.
+
+To the lone-dwellers will I sing my song, and to the twain-dwellers;
+and unto him who hath still ears for the unheard, will I make the heart
+heavy with my happiness.
+
+I make for my goal, I follow my course; over the loitering and tardy
+will I leap. Thus let my on-going be their down-going!
+
+10.
+
+This had Zarathustra said to his heart when the sun stood at noon-tide.
+Then he looked inquiringly aloft,--for he heard above him the sharp call
+of a bird. And behold! An eagle swept through the air in wide circles,
+and on it hung a serpent, not like a prey, but like a friend: for it
+kept itself coiled round the eagle's neck.
+
+"They are mine animals," said Zarathustra, and rejoiced in his heart.
+
+"The proudest animal under the sun, and the wisest animal under the
+sun,--they have come out to reconnoitre.
+
+They want to know whether Zarathustra still liveth. Verily, do I still
+live?
+
+More dangerous have I found it among men than among animals; in
+dangerous paths goeth Zarathustra. Let mine animals lead me!
+
+When Zarathustra had said this, he remembered the words of the saint in
+the forest. Then he sighed and spake thus to his heart:
+
+"Would that I were wiser! Would that I were wise from the very heart,
+like my serpent!
+
+But I am asking the impossible. Therefore do I ask my pride to go always
+with my wisdom!
+
+And if my wisdom should some day forsake me:--alas! it loveth to fly
+away!--may my pride then fly with my folly!"
+
+Thus began Zarathustra's down-going.
+
+
+
+
+ZARATHUSTRA'S DISCOURSES.
+
+
+
+
+I. THE THREE METAMORPHOSES.
+
+Three metamorphoses of the spirit do I designate to you: how the spirit
+becometh a camel, the camel a lion, and the lion at last a child.
+
+Many heavy things are there for the spirit, the strong load-bearing
+spirit in which reverence dwelleth: for the heavy and the heaviest
+longeth its strength.
+
+What is heavy? so asketh the load-bearing spirit; then kneeleth it down
+like the camel, and wanteth to be well laden.
+
+What is the heaviest thing, ye heroes? asketh the load-bearing spirit,
+that I may take it upon me and rejoice in my strength.
+
+Is it not this: To humiliate oneself in order to mortify one's pride? To
+exhibit one's folly in order to mock at one's wisdom?
+
+Or is it this: To desert our cause when it celebrateth its triumph? To
+ascend high mountains to tempt the tempter?
+
+Or is it this: To feed on the acorns and grass of knowledge, and for the
+sake of truth to suffer hunger of soul?
+
+Or is it this: To be sick and dismiss comforters, and make friends of
+the deaf, who never hear thy requests?
+
+Or is it this: To go into foul water when it is the water of truth, and
+not disclaim cold frogs and hot toads?
+
+Or is it this: To love those who despise us, and give one's hand to the
+phantom when it is going to frighten us?
+
+All these heaviest things the load-bearing spirit taketh upon itself:
+and like the camel, which, when laden, hasteneth into the wilderness, so
+hasteneth the spirit into its wilderness.
+
+But in the loneliest wilderness happeneth the second metamorphosis: here
+the spirit becometh a lion; freedom will it capture, and lordship in its
+own wilderness.
+
+Its last Lord it here seeketh: hostile will it be to him, and to its
+last God; for victory will it struggle with the great dragon.
+
+What is the great dragon which the spirit is no longer inclined to call
+Lord and God? "Thou-shalt," is the great dragon called. But the spirit
+of the lion saith, "I will."
+
+"Thou-shalt," lieth in its path, sparkling with gold--a scale-covered
+beast; and on every scale glittereth golden, "Thou shalt!"
+
+The values of a thousand years glitter on those scales, and
+thus speaketh the mightiest of all dragons: "All the values of
+things--glitter on me.
+
+All values have already been created, and all created values--do I
+represent. Verily, there shall be no 'I will' any more. Thus speaketh
+the dragon.
+
+My brethren, wherefore is there need of the lion in the spirit? Why
+sufficeth not the beast of burden, which renounceth and is reverent?
+
+To create new values--that, even the lion cannot yet accomplish: but to
+create itself freedom for new creating--that can the might of the lion
+do.
+
+To create itself freedom, and give a holy Nay even unto duty: for that,
+my brethren, there is need of the lion.
+
+To assume the right to new values--that is the most formidable
+assumption for a load-bearing and reverent spirit. Verily, unto such a
+spirit it is preying, and the work of a beast of prey.
+
+As its holiest, it once loved "Thou-shalt": now is it forced to find
+illusion and arbitrariness even in the holiest things, that it may
+capture freedom from its love: the lion is needed for this capture.
+
+But tell me, my brethren, what the child can do, which even the lion
+could not do? Why hath the preying lion still to become a child?
+
+Innocence is the child, and forgetfulness, a new beginning, a game, a
+self-rolling wheel, a first movement, a holy Yea.
+
+Aye, for the game of creating, my brethren, there is needed a holy Yea
+unto life: ITS OWN will, willeth now the spirit; HIS OWN world winneth
+the world's outcast.
+
+Three metamorphoses of the spirit have I designated to you: how the
+spirit became a camel, the camel a lion, and the lion at last a child.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra. And at that time he abode in the town which is
+called The Pied Cow.
+
+
+
+
+II. THE ACADEMIC CHAIRS OF VIRTUE.
+
+People commended unto Zarathustra a wise man, as one who could discourse
+well about sleep and virtue: greatly was he honoured and rewarded for
+it, and all the youths sat before his chair. To him went Zarathustra,
+and sat among the youths before his chair. And thus spake the wise man:
+
+Respect and modesty in presence of sleep! That is the first thing! And
+to go out of the way of all who sleep badly and keep awake at night!
+
+Modest is even the thief in presence of sleep: he always stealeth softly
+through the night. Immodest, however, is the night-watchman; immodestly
+he carrieth his horn.
+
+No small art is it to sleep: it is necessary for that purpose to keep
+awake all day.
+
+Ten times a day must thou overcome thyself: that causeth wholesome
+weariness, and is poppy to the soul.
+
+Ten times must thou reconcile again with thyself; for overcoming is
+bitterness, and badly sleep the unreconciled.
+
+Ten truths must thou find during the day; otherwise wilt thou seek truth
+during the night, and thy soul will have been hungry.
+
+Ten times must thou laugh during the day, and be cheerful; otherwise thy
+stomach, the father of affliction, will disturb thee in the night.
+
+Few people know it, but one must have all the virtues in order to sleep
+well. Shall I bear false witness? Shall I commit adultery?
+
+Shall I covet my neighbour's maidservant? All that would ill accord with
+good sleep.
+
+And even if one have all the virtues, there is still one thing needful:
+to send the virtues themselves to sleep at the right time.
+
+That they may not quarrel with one another, the good females! And about
+thee, thou unhappy one!
+
+Peace with God and thy neighbour: so desireth good sleep. And peace also
+with thy neighbour's devil! Otherwise it will haunt thee in the night.
+
+Honour to the government, and obedience, and also to the crooked
+government! So desireth good sleep. How can I help it, if power like to
+walk on crooked legs?
+
+He who leadeth his sheep to the greenest pasture, shall always be for me
+the best shepherd: so doth it accord with good sleep.
+
+Many honours I want not, nor great treasures: they excite the spleen.
+But it is bad sleeping without a good name and a little treasure.
+
+A small company is more welcome to me than a bad one: but they must come
+and go at the right time. So doth it accord with good sleep.
+
+Well, also, do the poor in spirit please me: they promote sleep. Blessed
+are they, especially if one always give in to them.
+
+Thus passeth the day unto the virtuous. When night cometh, then take I
+good care not to summon sleep. It disliketh to be summoned--sleep, the
+lord of the virtues!
+
+But I think of what I have done and thought during the day. Thus
+ruminating, patient as a cow, I ask myself: What were thy ten
+overcomings?
+
+And what were the ten reconciliations, and the ten truths, and the ten
+laughters with which my heart enjoyed itself?
+
+Thus pondering, and cradled by forty thoughts, it overtaketh me all at
+once--sleep, the unsummoned, the lord of the virtues.
+
+Sleep tappeth on mine eye, and it turneth heavy. Sleep toucheth my
+mouth, and it remaineth open.
+
+Verily, on soft soles doth it come to me, the dearest of thieves, and
+stealeth from me my thoughts: stupid do I then stand, like this academic
+chair.
+
+But not much longer do I then stand: I already lie.--
+
+When Zarathustra heard the wise man thus speak, he laughed in his heart:
+for thereby had a light dawned upon him. And thus spake he to his heart:
+
+A fool seemeth this wise man with his forty thoughts: but I believe he
+knoweth well how to sleep.
+
+Happy even is he who liveth near this wise man! Such sleep is
+contagious--even through a thick wall it is contagious.
+
+A magic resideth even in his academic chair. And not in vain did the
+youths sit before the preacher of virtue.
+
+His wisdom is to keep awake in order to sleep well. And verily, if
+life had no sense, and had I to choose nonsense, this would be the
+desirablest nonsense for me also.
+
+Now know I well what people sought formerly above all else when they
+sought teachers of virtue. Good sleep they sought for themselves, and
+poppy-head virtues to promote it!
+
+To all those belauded sages of the academic chairs, wisdom was sleep
+without dreams: they knew no higher significance of life.
+
+Even at present, to be sure, there are some like this preacher of
+virtue, and not always so honourable: but their time is past. And not
+much longer do they stand: there they already lie.
+
+Blessed are those drowsy ones: for they shall soon nod to sleep.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+III. BACKWORLDSMEN.
+
+Once on a time, Zarathustra also cast his fancy beyond man, like all
+backworldsmen. The work of a suffering and tortured God, did the world
+then seem to me.
+
+The dream--and diction--of a God, did the world then seem to me;
+coloured vapours before the eyes of a divinely dissatisfied one.
+
+Good and evil, and joy and woe, and I and thou--coloured vapours did
+they seem to me before creative eyes. The creator wished to look away
+from himself,--thereupon he created the world.
+
+Intoxicating joy is it for the sufferer to look away from his suffering
+and forget himself. Intoxicating joy and self-forgetting, did the world
+once seem to me.
+
+This world, the eternally imperfect, an eternal contradiction's image
+and imperfect image--an intoxicating joy to its imperfect creator:--thus
+did the world once seem to me.
+
+Thus, once on a time, did I also cast my fancy beyond man, like all
+backworldsmen. Beyond man, forsooth?
+
+Ah, ye brethren, that God whom I created was human work and human
+madness, like all the Gods!
+
+A man was he, and only a poor fragment of a man and ego. Out of mine own
+ashes and glow it came unto me, that phantom. And verily, it came not
+unto me from the beyond!
+
+What happened, my brethren? I surpassed myself, the suffering one; I
+carried mine own ashes to the mountain; a brighter flame I contrived for
+myself. And lo! Thereupon the phantom WITHDREW from me!
+
+To me the convalescent would it now be suffering and torment to believe
+in such phantoms: suffering would it now be to me, and humiliation. Thus
+speak I to backworldsmen.
+
+Suffering was it, and impotence--that created all backworlds; and
+the short madness of happiness, which only the greatest sufferer
+experienceth.
+
+Weariness, which seeketh to get to the ultimate with one leap, with
+a death-leap; a poor ignorant weariness, unwilling even to will any
+longer: that created all Gods and backworlds.
+
+Believe me, my brethren! It was the body which despaired of the body--it
+groped with the fingers of the infatuated spirit at the ultimate walls.
+
+Believe me, my brethren! It was the body which despaired of the
+earth--it heard the bowels of existence speaking unto it.
+
+And then it sought to get through the ultimate walls with its head--and
+not with its head only--into "the other world."
+
+But that "other world" is well concealed from man, that dehumanised,
+inhuman world, which is a celestial naught; and the bowels of existence
+do not speak unto man, except as man.
+
+Verily, it is difficult to prove all being, and hard to make it speak.
+Tell me, ye brethren, is not the strangest of all things best proved?
+
+Yea, this ego, with its contradiction and perplexity, speaketh most
+uprightly of its being--this creating, willing, evaluing ego, which is
+the measure and value of things.
+
+And this most upright existence, the ego--it speaketh of the body, and
+still implieth the body, even when it museth and raveth and fluttereth
+with broken wings.
+
+Always more uprightly learneth it to speak, the ego; and the more it
+learneth, the more doth it find titles and honours for the body and the
+earth.
+
+A new pride taught me mine ego, and that teach I unto men: no longer
+to thrust one's head into the sand of celestial things, but to carry it
+freely, a terrestrial head, which giveth meaning to the earth!
+
+A new will teach I unto men: to choose that path which man hath followed
+blindly, and to approve of it--and no longer to slink aside from it,
+like the sick and perishing!
+
+The sick and perishing--it was they who despised the body and the earth,
+and invented the heavenly world, and the redeeming blood-drops; but even
+those sweet and sad poisons they borrowed from the body and the earth!
+
+From their misery they sought escape, and the stars were too remote for
+them. Then they sighed: "O that there were heavenly paths by which to
+steal into another existence and into happiness!" Then they contrived
+for themselves their by-paths and bloody draughts!
+
+Beyond the sphere of their body and this earth they now fancied
+themselves transported, these ungrateful ones. But to what did they owe
+the convulsion and rapture of their transport? To their body and this
+earth.
+
+Gentle is Zarathustra to the sickly. Verily, he is not indignant
+at their modes of consolation and ingratitude. May they become
+convalescents and overcomers, and create higher bodies for themselves!
+
+Neither is Zarathustra indignant at a convalescent who looketh tenderly
+on his delusions, and at midnight stealeth round the grave of his God;
+but sickness and a sick frame remain even in his tears.
+
+Many sickly ones have there always been among those who muse, and
+languish for God; violently they hate the discerning ones, and the
+latest of virtues, which is uprightness.
+
+Backward they always gaze toward dark ages: then, indeed, were delusion
+and faith something different. Raving of the reason was likeness to God,
+and doubt was sin.
+
+Too well do I know those godlike ones: they insist on being believed in,
+and that doubt is sin. Too well, also, do I know what they themselves
+most believe in.
+
+Verily, not in backworlds and redeeming blood-drops: but in the body
+do they also believe most; and their own body is for them the
+thing-in-itself.
+
+But it is a sickly thing to them, and gladly would they get out of their
+skin. Therefore hearken they to the preachers of death, and themselves
+preach backworlds.
+
+Hearken rather, my brethren, to the voice of the healthy body; it is a
+more upright and pure voice.
+
+More uprightly and purely speaketh the healthy body, perfect and
+square-built; and it speaketh of the meaning of the earth.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+IV. THE DESPISERS OF THE BODY.
+
+To the despisers of the body will I speak my word. I wish them neither
+to learn afresh, nor teach anew, but only to bid farewell to their own
+bodies,--and thus be dumb.
+
+"Body am I, and soul"--so saith the child. And why should one not speak
+like children?
+
+But the awakened one, the knowing one, saith: "Body am I entirely, and
+nothing more; and soul is only the name of something in the body."
+
+The body is a big sagacity, a plurality with one sense, a war and a
+peace, a flock and a shepherd.
+
+An instrument of thy body is also thy little sagacity, my brother, which
+thou callest "spirit"--a little instrument and plaything of thy big
+sagacity.
+
+"Ego," sayest thou, and art proud of that word. But the greater
+thing--in which thou art unwilling to believe--is thy body with its big
+sagacity; it saith not "ego," but doeth it.
+
+What the sense feeleth, what the spirit discerneth, hath never its end
+in itself. But sense and spirit would fain persuade thee that they are
+the end of all things: so vain are they.
+
+Instruments and playthings are sense and spirit: behind them there
+is still the Self. The Self seeketh with the eyes of the senses, it
+hearkeneth also with the ears of the spirit.
+
+Ever hearkeneth the Self, and seeketh; it compareth, mastereth,
+conquereth, and destroyeth. It ruleth, and is also the ego's ruler.
+
+Behind thy thoughts and feelings, my brother, there is a mighty lord,
+an unknown sage--it is called Self; it dwelleth in thy body, it is thy
+body.
+
+There is more sagacity in thy body than in thy best wisdom. And who then
+knoweth why thy body requireth just thy best wisdom?
+
+Thy Self laugheth at thine ego, and its proud prancings. "What are these
+prancings and flights of thought unto me?" it saith to itself. "A by-way
+to my purpose. I am the leading-string of the ego, and the prompter of
+its notions."
+
+The Self saith unto the ego: "Feel pain!" And thereupon it suffereth,
+and thinketh how it may put an end thereto--and for that very purpose it
+IS MEANT to think.
+
+The Self saith unto the ego: "Feel pleasure!" Thereupon it rejoiceth,
+and thinketh how it may ofttimes rejoice--and for that very purpose it
+IS MEANT to think.
+
+To the despisers of the body will I speak a word. That they despise is
+caused by their esteem. What is it that created esteeming and despising
+and worth and will?
+
+The creating Self created for itself esteeming and despising, it created
+for itself joy and woe. The creating body created for itself spirit, as
+a hand to its will.
+
+Even in your folly and despising ye each serve your Self, ye despisers
+of the body. I tell you, your very Self wanteth to die, and turneth away
+from life.
+
+No longer can your Self do that which it desireth most:--create beyond
+itself. That is what it desireth most; that is all its fervour.
+
+But it is now too late to do so:--so your Self wisheth to succumb, ye
+despisers of the body.
+
+To succumb--so wisheth your Self; and therefore have ye become despisers
+of the body. For ye can no longer create beyond yourselves.
+
+And therefore are ye now angry with life and with the earth. And
+unconscious envy is in the sidelong look of your contempt.
+
+I go not your way, ye despisers of the body! Ye are no bridges for me to
+the Superman!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+V. JOYS AND PASSIONS.
+
+My brother, when thou hast a virtue, and it is thine own virtue, thou
+hast it in common with no one.
+
+To be sure, thou wouldst call it by name and caress it; thou wouldst
+pull its ears and amuse thyself with it.
+
+And lo! Then hast thou its name in common with the people, and hast
+become one of the people and the herd with thy virtue!
+
+Better for thee to say: "Ineffable is it, and nameless, that which is
+pain and sweetness to my soul, and also the hunger of my bowels."
+
+Let thy virtue be too high for the familiarity of names, and if thou
+must speak of it, be not ashamed to stammer about it.
+
+Thus speak and stammer: "That is MY good, that do I love, thus doth it
+please me entirely, thus only do _I_ desire the good.
+
+Not as the law of a God do I desire it, not as a human law or a human
+need do I desire it; it is not to be a guide-post for me to superearths
+and paradises.
+
+An earthly virtue is it which I love: little prudence is therein, and
+the least everyday wisdom.
+
+But that bird built its nest beside me: therefore, I love and cherish
+it--now sitteth it beside me on its golden eggs."
+
+Thus shouldst thou stammer, and praise thy virtue.
+
+Once hadst thou passions and calledst them evil. But now hast thou only
+thy virtues: they grew out of thy passions.
+
+Thou implantedst thy highest aim into the heart of those passions: then
+became they thy virtues and joys.
+
+And though thou wert of the race of the hot-tempered, or of the
+voluptuous, or of the fanatical, or the vindictive;
+
+All thy passions in the end became virtues, and all thy devils angels.
+
+Once hadst thou wild dogs in thy cellar: but they changed at last into
+birds and charming songstresses.
+
+Out of thy poisons brewedst thou balsam for thyself; thy cow,
+affliction, milkedst thou--now drinketh thou the sweet milk of her
+udder.
+
+And nothing evil groweth in thee any longer, unless it be the evil that
+groweth out of the conflict of thy virtues.
+
+My brother, if thou be fortunate, then wilt thou have one virtue and no
+more: thus goest thou easier over the bridge.
+
+Illustrious is it to have many virtues, but a hard lot; and many a one
+hath gone into the wilderness and killed himself, because he was weary
+of being the battle and battlefield of virtues.
+
+My brother, are war and battle evil? Necessary, however, is the evil;
+necessary are the envy and the distrust and the back-biting among the
+virtues.
+
+Lo! how each of thy virtues is covetous of the highest place; it wanteth
+thy whole spirit to be ITS herald, it wanteth thy whole power, in wrath,
+hatred, and love.
+
+Jealous is every virtue of the others, and a dreadful thing is jealousy.
+Even virtues may succumb by jealousy.
+
+He whom the flame of jealousy encompasseth, turneth at last, like the
+scorpion, the poisoned sting against himself.
+
+Ah! my brother, hast thou never seen a virtue backbite and stab itself?
+
+Man is something that hath to be surpassed: and therefore shalt thou
+love thy virtues,--for thou wilt succumb by them.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+VI. THE PALE CRIMINAL.
+
+Ye do not mean to slay, ye judges and sacrificers, until the animal hath
+bowed its head? Lo! the pale criminal hath bowed his head: out of his
+eye speaketh the great contempt.
+
+"Mine ego is something which is to be surpassed: mine ego is to me the
+great contempt of man": so speaketh it out of that eye.
+
+When he judged himself--that was his supreme moment; let not the exalted
+one relapse again into his low estate!
+
+There is no salvation for him who thus suffereth from himself, unless it
+be speedy death.
+
+Your slaying, ye judges, shall be pity, and not revenge; and in that ye
+slay, see to it that ye yourselves justify life!
+
+It is not enough that ye should reconcile with him whom ye slay. Let
+your sorrow be love to the Superman: thus will ye justify your own
+survival!
+
+"Enemy" shall ye say but not "villain," "invalid" shall ye say but not
+"wretch," "fool" shall ye say but not "sinner."
+
+And thou, red judge, if thou would say audibly all thou hast done in
+thought, then would every one cry: "Away with the nastiness and the
+virulent reptile!"
+
+But one thing is the thought, another thing is the deed, and another
+thing is the idea of the deed. The wheel of causality doth not roll
+between them.
+
+An idea made this pale man pale. Adequate was he for his deed when he
+did it, but the idea of it, he could not endure when it was done.
+
+Evermore did he now see himself as the doer of one deed. Madness, I call
+this: the exception reversed itself to the rule in him.
+
+The streak of chalk bewitcheth the hen; the stroke he struck bewitched
+his weak reason. Madness AFTER the deed, I call this.
+
+Hearken, ye judges! There is another madness besides, and it is BEFORE
+the deed. Ah! ye have not gone deep enough into this soul!
+
+Thus speaketh the red judge: "Why did this criminal commit murder? He
+meant to rob." I tell you, however, that his soul wanted blood, not
+booty: he thirsted for the happiness of the knife!
+
+But his weak reason understood not this madness, and it persuaded him.
+"What matter about blood!" it said; "wishest thou not, at least, to make
+booty thereby? Or take revenge?"
+
+And he hearkened unto his weak reason: like lead lay its words upon
+him--thereupon he robbed when he murdered. He did not mean to be
+ashamed of his madness.
+
+And now once more lieth the lead of his guilt upon him, and once more is
+his weak reason so benumbed, so paralysed, and so dull.
+
+Could he only shake his head, then would his burden roll off; but who
+shaketh that head?
+
+What is this man? A mass of diseases that reach out into the world
+through the spirit; there they want to get their prey.
+
+What is this man? A coil of wild serpents that are seldom at peace among
+themselves--so they go forth apart and seek prey in the world.
+
+Look at that poor body! What it suffered and craved, the poor soul
+interpreted to itself--it interpreted it as murderous desire, and
+eagerness for the happiness of the knife.
+
+Him who now turneth sick, the evil overtaketh which is now the evil: he
+seeketh to cause pain with that which causeth him pain. But there have
+been other ages, and another evil and good.
+
+Once was doubt evil, and the will to Self. Then the invalid became a
+heretic or sorcerer; as heretic or sorcerer he suffered, and sought to
+cause suffering.
+
+But this will not enter your ears; it hurteth your good people, ye tell
+me. But what doth it matter to me about your good people!
+
+Many things in your good people cause me disgust, and verily, not their
+evil. I would that they had a madness by which they succumbed, like this
+pale criminal!
+
+Verily, I would that their madness were called truth, or fidelity,
+or justice: but they have their virtue in order to live long, and in
+wretched self-complacency.
+
+I am a railing alongside the torrent; whoever is able to grasp me may
+grasp me! Your crutch, however, I am not.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+VII. READING AND WRITING.
+
+Of all that is written, I love only what a person hath written with his
+blood. Write with blood, and thou wilt find that blood is spirit.
+
+It is no easy task to understand unfamiliar blood; I hate the reading
+idlers.
+
+He who knoweth the reader, doeth nothing more for the reader. Another
+century of readers--and spirit itself will stink.
+
+Every one being allowed to learn to read, ruineth in the long run not
+only writing but also thinking.
+
+Once spirit was God, then it became man, and now it even becometh
+populace.
+
+He that writeth in blood and proverbs doth not want to be read, but
+learnt by heart.
+
+In the mountains the shortest way is from peak to peak, but for that
+route thou must have long legs. Proverbs should be peaks, and those
+spoken to should be big and tall.
+
+The atmosphere rare and pure, danger near and the spirit full of a
+joyful wickedness: thus are things well matched.
+
+I want to have goblins about me, for I am courageous. The courage which
+scareth away ghosts, createth for itself goblins--it wanteth to laugh.
+
+I no longer feel in common with you; the very cloud which I see
+beneath me, the blackness and heaviness at which I laugh--that is your
+thunder-cloud.
+
+Ye look aloft when ye long for exaltation; and I look downward because I
+am exalted.
+
+Who among you can at the same time laugh and be exalted?
+
+He who climbeth on the highest mountains, laugheth at all tragic plays
+and tragic realities.
+
+Courageous, unconcerned, scornful, coercive--so wisdom wisheth us; she
+is a woman, and ever loveth only a warrior.
+
+Ye tell me, "Life is hard to bear." But for what purpose should ye have
+your pride in the morning and your resignation in the evening?
+
+Life is hard to bear: but do not affect to be so delicate! We are all of
+us fine sumpter asses and assesses.
+
+What have we in common with the rose-bud, which trembleth because a drop
+of dew hath formed upon it?
+
+It is true we love life; not because we are wont to live, but because we
+are wont to love.
+
+There is always some madness in love. But there is always, also, some
+method in madness.
+
+And to me also, who appreciate life, the butterflies, and soap-bubbles,
+and whatever is like them amongst us, seem most to enjoy happiness.
+
+To see these light, foolish, pretty, lively little sprites flit
+about--that moveth Zarathustra to tears and songs.
+
+I should only believe in a God that would know how to dance.
+
+And when I saw my devil, I found him serious, thorough, profound,
+solemn: he was the spirit of gravity--through him all things fall.
+
+Not by wrath, but by laughter, do we slay. Come, let us slay the spirit
+of gravity!
+
+I learned to walk; since then have I let myself run. I learned to fly;
+since then I do not need pushing in order to move from a spot.
+
+Now am I light, now do I fly; now do I see myself under myself. Now
+there danceth a God in me.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+VIII. THE TREE ON THE HILL.
+
+Zarathustra's eye had perceived that a certain youth avoided him. And as
+he walked alone one evening over the hills surrounding the town called
+"The Pied Cow," behold, there found he the youth sitting leaning against
+a tree, and gazing with wearied look into the valley. Zarathustra
+thereupon laid hold of the tree beside which the youth sat, and spake
+thus:
+
+"If I wished to shake this tree with my hands, I should not be able to
+do so.
+
+But the wind, which we see not, troubleth and bendeth it as it listeth.
+We are sorest bent and troubled by invisible hands."
+
+Thereupon the youth arose disconcerted, and said: "I hear Zarathustra,
+and just now was I thinking of him!" Zarathustra answered:
+
+"Why art thou frightened on that account?--But it is the same with man
+as with the tree.
+
+The more he seeketh to rise into the height and light, the more
+vigorously do his roots struggle earthward, downward, into the dark and
+deep--into the evil."
+
+"Yea, into the evil!" cried the youth. "How is it possible that thou
+hast discovered my soul?"
+
+Zarathustra smiled, and said: "Many a soul one will never discover,
+unless one first invent it."
+
+"Yea, into the evil!" cried the youth once more.
+
+"Thou saidst the truth, Zarathustra. I trust myself no longer since I
+sought to rise into the height, and nobody trusteth me any longer; how
+doth that happen?
+
+I change too quickly: my to-day refuteth my yesterday. I often overleap
+the steps when I clamber; for so doing, none of the steps pardons me.
+
+When aloft, I find myself always alone. No one speaketh unto me; the
+frost of solitude maketh me tremble. What do I seek on the height?
+
+My contempt and my longing increase together; the higher I clamber, the
+more do I despise him who clambereth. What doth he seek on the height?
+
+How ashamed I am of my clambering and stumbling! How I mock at my
+violent panting! How I hate him who flieth! How tired I am on the
+height!"
+
+Here the youth was silent. And Zarathustra contemplated the tree beside
+which they stood, and spake thus:
+
+"This tree standeth lonely here on the hills; it hath grown up high
+above man and beast.
+
+And if it wanted to speak, it would have none who could understand it:
+so high hath it grown.
+
+Now it waiteth and waiteth,--for what doth it wait? It dwelleth too
+close to the seat of the clouds; it waiteth perhaps for the first
+lightning?"
+
+When Zarathustra had said this, the youth called out with violent
+gestures: "Yea, Zarathustra, thou speakest the truth. My destruction
+I longed for, when I desired to be on the height, and thou art the
+lightning for which I waited! Lo! what have I been since thou hast
+appeared amongst us? It is mine envy of thee that hath destroyed
+me!"--Thus spake the youth, and wept bitterly. Zarathustra, however, put
+his arm about him, and led the youth away with him.
+
+And when they had walked a while together, Zarathustra began to speak
+thus:
+
+It rendeth my heart. Better than thy words express it, thine eyes tell
+me all thy danger.
+
+As yet thou art not free; thou still SEEKEST freedom. Too unslept hath
+thy seeking made thee, and too wakeful.
+
+On the open height wouldst thou be; for the stars thirsteth thy soul.
+But thy bad impulses also thirst for freedom.
+
+Thy wild dogs want liberty; they bark for joy in their cellar when thy
+spirit endeavoureth to open all prison doors.
+
+Still art thou a prisoner--it seemeth to me--who deviseth liberty
+for himself: ah! sharp becometh the soul of such prisoners, but also
+deceitful and wicked.
+
+To purify himself, is still necessary for the freedman of the spirit.
+Much of the prison and the mould still remaineth in him: pure hath his
+eye still to become.
+
+Yea, I know thy danger. But by my love and hope I conjure thee: cast not
+thy love and hope away!
+
+Noble thou feelest thyself still, and noble others also feel thee still,
+though they bear thee a grudge and cast evil looks. Know this, that to
+everybody a noble one standeth in the way.
+
+Also to the good, a noble one standeth in the way: and even when they
+call him a good man, they want thereby to put him aside.
+
+The new, would the noble man create, and a new virtue. The old, wanteth
+the good man, and that the old should be conserved.
+
+But it is not the danger of the noble man to turn a good man, but lest
+he should become a blusterer, a scoffer, or a destroyer.
+
+Ah! I have known noble ones who lost their highest hope. And then they
+disparaged all high hopes.
+
+Then lived they shamelessly in temporary pleasures, and beyond the day
+had hardly an aim.
+
+"Spirit is also voluptuousness,"--said they. Then broke the wings of
+their spirit; and now it creepeth about, and defileth where it gnaweth.
+
+Once they thought of becoming heroes; but sensualists are they now. A
+trouble and a terror is the hero to them.
+
+But by my love and hope I conjure thee: cast not away the hero in thy
+soul! Maintain holy thy highest hope!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+IX. THE PREACHERS OF DEATH.
+
+There are preachers of death: and the earth is full of those to whom
+desistance from life must be preached.
+
+Full is the earth of the superfluous; marred is life by the
+many-too-many. May they be decoyed out of this life by the "life
+eternal"!
+
+"The yellow ones": so are called the preachers of death, or "the black
+ones." But I will show them unto you in other colours besides.
+
+There are the terrible ones who carry about in themselves the beast of
+prey, and have no choice except lusts or self-laceration. And even their
+lusts are self-laceration.
+
+They have not yet become men, those terrible ones: may they preach
+desistance from life, and pass away themselves!
+
+There are the spiritually consumptive ones: hardly are they born when
+they begin to die, and long for doctrines of lassitude and renunciation.
+
+They would fain be dead, and we should approve of their wish! Let
+us beware of awakening those dead ones, and of damaging those living
+coffins!
+
+They meet an invalid, or an old man, or a corpse--and immediately they
+say: "Life is refuted!"
+
+But they only are refuted, and their eye, which seeth only one aspect of
+existence.
+
+Shrouded in thick melancholy, and eager for the little casualties that
+bring death: thus do they wait, and clench their teeth.
+
+Or else, they grasp at sweetmeats, and mock at their childishness
+thereby: they cling to their straw of life, and mock at their still
+clinging to it.
+
+Their wisdom speaketh thus: "A fool, he who remaineth alive; but so far
+are we fools! And that is the foolishest thing in life!"
+
+"Life is only suffering": so say others, and lie not. Then see to it
+that YE cease! See to it that the life ceaseth which is only suffering!
+
+And let this be the teaching of your virtue: "Thou shalt slay thyself!
+Thou shalt steal away from thyself!"--
+
+"Lust is sin,"--so say some who preach death--"let us go apart and beget
+no children!"
+
+"Giving birth is troublesome,"--say others--"why still give birth? One
+beareth only the unfortunate!" And they also are preachers of death.
+
+"Pity is necessary,"--so saith a third party. "Take what I have! Take
+what I am! So much less doth life bind me!"
+
+Were they consistently pitiful, then would they make their neighbours
+sick of life. To be wicked--that would be their true goodness.
+
+But they want to be rid of life; what care they if they bind others
+still faster with their chains and gifts!--
+
+And ye also, to whom life is rough labour and disquiet, are ye not very
+tired of life? Are ye not very ripe for the sermon of death?
+
+All ye to whom rough labour is dear, and the rapid, new, and strange--ye
+put up with yourselves badly; your diligence is flight, and the will to
+self-forgetfulness.
+
+If ye believed more in life, then would ye devote yourselves less to the
+momentary. But for waiting, ye have not enough of capacity in you--nor
+even for idling!
+
+Everywhere resoundeth the voices of those who preach death; and the
+earth is full of those to whom death hath to be preached.
+
+Or "life eternal"; it is all the same to me--if only they pass away
+quickly!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+X. WAR AND WARRIORS.
+
+By our best enemies we do not want to be spared, nor by those either
+whom we love from the very heart. So let me tell you the truth!
+
+My brethren in war! I love you from the very heart. I am, and was ever,
+your counterpart. And I am also your best enemy. So let me tell you the
+truth!
+
+I know the hatred and envy of your hearts. Ye are not great enough not
+to know of hatred and envy. Then be great enough not to be ashamed of
+them!
+
+And if ye cannot be saints of knowledge, then, I pray you, be at least
+its warriors. They are the companions and forerunners of such saintship.
+
+I see many soldiers; could I but see many warriors! "Uniform" one
+calleth what they wear; may it not be uniform what they therewith hide!
+
+Ye shall be those whose eyes ever seek for an enemy--for YOUR enemy. And
+with some of you there is hatred at first sight.
+
+Your enemy shall ye seek; your war shall ye wage, and for the sake of
+your thoughts! And if your thoughts succumb, your uprightness shall
+still shout triumph thereby!
+
+Ye shall love peace as a means to new wars--and the short peace more
+than the long.
+
+You I advise not to work, but to fight. You I advise not to peace, but
+to victory. Let your work be a fight, let your peace be a victory!
+
+One can only be silent and sit peacefully when one hath arrow and bow;
+otherwise one prateth and quarrelleth. Let your peace be a victory!
+
+Ye say it is the good cause which halloweth even war? I say unto you: it
+is the good war which halloweth every cause.
+
+War and courage have done more great things than charity. Not your
+sympathy, but your bravery hath hitherto saved the victims.
+
+"What is good?" ye ask. To be brave is good. Let the little girls say:
+"To be good is what is pretty, and at the same time touching."
+
+They call you heartless: but your heart is true, and I love the
+bashfulness of your goodwill. Ye are ashamed of your flow, and others
+are ashamed of their ebb.
+
+Ye are ugly? Well then, my brethren, take the sublime about you, the
+mantle of the ugly!
+
+And when your soul becometh great, then doth it become haughty, and in
+your sublimity there is wickedness. I know you.
+
+In wickedness the haughty man and the weakling meet. But they
+misunderstand one another. I know you.
+
+Ye shall only have enemies to be hated, but not enemies to be despised.
+Ye must be proud of your enemies; then, the successes of your enemies
+are also your successes.
+
+Resistance--that is the distinction of the slave. Let your distinction
+be obedience. Let your commanding itself be obeying!
+
+To the good warrior soundeth "thou shalt" pleasanter than "I will." And
+all that is dear unto you, ye shall first have it commanded unto you.
+
+Let your love to life be love to your highest hope; and let your highest
+hope be the highest thought of life!
+
+Your highest thought, however, ye shall have it commanded unto you by
+me--and it is this: man is something that is to be surpassed.
+
+So live your life of obedience and of war! What matter about long life!
+What warrior wisheth to be spared!
+
+I spare you not, I love you from my very heart, my brethren in war!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XI. THE NEW IDOL.
+
+Somewhere there are still peoples and herds, but not with us, my
+brethren: here there are states.
+
+A state? What is that? Well! open now your ears unto me, for now will I
+say unto you my word concerning the death of peoples.
+
+A state, is called the coldest of all cold monsters. Coldly lieth
+it also; and this lie creepeth from its mouth: "I, the state, am the
+people."
+
+It is a lie! Creators were they who created peoples, and hung a faith
+and a love over them: thus they served life.
+
+Destroyers, are they who lay snares for many, and call it the state:
+they hang a sword and a hundred cravings over them.
+
+Where there is still a people, there the state is not understood, but
+hated as the evil eye, and as sin against laws and customs.
+
+This sign I give unto you: every people speaketh its language of good
+and evil: this its neighbour understandeth not. Its language hath it
+devised for itself in laws and customs.
+
+But the state lieth in all languages of good and evil; and whatever it
+saith it lieth; and whatever it hath it hath stolen.
+
+False is everything in it; with stolen teeth it biteth, the biting one.
+False are even its bowels.
+
+Confusion of language of good and evil; this sign I give unto you as
+the sign of the state. Verily, the will to death, indicateth this sign!
+Verily, it beckoneth unto the preachers of death!
+
+Many too many are born: for the superfluous ones was the state devised!
+
+See just how it enticeth them to it, the many-too-many! How it
+swalloweth and cheweth and recheweth them!
+
+"On earth there is nothing greater than I: it is I who am the regulating
+finger of God"--thus roareth the monster. And not only the long-eared
+and short-sighted fall upon their knees!
+
+Ah! even in your ears, ye great souls, it whispereth its gloomy lies!
+Ah! it findeth out the rich hearts which willingly lavish themselves!
+
+Yea, it findeth you out too, ye conquerors of the old God! Weary ye
+became of the conflict, and now your weariness serveth the new idol!
+
+Heroes and honourable ones, it would fain set up around it, the new
+idol! Gladly it basketh in the sunshine of good consciences,--the cold
+monster!
+
+Everything will it give YOU, if YE worship it, the new idol: thus it
+purchaseth the lustre of your virtue, and the glance of your proud eyes.
+
+It seeketh to allure by means of you, the many-too-many! Yea, a hellish
+artifice hath here been devised, a death-horse jingling with the
+trappings of divine honours!
+
+Yea, a dying for many hath here been devised, which glorifieth itself as
+life: verily, a hearty service unto all preachers of death!
+
+The state, I call it, where all are poison-drinkers, the good and the
+bad: the state, where all lose themselves, the good and the bad: the
+state, where the slow suicide of all--is called "life."
+
+Just see these superfluous ones! They steal the works of the inventors
+and the treasures of the wise. Culture, they call their theft--and
+everything becometh sickness and trouble unto them!
+
+Just see these superfluous ones! Sick are they always; they vomit their
+bile and call it a newspaper. They devour one another, and cannot even
+digest themselves.
+
+Just see these superfluous ones! Wealth they acquire and become poorer
+thereby. Power they seek for, and above all, the lever of power, much
+money--these impotent ones!
+
+See them clamber, these nimble apes! They clamber over one another, and
+thus scuffle into the mud and the abyss.
+
+Towards the throne they all strive: it is their madness--as if happiness
+sat on the throne! Ofttimes sitteth filth on the throne.--and ofttimes
+also the throne on filth.
+
+Madmen they all seem to me, and clambering apes, and too eager. Badly
+smelleth their idol to me, the cold monster: badly they all smell to me,
+these idolaters.
+
+My brethren, will ye suffocate in the fumes of their maws and appetites!
+Better break the windows and jump into the open air!
+
+Do go out of the way of the bad odour! Withdraw from the idolatry of the
+superfluous!
+
+Do go out of the way of the bad odour! Withdraw from the steam of these
+human sacrifices!
+
+Open still remaineth the earth for great souls. Empty are still many
+sites for lone ones and twain ones, around which floateth the odour of
+tranquil seas.
+
+Open still remaineth a free life for great souls. Verily, he who
+possesseth little is so much the less possessed: blessed be moderate
+poverty!
+
+There, where the state ceaseth--there only commenceth the man who is not
+superfluous: there commenceth the song of the necessary ones, the single
+and irreplaceable melody.
+
+There, where the state CEASETH--pray look thither, my brethren! Do ye
+not see it, the rainbow and the bridges of the Superman?--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XII. THE FLIES IN THE MARKET-PLACE.
+
+Flee, my friend, into thy solitude! I see thee deafened with the noise
+of the great men, and stung all over with the stings of the little ones.
+
+Admirably do forest and rock know how to be silent with thee. Resemble
+again the tree which thou lovest, the broad-branched one--silently and
+attentively it o'erhangeth the sea.
+
+Where solitude endeth, there beginneth the market-place; and where the
+market-place beginneth, there beginneth also the noise of the great
+actors, and the buzzing of the poison-flies.
+
+In the world even the best things are worthless without those who
+represent them: those representers, the people call great men.
+
+Little do the people understand what is great--that is to say, the
+creating agency. But they have a taste for all representers and actors
+of great things.
+
+Around the devisers of new values revolveth the world:--invisibly it
+revolveth. But around the actors revolve the people and the glory: such
+is the course of things.
+
+Spirit, hath the actor, but little conscience of the spirit. He
+believeth always in that wherewith he maketh believe most strongly--in
+HIMSELF!
+
+Tomorrow he hath a new belief, and the day after, one still newer. Sharp
+perceptions hath he, like the people, and changeable humours.
+
+To upset--that meaneth with him to prove. To drive mad--that meaneth
+with him to convince. And blood is counted by him as the best of all
+arguments.
+
+A truth which only glideth into fine ears, he calleth falsehood and
+trumpery. Verily, he believeth only in Gods that make a great noise in
+the world!
+
+Full of clattering buffoons is the market-place,--and the people glory
+in their great men! These are for them the masters of the hour.
+
+But the hour presseth them; so they press thee. And also from thee
+they want Yea or Nay. Alas! thou wouldst set thy chair betwixt For and
+Against?
+
+On account of those absolute and impatient ones, be not jealous, thou
+lover of truth! Never yet did truth cling to the arm of an absolute one.
+
+On account of those abrupt ones, return into thy security: only in the
+market-place is one assailed by Yea? or Nay?
+
+Slow is the experience of all deep fountains: long have they to wait
+until they know WHAT hath fallen into their depths.
+
+Away from the market-place and from fame taketh place all that is great:
+away from the market-Place and from fame have ever dwelt the devisers of
+new values.
+
+Flee, my friend, into thy solitude: I see thee stung all over by the
+poisonous flies. Flee thither, where a rough, strong breeze bloweth!
+
+Flee into thy solitude! Thou hast lived too closely to the small and the
+pitiable. Flee from their invisible vengeance! Towards thee they have
+nothing but vengeance.
+
+Raise no longer an arm against them! Innumerable are they, and it is not
+thy lot to be a fly-flap.
+
+Innumerable are the small and pitiable ones; and of many a proud
+structure, rain-drops and weeds have been the ruin.
+
+Thou art not stone; but already hast thou become hollow by the numerous
+drops. Thou wilt yet break and burst by the numerous drops.
+
+Exhausted I see thee, by poisonous flies; bleeding I see thee, and torn
+at a hundred spots; and thy pride will not even upbraid.
+
+Blood they would have from thee in all innocence; blood their bloodless
+souls crave for--and they sting, therefore, in all innocence.
+
+But thou, profound one, thou sufferest too profoundly even from small
+wounds; and ere thou hadst recovered, the same poison-worm crawled over
+thy hand.
+
+Too proud art thou to kill these sweet-tooths. But take care lest it be
+thy fate to suffer all their poisonous injustice!
+
+They buzz around thee also with their praise: obtrusiveness, is their
+praise. They want to be close to thy skin and thy blood.
+
+They flatter thee, as one flattereth a God or devil; they whimper before
+thee, as before a God or devil. What doth it come to! Flatterers are
+they, and whimperers, and nothing more.
+
+Often, also, do they show themselves to thee as amiable ones. But that
+hath ever been the prudence of the cowardly. Yea! the cowardly are wise!
+
+They think much about thee with their circumscribed souls--thou art
+always suspected by them! Whatever is much thought about is at last
+thought suspicious.
+
+They punish thee for all thy virtues. They pardon thee in their inmost
+hearts only--for thine errors.
+
+Because thou art gentle and of upright character, thou sayest:
+"Blameless are they for their small existence." But their circumscribed
+souls think: "Blamable is all great existence."
+
+Even when thou art gentle towards them, they still feel themselves
+despised by thee; and they repay thy beneficence with secret
+maleficence.
+
+Thy silent pride is always counter to their taste; they rejoice if once
+thou be humble enough to be frivolous.
+
+What we recognise in a man, we also irritate in him. Therefore be on
+your guard against the small ones!
+
+In thy presence they feel themselves small, and their baseness gleameth
+and gloweth against thee in invisible vengeance.
+
+Sawest thou not how often they became dumb when thou approachedst them,
+and how their energy left them like the smoke of an extinguishing fire?
+
+Yea, my friend, the bad conscience art thou of thy neighbours; for they
+are unworthy of thee. Therefore they hate thee, and would fain suck thy
+blood.
+
+Thy neighbours will always be poisonous flies; what is great in
+thee--that itself must make them more poisonous, and always more
+fly-like.
+
+Flee, my friend, into thy solitude--and thither, where a rough strong
+breeze bloweth. It is not thy lot to be a fly-flap.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XIII. CHASTITY.
+
+I love the forest. It is bad to live in cities: there, there are too
+many of the lustful.
+
+Is it not better to fall into the hands of a murderer, than into the
+dreams of a lustful woman?
+
+And just look at these men: their eye saith it--they know nothing better
+on earth than to lie with a woman.
+
+Filth is at the bottom of their souls; and alas! if their filth hath
+still spirit in it!
+
+Would that ye were perfect--at least as animals! But to animals
+belongeth innocence.
+
+Do I counsel you to slay your instincts? I counsel you to innocence in
+your instincts.
+
+Do I counsel you to chastity? Chastity is a virtue with some, but with
+many almost a vice.
+
+These are continent, to be sure: but doggish lust looketh enviously out
+of all that they do.
+
+Even into the heights of their virtue and into their cold spirit doth
+this creature follow them, with its discord.
+
+And how nicely can doggish lust beg for a piece of spirit, when a piece
+of flesh is denied it!
+
+Ye love tragedies and all that breaketh the heart? But I am distrustful
+of your doggish lust.
+
+Ye have too cruel eyes, and ye look wantonly towards the sufferers.
+Hath not your lust just disguised itself and taken the name of
+fellow-suffering?
+
+And also this parable give I unto you: Not a few who meant to cast out
+their devil, went thereby into the swine themselves.
+
+To whom chastity is difficult, it is to be dissuaded: lest it become the
+road to hell--to filth and lust of soul.
+
+Do I speak of filthy things? That is not the worst thing for me to do.
+
+Not when the truth is filthy, but when it is shallow, doth the
+discerning one go unwillingly into its waters.
+
+Verily, there are chaste ones from their very nature; they are gentler
+of heart, and laugh better and oftener than you.
+
+They laugh also at chastity, and ask: "What is chastity?
+
+Is chastity not folly? But the folly came unto us, and not we unto it.
+
+We offered that guest harbour and heart: now it dwelleth with us--let it
+stay as long as it will!"--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XIV. THE FRIEND.
+
+"One, is always too many about me"--thinketh the anchorite. "Always once
+one--that maketh two in the long run!"
+
+I and me are always too earnestly in conversation: how could it be
+endured, if there were not a friend?
+
+The friend of the anchorite is always the third one: the third one is
+the cork which preventeth the conversation of the two sinking into the
+depth.
+
+Ah! there are too many depths for all anchorites. Therefore, do they
+long so much for a friend, and for his elevation.
+
+Our faith in others betrayeth wherein we would fain have faith in
+ourselves. Our longing for a friend is our betrayer.
+
+And often with our love we want merely to overleap envy. And often we
+attack and make ourselves enemies, to conceal that we are vulnerable.
+
+"Be at least mine enemy!"--thus speaketh the true reverence, which doth
+not venture to solicit friendship.
+
+If one would have a friend, then must one also be willing to wage war
+for him: and in order to wage war, one must be CAPABLE of being an
+enemy.
+
+One ought still to honour the enemy in one's friend. Canst thou go nigh
+unto thy friend, and not go over to him?
+
+In one's friend one shall have one's best enemy. Thou shalt be closest
+unto him with thy heart when thou withstandest him.
+
+Thou wouldst wear no raiment before thy friend? It is in honour of thy
+friend that thou showest thyself to him as thou art? But he wisheth thee
+to the devil on that account!
+
+He who maketh no secret of himself shocketh: so much reason have ye
+to fear nakedness! Aye, if ye were Gods, ye could then be ashamed of
+clothing!
+
+Thou canst not adorn thyself fine enough for thy friend; for thou shalt
+be unto him an arrow and a longing for the Superman.
+
+Sawest thou ever thy friend asleep--to know how he looketh? What is
+usually the countenance of thy friend? It is thine own countenance, in a
+coarse and imperfect mirror.
+
+Sawest thou ever thy friend asleep? Wert thou not dismayed at thy friend
+looking so? O my friend, man is something that hath to be surpassed.
+
+In divining and keeping silence shall the friend be a master: not
+everything must thou wish to see. Thy dream shall disclose unto thee
+what thy friend doeth when awake.
+
+Let thy pity be a divining: to know first if thy friend wanteth pity.
+Perhaps he loveth in thee the unmoved eye, and the look of eternity.
+
+Let thy pity for thy friend be hid under a hard shell; thou shalt bite
+out a tooth upon it. Thus will it have delicacy and sweetness.
+
+Art thou pure air and solitude and bread and medicine to thy friend?
+Many a one cannot loosen his own fetters, but is nevertheless his
+friend's emancipator.
+
+Art thou a slave? Then thou canst not be a friend. Art thou a tyrant?
+Then thou canst not have friends.
+
+Far too long hath there been a slave and a tyrant concealed in woman.
+On that account woman is not yet capable of friendship: she knoweth only
+love.
+
+In woman's love there is injustice and blindness to all she doth not
+love. And even in woman's conscious love, there is still always surprise
+and lightning and night, along with the light.
+
+As yet woman is not capable of friendship: women are still cats, and
+birds. Or at the best, cows.
+
+As yet woman is not capable of friendship. But tell me, ye men, who of
+you are capable of friendship?
+
+Oh! your poverty, ye men, and your sordidness of soul! As much as ye
+give to your friend, will I give even to my foe, and will not have
+become poorer thereby.
+
+There is comradeship: may there be friendship!
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XV. THE THOUSAND AND ONE GOALS.
+
+Many lands saw Zarathustra, and many peoples: thus he discovered the
+good and bad of many peoples. No greater power did Zarathustra find on
+earth than good and bad.
+
+No people could live without first valuing; if a people will maintain
+itself, however, it must not value as its neighbour valueth.
+
+Much that passed for good with one people was regarded with scorn and
+contempt by another: thus I found it. Much found I here called bad,
+which was there decked with purple honours.
+
+Never did the one neighbour understand the other: ever did his soul
+marvel at his neighbour's delusion and wickedness.
+
+A table of excellencies hangeth over every people. Lo! it is the table
+of their triumphs; lo! it is the voice of their Will to Power.
+
+It is laudable, what they think hard; what is indispensable and hard
+they call good; and what relieveth in the direst distress, the unique
+and hardest of all,--they extol as holy.
+
+Whatever maketh them rule and conquer and shine, to the dismay and envy
+of their neighbours, they regard as the high and foremost thing, the
+test and the meaning of all else.
+
+Verily, my brother, if thou knewest but a people's need, its land,
+its sky, and its neighbour, then wouldst thou divine the law of its
+surmountings, and why it climbeth up that ladder to its hope.
+
+"Always shalt thou be the foremost and prominent above others: no one
+shall thy jealous soul love, except a friend"--that made the soul of a
+Greek thrill: thereby went he his way to greatness.
+
+"To speak truth, and be skilful with bow and arrow"--so seemed it alike
+pleasing and hard to the people from whom cometh my name--the name which
+is alike pleasing and hard to me.
+
+"To honour father and mother, and from the root of the soul to do their
+will"--this table of surmounting hung another people over them, and
+became powerful and permanent thereby.
+
+"To have fidelity, and for the sake of fidelity to risk honour and
+blood, even in evil and dangerous courses"--teaching itself so, another
+people mastered itself, and thus mastering itself, became pregnant and
+heavy with great hopes.
+
+Verily, men have given unto themselves all their good and bad. Verily,
+they took it not, they found it not, it came not unto them as a voice
+from heaven.
+
+Values did man only assign to things in order to maintain himself--he
+created only the significance of things, a human significance!
+Therefore, calleth he himself "man," that is, the valuator.
+
+Valuing is creating: hear it, ye creating ones! Valuation itself is the
+treasure and jewel of the valued things.
+
+Through valuation only is there value; and without valuation the nut of
+existence would be hollow. Hear it, ye creating ones!
+
+Change of values--that is, change of the creating ones. Always doth he
+destroy who hath to be a creator.
+
+Creating ones were first of all peoples, and only in late times
+individuals; verily, the individual himself is still the latest
+creation.
+
+Peoples once hung over them tables of the good. Love which would rule
+and love which would obey, created for themselves such tables.
+
+Older is the pleasure in the herd than the pleasure in the ego: and as
+long as the good conscience is for the herd, the bad conscience only
+saith: ego.
+
+Verily, the crafty ego, the loveless one, that seeketh its advantage in
+the advantage of many--it is not the origin of the herd, but its ruin.
+
+Loving ones, was it always, and creating ones, that created good and
+bad. Fire of love gloweth in the names of all the virtues, and fire of
+wrath.
+
+Many lands saw Zarathustra, and many peoples: no greater power did
+Zarathustra find on earth than the creations of the loving ones--"good"
+and "bad" are they called.
+
+Verily, a prodigy is this power of praising and blaming. Tell me, ye
+brethren, who will master it for me? Who will put a fetter upon the
+thousand necks of this animal?
+
+A thousand goals have there been hitherto, for a thousand peoples have
+there been. Only the fetter for the thousand necks is still lacking;
+there is lacking the one goal. As yet humanity hath not a goal.
+
+But pray tell me, my brethren, if the goal of humanity be still lacking,
+is there not also still lacking--humanity itself?--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XVI. NEIGHBOUR-LOVE.
+
+Ye crowd around your neighbour, and have fine words for it. But I say
+unto you: your neighbour-love is your bad love of yourselves.
+
+Ye flee unto your neighbour from yourselves, and would fain make a
+virtue thereof: but I fathom your "unselfishness."
+
+The THOU is older than the _I_; the THOU hath been consecrated, but not
+yet the _I_: so man presseth nigh unto his neighbour.
+
+Do I advise you to neighbour-love? Rather do I advise you to
+neighbour-flight and to furthest love!
+
+Higher than love to your neighbour is love to the furthest and future
+ones; higher still than love to men, is love to things and phantoms.
+
+The phantom that runneth on before thee, my brother, is fairer than
+thou; why dost thou not give unto it thy flesh and thy bones? But thou
+fearest, and runnest unto thy neighbour.
+
+Ye cannot endure it with yourselves, and do not love yourselves
+sufficiently: so ye seek to mislead your neighbour into love, and would
+fain gild yourselves with his error.
+
+Would that ye could not endure it with any kind of near ones, or their
+neighbours; then would ye have to create your friend and his overflowing
+heart out of yourselves.
+
+Ye call in a witness when ye want to speak well of yourselves; and
+when ye have misled him to think well of you, ye also think well of
+yourselves.
+
+Not only doth he lie, who speaketh contrary to his knowledge, but more
+so, he who speaketh contrary to his ignorance. And thus speak ye
+of yourselves in your intercourse, and belie your neighbour with
+yourselves.
+
+Thus saith the fool: "Association with men spoileth the character,
+especially when one hath none."
+
+The one goeth to his neighbour because he seeketh himself, and the other
+because he would fain lose himself. Your bad love to yourselves maketh
+solitude a prison to you.
+
+The furthest ones are they who pay for your love to the near ones; and
+when there are but five of you together, a sixth must always die.
+
+I love not your festivals either: too many actors found I there, and
+even the spectators often behaved like actors.
+
+Not the neighbour do I teach you, but the friend. Let the friend be the
+festival of the earth to you, and a foretaste of the Superman.
+
+I teach you the friend and his overflowing heart. But one must know how
+to be a sponge, if one would be loved by overflowing hearts.
+
+I teach you the friend in whom the world standeth complete, a capsule
+of the good,--the creating friend, who hath always a complete world to
+bestow.
+
+And as the world unrolled itself for him, so rolleth it together again
+for him in rings, as the growth of good through evil, as the growth of
+purpose out of chance.
+
+Let the future and the furthest be the motive of thy to-day; in thy
+friend shalt thou love the Superman as thy motive.
+
+My brethren, I advise you not to neighbour-love--I advise you to
+furthest love!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XVII. THE WAY OF THE CREATING ONE.
+
+Wouldst thou go into isolation, my brother? Wouldst thou seek the way
+unto thyself? Tarry yet a little and hearken unto me.
+
+"He who seeketh may easily get lost himself. All isolation is wrong": so
+say the herd. And long didst thou belong to the herd.
+
+The voice of the herd will still echo in thee. And when thou sayest,
+"I have no longer a conscience in common with you," then will it be a
+plaint and a pain.
+
+Lo, that pain itself did the same conscience produce; and the last gleam
+of that conscience still gloweth on thine affliction.
+
+But thou wouldst go the way of thine affliction, which is the way unto
+thyself? Then show me thine authority and thy strength to do so!
+
+Art thou a new strength and a new authority? A first motion? A
+self-rolling wheel? Canst thou also compel stars to revolve around thee?
+
+Alas! there is so much lusting for loftiness! There are so many
+convulsions of the ambitions! Show me that thou art not a lusting and
+ambitious one!
+
+Alas! there are so many great thoughts that do nothing more than the
+bellows: they inflate, and make emptier than ever.
+
+Free, dost thou call thyself? Thy ruling thought would I hear of, and
+not that thou hast escaped from a yoke.
+
+Art thou one ENTITLED to escape from a yoke? Many a one hath cast away
+his final worth when he hath cast away his servitude.
+
+Free from what? What doth that matter to Zarathustra! Clearly, however,
+shall thine eye show unto me: free FOR WHAT?
+
+Canst thou give unto thyself thy bad and thy good, and set up thy will
+as a law over thee? Canst thou be judge for thyself, and avenger of thy
+law?
+
+Terrible is aloneness with the judge and avenger of one's own law.
+Thus is a star projected into desert space, and into the icy breath of
+aloneness.
+
+To-day sufferest thou still from the multitude, thou individual; to-day
+hast thou still thy courage unabated, and thy hopes.
+
+But one day will the solitude weary thee; one day will thy pride yield,
+and thy courage quail. Thou wilt one day cry: "I am alone!"
+
+One day wilt thou see no longer thy loftiness, and see too closely thy
+lowliness; thy sublimity itself will frighten thee as a phantom. Thou
+wilt one day cry: "All is false!"
+
+There are feelings which seek to slay the lonesome one; if they do not
+succeed, then must they themselves die! But art thou capable of it--to
+be a murderer?
+
+Hast thou ever known, my brother, the word "disdain"? And the anguish of
+thy justice in being just to those that disdain thee?
+
+Thou forcest many to think differently about thee; that, charge they
+heavily to thine account. Thou camest nigh unto them, and yet wentest
+past: for that they never forgive thee.
+
+Thou goest beyond them: but the higher thou risest, the smaller doth the
+eye of envy see thee. Most of all, however, is the flying one hated.
+
+"How could ye be just unto me!"--must thou say--"I choose your injustice
+as my allotted portion."
+
+Injustice and filth cast they at the lonesome one: but, my brother, if
+thou wouldst be a star, thou must shine for them none the less on that
+account!
+
+And be on thy guard against the good and just! They would fain crucify
+those who devise their own virtue--they hate the lonesome ones.
+
+Be on thy guard, also, against holy simplicity! All is unholy to it that
+is not simple; fain, likewise, would it play with the fire--of the fagot
+and stake.
+
+And be on thy guard, also, against the assaults of thy love! Too readily
+doth the recluse reach his hand to any one who meeteth him.
+
+To many a one mayest thou not give thy hand, but only thy paw; and I
+wish thy paw also to have claws.
+
+But the worst enemy thou canst meet, wilt thou thyself always be; thou
+waylayest thyself in caverns and forests.
+
+Thou lonesome one, thou goest the way to thyself! And past thyself and
+thy seven devils leadeth thy way!
+
+A heretic wilt thou be to thyself, and a wizard and a sooth-sayer, and a
+fool, and a doubter, and a reprobate, and a villain.
+
+Ready must thou be to burn thyself in thine own flame; how couldst thou
+become new if thou have not first become ashes!
+
+Thou lonesome one, thou goest the way of the creating one: a God wilt
+thou create for thyself out of thy seven devils!
+
+Thou lonesome one, thou goest the way of the loving one: thou lovest
+thyself, and on that account despisest thou thyself, as only the loving
+ones despise.
+
+To create, desireth the loving one, because he despiseth! What knoweth
+he of love who hath not been obliged to despise just what he loved!
+
+With thy love, go into thine isolation, my brother, and with thy
+creating; and late only will justice limp after thee.
+
+With my tears, go into thine isolation, my brother. I love him who
+seeketh to create beyond himself, and thus succumbeth.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XVIII. OLD AND YOUNG WOMEN.
+
+"Why stealest thou along so furtively in the twilight, Zarathustra? And
+what hidest thou so carefully under thy mantle?
+
+Is it a treasure that hath been given thee? Or a child that hath been
+born thee? Or goest thou thyself on a thief's errand, thou friend of the
+evil?"--
+
+Verily, my brother, said Zarathustra, it is a treasure that hath been
+given me: it is a little truth which I carry.
+
+But it is naughty, like a young child; and if I hold not its mouth, it
+screameth too loudly.
+
+As I went on my way alone to-day, at the hour when the sun declineth,
+there met me an old woman, and she spake thus unto my soul:
+
+"Much hath Zarathustra spoken also to us women, but never spake he unto
+us concerning woman."
+
+And I answered her: "Concerning woman, one should only talk unto men."
+
+"Talk also unto me of woman," said she; "I am old enough to forget it
+presently."
+
+And I obliged the old woman and spake thus unto her:
+
+Everything in woman is a riddle, and everything in woman hath one
+solution--it is called pregnancy.
+
+Man is for woman a means: the purpose is always the child. But what is
+woman for man?
+
+Two different things wanteth the true man: danger and diversion.
+Therefore wanteth he woman, as the most dangerous plaything.
+
+Man shall be trained for war, and woman for the recreation of the
+warrior: all else is folly.
+
+Too sweet fruits--these the warrior liketh not. Therefore liketh he
+woman;--bitter is even the sweetest woman.
+
+Better than man doth woman understand children, but man is more childish
+than woman.
+
+In the true man there is a child hidden: it wanteth to play. Up then, ye
+women, and discover the child in man!
+
+A plaything let woman be, pure and fine like the precious stone,
+illumined with the virtues of a world not yet come.
+
+Let the beam of a star shine in your love! Let your hope say: "May I
+bear the Superman!"
+
+In your love let there be valour! With your love shall ye assail him who
+inspireth you with fear!
+
+In your love be your honour! Little doth woman understand otherwise
+about honour. But let this be your honour: always to love more than ye
+are loved, and never be the second.
+
+Let man fear woman when she loveth: then maketh she every sacrifice, and
+everything else she regardeth as worthless.
+
+Let man fear woman when she hateth: for man in his innermost soul is
+merely evil; woman, however, is mean.
+
+Whom hateth woman most?--Thus spake the iron to the loadstone: "I hate
+thee most, because thou attractest, but art too weak to draw unto thee."
+
+The happiness of man is, "I will." The happiness of woman is, "He will."
+
+"Lo! now hath the world become perfect!"--thus thinketh every woman when
+she obeyeth with all her love.
+
+Obey, must the woman, and find a depth for her surface. Surface, is
+woman's soul, a mobile, stormy film on shallow water.
+
+Man's soul, however, is deep, its current gusheth in subterranean
+caverns: woman surmiseth its force, but comprehendeth it not.--
+
+Then answered me the old woman: "Many fine things hath Zarathustra said,
+especially for those who are young enough for them.
+
+Strange! Zarathustra knoweth little about woman, and yet he is right
+about them! Doth this happen, because with women nothing is impossible?
+
+And now accept a little truth by way of thanks! I am old enough for it!
+
+Swaddle it up and hold its mouth: otherwise it will scream too loudly,
+the little truth."
+
+"Give me, woman, thy little truth!" said I. And thus spake the old
+woman:
+
+"Thou goest to women? Do not forget thy whip!"--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XIX. THE BITE OF THE ADDER.
+
+One day had Zarathustra fallen asleep under a fig-tree, owing to the
+heat, with his arms over his face. And there came an adder and bit him
+in the neck, so that Zarathustra screamed with pain. When he had
+taken his arm from his face he looked at the serpent; and then did it
+recognise the eyes of Zarathustra, wriggled awkwardly, and tried to get
+away. "Not at all," said Zarathustra, "as yet hast thou not received
+my thanks! Thou hast awakened me in time; my journey is yet long."
+"Thy journey is short," said the adder sadly; "my poison is fatal."
+Zarathustra smiled. "When did ever a dragon die of a serpent's
+poison?"--said he. "But take thy poison back! Thou art not rich enough
+to present it to me." Then fell the adder again on his neck, and licked
+his wound.
+
+When Zarathustra once told this to his disciples they asked him:
+"And what, O Zarathustra, is the moral of thy story?" And Zarathustra
+answered them thus:
+
+The destroyer of morality, the good and just call me: my story is
+immoral.
+
+When, however, ye have an enemy, then return him not good for evil: for
+that would abash him. But prove that he hath done something good to you.
+
+And rather be angry than abash any one! And when ye are cursed, it
+pleaseth me not that ye should then desire to bless. Rather curse a
+little also!
+
+And should a great injustice befall you, then do quickly five small ones
+besides. Hideous to behold is he on whom injustice presseth alone.
+
+Did ye ever know this? Shared injustice is half justice. And he who can
+bear it, shall take the injustice upon himself!
+
+A small revenge is humaner than no revenge at all. And if the punishment
+be not also a right and an honour to the transgressor, I do not like
+your punishing.
+
+Nobler is it to own oneself in the wrong than to establish one's right,
+especially if one be in the right. Only, one must be rich enough to do
+so.
+
+I do not like your cold justice; out of the eye of your judges there
+always glanceth the executioner and his cold steel.
+
+Tell me: where find we justice, which is love with seeing eyes?
+
+Devise me, then, the love which not only beareth all punishment, but
+also all guilt!
+
+Devise me, then, the justice which acquitteth every one except the
+judge!
+
+And would ye hear this likewise? To him who seeketh to be just from the
+heart, even the lie becometh philanthropy.
+
+But how could I be just from the heart! How can I give every one his
+own! Let this be enough for me: I give unto every one mine own.
+
+Finally, my brethren, guard against doing wrong to any anchorite. How
+could an anchorite forget! How could he requite!
+
+Like a deep well is an anchorite. Easy is it to throw in a stone: if
+it should sink to the bottom, however, tell me, who will bring it out
+again?
+
+Guard against injuring the anchorite! If ye have done so, however, well
+then, kill him also!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XX. CHILD AND MARRIAGE.
+
+I have a question for thee alone, my brother: like a sounding-lead, cast
+I this question into thy soul, that I may know its depth.
+
+Thou art young, and desirest child and marriage. But I ask thee: Art
+thou a man ENTITLED to desire a child?
+
+Art thou the victorious one, the self-conqueror, the ruler of thy
+passions, the master of thy virtues? Thus do I ask thee.
+
+Or doth the animal speak in thy wish, and necessity? Or isolation? Or
+discord in thee?
+
+I would have thy victory and freedom long for a child. Living monuments
+shalt thou build to thy victory and emancipation.
+
+Beyond thyself shalt thou build. But first of all must thou be built
+thyself, rectangular in body and soul.
+
+Not only onward shalt thou propagate thyself, but upward! For that
+purpose may the garden of marriage help thee!
+
+A higher body shalt thou create, a first movement, a spontaneously
+rolling wheel--a creating one shalt thou create.
+
+Marriage: so call I the will of the twain to create the one that is
+more than those who created it. The reverence for one another, as those
+exercising such a will, call I marriage.
+
+Let this be the significance and the truth of thy marriage. But that
+which the many-too-many call marriage, those superfluous ones--ah, what
+shall I call it?
+
+Ah, the poverty of soul in the twain! Ah, the filth of soul in the
+twain! Ah, the pitiable self-complacency in the twain!
+
+Marriage they call it all; and they say their marriages are made in
+heaven.
+
+Well, I do not like it, that heaven of the superfluous! No, I do not
+like them, those animals tangled in the heavenly toils!
+
+Far from me also be the God who limpeth thither to bless what he hath
+not matched!
+
+Laugh not at such marriages! What child hath not had reason to weep over
+its parents?
+
+Worthy did this man seem, and ripe for the meaning of the earth: but
+when I saw his wife, the earth seemed to me a home for madcaps.
+
+Yea, I would that the earth shook with convulsions when a saint and a
+goose mate with one another.
+
+This one went forth in quest of truth as a hero, and at last got for
+himself a small decked-up lie: his marriage he calleth it.
+
+That one was reserved in intercourse and chose choicely. But one time he
+spoilt his company for all time: his marriage he calleth it.
+
+Another sought a handmaid with the virtues of an angel. But all at once
+he became the handmaid of a woman, and now would he need also to become
+an angel.
+
+Careful, have I found all buyers, and all of them have astute eyes. But
+even the astutest of them buyeth his wife in a sack.
+
+Many short follies--that is called love by you. And your marriage
+putteth an end to many short follies, with one long stupidity.
+
+Your love to woman, and woman's love to man--ah, would that it were
+sympathy for suffering and veiled deities! But generally two animals
+alight on one another.
+
+But even your best love is only an enraptured simile and a painful
+ardour. It is a torch to light you to loftier paths.
+
+Beyond yourselves shall ye love some day! Then LEARN first of all to
+love. And on that account ye had to drink the bitter cup of your love.
+
+Bitterness is in the cup even of the best love: thus doth it cause
+longing for the Superman; thus doth it cause thirst in thee, the
+creating one!
+
+Thirst in the creating one, arrow and longing for the Superman: tell me,
+my brother, is this thy will to marriage?
+
+Holy call I such a will, and such a marriage.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXI. VOLUNTARY DEATH.
+
+Many die too late, and some die too early. Yet strange soundeth the
+precept: "Die at the right time!
+
+Die at the right time: so teacheth Zarathustra.
+
+To be sure, he who never liveth at the right time, how could he ever die
+at the right time? Would that he might never be born!--Thus do I advise
+the superfluous ones.
+
+But even the superfluous ones make much ado about their death, and even
+the hollowest nut wanteth to be cracked.
+
+Every one regardeth dying as a great matter: but as yet death is not
+a festival. Not yet have people learned to inaugurate the finest
+festivals.
+
+The consummating death I show unto you, which becometh a stimulus and
+promise to the living.
+
+His death, dieth the consummating one triumphantly, surrounded by hoping
+and promising ones.
+
+Thus should one learn to die; and there should be no festival at which
+such a dying one doth not consecrate the oaths of the living!
+
+Thus to die is best; the next best, however, is to die in battle, and
+sacrifice a great soul.
+
+But to the fighter equally hateful as to the victor, is your grinning
+death which stealeth nigh like a thief,--and yet cometh as master.
+
+My death, praise I unto you, the voluntary death, which cometh unto me
+because _I_ want it.
+
+And when shall I want it?--He that hath a goal and an heir, wanteth
+death at the right time for the goal and the heir.
+
+And out of reverence for the goal and the heir, he will hang up no more
+withered wreaths in the sanctuary of life.
+
+Verily, not the rope-makers will I resemble: they lengthen out their
+cord, and thereby go ever backward.
+
+Many a one, also, waxeth too old for his truths and triumphs; a
+toothless mouth hath no longer the right to every truth.
+
+And whoever wanteth to have fame, must take leave of honour betimes, and
+practise the difficult art of--going at the right time.
+
+One must discontinue being feasted upon when one tasteth best: that is
+known by those who want to be long loved.
+
+Sour apples are there, no doubt, whose lot is to wait until the last
+day of autumn: and at the same time they become ripe, yellow, and
+shrivelled.
+
+In some ageth the heart first, and in others the spirit. And some are
+hoary in youth, but the late young keep long young.
+
+To many men life is a failure; a poison-worm gnaweth at their heart.
+Then let them see to it that their dying is all the more a success.
+
+Many never become sweet; they rot even in the summer. It is cowardice
+that holdeth them fast to their branches.
+
+Far too many live, and far too long hang they on their branches. Would
+that a storm came and shook all this rottenness and worm-eatenness from
+the tree!
+
+Would that there came preachers of SPEEDY death! Those would be the
+appropriate storms and agitators of the trees of life! But I hear only
+slow death preached, and patience with all that is "earthly."
+
+Ah! ye preach patience with what is earthly? This earthly is it that
+hath too much patience with you, ye blasphemers!
+
+Verily, too early died that Hebrew whom the preachers of slow death
+honour: and to many hath it proved a calamity that he died too early.
+
+As yet had he known only tears, and the melancholy of the Hebrews,
+together with the hatred of the good and just--the Hebrew Jesus: then
+was he seized with the longing for death.
+
+Had he but remained in the wilderness, and far from the good and just!
+Then, perhaps, would he have learned to live, and love the earth--and
+laughter also!
+
+Believe it, my brethren! He died too early; he himself would have
+disavowed his doctrine had he attained to my age! Noble enough was he to
+disavow!
+
+But he was still immature. Immaturely loveth the youth, and immaturely
+also hateth he man and earth. Confined and awkward are still his soul
+and the wings of his spirit.
+
+But in man there is more of the child than in the youth, and less of
+melancholy: better understandeth he about life and death.
+
+Free for death, and free in death; a holy Naysayer, when there is no
+longer time for Yea: thus understandeth he about death and life.
+
+That your dying may not be a reproach to man and the earth, my friends:
+that do I solicit from the honey of your soul.
+
+In your dying shall your spirit and your virtue still shine like an
+evening after-glow around the earth: otherwise your dying hath been
+unsatisfactory.
+
+Thus will I die myself, that ye friends may love the earth more for my
+sake; and earth will I again become, to have rest in her that bore me.
+
+Verily, a goal had Zarathustra; he threw his ball. Now be ye friends the
+heirs of my goal; to you throw I the golden ball.
+
+Best of all, do I see you, my friends, throw the golden ball! And so
+tarry I still a little while on the earth--pardon me for it!
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXII. THE BESTOWING VIRTUE.
+
+1.
+
+When Zarathustra had taken leave of the town to which his heart was
+attached, the name of which is "The Pied Cow," there followed him many
+people who called themselves his disciples, and kept him company. Thus
+came they to a crossroad. Then Zarathustra told them that he now wanted
+to go alone; for he was fond of going alone. His disciples, however,
+presented him at his departure with a staff, on the golden handle of
+which a serpent twined round the sun. Zarathustra rejoiced on account
+of the staff, and supported himself thereon; then spake he thus to his
+disciples:
+
+Tell me, pray: how came gold to the highest value? Because it is
+uncommon, and unprofiting, and beaming, and soft in lustre; it always
+bestoweth itself.
+
+Only as image of the highest virtue came gold to the highest value.
+Goldlike, beameth the glance of the bestower. Gold-lustre maketh peace
+between moon and sun.
+
+Uncommon is the highest virtue, and unprofiting, beaming is it, and soft
+of lustre: a bestowing virtue is the highest virtue.
+
+Verily, I divine you well, my disciples: ye strive like me for the
+bestowing virtue. What should ye have in common with cats and wolves?
+
+It is your thirst to become sacrifices and gifts yourselves: and
+therefore have ye the thirst to accumulate all riches in your soul.
+
+Insatiably striveth your soul for treasures and jewels, because your
+virtue is insatiable in desiring to bestow.
+
+Ye constrain all things to flow towards you and into you, so that they
+shall flow back again out of your fountain as the gifts of your love.
+
+Verily, an appropriator of all values must such bestowing love become;
+but healthy and holy, call I this selfishness.--
+
+Another selfishness is there, an all-too-poor and hungry kind, which
+would always steal--the selfishness of the sick, the sickly selfishness.
+
+With the eye of the thief it looketh upon all that is lustrous; with the
+craving of hunger it measureth him who hath abundance; and ever doth it
+prowl round the tables of bestowers.
+
+Sickness speaketh in such craving, and invisible degeneration; of a
+sickly body, speaketh the larcenous craving of this selfishness.
+
+Tell me, my brother, what do we think bad, and worst of all? Is it not
+DEGENERATION?--And we always suspect degeneration when the bestowing
+soul is lacking.
+
+Upward goeth our course from genera on to super-genera. But a horror to
+us is the degenerating sense, which saith: "All for myself."
+
+Upward soareth our sense: thus is it a simile of our body, a simile of
+an elevation. Such similes of elevations are the names of the virtues.
+
+Thus goeth the body through history, a becomer and fighter. And the
+spirit--what is it to the body? Its fights' and victories' herald, its
+companion and echo.
+
+Similes, are all names of good and evil; they do not speak out, they
+only hint. A fool who seeketh knowledge from them!
+
+Give heed, my brethren, to every hour when your spirit would speak in
+similes: there is the origin of your virtue.
+
+Elevated is then your body, and raised up; with its delight, enraptureth
+it the spirit; so that it becometh creator, and valuer, and lover, and
+everything's benefactor.
+
+When your heart overfloweth broad and full like the river, a blessing
+and a danger to the lowlanders: there is the origin of your virtue.
+
+When ye are exalted above praise and blame, and your will would command
+all things, as a loving one's will: there is the origin of your virtue.
+
+When ye despise pleasant things, and the effeminate couch, and cannot
+couch far enough from the effeminate: there is the origin of your
+virtue.
+
+When ye are willers of one will, and when that change of every need is
+needful to you: there is the origin of your virtue.
+
+Verily, a new good and evil is it! Verily, a new deep murmuring, and the
+voice of a new fountain!
+
+Power is it, this new virtue; a ruling thought is it, and around it a
+subtle soul: a golden sun, with the serpent of knowledge around it.
+
+2.
+
+Here paused Zarathustra awhile, and looked lovingly on his disciples.
+Then he continued to speak thus--and his voice had changed:
+
+Remain true to the earth, my brethren, with the power of your virtue!
+Let your bestowing love and your knowledge be devoted to be the meaning
+of the earth! Thus do I pray and conjure you.
+
+Let it not fly away from the earthly and beat against eternal walls with
+its wings! Ah, there hath always been so much flown-away virtue!
+
+Lead, like me, the flown-away virtue back to the earth--yea, back
+to body and life: that it may give to the earth its meaning, a human
+meaning!
+
+A hundred times hitherto hath spirit as well as virtue flown away
+and blundered. Alas! in our body dwelleth still all this delusion and
+blundering: body and will hath it there become.
+
+A hundred times hitherto hath spirit as well as virtue attempted and
+erred. Yea, an attempt hath man been. Alas, much ignorance and error
+hath become embodied in us!
+
+Not only the rationality of millenniums--also their madness, breaketh
+out in us. Dangerous is it to be an heir.
+
+Still fight we step by step with the giant Chance, and over all mankind
+hath hitherto ruled nonsense, the lack-of-sense.
+
+Let your spirit and your virtue be devoted to the sense of the earth,
+my brethren: let the value of everything be determined anew by you!
+Therefore shall ye be fighters! Therefore shall ye be creators!
+
+Intelligently doth the body purify itself; attempting with intelligence
+it exalteth itself; to the discerners all impulses sanctify themselves;
+to the exalted the soul becometh joyful.
+
+Physician, heal thyself: then wilt thou also heal thy patient. Let it be
+his best cure to see with his eyes him who maketh himself whole.
+
+A thousand paths are there which have never yet been trodden; a thousand
+salubrities and hidden islands of life. Unexhausted and undiscovered is
+still man and man's world.
+
+Awake and hearken, ye lonesome ones! From the future come winds with
+stealthy pinions, and to fine ears good tidings are proclaimed.
+
+Ye lonesome ones of to-day, ye seceding ones, ye shall one day be a
+people: out of you who have chosen yourselves, shall a chosen people
+arise:--and out of it the Superman.
+
+Verily, a place of healing shall the earth become! And already is a new
+odour diffused around it, a salvation-bringing odour--and a new hope!
+
+3.
+
+When Zarathustra had spoken these words, he paused, like one who had not
+said his last word; and long did he balance the staff doubtfully in his
+hand. At last he spake thus--and his voice had changed:
+
+I now go alone, my disciples! Ye also now go away, and alone! So will I
+have it.
+
+Verily, I advise you: depart from me, and guard yourselves against
+Zarathustra! And better still: be ashamed of him! Perhaps he hath
+deceived you.
+
+The man of knowledge must be able not only to love his enemies, but also
+to hate his friends.
+
+One requiteth a teacher badly if one remain merely a scholar. And why
+will ye not pluck at my wreath?
+
+Ye venerate me; but what if your veneration should some day collapse?
+Take heed lest a statue crush you!
+
+Ye say, ye believe in Zarathustra? But of what account is Zarathustra!
+Ye are my believers: but of what account are all believers!
+
+Ye had not yet sought yourselves: then did ye find me. So do all
+believers; therefore all belief is of so little account.
+
+Now do I bid you lose me and find yourselves; and only when ye have all
+denied me, will I return unto you.
+
+Verily, with other eyes, my brethren, shall I then seek my lost ones;
+with another love shall I then love you.
+
+And once again shall ye have become friends unto me, and children of one
+hope: then will I be with you for the third time, to celebrate the great
+noontide with you.
+
+And it is the great noontide, when man is in the middle of his course
+between animal and Superman, and celebrateth his advance to the evening
+as his highest hope: for it is the advance to a new morning.
+
+At such time will the down-goer bless himself, that he should be an
+over-goer; and the sun of his knowledge will be at noontide.
+
+"DEAD ARE ALL THE GODS: NOW DO WE DESIRE THE SUPERMAN TO LIVE."--Let
+this be our final will at the great noontide!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA. SECOND PART.
+
+"--and only when ye have all denied me, will I return unto you.
+
+Verily, with other eyes, my brethren, shall I then seek my lost ones;
+with another love shall I then love you."--ZARATHUSTRA, I., "The
+Bestowing Virtue."
+
+
+
+
+XXIII. THE CHILD WITH THE MIRROR.
+
+After this Zarathustra returned again into the mountains to the solitude
+of his cave, and withdrew himself from men, waiting like a sower who
+hath scattered his seed. His soul, however, became impatient and full of
+longing for those whom he loved: because he had still much to give them.
+For this is hardest of all: to close the open hand out of love, and keep
+modest as a giver.
+
+Thus passed with the lonesome one months and years; his wisdom meanwhile
+increased, and caused him pain by its abundance.
+
+One morning, however, he awoke ere the rosy dawn, and having meditated
+long on his couch, at last spake thus to his heart:
+
+Why did I startle in my dream, so that I awoke? Did not a child come to
+me, carrying a mirror?
+
+"O Zarathustra"--said the child unto me--"look at thyself in the
+mirror!"
+
+But when I looked into the mirror, I shrieked, and my heart throbbed:
+for not myself did I see therein, but a devil's grimace and derision.
+
+Verily, all too well do I understand the dream's portent and monition:
+my DOCTRINE is in danger; tares want to be called wheat!
+
+Mine enemies have grown powerful and have disfigured the likeness of
+my doctrine, so that my dearest ones have to blush for the gifts that I
+gave them.
+
+Lost are my friends; the hour hath come for me to seek my lost ones!--
+
+With these words Zarathustra started up, not however like a person in
+anguish seeking relief, but rather like a seer and a singer whom the
+spirit inspireth. With amazement did his eagle and serpent gaze upon
+him: for a coming bliss overspread his countenance like the rosy dawn.
+
+What hath happened unto me, mine animals?--said Zarathustra. Am I not
+transformed? Hath not bliss come unto me like a whirlwind?
+
+Foolish is my happiness, and foolish things will it speak: it is still
+too young--so have patience with it!
+
+Wounded am I by my happiness: all sufferers shall be physicians unto me!
+
+To my friends can I again go down, and also to mine enemies! Zarathustra
+can again speak and bestow, and show his best love to his loved ones!
+
+My impatient love overfloweth in streams,--down towards sunrise and
+sunset. Out of silent mountains and storms of affliction, rusheth my
+soul into the valleys.
+
+Too long have I longed and looked into the distance. Too long hath
+solitude possessed me: thus have I unlearned to keep silence.
+
+Utterance have I become altogether, and the brawling of a brook from
+high rocks: downward into the valleys will I hurl my speech.
+
+And let the stream of my love sweep into unfrequented channels! How
+should a stream not finally find its way to the sea!
+
+Forsooth, there is a lake in me, sequestered and self-sufficing; but the
+stream of my love beareth this along with it, down--to the sea!
+
+New paths do I tread, a new speech cometh unto me; tired have I become--
+like all creators--of the old tongues. No longer will my spirit walk on
+worn-out soles.
+
+Too slowly runneth all speaking for me:--into thy chariot, O storm, do I
+leap! And even thee will I whip with my spite!
+
+Like a cry and an huzza will I traverse wide seas, till I find the Happy
+Isles where my friends sojourn;--
+
+And mine enemies amongst them! How I now love every one unto whom I may
+but speak! Even mine enemies pertain to my bliss.
+
+And when I want to mount my wildest horse, then doth my spear always
+help me up best: it is my foot's ever ready servant:--
+
+The spear which I hurl at mine enemies! How grateful am I to mine
+enemies that I may at last hurl it!
+
+Too great hath been the tension of my cloud: 'twixt laughters of
+lightnings will I cast hail-showers into the depths.
+
+Violently will my breast then heave; violently will it blow its storm
+over the mountains: thus cometh its assuagement.
+
+Verily, like a storm cometh my happiness, and my freedom! But mine
+enemies shall think that THE EVIL ONE roareth over their heads.
+
+Yea, ye also, my friends, will be alarmed by my wild wisdom; and perhaps
+ye will flee therefrom, along with mine enemies.
+
+Ah, that I knew how to lure you back with shepherds' flutes! Ah, that
+my lioness wisdom would learn to roar softly! And much have we already
+learned with one another!
+
+My wild wisdom became pregnant on the lonesome mountains; on the rough
+stones did she bear the youngest of her young.
+
+Now runneth she foolishly in the arid wilderness, and seeketh and
+seeketh the soft sward--mine old, wild wisdom!
+
+On the soft sward of your hearts, my friends!--on your love, would she
+fain couch her dearest one!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXIV. IN THE HAPPY ISLES.
+
+The figs fall from the trees, they are good and sweet; and in falling
+the red skins of them break. A north wind am I to ripe figs.
+
+Thus, like figs, do these doctrines fall for you, my friends: imbibe
+now their juice and their sweet substance! It is autumn all around, and
+clear sky, and afternoon.
+
+Lo, what fullness is around us! And out of the midst of superabundance,
+it is delightful to look out upon distant seas.
+
+Once did people say God, when they looked out upon distant seas; now,
+however, have I taught you to say, Superman.
+
+God is a conjecture: but I do not wish your conjecturing to reach beyond
+your creating will.
+
+Could ye CREATE a God?--Then, I pray you, be silent about all Gods! But
+ye could well create the Superman.
+
+Not perhaps ye yourselves, my brethren! But into fathers and forefathers
+of the Superman could ye transform yourselves: and let that be your best
+creating!--
+
+God is a conjecture: but I should like your conjecturing restricted to
+the conceivable.
+
+Could ye CONCEIVE a God?--But let this mean Will to Truth unto you,
+that everything be transformed into the humanly conceivable, the humanly
+visible, the humanly sensible! Your own discernment shall ye follow out
+to the end!
+
+And what ye have called the world shall but be created by you: your
+reason, your likeness, your will, your love, shall it itself become! And
+verily, for your bliss, ye discerning ones!
+
+And how would ye endure life without that hope, ye discerning ones?
+Neither in the inconceivable could ye have been born, nor in the
+irrational.
+
+But that I may reveal my heart entirely unto you, my friends: IF there
+were gods, how could I endure it to be no God! THEREFORE there are no
+Gods.
+
+Yea, I have drawn the conclusion; now, however, doth it draw me.--
+
+God is a conjecture: but who could drink all the bitterness of this
+conjecture without dying? Shall his faith be taken from the creating
+one, and from the eagle his flights into eagle-heights?
+
+God is a thought--it maketh all the straight crooked, and all that
+standeth reel. What? Time would be gone, and all the perishable would be
+but a lie?
+
+To think this is giddiness and vertigo to human limbs, and even vomiting
+to the stomach: verily, the reeling sickness do I call it, to conjecture
+such a thing.
+
+Evil do I call it and misanthropic: all that teaching about the one, and
+the plenum, and the unmoved, and the sufficient, and the imperishable!
+
+All the imperishable--that's but a simile, and the poets lie too much.--
+
+But of time and of becoming shall the best similes speak: a praise shall
+they be, and a justification of all perishableness!
+
+Creating--that is the great salvation from suffering, and life's
+alleviation. But for the creator to appear, suffering itself is needed,
+and much transformation.
+
+Yea, much bitter dying must there be in your life, ye creators! Thus are
+ye advocates and justifiers of all perishableness.
+
+For the creator himself to be the new-born child, he must also
+be willing to be the child-bearer, and endure the pangs of the
+child-bearer.
+
+Verily, through a hundred souls went I my way, and through a hundred
+cradles and birth-throes. Many a farewell have I taken; I know the
+heart-breaking last hours.
+
+But so willeth it my creating Will, my fate. Or, to tell you it more
+candidly: just such a fate--willeth my Will.
+
+All FEELING suffereth in me, and is in prison: but my WILLING ever
+cometh to me as mine emancipator and comforter.
+
+Willing emancipateth: that is the true doctrine of will and
+emancipation--so teacheth you Zarathustra.
+
+No longer willing, and no longer valuing, and no longer creating! Ah,
+that that great debility may ever be far from me!
+
+And also in discerning do I feel only my will's procreating and evolving
+delight; and if there be innocence in my knowledge, it is because there
+is will to procreation in it.
+
+Away from God and Gods did this will allure me; what would there be to
+create if there were--Gods!
+
+But to man doth it ever impel me anew, my fervent creative will; thus
+impelleth it the hammer to the stone.
+
+Ah, ye men, within the stone slumbereth an image for me, the image of my
+visions! Ah, that it should slumber in the hardest, ugliest stone!
+
+Now rageth my hammer ruthlessly against its prison. From the stone fly
+the fragments: what's that to me?
+
+I will complete it: for a shadow came unto me--the stillest and lightest
+of all things once came unto me!
+
+The beauty of the Superman came unto me as a shadow. Ah, my brethren! Of
+what account now are--the Gods to me!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXV. THE PITIFUL.
+
+My friends, there hath arisen a satire on your friend: "Behold
+Zarathustra! Walketh he not amongst us as if amongst animals?"
+
+But it is better said in this wise: "The discerning one walketh amongst
+men AS amongst animals."
+
+Man himself is to the discerning one: the animal with red cheeks.
+
+How hath that happened unto him? Is it not because he hath had to be
+ashamed too oft?
+
+O my friends! Thus speaketh the discerning one: shame, shame,
+shame--that is the history of man!
+
+And on that account doth the noble one enjoin upon himself not to abash:
+bashfulness doth he enjoin on himself in presence of all sufferers.
+
+Verily, I like them not, the merciful ones, whose bliss is in their
+pity: too destitute are they of bashfulness.
+
+If I must be pitiful, I dislike to be called so; and if I be so, it is
+preferably at a distance.
+
+Preferably also do I shroud my head, and flee, before being recognised:
+and thus do I bid you do, my friends!
+
+May my destiny ever lead unafflicted ones like you across my path, and
+those with whom I MAY have hope and repast and honey in common!
+
+Verily, I have done this and that for the afflicted: but something
+better did I always seem to do when I had learned to enjoy myself
+better.
+
+Since humanity came into being, man hath enjoyed himself too little:
+that alone, my brethren, is our original sin!
+
+And when we learn better to enjoy ourselves, then do we unlearn best to
+give pain unto others, and to contrive pain.
+
+Therefore do I wash the hand that hath helped the sufferer; therefore do
+I wipe also my soul.
+
+For in seeing the sufferer suffering--thereof was I ashamed on account
+of his shame; and in helping him, sorely did I wound his pride.
+
+Great obligations do not make grateful, but revengeful; and when a small
+kindness is not forgotten, it becometh a gnawing worm.
+
+"Be shy in accepting! Distinguish by accepting!"--thus do I advise those
+who have naught to bestow.
+
+I, however, am a bestower: willingly do I bestow as friend to friends.
+Strangers, however, and the poor, may pluck for themselves the fruit
+from my tree: thus doth it cause less shame.
+
+Beggars, however, one should entirely do away with! Verily, it annoyeth
+one to give unto them, and it annoyeth one not to give unto them.
+
+And likewise sinners and bad consciences! Believe me, my friends: the
+sting of conscience teacheth one to sting.
+
+The worst things, however, are the petty thoughts. Verily, better to
+have done evilly than to have thought pettily!
+
+To be sure, ye say: "The delight in petty evils spareth one many a great
+evil deed." But here one should not wish to be sparing.
+
+Like a boil is the evil deed: it itcheth and irritateth and breaketh
+forth--it speaketh honourably.
+
+"Behold, I am disease," saith the evil deed: that is its honourableness.
+
+But like infection is the petty thought: it creepeth and hideth, and
+wanteth to be nowhere--until the whole body is decayed and withered by
+the petty infection.
+
+To him however, who is possessed of a devil, I would whisper this word
+in the ear: "Better for thee to rear up thy devil! Even for thee there
+is still a path to greatness!"--
+
+Ah, my brethren! One knoweth a little too much about every one! And many
+a one becometh transparent to us, but still we can by no means penetrate
+him.
+
+It is difficult to live among men because silence is so difficult.
+
+And not to him who is offensive to us are we most unfair, but to him who
+doth not concern us at all.
+
+If, however, thou hast a suffering friend, then be a resting-place for
+his suffering; like a hard bed, however, a camp-bed: thus wilt thou
+serve him best.
+
+And if a friend doeth thee wrong, then say: "I forgive thee what thou
+hast done unto me; that thou hast done it unto THYSELF, however--how
+could I forgive that!"
+
+Thus speaketh all great love: it surpasseth even forgiveness and pity.
+
+One should hold fast one's heart; for when one letteth it go, how
+quickly doth one's head run away!
+
+Ah, where in the world have there been greater follies than with the
+pitiful? And what in the world hath caused more suffering than the
+follies of the pitiful?
+
+Woe unto all loving ones who have not an elevation which is above their
+pity!
+
+Thus spake the devil unto me, once on a time: "Even God hath his hell:
+it is his love for man."
+
+And lately, did I hear him say these words: "God is dead: of his pity
+for man hath God died."--
+
+So be ye warned against pity: FROM THENCE there yet cometh unto men a
+heavy cloud! Verily, I understand weather-signs!
+
+But attend also to this word: All great love is above all its pity: for
+it seeketh--to create what is loved!
+
+"Myself do I offer unto my love, AND MY NEIGHBOUR AS MYSELF"--such is
+the language of all creators.
+
+All creators, however, are hard.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXVI. THE PRIESTS.
+
+And one day Zarathustra made a sign to his disciples, and spake these
+words unto them:
+
+"Here are priests: but although they are mine enemies, pass them quietly
+and with sleeping swords!
+
+Even among them there are heroes; many of them have suffered too much--:
+so they want to make others suffer.
+
+Bad enemies are they: nothing is more revengeful than their meekness.
+And readily doth he soil himself who toucheth them.
+
+But my blood is related to theirs; and I want withal to see my blood
+honoured in theirs."--
+
+And when they had passed, a pain attacked Zarathustra; but not long had
+he struggled with the pain, when he began to speak thus:
+
+It moveth my heart for those priests. They also go against my taste; but
+that is the smallest matter unto me, since I am among men.
+
+But I suffer and have suffered with them: prisoners are they unto me,
+and stigmatised ones. He whom they call Saviour put them in fetters:--
+
+In fetters of false values and fatuous words! Oh, that some one would
+save them from their Saviour!
+
+On an isle they once thought they had landed, when the sea tossed them
+about; but behold, it was a slumbering monster!
+
+False values and fatuous words: these are the worst monsters for
+mortals--long slumbereth and waiteth the fate that is in them.
+
+But at last it cometh and awaketh and devoureth and engulfeth whatever
+hath built tabernacles upon it.
+
+Oh, just look at those tabernacles which those priests have built
+themselves! Churches, they call their sweet-smelling caves!
+
+Oh, that falsified light, that mustified air! Where the soul--may not
+fly aloft to its height!
+
+But so enjoineth their belief: "On your knees, up the stair, ye
+sinners!"
+
+Verily, rather would I see a shameless one than the distorted eyes of
+their shame and devotion!
+
+Who created for themselves such caves and penitence-stairs? Was it not
+those who sought to conceal themselves, and were ashamed under the clear
+sky?
+
+And only when the clear sky looketh again through ruined roofs, and down
+upon grass and red poppies on ruined walls--will I again turn my heart
+to the seats of this God.
+
+They called God that which opposed and afflicted them: and verily, there
+was much hero-spirit in their worship!
+
+And they knew not how to love their God otherwise than by nailing men to
+the cross!
+
+As corpses they thought to live; in black draped they their corpses;
+even in their talk do I still feel the evil flavour of charnel-houses.
+
+And he who liveth nigh unto them liveth nigh unto black pools, wherein
+the toad singeth his song with sweet gravity.
+
+Better songs would they have to sing, for me to believe in their
+Saviour: more like saved ones would his disciples have to appear unto
+me!
+
+Naked, would I like to see them: for beauty alone should preach
+penitence. But whom would that disguised affliction convince!
+
+Verily, their Saviours themselves came not from freedom and freedom's
+seventh heaven! Verily, they themselves never trod the carpets of
+knowledge!
+
+Of defects did the spirit of those Saviours consist; but into every
+defect had they put their illusion, their stop-gap, which they called
+God.
+
+In their pity was their spirit drowned; and when they swelled and
+o'erswelled with pity, there always floated to the surface a great
+folly.
+
+Eagerly and with shouts drove they their flock over their foot-bridge;
+as if there were but one foot-bridge to the future! Verily, those
+shepherds also were still of the flock!
+
+Small spirits and spacious souls had those shepherds: but, my brethren,
+what small domains have even the most spacious souls hitherto been!
+
+Characters of blood did they write on the way they went, and their folly
+taught that truth is proved by blood.
+
+But blood is the very worst witness to truth; blood tainteth the purest
+teaching, and turneth it into delusion and hatred of heart.
+
+And when a person goeth through fire for his teaching--what doth that
+prove! It is more, verily, when out of one's own burning cometh one's
+own teaching!
+
+Sultry heart and cold head; where these meet, there ariseth the
+blusterer, the "Saviour."
+
+Greater ones, verily, have there been, and higher-born ones, than those
+whom the people call Saviours, those rapturous blusterers!
+
+And by still greater ones than any of the Saviours must ye be saved, my
+brethren, if ye would find the way to freedom!
+
+Never yet hath there been a Superman. Naked have I seen both of them,
+the greatest man and the smallest man:--
+
+All-too-similar are they still to each other. Verily, even the greatest
+found I--all-too-human!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXVII. THE VIRTUOUS.
+
+With thunder and heavenly fireworks must one speak to indolent and
+somnolent senses.
+
+But beauty's voice speaketh gently: it appealeth only to the most
+awakened souls.
+
+Gently vibrated and laughed unto me to-day my buckler; it was beauty's
+holy laughing and thrilling.
+
+At you, ye virtuous ones, laughed my beauty to-day. And thus came its
+voice unto me: "They want--to be paid besides!"
+
+Ye want to be paid besides, ye virtuous ones! Ye want reward for virtue,
+and heaven for earth, and eternity for your to-day?
+
+And now ye upbraid me for teaching that there is no reward-giver,
+nor paymaster? And verily, I do not even teach that virtue is its own
+reward.
+
+Ah! this is my sorrow: into the basis of things have reward and
+punishment been insinuated--and now even into the basis of your souls,
+ye virtuous ones!
+
+But like the snout of the boar shall my word grub up the basis of your
+souls; a ploughshare will I be called by you.
+
+All the secrets of your heart shall be brought to light; and when ye
+lie in the sun, grubbed up and broken, then will also your falsehood be
+separated from your truth.
+
+For this is your truth: ye are TOO PURE for the filth of the words:
+vengeance, punishment, recompense, retribution.
+
+Ye love your virtue as a mother loveth her child; but when did one hear
+of a mother wanting to be paid for her love?
+
+It is your dearest Self, your virtue. The ring's thirst is in you: to
+reach itself again struggleth every ring, and turneth itself.
+
+And like the star that goeth out, so is every work of your virtue: ever
+is its light on its way and travelling--and when will it cease to be on
+its way?
+
+Thus is the light of your virtue still on its way, even when its work
+is done. Be it forgotten and dead, still its ray of light liveth and
+travelleth.
+
+That your virtue is your Self, and not an outward thing, a skin, or
+a cloak: that is the truth from the basis of your souls, ye virtuous
+ones!--
+
+But sure enough there are those to whom virtue meaneth writhing under
+the lash: and ye have hearkened too much unto their crying!
+
+And others are there who call virtue the slothfulness of their vices;
+and when once their hatred and jealousy relax the limbs, their "justice"
+becometh lively and rubbeth its sleepy eyes.
+
+And others are there who are drawn downwards: their devils draw them.
+But the more they sink, the more ardently gloweth their eye, and the
+longing for their God.
+
+Ah! their crying also hath reached your ears, ye virtuous ones: "What I
+am NOT, that, that is God to me, and virtue!"
+
+And others are there who go along heavily and creakingly, like carts
+taking stones downhill: they talk much of dignity and virtue--their drag
+they call virtue!
+
+And others are there who are like eight-day clocks when wound up; they
+tick, and want people to call ticking--virtue.
+
+Verily, in those have I mine amusement: wherever I find such clocks I
+shall wind them up with my mockery, and they shall even whirr thereby!
+
+And others are proud of their modicum of righteousness, and for the sake
+of it do violence to all things: so that the world is drowned in their
+unrighteousness.
+
+Ah! how ineptly cometh the word "virtue" out of their mouth! And when
+they say: "I am just," it always soundeth like: "I am just--revenged!"
+
+With their virtues they want to scratch out the eyes of their enemies;
+and they elevate themselves only that they may lower others.
+
+And again there are those who sit in their swamp, and speak thus from
+among the bulrushes: "Virtue--that is to sit quietly in the swamp.
+
+We bite no one, and go out of the way of him who would bite; and in all
+matters we have the opinion that is given us."
+
+And again there are those who love attitudes, and think that virtue is a
+sort of attitude.
+
+Their knees continually adore, and their hands are eulogies of virtue,
+but their heart knoweth naught thereof.
+
+And again there are those who regard it as virtue to say: "Virtue
+is necessary"; but after all they believe only that policemen are
+necessary.
+
+And many a one who cannot see men's loftiness, calleth it virtue to see
+their baseness far too well: thus calleth he his evil eye virtue.--
+
+And some want to be edified and raised up, and call it virtue: and
+others want to be cast down,--and likewise call it virtue.
+
+And thus do almost all think that they participate in virtue; and at
+least every one claimeth to be an authority on "good" and "evil."
+
+But Zarathustra came not to say unto all those liars and fools: "What do
+YE know of virtue! What COULD ye know of virtue!"--
+
+But that ye, my friends, might become weary of the old words which ye
+have learned from the fools and liars:
+
+That ye might become weary of the words "reward," "retribution,"
+"punishment," "righteous vengeance."--
+
+That ye might become weary of saying: "That an action is good is because
+it is unselfish."
+
+Ah! my friends! That YOUR very Self be in your action, as the mother is
+in the child: let that be YOUR formula of virtue!
+
+Verily, I have taken from you a hundred formulae and your virtue's
+favourite playthings; and now ye upbraid me, as children upbraid.
+
+They played by the sea--then came there a wave and swept their
+playthings into the deep: and now do they cry.
+
+But the same wave shall bring them new playthings, and spread before
+them new speckled shells!
+
+Thus will they be comforted; and like them shall ye also, my friends,
+have your comforting--and new speckled shells!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXVIII. THE RABBLE.
+
+Life is a well of delight; but where the rabble also drink, there all
+fountains are poisoned.
+
+To everything cleanly am I well disposed; but I hate to see the grinning
+mouths and the thirst of the unclean.
+
+They cast their eye down into the fountain: and now glanceth up to me
+their odious smile out of the fountain.
+
+The holy water have they poisoned with their lustfulness; and when they
+called their filthy dreams delight, then poisoned they also the words.
+
+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.
+
+Mawkish and over-mellow becometh the fruit in their hands: unsteady, and
+withered at the top, doth their look make the fruit-tree.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+And it is not the mouthful which hath most choked me, to know that life
+itself requireth enmity and death and torture-crosses:--
+
+But I asked once, and suffocated almost with my question: What? is the
+rabble also NECESSARY for life?
+
+Are poisoned fountains necessary, and stinking fires, and filthy dreams,
+and maggots in the bread of life?
+
+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!
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+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!
+
+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!
+
+Almost too violently dost thou flow for me, thou fountain of delight!
+And often emptiest thou the goblet again, in wanting to fill it!
+
+And yet must I learn to approach thee more modestly: far too violently
+doth my heart still flow towards thee:--
+
+My heart on which my summer burneth, my short, hot, melancholy,
+over-happy summer: how my summer heart longeth for thy coolness!
+
+Past, the lingering distress of my spring! Past, the wickedness of my
+snowflakes in June! Summer have I become entirely, and summer-noontide!
+
+A summer on the loftiest height, with cold fountains and blissful
+stillness: oh, come, my friends, that the stillness may become more
+blissful!
+
+For this is OUR height and our home: too high and steep do we here dwell
+for all uncleanly ones and their thirst.
+
+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.
+
+On the tree of the future build we our nest; eagles shall bring us lone
+ones food in their beaks!
+
+Verily, no food of which the impure could be fellow-partakers! Fire,
+would they think they devoured, and burn their mouths!
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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!"--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXIX. THE TARANTULAS.
+
+Lo, this is the tarantula's den! Wouldst thou see the tarantula itself?
+Here hangeth its web: touch this, so that it may tremble.
+
+There cometh the tarantula willingly: Welcome, tarantula! Black on thy
+back is thy triangle and symbol; and I know also what is in thy soul.
+
+Revenge is in thy soul: wherever thou bitest, there ariseth black scab;
+with revenge, thy poison maketh the soul giddy!
+
+Thus do I speak unto you in parable, ye who make the soul giddy,
+ye preachers of EQUALITY! Tarantulas are ye unto me, and secretly
+revengeful ones!
+
+But I will soon bring your hiding-places to the light: therefore do I
+laugh in your face my laughter of the height.
+
+Therefore do I tear at your web, that your rage may lure you out of your
+den of lies, and that your revenge may leap forth from behind your word
+"justice."
+
+Because, FOR MAN TO BE REDEEMED FROM REVENGE--that is for me the bridge
+to the highest hope, and a rainbow after long storms.
+
+Otherwise, however, would the tarantulas have it. "Let it be
+very justice for the world to become full of the storms of our
+vengeance"--thus do they talk to one another.
+
+"Vengeance will we use, and insult, against all who are not like
+us"--thus do the tarantula-hearts pledge themselves.
+
+"And 'Will to Equality'--that itself shall henceforth be the name of
+virtue; and against all that hath power will we raise an outcry!"
+
+Ye preachers of equality, the tyrant-frenzy of impotence crieth thus in
+you for "equality": your most secret tyrant-longings disguise themselves
+thus in virtue-words!
+
+Fretted conceit and suppressed envy--perhaps your fathers' conceit and
+envy: in you break they forth as flame and frenzy of vengeance.
+
+What the father hath hid cometh out in the son; and oft have I found in
+the son the father's revealed secret.
+
+Inspired ones they resemble: but it is not the heart that inspireth
+them--but vengeance. And when they become subtle and cold, it is not
+spirit, but envy, that maketh them so.
+
+Their jealousy leadeth them also into thinkers' paths; and this is the
+sign of their jealousy--they always go too far: so that their fatigue
+hath at last to go to sleep on the snow.
+
+In all their lamentations soundeth vengeance, in all their eulogies is
+maleficence; and being judge seemeth to them bliss.
+
+But thus do I counsel you, my friends: distrust all in whom the impulse
+to punish is powerful!
+
+They are people of bad race and lineage; out of their countenances peer
+the hangman and the sleuth-hound.
+
+Distrust all those who talk much of their justice! Verily, in their
+souls not only honey is lacking.
+
+And when they call themselves "the good and just," forget not, that for
+them to be Pharisees, nothing is lacking but--power!
+
+My friends, I will not be mixed up and confounded with others.
+
+There are those who preach my doctrine of life, and are at the same time
+preachers of equality, and tarantulas.
+
+That they speak in favour of life, though they sit in their den, these
+poison-spiders, and withdrawn from life--is because they would thereby
+do injury.
+
+To those would they thereby do injury who have power at present: for
+with those the preaching of death is still most at home.
+
+Were it otherwise, then would the tarantulas teach otherwise: and they
+themselves were formerly the best world-maligners and heretic-burners.
+
+With these preachers of equality will I not be mixed up and confounded.
+For thus speaketh justice UNTO ME: "Men are not equal."
+
+And neither shall they become so! What would be my love to the Superman,
+if I spake otherwise?
+
+On a thousand bridges and piers shall they throng to the future, and
+always shall there be more war and inequality among them: thus doth my
+great love make me speak!
+
+Inventors of figures and phantoms shall they be in their hostilities;
+and with those figures and phantoms shall they yet fight with each other
+the supreme fight!
+
+Good and evil, and rich and poor, and high and low, and all names of
+values: weapons shall they be, and sounding signs, that life must again
+and again surpass itself!
+
+Aloft will it build itself with columns and stairs--life itself: into
+remote distances would it gaze, and out towards blissful beauties--
+THEREFORE doth it require elevation!
+
+And because it requireth elevation, therefore doth it require steps, and
+variance of steps and climbers! To rise striveth life, and in rising to
+surpass itself.
+
+And just behold, my friends! Here where the tarantula's den is, riseth
+aloft an ancient temple's ruins--just behold it with enlightened eyes!
+
+Verily, he who here towered aloft his thoughts in stone, knew as well as
+the wisest ones about the secret of life!
+
+That there is struggle and inequality even in beauty, and war for power
+and supremacy: that doth he here teach us in the plainest parable.
+
+How divinely do vault and arch here contrast in the struggle: how with
+light and shade they strive against each other, the divinely striving
+ones.--
+
+Thus, steadfast and beautiful, let us also be enemies, my friends!
+Divinely will we strive AGAINST one another!--
+
+Alas! There hath the tarantula bit me myself, mine old enemy! Divinely
+steadfast and beautiful, it hath bit me on the finger!
+
+"Punishment must there be, and justice"--so thinketh it: "not
+gratuitously shall he here sing songs in honour of enmity!"
+
+Yea, it hath revenged itself! And alas! now will it make my soul also
+dizzy with revenge!
+
+That I may NOT turn dizzy, however, bind me fast, my friends, to this
+pillar! Rather will I be a pillar-saint than a whirl of vengeance!
+
+Verily, no cyclone or whirlwind is Zarathustra: and if he be a dancer,
+he is not at all a tarantula-dancer!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXX. THE FAMOUS WISE ONES.
+
+The people have ye served and the people's superstition--NOT the
+truth!--all ye famous wise ones! And just on that account did they pay
+you reverence.
+
+And on that account also did they tolerate your unbelief, because it
+was a pleasantry and a by-path for the people. Thus doth the master give
+free scope to his slaves, and even enjoyeth their presumptuousness.
+
+But he who is hated by the people, as the wolf by the dogs--is the free
+spirit, the enemy of fetters, the non-adorer, the dweller in the woods.
+
+To hunt him out of his lair--that was always called "sense of right" by
+the people: on him do they still hound their sharpest-toothed dogs.
+
+"For there the truth is, where the people are! Woe, woe to the seeking
+ones!"--thus hath it echoed through all time.
+
+Your people would ye justify in their reverence: that called ye "Will to
+Truth," ye famous wise ones!
+
+And your heart hath always said to itself: "From the people have I come:
+from thence came to me also the voice of God."
+
+Stiff-necked and artful, like the ass, have ye always been, as the
+advocates of the people.
+
+And many a powerful one who wanted to run well with the people, hath
+harnessed in front of his horses--a donkey, a famous wise man.
+
+And now, ye famous wise ones, I would have you finally throw off
+entirely the skin of the lion!
+
+The skin of the beast of prey, the speckled skin, and the dishevelled
+locks of the investigator, the searcher, and the conqueror!
+
+Ah! for me to learn to believe in your "conscientiousness," ye would
+first have to break your venerating will.
+
+Conscientious--so call I him who goeth into God-forsaken wildernesses,
+and hath broken his venerating heart.
+
+In the yellow sands and burnt by the sun, he doubtless peereth thirstily
+at the isles rich in fountains, where life reposeth under shady trees.
+
+But his thirst doth not persuade him to become like those comfortable
+ones: for where there are oases, there are also idols.
+
+Hungry, fierce, lonesome, God-forsaken: so doth the lion-will wish
+itself.
+
+Free from the happiness of slaves, redeemed from Deities and adorations,
+fearless and fear-inspiring, grand and lonesome: so is the will of the
+conscientious.
+
+In the wilderness have ever dwelt the conscientious, the free spirits,
+as lords of the wilderness; but in the cities dwell the well-foddered,
+famous wise ones--the draught-beasts.
+
+For, always, do they draw, as asses--the PEOPLE'S carts!
+
+Not that I on that account upbraid them: but serving ones do they
+remain, and harnessed ones, even though they glitter in golden harness.
+
+And often have they been good servants and worthy of their hire. For
+thus saith virtue: "If thou must be a servant, seek him unto whom thy
+service is most useful!
+
+The spirit and virtue of thy master shall advance by thou being his
+servant: thus wilt thou thyself advance with his spirit and virtue!"
+
+And verily, ye famous wise ones, ye servants of the people! Ye
+yourselves have advanced with the people's spirit and virtue--and the
+people by you! To your honour do I say it!
+
+But the people ye remain for me, even with your virtues, the people with
+purblind eyes--the people who know not what SPIRIT is!
+
+Spirit is life which itself cutteth into life: by its own torture doth
+it increase its own knowledge,--did ye know that before?
+
+And the spirit's happiness is this: to be anointed and consecrated with
+tears as a sacrificial victim,--did ye know that before?
+
+And the blindness of the blind one, and his seeking and groping, shall
+yet testify to the power of the sun into which he hath gazed,--did ye
+know that before?
+
+And with mountains shall the discerning one learn to BUILD! It is
+a small thing for the spirit to remove mountains,--did ye know that
+before?
+
+Ye know only the sparks of the spirit: but ye do not see the anvil which
+it is, and the cruelty of its hammer!
+
+Verily, ye know not the spirit's pride! But still less could ye endure
+the spirit's humility, should it ever want to speak!
+
+And never yet could ye cast your spirit into a pit of snow: ye are not
+hot enough for that! Thus are ye unaware, also, of the delight of its
+coldness.
+
+In all respects, however, ye make too familiar with the spirit; and out
+of wisdom have ye often made an almshouse and a hospital for bad poets.
+
+Ye are not eagles: thus have ye never experienced the happiness of the
+alarm of the spirit. And he who is not a bird should not camp above
+abysses.
+
+Ye seem to me lukewarm ones: but coldly floweth all deep knowledge.
+Ice-cold are the innermost wells of the spirit: a refreshment to hot
+hands and handlers.
+
+Respectable do ye there stand, and stiff, and with straight backs, ye
+famous wise ones!--no strong wind or will impelleth you.
+
+Have ye ne'er seen a sail crossing the sea, rounded and inflated, and
+trembling with the violence of the wind?
+
+Like the sail trembling with the violence of the spirit, doth my wisdom
+cross the sea--my wild wisdom!
+
+But ye servants of the people, ye famous wise ones--how COULD ye go with
+me!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXXI. THE NIGHT-SONG.
+
+'Tis night: now do all gushing fountains speak louder. And my soul also
+is a gushing fountain.
+
+'Tis night: now only do all songs of the loving ones awake. And my soul
+also is the song of a loving one.
+
+Something unappeased, unappeasable, is within me; it longeth to find
+expression. A craving for love is within me, which speaketh itself the
+language of love.
+
+Light am I: ah, that I were night! But it is my lonesomeness to be
+begirt with light!
+
+Ah, that I were dark and nightly! How would I suck at the breasts of
+light!
+
+And you yourselves would I bless, ye twinkling starlets and glow-worms
+aloft!--and would rejoice in the gifts of your light.
+
+But I live in mine own light, I drink again into myself the flames that
+break forth from me.
+
+I know not the happiness of the receiver; and oft have I dreamt that
+stealing must be more blessed than receiving.
+
+It is my poverty that my hand never ceaseth bestowing; it is mine envy
+that I see waiting eyes and the brightened nights of longing.
+
+Oh, the misery of all bestowers! Oh, the darkening of my sun! Oh, the
+craving to crave! Oh, the violent hunger in satiety!
+
+They take from me: but do I yet touch their soul? There is a gap 'twixt
+giving and receiving; and the smallest gap hath finally to be bridged
+over.
+
+A hunger ariseth out of my beauty: I should like to injure those I
+illumine; I should like to rob those I have gifted:--thus do I hunger
+for wickedness.
+
+Withdrawing my hand when another hand already stretcheth out to it;
+hesitating like the cascade, which hesitateth even in its leap:--thus do
+I hunger for wickedness!
+
+Such revenge doth mine abundance think of: such mischief welleth out of
+my lonesomeness.
+
+My happiness in bestowing died in bestowing; my virtue became weary of
+itself by its abundance!
+
+He who ever bestoweth is in danger of losing his shame; to him who ever
+dispenseth, the hand and heart become callous by very dispensing.
+
+Mine eye no longer overfloweth for the shame of suppliants; my hand hath
+become too hard for the trembling of filled hands.
+
+Whence have gone the tears of mine eye, and the down of my heart? Oh,
+the lonesomeness of all bestowers! Oh, the silence of all shining ones!
+
+Many suns circle in desert space: to all that is dark do they speak with
+their light--but to me they are silent.
+
+Oh, this is the hostility of light to the shining one: unpityingly doth
+it pursue its course.
+
+Unfair to the shining one in its innermost heart, cold to the
+suns:--thus travelleth every sun.
+
+Like a storm do the suns pursue their courses: that is their travelling.
+Their inexorable will do they follow: that is their coldness.
+
+Oh, ye only is it, ye dark, nightly ones, that extract warmth from the
+shining ones! Oh, ye only drink milk and refreshment from the light's
+udders!
+
+Ah, there is ice around me; my hand burneth with the iciness! Ah, there
+is thirst in me; it panteth after your thirst!
+
+'Tis night: alas, that I have to be light! And thirst for the nightly!
+And lonesomeness!
+
+'Tis night: now doth my longing break forth in me as a fountain,--for
+speech do I long.
+
+'Tis night: now do all gushing fountains speak louder. And my soul also
+is a gushing fountain.
+
+'Tis night: now do all songs of loving ones awake. And my soul also is
+the song of a loving one.--
+
+Thus sang Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXXII. THE DANCE-SONG.
+
+One evening went Zarathustra and his disciples through the forest; and
+when he sought for a well, lo, he lighted upon a green meadow peacefully
+surrounded with trees and bushes, where maidens were dancing together.
+As soon as the maidens recognised Zarathustra, they ceased dancing;
+Zarathustra, however, approached them with friendly mien and spake these
+words:
+
+Cease not your dancing, ye lovely maidens! No game-spoiler hath come to
+you with evil eye, no enemy of maidens.
+
+God's advocate am I with the devil: he, however, is the spirit of
+gravity. How could I, ye light-footed ones, be hostile to divine dances?
+Or to maidens' feet with fine ankles?
+
+To be sure, I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not
+afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses.
+
+And even the little God may he find, who is dearest to maidens: beside
+the well lieth he quietly, with closed eyes.
+
+Verily, in broad daylight did he fall asleep, the sluggard! Had he
+perhaps chased butterflies too much?
+
+Upbraid me not, ye beautiful dancers, when I chasten the little God
+somewhat! He will cry, certainly, and weep--but he is laughable even
+when weeping!
+
+And with tears in his eyes shall he ask you for a dance; and I myself
+will sing a song to his dance:
+
+A dance-song and satire on the spirit of gravity my supremest,
+powerfulest devil, who is said to be "lord of the world."--
+
+And this is the song that Zarathustra sang when Cupid and the maidens
+danced together:
+
+Of late did I gaze into thine eye, O Life! And into the unfathomable did
+I there seem to sink.
+
+But thou pulledst me out with a golden angle; derisively didst thou
+laugh when I called thee unfathomable.
+
+"Such is the language of all fish," saidst thou; "what THEY do not
+fathom is unfathomable.
+
+But changeable am I only, and wild, and altogether a woman, and no
+virtuous one:
+
+Though I be called by you men the 'profound one,' or the 'faithful one,'
+'the eternal one,' 'the mysterious one.'
+
+But ye men endow us always with your own virtues--alas, ye virtuous
+ones!"
+
+Thus did she laugh, the unbelievable one; but never do I believe her and
+her laughter, when she speaketh evil of herself.
+
+And when I talked face to face with my wild Wisdom, she said to me
+angrily: "Thou willest, thou cravest, thou lovest; on that account alone
+dost thou PRAISE Life!"
+
+Then had I almost answered indignantly and told the truth to the angry
+one; and one cannot answer more indignantly than when one "telleth the
+truth" to one's Wisdom.
+
+For thus do things stand with us three. In my heart do I love only
+Life--and verily, most when I hate her!
+
+But that I am fond of Wisdom, and often too fond, is because she
+remindeth me very strongly of Life!
+
+She hath her eye, her laugh, and even her golden angle-rod: am I
+responsible for it that both are so alike?
+
+And when once Life asked me: "Who is she then, this Wisdom?"--then said
+I eagerly: "Ah, yes! Wisdom!
+
+One thirsteth for her and is not satisfied, one looketh through veils,
+one graspeth through nets.
+
+Is she beautiful? What do I know! But the oldest carps are still lured
+by her.
+
+Changeable is she, and wayward; often have I seen her bite her lip, and
+pass the comb against the grain of her hair.
+
+Perhaps she is wicked and false, and altogether a woman; but when she
+speaketh ill of herself, just then doth she seduce most."
+
+When I had said this unto Life, then laughed she maliciously, and shut
+her eyes. "Of whom dost thou speak?" said she. "Perhaps of me?
+
+And if thou wert right--is it proper to say THAT in such wise to my
+face! But now, pray, speak also of thy Wisdom!"
+
+Ah, and now hast thou again opened thine eyes, O beloved Life! And into
+the unfathomable have I again seemed to sink.--
+
+Thus sang Zarathustra. But when the dance was over and the maidens had
+departed, he became sad.
+
+"The sun hath been long set," said he at last, "the meadow is damp, and
+from the forest cometh coolness.
+
+An unknown presence is about me, and gazeth thoughtfully. What! Thou
+livest still, Zarathustra?
+
+Why? Wherefore? Whereby? Whither? Where? How? Is it not folly still to
+live?--
+
+Ah, my friends; the evening is it which thus interrogateth in me.
+Forgive me my sadness!
+
+Evening hath come on: forgive me that evening hath come on!"
+
+Thus sang Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXXIII. THE GRAVE-SONG.
+
+"Yonder is the grave-island, the silent isle; yonder also are the graves
+of my youth. Thither will I carry an evergreen wreath of life."
+
+Resolving thus in my heart, did I sail o'er the sea.--
+
+Oh, ye sights and scenes of my youth! Oh, all ye gleams of love, ye
+divine fleeting gleams! How could ye perish so soon for me! I think of
+you to-day as my dead ones.
+
+From you, my dearest dead ones, cometh unto me a sweet savour,
+heart-opening and melting. Verily, it convulseth and openeth the heart
+of the lone seafarer.
+
+Still am I the richest and most to be envied--I, the lonesomest one!
+For I HAVE POSSESSED you, and ye possess me still. Tell me: to whom hath
+there ever fallen such rosy apples from the tree as have fallen unto me?
+
+Still am I your love's heir and heritage, blooming to your memory with
+many-hued, wild-growing virtues, O ye dearest ones!
+
+Ah, we were made to remain nigh unto each other, ye kindly strange
+marvels; and not like timid birds did ye come to me and my longing--nay,
+but as trusting ones to a trusting one!
+
+Yea, made for faithfulness, like me, and for fond eternities, must I now
+name you by your faithlessness, ye divine glances and fleeting gleams:
+no other name have I yet learnt.
+
+Verily, too early did ye die for me, ye fugitives. Yet did ye not flee
+from me, nor did I flee from you: innocent are we to each other in our
+faithlessness.
+
+To kill ME, did they strangle you, ye singing birds of my hopes! Yea, at
+you, ye dearest ones, did malice ever shoot its arrows--to hit my heart!
+
+And they hit it! Because ye were always my dearest, my possession and my
+possessedness: ON THAT ACCOUNT had ye to die young, and far too early!
+
+At my most vulnerable point did they shoot the arrow--namely, at you,
+whose skin is like down--or more like the smile that dieth at a glance!
+
+But this word will I say unto mine enemies: What is all manslaughter in
+comparison with what ye have done unto me!
+
+Worse evil did ye do unto me than all manslaughter; the irretrievable
+did ye take from me:--thus do I speak unto you, mine enemies!
+
+Slew ye not my youth's visions and dearest marvels! My playmates took ye
+from me, the blessed spirits! To their memory do I deposit this wreath
+and this curse.
+
+This curse upon you, mine enemies! Have ye not made mine eternal short,
+as a tone dieth away in a cold night! Scarcely, as the twinkle of divine
+eyes, did it come to me--as a fleeting gleam!
+
+Thus spake once in a happy hour my purity: "Divine shall everything be
+unto me."
+
+Then did ye haunt me with foul phantoms; ah, whither hath that happy
+hour now fled!
+
+"All days shall be holy unto me"--so spake once the wisdom of my youth:
+verily, the language of a joyous wisdom!
+
+But then did ye enemies steal my nights, and sold them to sleepless
+torture: ah, whither hath that joyous wisdom now fled?
+
+Once did I long for happy auspices: then did ye lead an owl-monster
+across my path, an adverse sign. Ah, whither did my tender longing then
+flee?
+
+All loathing did I once vow to renounce: then did ye change my nigh ones
+and nearest ones into ulcerations. Ah, whither did my noblest vow then
+flee?
+
+As a blind one did I once walk in blessed ways: then did ye cast
+filth on the blind one's course: and now is he disgusted with the old
+footpath.
+
+And when I performed my hardest task, and celebrated the triumph of
+my victories, then did ye make those who loved me call out that I then
+grieved them most.
+
+Verily, it was always your doing: ye embittered to me my best honey, and
+the diligence of my best bees.
+
+To my charity have ye ever sent the most impudent beggars; around my
+sympathy have ye ever crowded the incurably shameless. Thus have ye
+wounded the faith of my virtue.
+
+And when I offered my holiest as a sacrifice, immediately did your
+"piety" put its fatter gifts beside it: so that my holiest suffocated in
+the fumes of your fat.
+
+And once did I want to dance as I had never yet danced: beyond all
+heavens did I want to dance. Then did ye seduce my favourite minstrel.
+
+And now hath he struck up an awful, melancholy air; alas, he tooted as a
+mournful horn to mine ear!
+
+Murderous minstrel, instrument of evil, most innocent instrument!
+Already did I stand prepared for the best dance: then didst thou slay my
+rapture with thy tones!
+
+Only in the dance do I know how to speak the parable of the highest
+things:--and now hath my grandest parable remained unspoken in my limbs!
+
+Unspoken and unrealised hath my highest hope remained! And there have
+perished for me all the visions and consolations of my youth!
+
+How did I ever bear it? How did I survive and surmount such wounds? How
+did my soul rise again out of those sepulchres?
+
+Yea, something invulnerable, unburiable is with me, something that would
+rend rocks asunder: it is called MY WILL. Silently doth it proceed, and
+unchanged throughout the years.
+
+Its course will it go upon my feet, mine old Will; hard of heart is its
+nature and invulnerable.
+
+Invulnerable am I only in my heel. Ever livest thou there, and art like
+thyself, thou most patient one! Ever hast thou burst all shackles of the
+tomb!
+
+In thee still liveth also the unrealisedness of my youth; and as life
+and youth sittest thou here hopeful on the yellow ruins of graves.
+
+Yea, thou art still for me the demolisher of all graves: Hail to thee,
+my Will! And only where there are graves are there resurrections.--
+
+Thus sang Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXXIV. SELF-SURPASSING.
+
+"Will to Truth" do ye call it, ye wisest ones, that which impelleth you
+and maketh you ardent?
+
+Will for the thinkableness of all being: thus do _I_ call your will!
+
+All being would ye MAKE thinkable: for ye doubt with good reason whether
+it be already thinkable.
+
+But it shall accommodate and bend itself to you! So willeth your will.
+Smooth shall it become and subject to the spirit, as its mirror and
+reflection.
+
+That is your entire will, ye wisest ones, as a Will to Power; and even
+when ye speak of good and evil, and of estimates of value.
+
+Ye would still create a world before which ye can bow the knee: such is
+your ultimate hope and ecstasy.
+
+The ignorant, to be sure, the people--they are like a river on which a
+boat floateth along: and in the boat sit the estimates of value, solemn
+and disguised.
+
+Your will and your valuations have ye put on the river of becoming; it
+betrayeth unto me an old Will to Power, what is believed by the people
+as good and evil.
+
+It was ye, ye wisest ones, who put such guests in this boat, and gave
+them pomp and proud names--ye and your ruling Will!
+
+Onward the river now carrieth your boat: it MUST carry it. A small
+matter if the rough wave foameth and angrily resisteth its keel!
+
+It is not the river that is your danger and the end of your good and
+evil, ye wisest ones: but that Will itself, the Will to Power--the
+unexhausted, procreating life-will.
+
+But that ye may understand my gospel of good and evil, for that purpose
+will I tell you my gospel of life, and of the nature of all living
+things.
+
+The living thing did I follow; I walked in the broadest and narrowest
+paths to learn its nature.
+
+With a hundred-faced mirror did I catch its glance when its mouth was
+shut, so that its eye might speak unto me. And its eye spake unto me.
+
+But wherever I found living things, there heard I also the language of
+obedience. All living things are obeying things.
+
+And this heard I secondly: Whatever cannot obey itself, is commanded.
+Such is the nature of living things.
+
+This, however, is the third thing which I heard--namely, that commanding
+is more difficult than obeying. And not only because the commander
+beareth the burden of all obeyers, and because this burden readily
+crusheth him:--
+
+An attempt and a risk seemed all commanding unto me; and whenever it
+commandeth, the living thing risketh itself thereby.
+
+Yea, even when it commandeth itself, then also must it atone for its
+commanding. Of its own law must it become the judge and avenger and
+victim.
+
+How doth this happen! so did I ask myself. What persuadeth the living
+thing to obey, and command, and even be obedient in commanding?
+
+Hearken now unto my word, ye wisest ones! Test it seriously, whether
+I have crept into the heart of life itself, and into the roots of its
+heart!
+
+Wherever I found a living thing, there found I Will to Power; and even
+in the will of the servant found I the will to be master.
+
+That to the stronger the weaker shall serve--thereto persuadeth he his
+will who would be master over a still weaker one. That delight alone he
+is unwilling to forego.
+
+And as the lesser surrendereth himself to the greater that he may have
+delight and power over the least of all, so doth even the greatest
+surrender himself, and staketh--life, for the sake of power.
+
+It is the surrender of the greatest to run risk and danger, and play
+dice for death.
+
+And where there is sacrifice and service and love-glances, there also
+is the will to be master. By by-ways doth the weaker then slink into
+the fortress, and into the heart of the mightier one--and there stealeth
+power.
+
+And this secret spake Life herself unto me. "Behold," said she, "I am
+that WHICH MUST EVER SURPASS ITSELF.
+
+To be sure, ye call it will to procreation, or impulse towards a goal,
+towards the higher, remoter, more manifold: but all that is one and the
+same secret.
+
+Rather would I succumb than disown this one thing; and verily, where
+there is succumbing and leaf-falling, lo, there doth Life sacrifice
+itself--for power!
+
+That I have to be struggle, and becoming, and purpose, and
+cross-purpose--ah, he who divineth my will, divineth well also on what
+CROOKED paths it hath to tread!
+
+Whatever I create, and however much I love it,--soon must I be adverse
+to it, and to my love: so willeth my will.
+
+And even thou, discerning one, art only a path and footstep of my will:
+verily, my Will to Power walketh even on the feet of thy Will to Truth!
+
+He certainly did not hit the truth who shot at it the formula: 'Will to
+existence': that will--doth not exist!
+
+For what is not, cannot will; that, however, which is in existence--how
+could it still strive for existence!
+
+Only where there is life, is there also will: not, however, Will to
+Life, but--so teach I thee--Will to Power!
+
+Much is reckoned higher than life itself by the living one; but out of
+the very reckoning speaketh--the Will to Power!"--
+
+Thus did Life once teach me: and thereby, ye wisest ones, do I solve you
+the riddle of your hearts.
+
+Verily, I say unto you: good and evil which would be everlasting--it
+doth not exist! Of its own accord must it ever surpass itself anew.
+
+With your values and formulae of good and evil, ye exercise power,
+ye valuing ones: and that is your secret love, and the sparkling,
+trembling, and overflowing of your souls.
+
+But a stronger power groweth out of your values, and a new surpassing:
+by it breaketh egg and egg-shell.
+
+And he who hath to be a creator in good and evil--verily, he hath first
+to be a destroyer, and break values in pieces.
+
+Thus doth the greatest evil pertain to the greatest good: that, however,
+is the creating good.--
+
+Let us SPEAK thereof, ye wisest ones, even though it be bad. To be
+silent is worse; all suppressed truths become poisonous.
+
+And let everything break up which--can break up by our truths! Many a
+house is still to be built!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXXV. THE SUBLIME ONES.
+
+Calm is the bottom of my sea: who would guess that it hideth droll
+monsters!
+
+Unmoved is my depth: but it sparkleth with swimming enigmas and
+laughters.
+
+A sublime one saw I to-day, a solemn one, a penitent of the spirit: Oh,
+how my soul laughed at his ugliness!
+
+With upraised breast, and like those who draw in their breath: thus did
+he stand, the sublime one, and in silence:
+
+O'erhung with ugly truths, the spoil of his hunting, and rich in torn
+raiment; many thorns also hung on him--but I saw no rose.
+
+Not yet had he learned laughing and beauty. Gloomy did this hunter
+return from the forest of knowledge.
+
+From the fight with wild beasts returned he home: but even yet a wild
+beast gazeth out of his seriousness--an unconquered wild beast!
+
+As a tiger doth he ever stand, on the point of springing; but I do not
+like those strained souls; ungracious is my taste towards all those
+self-engrossed ones.
+
+And ye tell me, friends, that there is to be no dispute about taste and
+tasting? But all life is a dispute about taste and tasting!
+
+Taste: that is weight at the same time, and scales and weigher; and alas
+for every living thing that would live without dispute about weight and
+scales and weigher!
+
+Should he become weary of his sublimeness, this sublime one, then only
+will his beauty begin--and then only will I taste him and find him
+savoury.
+
+And only when he turneth away from himself will he o'erleap his own
+shadow--and verily! into HIS sun.
+
+Far too long did he sit in the shade; the cheeks of the penitent of the
+spirit became pale; he almost starved on his expectations.
+
+Contempt is still in his eye, and loathing hideth in his mouth. To be
+sure, he now resteth, but he hath not yet taken rest in the sunshine.
+
+As the ox ought he to do; and his happiness should smell of the earth,
+and not of contempt for the earth.
+
+As a white ox would I like to see him, which, snorting and lowing,
+walketh before the plough-share: and his lowing should also laud all
+that is earthly!
+
+Dark is still his countenance; the shadow of his hand danceth upon it.
+O'ershadowed is still the sense of his eye.
+
+His deed itself is still the shadow upon him: his doing obscureth the
+doer. Not yet hath he overcome his deed.
+
+To be sure, I love in him the shoulders of the ox: but now do I want to
+see also the eye of the angel.
+
+Also his hero-will hath he still to unlearn: an exalted one shall he
+be, and not only a sublime one:--the ether itself should raise him, the
+will-less one!
+
+He hath subdued monsters, he hath solved enigmas. But he should also
+redeem his monsters and enigmas; into heavenly children should he
+transform them.
+
+As yet hath his knowledge not learned to smile, and to be without
+jealousy; as yet hath his gushing passion not become calm in beauty.
+
+Verily, not in satiety shall his longing cease and disappear, but in
+beauty! Gracefulness belongeth to the munificence of the magnanimous.
+
+His arm across his head: thus should the hero repose; thus should he
+also surmount his repose.
+
+But precisely to the hero is BEAUTY the hardest thing of all.
+Unattainable is beauty by all ardent wills.
+
+A little more, a little less: precisely this is much here, it is the
+most here.
+
+To stand with relaxed muscles and with unharnessed will: that is the
+hardest for all of you, ye sublime ones!
+
+When power becometh gracious and descendeth into the visible--I call
+such condescension, beauty.
+
+And from no one do I want beauty so much as from thee, thou powerful
+one: let thy goodness be thy last self-conquest.
+
+All evil do I accredit to thee: therefore do I desire of thee the good.
+
+Verily, I have often laughed at the weaklings, who think themselves good
+because they have crippled paws!
+
+The virtue of the pillar shalt thou strive after: more beautiful doth
+it ever become, and more graceful--but internally harder and more
+sustaining--the higher it riseth.
+
+Yea, thou sublime one, one day shalt thou also be beautiful, and hold up
+the mirror to thine own beauty.
+
+Then will thy soul thrill with divine desires; and there will be
+adoration even in thy vanity!
+
+For this is the secret of the soul: when the hero hath abandoned it,
+then only approacheth it in dreams--the superhero.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXXVI. THE LAND OF CULTURE.
+
+Too far did I fly into the future: a horror seized upon me.
+
+And when I looked around me, lo! there time was my sole contemporary.
+
+Then did I fly backwards, homewards--and always faster. Thus did I come
+unto you, ye present-day men, and into the land of culture.
+
+For the first time brought I an eye to see you, and good desire: verily,
+with longing in my heart did I come.
+
+But how did it turn out with me? Although so alarmed--I had yet to
+laugh! Never did mine eye see anything so motley-coloured!
+
+I laughed and laughed, while my foot still trembled, and my heart as
+well. "Here forsooth, is the home of all the paintpots,"--said I.
+
+With fifty patches painted on faces and limbs--so sat ye there to mine
+astonishment, ye present-day men!
+
+And with fifty mirrors around you, which flattered your play of colours,
+and repeated it!
+
+Verily, ye could wear no better masks, ye present-day men, than your own
+faces! Who could--RECOGNISE you!
+
+Written all over with the characters of the past, and these characters
+also pencilled over with new characters--thus have ye concealed
+yourselves well from all decipherers!
+
+And though one be a trier of the reins, who still believeth that ye have
+reins! Out of colours ye seem to be baked, and out of glued scraps.
+
+All times and peoples gaze divers-coloured out of your veils; all
+customs and beliefs speak divers-coloured out of your gestures.
+
+He who would strip you of veils and wrappers, and paints and gestures,
+would just have enough left to scare the crows.
+
+Verily, I myself am the scared crow that once saw you naked, and without
+paint; and I flew away when the skeleton ogled at me.
+
+Rather would I be a day-labourer in the nether-world, and among the
+shades of the by-gone!--Fatter and fuller than ye, are forsooth the
+nether-worldlings!
+
+This, yea this, is bitterness to my bowels, that I can neither endure
+you naked nor clothed, ye present-day men!
+
+All that is unhomelike in the future, and whatever maketh strayed birds
+shiver, is verily more homelike and familiar than your "reality."
+
+For thus speak ye: "Real are we wholly, and without faith and
+superstition": thus do ye plume yourselves--alas! even without plumes!
+
+Indeed, how would ye be ABLE to believe, ye divers-coloured ones!--ye
+who are pictures of all that hath ever been believed!
+
+Perambulating refutations are ye, of belief itself, and a dislocation of
+all thought. UNTRUSTWORTHY ONES: thus do _I_ call you, ye real ones!
+
+All periods prate against one another in your spirits; and the dreams
+and pratings of all periods were even realer than your awakeness!
+
+Unfruitful are ye: THEREFORE do ye lack belief. But he who had to
+create, had always his presaging dreams and astral premonitions--and
+believed in believing!--
+
+Half-open doors are ye, at which grave-diggers wait. And this is YOUR
+reality: "Everything deserveth to perish."
+
+Alas, how ye stand there before me, ye unfruitful ones; how lean your
+ribs! And many of you surely have had knowledge thereof.
+
+Many a one hath said: "There hath surely a God filched something from
+me secretly whilst I slept? Verily, enough to make a girl for himself
+therefrom!
+
+"Amazing is the poverty of my ribs!" thus hath spoken many a present-day
+man.
+
+Yea, ye are laughable unto me, ye present-day men! And especially when
+ye marvel at yourselves!
+
+And woe unto me if I could not laugh at your marvelling, and had to
+swallow all that is repugnant in your platters!
+
+As it is, however, I will make lighter of you, since I have to carry
+what is heavy; and what matter if beetles and May-bugs also alight on my
+load!
+
+Verily, it shall not on that account become heavier to me! And not from
+you, ye present-day men, shall my great weariness arise.--
+
+Ah, whither shall I now ascend with my longing! From all mountains do I
+look out for fatherlands and motherlands.
+
+But a home have I found nowhere: unsettled am I in all cities, and
+decamping at all gates.
+
+Alien to me, and a mockery, are the present-day men, to whom of late my
+heart impelled me; and exiled am I from fatherlands and motherlands.
+
+Thus do I love only my CHILDREN'S LAND, the undiscovered in the remotest
+sea: for it do I bid my sails search and search.
+
+Unto my children will I make amends for being the child of my fathers:
+and unto all the future--for THIS present-day!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXXVII. IMMACULATE PERCEPTION.
+
+When yester-eve the moon arose, then did I fancy it about to bear a sun:
+so broad and teeming did it lie on the horizon.
+
+But it was a liar with its pregnancy; and sooner will I believe in the
+man in the moon than in the woman.
+
+To be sure, little of a man is he also, that timid night-reveller.
+Verily, with a bad conscience doth he stalk over the roofs.
+
+For he is covetous and jealous, the monk in the moon; covetous of the
+earth, and all the joys of lovers.
+
+Nay, I like him not, that tom-cat on the roofs! Hateful unto me are all
+that slink around half-closed windows!
+
+Piously and silently doth he stalk along on the star-carpets:--but I
+like no light-treading human feet, on which not even a spur jingleth.
+
+Every honest one's step speaketh; the cat however, stealeth along over
+the ground. Lo! cat-like doth the moon come along, and dishonestly.--
+
+This parable speak I unto you sentimental dissemblers, unto you, the
+"pure discerners!" You do _I_ call--covetous ones!
+
+Also ye love the earth, and the earthly: I have divined you well!--but
+shame is in your love, and a bad conscience--ye are like the moon!
+
+To despise the earthly hath your spirit been persuaded, but not your
+bowels: these, however, are the strongest in you!
+
+And now is your spirit ashamed to be at the service of your bowels, and
+goeth by-ways and lying ways to escape its own shame.
+
+"That would be the highest thing for me"--so saith your lying spirit
+unto itself--"to gaze upon life without desire, and not like the dog,
+with hanging-out tongue:
+
+To be happy in gazing: with dead will, free from the grip and greed
+of selfishness--cold and ashy-grey all over, but with intoxicated
+moon-eyes!
+
+That would be the dearest thing to me"--thus doth the seduced one seduce
+himself,--"to love the earth as the moon loveth it, and with the eye
+only to feel its beauty.
+
+And this do I call IMMACULATE perception of all things: to want nothing
+else from them, but to be allowed to lie before them as a mirror with a
+hundred facets."--
+
+Oh, ye sentimental dissemblers, ye covetous ones! Ye lack innocence in
+your desire: and now do ye defame desiring on that account!
+
+Verily, not as creators, as procreators, or as jubilators do ye love the
+earth!
+
+Where is innocence? Where there is will to procreation. And he who
+seeketh to create beyond himself, hath for me the purest will.
+
+Where is beauty? Where I MUST WILL with my whole Will; where I will love
+and perish, that an image may not remain merely an image.
+
+Loving and perishing: these have rhymed from eternity. Will to love:
+that is to be ready also for death. Thus do I speak unto you cowards!
+
+But now doth your emasculated ogling profess to be "contemplation!"
+And that which can be examined with cowardly eyes is to be christened
+"beautiful!" Oh, ye violators of noble names!
+
+But it shall be your curse, ye immaculate ones, ye pure discerners, that
+ye shall never bring forth, even though ye lie broad and teeming on the
+horizon!
+
+Verily, ye fill your mouth with noble words: and we are to believe that
+your heart overfloweth, ye cozeners?
+
+But MY words are poor, contemptible, stammering words: gladly do I pick
+up what falleth from the table at your repasts.
+
+Yet still can I say therewith the truth--to dissemblers! Yea, my
+fish-bones, shells, and prickly leaves shall--tickle the noses of
+dissemblers!
+
+Bad air is always about you and your repasts: your lascivious thoughts,
+your lies, and secrets are indeed in the air!
+
+Dare only to believe in yourselves--in yourselves and in your inward
+parts! He who doth not believe in himself always lieth.
+
+A God's mask have ye hung in front of you, ye "pure ones": into a God's
+mask hath your execrable coiling snake crawled.
+
+Verily ye deceive, ye "contemplative ones!" Even Zarathustra was once
+the dupe of your godlike exterior; he did not divine the serpent's coil
+with which it was stuffed.
+
+A God's soul, I once thought I saw playing in your games, ye pure
+discerners! No better arts did I once dream of than your arts!
+
+Serpents' filth and evil odour, the distance concealed from me: and that
+a lizard's craft prowled thereabouts lasciviously.
+
+But I came NIGH unto you: then came to me the day,--and now cometh it to
+you,--at an end is the moon's love affair!
+
+See there! Surprised and pale doth it stand--before the rosy dawn!
+
+For already she cometh, the glowing one,--HER love to the earth cometh!
+Innocence and creative desire, is all solar love!
+
+See there, how she cometh impatiently over the sea! Do ye not feel the
+thirst and the hot breath of her love?
+
+At the sea would she suck, and drink its depths to her height: now
+riseth the desire of the sea with its thousand breasts.
+
+Kissed and sucked WOULD it be by the thirst of the sun; vapour WOULD it
+become, and height, and path of light, and light itself!
+
+Verily, like the sun do I love life, and all deep seas.
+
+And this meaneth TO ME knowledge: all that is deep shall ascend--to my
+height!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXXVIII. SCHOLARS.
+
+When I lay asleep, then did a sheep eat at the ivy-wreath on my
+head,--it ate, and said thereby: "Zarathustra is no longer a scholar."
+
+It said this, and went away clumsily and proudly. A child told it to me.
+
+I like to lie here where the children play, beside the ruined wall,
+among thistles and red poppies.
+
+A scholar am I still to the children, and also to the thistles and red
+poppies. Innocent are they, even in their wickedness.
+
+But to the sheep I am no longer a scholar: so willeth my lot--blessings
+upon it!
+
+For this is the truth: I have departed from the house of the scholars,
+and the door have I also slammed behind me.
+
+Too long did my soul sit hungry at their table: not like them have I got
+the knack of investigating, as the knack of nut-cracking.
+
+Freedom do I love, and the air over fresh soil; rather would I sleep on
+ox-skins than on their honours and dignities.
+
+I am too hot and scorched with mine own thought: often is it ready to
+take away my breath. Then have I to go into the open air, and away from
+all dusty rooms.
+
+But they sit cool in the cool shade: they want in everything to be
+merely spectators, and they avoid sitting where the sun burneth on the
+steps.
+
+Like those who stand in the street and gape at the passers-by: thus do
+they also wait, and gape at the thoughts which others have thought.
+
+Should one lay hold of them, then do they raise a dust like flour-sacks,
+and involuntarily: but who would divine that their dust came from corn,
+and from the yellow delight of the summer fields?
+
+When they give themselves out as wise, then do their petty sayings and
+truths chill me: in their wisdom there is often an odour as if it came
+from the swamp; and verily, I have even heard the frog croak in it!
+
+Clever are they--they have dexterous fingers: what doth MY simplicity
+pretend to beside their multiplicity! All threading and knitting and
+weaving do their fingers understand: thus do they make the hose of the
+spirit!
+
+Good clockworks are they: only be careful to wind them up properly!
+Then do they indicate the hour without mistake, and make a modest noise
+thereby.
+
+Like millstones do they work, and like pestles: throw only seed-corn
+unto them!--they know well how to grind corn small, and make white dust
+out of it.
+
+They keep a sharp eye on one another, and do not trust each other the
+best. Ingenious in little artifices, they wait for those whose knowledge
+walketh on lame feet,--like spiders do they wait.
+
+I saw them always prepare their poison with precaution; and always did
+they put glass gloves on their fingers in doing so.
+
+They also know how to play with false dice; and so eagerly did I find
+them playing, that they perspired thereby.
+
+We are alien to each other, and their virtues are even more repugnant to
+my taste than their falsehoods and false dice.
+
+And when I lived with them, then did I live above them. Therefore did
+they take a dislike to me.
+
+They want to hear nothing of any one walking above their heads; and so
+they put wood and earth and rubbish betwixt me and their heads.
+
+Thus did they deafen the sound of my tread: and least have I hitherto
+been heard by the most learned.
+
+All mankind's faults and weaknesses did they put betwixt themselves and
+me:--they call it "false ceiling" in their houses.
+
+But nevertheless I walk with my thoughts ABOVE their heads; and even
+should I walk on mine own errors, still would I be above them and their
+heads.
+
+For men are NOT equal: so speaketh justice. And what I will, THEY may
+not will!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XXXIX. POETS.
+
+"Since I have known the body better"--said Zarathustra to one of his
+disciples--"the spirit hath only been to me symbolically spirit; and all
+the 'imperishable'--that is also but a simile."
+
+"So have I heard thee say once before," answered the disciple, "and then
+thou addedst: 'But the poets lie too much.' Why didst thou say that the
+poets lie too much?"
+
+"Why?" said Zarathustra. "Thou askest why? I do not belong to those who
+may be asked after their Why.
+
+Is my experience but of yesterday? It is long ago that I experienced the
+reasons for mine opinions.
+
+Should I not have to be a cask of memory, if I also wanted to have my
+reasons with me?
+
+It is already too much for me even to retain mine opinions; and many a
+bird flieth away.
+
+And sometimes, also, do I find a fugitive creature in my dovecote, which
+is alien to me, and trembleth when I lay my hand upon it.
+
+But what did Zarathustra once say unto thee? That the poets lie too
+much?--But Zarathustra also is a poet.
+
+Believest thou that he there spake the truth? Why dost thou believe it?"
+
+The disciple answered: "I believe in Zarathustra." But Zarathustra shook
+his head and smiled.--
+
+Belief doth not sanctify me, said he, least of all the belief in myself.
+
+But granting that some one did say in all seriousness that the poets lie
+too much: he was right--WE do lie too much.
+
+We also know too little, and are bad learners: so we are obliged to lie.
+
+And which of us poets hath not adulterated his wine? Many a poisonous
+hotchpotch hath evolved in our cellars: many an indescribable thing hath
+there been done.
+
+And because we know little, therefore are we pleased from the heart with
+the poor in spirit, especially when they are young women!
+
+And even of those things are we desirous, which old women tell one
+another in the evening. This do we call the eternally feminine in us.
+
+And as if there were a special secret access to knowledge, which CHOKETH
+UP for those who learn anything, so do we believe in the people and in
+their "wisdom."
+
+This, however, do all poets believe: that whoever pricketh up his ears
+when lying in the grass or on lonely slopes, learneth something of the
+things that are betwixt heaven and earth.
+
+And if there come unto them tender emotions, then do the poets always
+think that nature herself is in love with them:
+
+And that she stealeth to their ear to whisper secrets into it, and
+amorous flatteries: of this do they plume and pride themselves, before
+all mortals!
+
+Ah, there are so many things betwixt heaven and earth of which only the
+poets have dreamed!
+
+And especially ABOVE the heavens: for all Gods are poet-symbolisations,
+poet-sophistications!
+
+Verily, ever are we drawn aloft--that is, to the realm of the clouds:
+on these do we set our gaudy puppets, and then call them Gods and
+Supermen:--
+
+Are not they light enough for those chairs!--all these Gods and
+Supermen?--
+
+Ah, how I am weary of all the inadequate that is insisted on as actual!
+Ah, how I am weary of the poets!
+
+When Zarathustra so spake, his disciple resented it, but was silent. And
+Zarathustra also was silent; and his eye directed itself inwardly, as if
+it gazed into the far distance. At last he sighed and drew breath.--
+
+I am of to-day and heretofore, said he thereupon; but something is in me
+that is of the morrow, and the day following, and the hereafter.
+
+I became weary of the poets, of the old and of the new: superficial are
+they all unto me, and shallow seas.
+
+They did not think sufficiently into the depth; therefore their feeling
+did not reach to the bottom.
+
+Some sensation of voluptuousness and some sensation of tedium: these
+have as yet been their best contemplation.
+
+Ghost-breathing and ghost-whisking, seemeth to me all the
+jingle-jangling of their harps; what have they known hitherto of the
+fervour of tones!--
+
+They are also not pure enough for me: they all muddle their water that
+it may seem deep.
+
+And fain would they thereby prove themselves reconcilers: but mediaries
+and mixers are they unto me, and half-and-half, and impure!--
+
+Ah, I cast indeed my net into their sea, and meant to catch good fish;
+but always did I draw up the head of some ancient God.
+
+Thus did the sea give a stone to the hungry one. And they themselves may
+well originate from the sea.
+
+Certainly, one findeth pearls in them: thereby they are the more like
+hard molluscs. And instead of a soul, I have often found in them salt
+slime.
+
+They have learned from the sea also its vanity: is not the sea the
+peacock of peacocks?
+
+Even before the ugliest of all buffaloes doth it spread out its tail;
+never doth it tire of its lace-fan of silver and silk.
+
+Disdainfully doth the buffalo glance thereat, nigh to the sand with its
+soul, nigher still to the thicket, nighest, however, to the swamp.
+
+What is beauty and sea and peacock-splendour to it! This parable I speak
+unto the poets.
+
+Verily, their spirit itself is the peacock of peacocks, and a sea of
+vanity!
+
+Spectators, seeketh the spirit of the poet--should they even be
+buffaloes!--
+
+But of this spirit became I weary; and I see the time coming when it
+will become weary of itself.
+
+Yea, changed have I seen the poets, and their glance turned towards
+themselves.
+
+Penitents of the spirit have I seen appearing; they grew out of the
+poets.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XL. GREAT EVENTS.
+
+There is an isle in the sea--not far from the Happy Isles of
+Zarathustra--on which a volcano ever smoketh; of which isle the people,
+and especially the old women amongst them, say that it is placed as a
+rock before the gate of the nether-world; but that through the volcano
+itself the narrow way leadeth downwards which conducteth to this gate.
+
+Now about the time that Zarathustra sojourned on the Happy Isles, it
+happened that a ship anchored at the isle on which standeth the smoking
+mountain, and the crew went ashore to shoot rabbits. About the noontide
+hour, however, when the captain and his men were together again, they
+saw suddenly a man coming towards them through the air, and a voice said
+distinctly: "It is time! It is the highest time!" But when the figure
+was nearest to them (it flew past quickly, however, like a shadow, in
+the direction of the volcano), then did they recognise with the greatest
+surprise that it was Zarathustra; for they had all seen him before
+except the captain himself, and they loved him as the people love: in
+such wise that love and awe were combined in equal degree.
+
+"Behold!" said the old helmsman, "there goeth Zarathustra to hell!"
+
+About the same time that these sailors landed on the fire-isle, there
+was a rumour that Zarathustra had disappeared; and when his friends were
+asked about it, they said that he had gone on board a ship by night,
+without saying whither he was going.
+
+Thus there arose some uneasiness. After three days, however, there came
+the story of the ship's crew in addition to this uneasiness--and
+then did all the people say that the devil had taken Zarathustra. His
+disciples laughed, sure enough, at this talk; and one of them said even:
+"Sooner would I believe that Zarathustra hath taken the devil." But at
+the bottom of their hearts they were all full of anxiety and longing: so
+their joy was great when on the fifth day Zarathustra appeared amongst
+them.
+
+And this is the account of Zarathustra's interview with the fire-dog:
+
+The earth, said he, hath a skin; and this skin hath diseases. One of
+these diseases, for example, is called "man."
+
+And another of these diseases is called "the fire-dog": concerning HIM
+men have greatly deceived themselves, and let themselves be deceived.
+
+To fathom this mystery did I go o'er the sea; and I have seen the truth
+naked, verily! barefooted up to the neck.
+
+Now do I know how it is concerning the fire-dog; and likewise concerning
+all the spouting and subversive devils, of which not only old women are
+afraid.
+
+"Up with thee, fire-dog, out of thy depth!" cried I, "and confess how
+deep that depth is! Whence cometh that which thou snortest up?
+
+Thou drinkest copiously at the sea: that doth thine embittered eloquence
+betray! In sooth, for a dog of the depth, thou takest thy nourishment
+too much from the surface!
+
+At the most, I regard thee as the ventriloquist of the earth: and ever,
+when I have heard subversive and spouting devils speak, I have found
+them like thee: embittered, mendacious, and shallow.
+
+Ye understand how to roar and obscure with ashes! Ye are the best
+braggarts, and have sufficiently learned the art of making dregs boil.
+
+Where ye are, there must always be dregs at hand, and much that is
+spongy, hollow, and compressed: it wanteth to have freedom.
+
+'Freedom' ye all roar most eagerly: but I have unlearned the belief in
+'great events,' when there is much roaring and smoke about them.
+
+And believe me, friend Hullabaloo! The greatest events--are not our
+noisiest, but our stillest hours.
+
+Not around the inventors of new noise, but around the inventors of new
+values, doth the world revolve; INAUDIBLY it revolveth.
+
+And just own to it! Little had ever taken place when thy noise and smoke
+passed away. What, if a city did become a mummy, and a statue lay in the
+mud!
+
+And this do I say also to the o'erthrowers of statues: It is certainly
+the greatest folly to throw salt into the sea, and statues into the mud.
+
+In the mud of your contempt lay the statue: but it is just its law, that
+out of contempt, its life and living beauty grow again!
+
+With diviner features doth it now arise, seducing by its suffering; and
+verily! it will yet thank you for o'erthrowing it, ye subverters!
+
+This counsel, however, do I counsel to kings and churches, and to all
+that is weak with age or virtue--let yourselves be o'erthrown! That ye
+may again come to life, and that virtue--may come to you!--"
+
+Thus spake I before the fire-dog: then did he interrupt me sullenly, and
+asked: "Church? What is that?"
+
+"Church?" answered I, "that is a kind of state, and indeed the most
+mendacious. But remain quiet, thou dissembling dog! Thou surely knowest
+thine own species best!
+
+Like thyself the state is a dissembling dog; like thee doth it like
+to speak with smoke and roaring--to make believe, like thee, that it
+speaketh out of the heart of things.
+
+For it seeketh by all means to be the most important creature on earth,
+the state; and people think it so."
+
+When I had said this, the fire-dog acted as if mad with envy. "What!"
+cried he, "the most important creature on earth? And people think it
+so?" And so much vapour and terrible voices came out of his throat, that
+I thought he would choke with vexation and envy.
+
+At last he became calmer and his panting subsided; as soon, however, as
+he was quiet, I said laughingly:
+
+"Thou art angry, fire-dog: so I am in the right about thee!
+
+And that I may also maintain the right, hear the story of another
+fire-dog; he speaketh actually out of the heart of the earth.
+
+Gold doth his breath exhale, and golden rain: so doth his heart desire.
+What are ashes and smoke and hot dregs to him!
+
+Laughter flitteth from him like a variegated cloud; adverse is he to thy
+gargling and spewing and grips in the bowels!
+
+The gold, however, and the laughter--these doth he take out of the heart
+of the earth: for, that thou mayst know it,--THE HEART OF THE EARTH IS
+OF GOLD."
+
+When the fire-dog heard this, he could no longer endure to listen to me.
+Abashed did he draw in his tail, said "bow-wow!" in a cowed voice, and
+crept down into his cave.--
+
+Thus told Zarathustra. His disciples, however, hardly listened to him:
+so great was their eagerness to tell him about the sailors, the rabbits,
+and the flying man.
+
+"What am I to think of it!" said Zarathustra. "Am I indeed a ghost?
+
+But it may have been my shadow. Ye have surely heard something of the
+Wanderer and his Shadow?
+
+One thing, however, is certain: I must keep a tighter hold of it;
+otherwise it will spoil my reputation."
+
+And once more Zarathustra shook his head and wondered. "What am I to
+think of it!" said he once more.
+
+"Why did the ghost cry: 'It is time! It is the highest time!'
+
+For WHAT is it then--the highest time?"--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XLI. THE SOOTHSAYER.
+
+"-And I saw a great sadness come over mankind. The best turned weary of
+their works.
+
+A doctrine appeared, a faith ran beside it: 'All is empty, all is alike,
+all hath been!'
+
+And from all hills there re-echoed: 'All is empty, all is alike, all
+hath been!'
+
+To be sure we have harvested: but why have all our fruits become rotten
+and brown? What was it fell last night from the evil moon?
+
+In vain was all our labour, poison hath our wine become, the evil eye
+hath singed yellow our fields and hearts.
+
+Arid have we all become; and fire falling upon us, then do we turn dust
+like ashes:--yea, the fire itself have we made aweary.
+
+All our fountains have dried up, even the sea hath receded. All the
+ground trieth to gape, but the depth will not swallow!
+
+'Alas! where is there still a sea in which one could be drowned?' so
+soundeth our plaint--across shallow swamps.
+
+Verily, even for dying have we become too weary; now do we keep awake
+and live on--in sepulchres."
+
+Thus did Zarathustra hear a soothsayer speak; and the foreboding touched
+his heart and transformed him. Sorrowfully did he go about and wearily;
+and he became like unto those of whom the soothsayer had spoken.--
+
+Verily, said he unto his disciples, a little while, and there cometh the
+long twilight. Alas, how shall I preserve my light through it!
+
+That it may not smother in this sorrowfulness! To remoter worlds shall
+it be a light, and also to remotest nights!
+
+Thus did Zarathustra go about grieved in his heart, and for three days
+he did not take any meat or drink: he had no rest, and lost his speech.
+At last it came to pass that he fell into a deep sleep. His disciples,
+however, sat around him in long night-watches, and waited anxiously to
+see if he would awake, and speak again, and recover from his affliction.
+
+And this is the discourse that Zarathustra spake when he awoke; his
+voice, however, came unto his disciples as from afar:
+
+Hear, I pray you, the dream that I dreamed, my friends, and help me to
+divine its meaning!
+
+A riddle is it still unto me, this dream; the meaning is hidden in it
+and encaged, and doth not yet fly above it on free pinions.
+
+All life had I renounced, so I dreamed. Night-watchman and
+grave-guardian had I become, aloft, in the lone mountain-fortress of
+Death.
+
+There did I guard his coffins: full stood the musty vaults of those
+trophies of victory. Out of glass coffins did vanquished life gaze upon
+me.
+
+The odour of dust-covered eternities did I breathe: sultry and
+dust-covered lay my soul. And who could have aired his soul there!
+
+Brightness of midnight was ever around me; lonesomeness cowered beside
+her; and as a third, death-rattle stillness, the worst of my female
+friends.
+
+Keys did I carry, the rustiest of all keys; and I knew how to open with
+them the most creaking of all gates.
+
+Like a bitterly angry croaking ran the sound through the long corridors
+when the leaves of the gate opened: ungraciously did this bird cry,
+unwillingly was it awakened.
+
+But more frightful even, and more heart-strangling was it, when it again
+became silent and still all around, and I alone sat in that malignant
+silence.
+
+Thus did time pass with me, and slip by, if time there still was: what
+do I know thereof! But at last there happened that which awoke me.
+
+Thrice did there peal peals at the gate like thunders, thrice did the
+vaults resound and howl again: then did I go to the gate.
+
+Alpa! cried I, who carrieth his ashes unto the mountain? Alpa! Alpa! who
+carrieth his ashes unto the mountain?
+
+And I pressed the key, and pulled at the gate, and exerted myself. But
+not a finger's-breadth was it yet open:
+
+Then did a roaring wind tear the folds apart: whistling, whizzing, and
+piercing, it threw unto me a black coffin.
+
+And in the roaring, and whistling, and whizzing the coffin burst up, and
+spouted out a thousand peals of laughter.
+
+And a thousand caricatures of children, angels, owls, fools, and
+child-sized butterflies laughed and mocked, and roared at me.
+
+Fearfully was I terrified thereby: it prostrated me. And I cried with
+horror as I ne'er cried before.
+
+But mine own crying awoke me:--and I came to myself.--
+
+Thus did Zarathustra relate his dream, and then was silent: for as yet
+he knew not the interpretation thereof. But the disciple whom he loved
+most arose quickly, seized Zarathustra's hand, and said:
+
+"Thy life itself interpreteth unto us this dream, O Zarathustra!
+
+Art thou not thyself the wind with shrill whistling, which bursteth open
+the gates of the fortress of Death?
+
+Art thou not thyself the coffin full of many-hued malices and
+angel-caricatures of life?
+
+Verily, like a thousand peals of children's laughter cometh
+Zarathustra into all sepulchres, laughing at those night-watchmen and
+grave-guardians, and whoever else rattleth with sinister keys.
+
+With thy laughter wilt thou frighten and prostrate them: fainting and
+recovering will demonstrate thy power over them.
+
+And when the long twilight cometh and the mortal weariness, even then
+wilt thou not disappear from our firmament, thou advocate of life!
+
+New stars hast thou made us see, and new nocturnal glories: verily,
+laughter itself hast thou spread out over us like a many-hued canopy.
+
+Now will children's laughter ever from coffins flow; now will a strong
+wind ever come victoriously unto all mortal weariness: of this thou art
+thyself the pledge and the prophet!
+
+Verily, THEY THEMSELVES DIDST THOU DREAM, thine enemies: that was thy
+sorest dream.
+
+But as thou awokest from them and camest to thyself, so shall they
+awaken from themselves--and come unto thee!"
+
+Thus spake the disciple; and all the others then thronged around
+Zarathustra, grasped him by the hands, and tried to persuade him to
+leave his bed and his sadness, and return unto them. Zarathustra,
+however, sat upright on his couch, with an absent look. Like one
+returning from long foreign sojourn did he look on his disciples, and
+examined their features; but still he knew them not. When, however, they
+raised him, and set him upon his feet, behold, all on a sudden his eye
+changed; he understood everything that had happened, stroked his beard,
+and said with a strong voice:
+
+"Well! this hath just its time; but see to it, my disciples, that we
+have a good repast; and without delay! Thus do I mean to make amends for
+bad dreams!
+
+The soothsayer, however, shall eat and drink at my side: and verily, I
+will yet show him a sea in which he can drown himself!"--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra. Then did he gaze long into the face of the
+disciple who had been the dream-interpreter, and shook his head.--
+
+
+
+
+XLII. REDEMPTION.
+
+When Zarathustra went one day over the great bridge, then did the
+cripples and beggars surround him, and a hunchback spake thus unto him:
+
+"Behold, Zarathustra! Even the people learn from thee, and acquire faith
+in thy teaching: but for them to believe fully in thee, one thing is
+still needful--thou must first of all convince us cripples! Here hast
+thou now a fine selection, and verily, an opportunity with more than one
+forelock! The blind canst thou heal, and make the lame run; and from
+him who hath too much behind, couldst thou well, also, take away a
+little;--that, I think, would be the right method to make the cripples
+believe in Zarathustra!"
+
+Zarathustra, however, answered thus unto him who so spake: When one
+taketh his hump from the hunchback, then doth one take from him his
+spirit--so do the people teach. And when one giveth the blind man eyes,
+then doth he see too many bad things on the earth: so that he curseth
+him who healed him. He, however, who maketh the lame man run, inflicteth
+upon him the greatest injury; for hardly can he run, when his vices
+run away with him--so do the people teach concerning cripples. And why
+should not Zarathustra also learn from the people, when the people learn
+from Zarathustra?
+
+It is, however, the smallest thing unto me since I have been amongst
+men, to see one person lacking an eye, another an ear, and a third a
+leg, and that others have lost the tongue, or the nose, or the head.
+
+I see and have seen worse things, and divers things so hideous, that I
+should neither like to speak of all matters, nor even keep silent about
+some of them: namely, men who lack everything, except that they have
+too much of one thing--men who are nothing more than a big eye, or a big
+mouth, or a big belly, or something else big,--reversed cripples, I call
+such men.
+
+And when I came out of my solitude, and for the first time passed over
+this bridge, then I could not trust mine eyes, but looked again and
+again, and said at last: "That is an ear! An ear as big as a man!" I
+looked still more attentively--and actually there did move under the ear
+something that was pitiably small and poor and slim. And in truth this
+immense ear was perched on a small thin stalk--the stalk, however, was a
+man! A person putting a glass to his eyes, could even recognise further
+a small envious countenance, and also that a bloated soullet dangled at
+the stalk. The people told me, however, that the big ear was not only a
+man, but a great man, a genius. But I never believed in the people when
+they spake of great men--and I hold to my belief that it was a reversed
+cripple, who had too little of everything, and too much of one thing.
+
+When Zarathustra had spoken thus unto the hunchback, and unto those of
+whom the hunchback was the mouthpiece and advocate, then did he turn to
+his disciples in profound dejection, and said:
+
+Verily, my friends, I walk amongst men as amongst the fragments and
+limbs of human beings!
+
+This is the terrible thing to mine eye, that I find man broken up, and
+scattered about, as on a battle- and butcher-ground.
+
+And when mine eye fleeth from the present to the bygone, it findeth ever
+the same: fragments and limbs and fearful chances--but no men!
+
+The present and the bygone upon earth--ah! my friends--that is MY most
+unbearable trouble; and I should not know how to live, if I were not a
+seer of what is to come.
+
+A seer, a purposer, a creator, a future itself, and a bridge to the
+future--and alas! also as it were a cripple on this bridge: all that is
+Zarathustra.
+
+And ye also asked yourselves often: "Who is Zarathustra to us? What
+shall he be called by us?" And like me, did ye give yourselves questions
+for answers.
+
+Is he a promiser? Or a fulfiller? A conqueror? Or an inheritor? A
+harvest? Or a ploughshare? A physician? Or a healed one?
+
+Is he a poet? Or a genuine one? An emancipator? Or a subjugator? A good
+one? Or an evil one?
+
+I walk amongst men as the fragments of the future: that future which I
+contemplate.
+
+And it is all my poetisation and aspiration to compose and collect into
+unity what is fragment and riddle and fearful chance.
+
+And how could I endure to be a man, if man were not also the composer,
+and riddle-reader, and redeemer of chance!
+
+To redeem what is past, and to transform every "It was" into "Thus would
+I have it!"--that only do I call redemption!
+
+Will--so is the emancipator and joy-bringer called: thus have I taught
+you, my friends! But now learn this likewise: the Will itself is still a
+prisoner.
+
+Willing emancipateth: but what is that called which still putteth the
+emancipator in chains?
+
+"It was": thus is the Will's teeth-gnashing and lonesomest tribulation
+called. Impotent towards what hath been done--it is a malicious
+spectator of all that is past.
+
+Not backward can the Will will; that it cannot break time and time's
+desire--that is the Will's lonesomest tribulation.
+
+Willing emancipateth: what doth Willing itself devise in order to get
+free from its tribulation and mock at its prison?
+
+Ah, a fool becometh every prisoner! Foolishly delivereth itself also the
+imprisoned Will.
+
+That time doth not run backward--that is its animosity: "That which
+was": so is the stone which it cannot roll called.
+
+And thus doth it roll stones out of animosity and ill-humour, and taketh
+revenge on whatever doth not, like it, feel rage and ill-humour.
+
+Thus did the Will, the emancipator, become a torturer; and on all
+that is capable of suffering it taketh revenge, because it cannot go
+backward.
+
+This, yea, this alone is REVENGE itself: the Will's antipathy to time,
+and its "It was."
+
+Verily, a great folly dwelleth in our Will; and it became a curse unto
+all humanity, that this folly acquired spirit!
+
+THE SPIRIT OF REVENGE: my friends, that hath hitherto been man's best
+contemplation; and where there was suffering, it was claimed there was
+always penalty.
+
+"Penalty," so calleth itself revenge. With a lying word it feigneth a
+good conscience.
+
+And because in the willer himself there is suffering, because he cannot
+will backwards--thus was Willing itself, and all life, claimed--to be
+penalty!
+
+And then did cloud after cloud roll over the spirit, until at last
+madness preached: "Everything perisheth, therefore everything deserveth
+to perish!"
+
+"And this itself is justice, the law of time--that he must devour his
+children:" thus did madness preach.
+
+"Morally are things ordered according to justice and penalty. Oh, where
+is there deliverance from the flux of things and from the 'existence' of
+penalty?" Thus did madness preach.
+
+"Can there be deliverance when there is eternal justice? Alas,
+unrollable is the stone, 'It was': eternal must also be all penalties!"
+Thus did madness preach.
+
+"No deed can be annihilated: how could it be undone by the penalty!
+This, this is what is eternal in the 'existence' of penalty, that
+existence also must be eternally recurring deed and guilt!
+
+Unless the Will should at last deliver itself, and Willing become
+non-Willing--:" but ye know, my brethren, this fabulous song of madness!
+
+Away from those fabulous songs did I lead you when I taught you: "The
+Will is a creator."
+
+All "It was" is a fragment, a riddle, a fearful chance--until the
+creating Will saith thereto: "But thus would I have it."--
+
+Until the creating Will saith thereto: "But thus do I will it! Thus
+shall I will it!"
+
+But did it ever speak thus? And when doth this take place? Hath the Will
+been unharnessed from its own folly?
+
+Hath the Will become its own deliverer and joy-bringer? Hath it
+unlearned the spirit of revenge and all teeth-gnashing?
+
+And who hath taught it reconciliation with time, and something higher
+than all reconciliation?
+
+Something higher than all reconciliation must the Will will which is the
+Will to Power--: but how doth that take place? Who hath taught it also
+to will backwards?
+
+--But at this point in his discourse it chanced that Zarathustra
+suddenly paused, and looked like a person in the greatest alarm. With
+terror in his eyes did he gaze on his disciples; his glances pierced as
+with arrows their thoughts and arrear-thoughts. But after a brief space
+he again laughed, and said soothedly:
+
+"It is difficult to live amongst men, because silence is so difficult--
+especially for a babbler."--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra. The hunchback, however, had listened to the
+conversation and had covered his face during the time; but when he heard
+Zarathustra laugh, he looked up with curiosity, and said slowly:
+
+"But why doth Zarathustra speak otherwise unto us than unto his
+disciples?"
+
+Zarathustra answered: "What is there to be wondered at! With hunchbacks
+one may well speak in a hunchbacked way!"
+
+"Very good," said the hunchback; "and with pupils one may well tell
+tales out of school.
+
+But why doth Zarathustra speak otherwise unto his pupils--than unto
+himself?"--
+
+
+
+
+XLIII. MANLY PRUDENCE.
+
+Not the height, it is the declivity that is terrible!
+
+The declivity, where the gaze shooteth DOWNWARDS, and the hand graspeth
+UPWARDS. There doth the heart become giddy through its double will.
+
+Ah, friends, do ye divine also my heart's double will?
+
+This, this is MY declivity and my danger, that my gaze shooteth towards
+the summit, and my hand would fain clutch and lean--on the depth!
+
+To man clingeth my will; with chains do I bind myself to man, because
+I am pulled upwards to the Superman: for thither doth mine other will
+tend.
+
+And THEREFORE do I live blindly among men, as if I knew them not: that
+my hand may not entirely lose belief in firmness.
+
+I know not you men: this gloom and consolation is often spread around
+me.
+
+I sit at the gateway for every rogue, and ask: Who wisheth to deceive
+me?
+
+This is my first manly prudence, that I allow myself to be deceived, so
+as not to be on my guard against deceivers.
+
+Ah, if I were on my guard against man, how could man be an anchor to my
+ball! Too easily would I be pulled upwards and away!
+
+This providence is over my fate, that I have to be without foresight.
+
+And he who would not languish amongst men, must learn to drink out of
+all glasses; and he who would keep clean amongst men, must know how to
+wash himself even with dirty water.
+
+And thus spake I often to myself for consolation: "Courage! Cheer up!
+old heart! An unhappiness hath failed to befall thee: enjoy that as
+thy--happiness!"
+
+This, however, is mine other manly prudence: I am more forbearing to the
+VAIN than to the proud.
+
+Is not wounded vanity the mother of all tragedies? Where, however, pride
+is wounded, there there groweth up something better than pride.
+
+That life may be fair to behold, its game must be well played; for that
+purpose, however, it needeth good actors.
+
+Good actors have I found all the vain ones: they play, and wish people
+to be fond of beholding them--all their spirit is in this wish.
+
+They represent themselves, they invent themselves; in their
+neighbourhood I like to look upon life--it cureth of melancholy.
+
+Therefore am I forbearing to the vain, because they are the physicians
+of my melancholy, and keep me attached to man as to a drama.
+
+And further, who conceiveth the full depth of the modesty of the vain
+man! I am favourable to him, and sympathetic on account of his modesty.
+
+From you would he learn his belief in himself; he feedeth upon your
+glances, he eateth praise out of your hands.
+
+Your lies doth he even believe when you lie favourably about him: for in
+its depths sigheth his heart: "What am _I_?"
+
+And if that be the true virtue which is unconscious of itself--well, the
+vain man is unconscious of his modesty!--
+
+This is, however, my third manly prudence: I am not put out of conceit
+with the WICKED by your timorousness.
+
+I am happy to see the marvels the warm sun hatcheth: tigers and palms
+and rattle-snakes.
+
+Also amongst men there is a beautiful brood of the warm sun, and much
+that is marvellous in the wicked.
+
+In truth, as your wisest did not seem to me so very wise, so found I
+also human wickedness below the fame of it.
+
+And oft did I ask with a shake of the head: Why still rattle, ye
+rattle-snakes?
+
+Verily, there is still a future even for evil! And the warmest south is
+still undiscovered by man.
+
+How many things are now called the worst wickedness, which are only
+twelve feet broad and three months long! Some day, however, will greater
+dragons come into the world.
+
+For that the Superman may not lack his dragon, the superdragon that
+is worthy of him, there must still much warm sun glow on moist virgin
+forests!
+
+Out of your wild cats must tigers have evolved, and out of your
+poison-toads, crocodiles: for the good hunter shall have a good hunt!
+
+And verily, ye good and just! In you there is much to be laughed at, and
+especially your fear of what hath hitherto been called "the devil!"
+
+So alien are ye in your souls to what is great, that to you the Superman
+would be FRIGHTFUL in his goodness!
+
+And ye wise and knowing ones, ye would flee from the solar-glow of the
+wisdom in which the Superman joyfully batheth his nakedness!
+
+Ye highest men who have come within my ken! this is my doubt of you, and
+my secret laughter: I suspect ye would call my Superman--a devil!
+
+Ah, I became tired of those highest and best ones: from their "height"
+did I long to be up, out, and away to the Superman!
+
+A horror came over me when I saw those best ones naked: then there grew
+for me the pinions to soar away into distant futures.
+
+Into more distant futures, into more southern souths than ever artist
+dreamed of: thither, where Gods are ashamed of all clothes!
+
+But disguised do I want to see YOU, ye neighbours and fellowmen, and
+well-attired and vain and estimable, as "the good and just;"--
+
+And disguised will I myself sit amongst you--that I may MISTAKE you and
+myself: for that is my last manly prudence.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XLIV. THE STILLEST HOUR.
+
+What hath happened unto me, my friends? Ye see me troubled, driven
+forth, unwillingly obedient, ready to go--alas, to go away from YOU!
+
+Yea, once more must Zarathustra retire to his solitude: but unjoyously
+this time doth the bear go back to his cave!
+
+What hath happened unto me? Who ordereth this?--Ah, mine angry mistress
+wisheth it so; she spake unto me. Have I ever named her name to you?
+
+Yesterday towards evening there spake unto me MY STILLEST HOUR: that is
+the name of my terrible mistress.
+
+And thus did it happen--for everything must I tell you, that your heart
+may not harden against the suddenly departing one!
+
+Do ye know the terror of him who falleth asleep?--
+
+To the very toes he is terrified, because the ground giveth way under
+him, and the dream beginneth.
+
+This do I speak unto you in parable. Yesterday at the stillest hour did
+the ground give way under me: the dream began.
+
+The hour-hand moved on, the timepiece of my life drew breath--never did
+I hear such stillness around me, so that my heart was terrified.
+
+Then was there spoken unto me without voice: "THOU KNOWEST IT,
+ZARATHUSTRA?"--
+
+And I cried in terror at this whispering, and the blood left my face:
+but I was silent.
+
+Then was there once more spoken unto me without voice: "Thou knowest it,
+Zarathustra, but thou dost not speak it!"--
+
+And at last I answered, like one defiant: "Yea, I know it, but I will
+not speak it!"
+
+Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: "Thou WILT not,
+Zarathustra? Is this true? Conceal thyself not behind thy defiance!"--
+
+And I wept and trembled like a child, and said: "Ah, I would indeed, but
+how can I do it! Exempt me only from this! It is beyond my power!"
+
+Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: "What matter about
+thyself, Zarathustra! Speak thy word, and succumb!"
+
+And I answered: "Ah, is it MY word? Who am _I_? I await the worthier
+one; I am not worthy even to succumb by it."
+
+Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: "What matter about
+thyself? Thou art not yet humble enough for me. Humility hath the
+hardest skin."--
+
+And I answered: "What hath not the skin of my humility endured! At the
+foot of my height do I dwell: how high are my summits, no one hath yet
+told me. But well do I know my valleys."
+
+Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: "O Zarathustra, he
+who hath to remove mountains removeth also valleys and plains."--
+
+And I answered: "As yet hath my word not removed mountains, and what I
+have spoken hath not reached man. I went, indeed, unto men, but not yet
+have I attained unto them."
+
+Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: "What knowest thou
+THEREOF! The dew falleth on the grass when the night is most silent."--
+
+And I answered: "They mocked me when I found and walked in mine own
+path; and certainly did my feet then tremble.
+
+And thus did they speak unto me: Thou forgottest the path before, now
+dost thou also forget how to walk!"
+
+Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: "What matter about
+their mockery! Thou art one who hast unlearned to obey: now shalt thou
+command!
+
+Knowest thou not who is most needed by all? He who commandeth great
+things.
+
+To execute great things is difficult: but the more difficult task is to
+command great things.
+
+This is thy most unpardonable obstinacy: thou hast the power, and thou
+wilt not rule."--
+
+And I answered: "I lack the lion's voice for all commanding."
+
+Then was there again spoken unto me as a whispering: "It is the stillest
+words which bring the storm. Thoughts that come with doves' footsteps
+guide the world.
+
+O Zarathustra, thou shalt go as a shadow of that which is to come: thus
+wilt thou command, and in commanding go foremost."--
+
+And I answered: "I am ashamed."
+
+Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: "Thou must yet become
+a child, and be without shame.
+
+The pride of youth is still upon thee; late hast thou become young: but
+he who would become a child must surmount even his youth."--
+
+And I considered a long while, and trembled. At last, however, did I say
+what I had said at first. "I will not."
+
+Then did a laughing take place all around me. Alas, how that laughing
+lacerated my bowels and cut into my heart!
+
+And there was spoken unto me for the last time: "O Zarathustra, thy
+fruits are ripe, but thou art not ripe for thy fruits!
+
+So must thou go again into solitude: for thou shalt yet become
+mellow."--
+
+And again was there a laughing, and it fled: then did it become still
+around me, as with a double stillness. I lay, however, on the ground,
+and the sweat flowed from my limbs.
+
+--Now have ye heard all, and why I have to return into my solitude.
+Nothing have I kept hidden from you, my friends.
+
+But even this have ye heard from me, WHO is still the most reserved of
+men--and will be so!
+
+Ah, my friends! I should have something more to say unto you! I should
+have something more to give unto you! Why do I not give it? Am I then a
+niggard?--
+
+When, however, Zarathustra had spoken these words, the violence of his
+pain, and a sense of the nearness of his departure from his friends came
+over him, so that he wept aloud; and no one knew how to console him. In
+the night, however, he went away alone and left his friends.
+
+
+
+
+
+THIRD PART.
+
+"Ye look aloft when ye long for exaltation, and I look downward because
+I am exalted.
+
+"Who among you can at the same time laugh and be exalted?
+
+"He who climbeth on the highest mountains, laugheth at all tragic plays
+and tragic realities."--ZARATHUSTRA, I., "Reading and Writing."
+
+
+
+
+XLV. THE WANDERER.
+
+Then, when it was about midnight, Zarathustra went his way over the
+ridge of the isle, that he might arrive early in the morning at the
+other coast; because there he meant to embark. For there was a good
+roadstead there, in which foreign ships also liked to anchor: those
+ships took many people with them, who wished to cross over from the
+Happy Isles. So when Zarathustra thus ascended the mountain, he thought
+on the way of his many solitary wanderings from youth onwards, and how
+many mountains and ridges and summits he had already climbed.
+
+I am a wanderer and mountain-climber, said he to his heart, I love not
+the plains, and it seemeth I cannot long sit still.
+
+And whatever may still overtake me as fate and experience--a wandering
+will be therein, and a mountain-climbing: in the end one experienceth
+only oneself.
+
+The time is now past when accidents could befall me; and what COULD now
+fall to my lot which would not already be mine own!
+
+It returneth only, it cometh home to me at last--mine own Self, and
+such of it as hath been long abroad, and scattered among things and
+accidents.
+
+And one thing more do I know: I stand now before my last summit, and
+before that which hath been longest reserved for me. Ah, my hardest path
+must I ascend! Ah, I have begun my lonesomest wandering!
+
+He, however, who is of my nature doth not avoid such an hour: the hour
+that saith unto him: Now only dost thou go the way to thy greatness!
+Summit and abyss--these are now comprised together!
+
+Thou goest the way to thy greatness: now hath it become thy last refuge,
+what was hitherto thy last danger!
+
+Thou goest the way to thy greatness: it must now be thy best courage
+that there is no longer any path behind thee!
+
+Thou goest the way to thy greatness: here shall no one steal after thee!
+Thy foot itself hath effaced the path behind thee, and over it standeth
+written: Impossibility.
+
+And if all ladders henceforth fail thee, then must thou learn to mount
+upon thine own head: how couldst thou mount upward otherwise?
+
+Upon thine own head, and beyond thine own heart! Now must the gentlest
+in thee become the hardest.
+
+He who hath always much-indulged himself, sickeneth at last by his
+much-indulgence. Praises on what maketh hardy! I do not praise the land
+where butter and honey--flow!
+
+To learn TO LOOK AWAY FROM oneself, is necessary in order to see MANY
+THINGS:--this hardiness is needed by every mountain-climber.
+
+He, however, who is obtrusive with his eyes as a discerner, how can he
+ever see more of anything than its foreground!
+
+But thou, O Zarathustra, wouldst view the ground of everything, and its
+background: thus must thou mount even above thyself--up, upwards, until
+thou hast even thy stars UNDER thee!
+
+Yea! To look down upon myself, and even upon my stars: that only would I
+call my SUMMIT, that hath remained for me as my LAST summit!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra to himself while ascending, comforting his heart
+with harsh maxims: for he was sore at heart as he had never been before.
+And when he had reached the top of the mountain-ridge, behold, there
+lay the other sea spread out before him: and he stood still and was
+long silent. The night, however, was cold at this height, and clear and
+starry.
+
+I recognise my destiny, said he at last, sadly. Well! I am ready. Now
+hath my last lonesomeness begun.
+
+Ah, this sombre, sad sea, below me! Ah, this sombre nocturnal vexation!
+Ah, fate and sea! To you must I now GO DOWN!
+
+Before my highest mountain do I stand, and before my longest wandering:
+therefore must I first go deeper down than I ever ascended:
+
+--Deeper down into pain than I ever ascended, even into its darkest
+flood! So willeth my fate. Well! I am ready.
+
+Whence come the highest mountains? so did I once ask. Then did I learn
+that they come out of the sea.
+
+That testimony is inscribed on their stones, and on the walls of their
+summits. Out of the deepest must the highest come to its height.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra on the ridge of the mountain where it was cold:
+when, however, he came into the vicinity of the sea, and at last stood
+alone amongst the cliffs, then had he become weary on his way, and
+eagerer than ever before.
+
+Everything as yet sleepeth, said he; even the sea sleepeth. Drowsily and
+strangely doth its eye gaze upon me.
+
+But it breatheth warmly--I feel it. And I feel also that it dreameth. It
+tosseth about dreamily on hard pillows.
+
+Hark! Hark! How it groaneth with evil recollections! Or evil
+expectations?
+
+Ah, I am sad along with thee, thou dusky monster, and angry with myself
+even for thy sake.
+
+Ah, that my hand hath not strength enough! Gladly, indeed, would I free
+thee from evil dreams!--
+
+And while Zarathustra thus spake, he laughed at himself with melancholy
+and bitterness. What! Zarathustra, said he, wilt thou even sing
+consolation to the sea?
+
+Ah, thou amiable fool, Zarathustra, thou too-blindly confiding one! But
+thus hast thou ever been: ever hast thou approached confidently all that
+is terrible.
+
+Every monster wouldst thou caress. A whiff of warm breath, a little soft
+tuft on its paw--: and immediately wert thou ready to love and lure it.
+
+LOVE is the danger of the lonesomest one, love to anything, IF IT ONLY
+LIVE! Laughable, verily, is my folly and my modesty in love!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, and laughed thereby a second time. Then,
+however, he thought of his abandoned friends--and as if he had done them
+a wrong with his thoughts, he upbraided himself because of his thoughts.
+And forthwith it came to pass that the laugher wept--with anger and
+longing wept Zarathustra bitterly.
+
+
+
+
+XLVI. THE VISION AND THE ENIGMA.
+
+1.
+
+When it got abroad among the sailors that Zarathustra was on board the
+ship--for a man who came from the Happy Isles had gone on board along
+with him,--there was great curiosity and expectation. But Zarathustra
+kept silent for two days, and was cold and deaf with sadness; so that he
+neither answered looks nor questions. On the evening of the second day,
+however, he again opened his ears, though he still kept silent: for
+there were many curious and dangerous things to be heard on board the
+ship, which came from afar, and was to go still further. Zarathustra,
+however, was fond of all those who make distant voyages, and dislike to
+live without danger. And behold! when listening, his own tongue was
+at last loosened, and the ice of his heart broke. Then did he begin to
+speak thus:
+
+To you, the daring venturers and adventurers, and whoever hath embarked
+with cunning sails upon frightful seas,--
+
+To you the enigma-intoxicated, the twilight-enjoyers, whose souls are
+allured by flutes to every treacherous gulf:
+
+--For ye dislike to grope at a thread with cowardly hand; and where ye
+can DIVINE, there do ye hate to CALCULATE--
+
+To you only do I tell the enigma that I SAW--the vision of the
+lonesomest one.--
+
+Gloomily walked I lately in corpse-coloured twilight--gloomily and
+sternly, with compressed lips. Not only one sun had set for me.
+
+A path which ascended daringly among boulders, an evil, lonesome path,
+which neither herb nor shrub any longer cheered, a mountain-path,
+crunched under the daring of my foot.
+
+Mutely marching over the scornful clinking of pebbles, trampling the
+stone that let it slip: thus did my foot force its way upwards.
+
+Upwards:--in spite of the spirit that drew it downwards, towards the
+abyss, the spirit of gravity, my devil and arch-enemy.
+
+Upwards:--although it sat upon me, half-dwarf, half-mole; paralysed,
+paralysing; dripping lead in mine ear, and thoughts like drops of lead
+into my brain.
+
+"O Zarathustra," it whispered scornfully, syllable by syllable, "thou
+stone of wisdom! Thou threwest thyself high, but every thrown stone
+must--fall!
+
+O Zarathustra, thou stone of wisdom, thou sling-stone, thou
+star-destroyer! Thyself threwest thou so high,--but every thrown
+stone--must fall!
+
+Condemned of thyself, and to thine own stoning: O Zarathustra, far
+indeed threwest thou thy stone--but upon THYSELF will it recoil!"
+
+Then was the dwarf silent; and it lasted long. The silence, however,
+oppressed me; and to be thus in pairs, one is verily lonesomer than when
+alone!
+
+I ascended, I ascended, I dreamt, I thought,--but everything oppressed
+me. A sick one did I resemble, whom bad torture wearieth, and a worse
+dream reawakeneth out of his first sleep.--
+
+But there is something in me which I call courage: it hath hitherto
+slain for me every dejection. This courage at last bade me stand still
+and say: "Dwarf! Thou! Or I!"--
+
+For courage is the best slayer,--courage which ATTACKETH: for in every
+attack there is sound of triumph.
+
+Man, however, is the most courageous animal: thereby hath he overcome
+every animal. With sound of triumph hath he overcome every pain; human
+pain, however, is the sorest pain.
+
+Courage slayeth also giddiness at abysses: and where doth man not stand
+at abysses! Is not seeing itself--seeing abysses?
+
+Courage is the best slayer: courage slayeth also fellow-suffering.
+Fellow-suffering, however, is the deepest abyss: as deeply as man
+looketh into life, so deeply also doth he look into suffering.
+
+Courage, however, is the best slayer, courage which attacketh: it
+slayeth even death itself; for it saith: "WAS THAT life? Well! Once
+more!"
+
+In such speech, however, there is much sound of triumph. He who hath
+ears to hear, let him hear.--
+
+2.
+
+"Halt, dwarf!" said I. "Either I--or thou! I, however, am the stronger
+of the two:--thou knowest not mine abysmal thought! IT--couldst thou not
+endure!"
+
+Then happened that which made me lighter: for the dwarf sprang from my
+shoulder, the prying sprite! And it squatted on a stone in front of me.
+There was however a gateway just where we halted.
+
+"Look at this gateway! Dwarf!" I continued, "it hath two faces. Two
+roads come together here: these hath no one yet gone to the end of.
+
+This long lane backwards: it continueth for an eternity. And that long
+lane forward--that is another eternity.
+
+They are antithetical to one another, these roads; they directly abut on
+one another:--and it is here, at this gateway, that they come together.
+The name of the gateway is inscribed above: 'This Moment.'
+
+But should one follow them further--and ever further and further
+on, thinkest thou, dwarf, that these roads would be eternally
+antithetical?"--
+
+"Everything straight lieth," murmured the dwarf, contemptuously. "All
+truth is crooked; time itself is a circle."
+
+"Thou spirit of gravity!" said I wrathfully, "do not take it too
+lightly! Or I shall let thee squat where thou squattest, Haltfoot,--and
+I carried thee HIGH!"
+
+"Observe," continued I, "This Moment! From the gateway, This Moment,
+there runneth a long eternal lane BACKWARDS: behind us lieth an
+eternity.
+
+Must not whatever CAN run its course of all things, have already run
+along that lane? Must not whatever CAN happen of all things have already
+happened, resulted, and gone by?
+
+And if everything have already existed, what thinkest thou, dwarf, of
+This Moment? Must not this gateway also--have already existed?
+
+And are not all things closely bound together in such wise that This
+Moment draweth all coming things after it? CONSEQUENTLY--itself also?
+
+For whatever CAN run its course of all things, also in this long lane
+OUTWARD--MUST it once more run!--
+
+And this slow spider which creepeth in the moonlight, and this moonlight
+itself, and thou and I in this gateway whispering together, whispering
+of eternal things--must we not all have already existed?
+
+--And must we not return and run in that other lane out before us, that
+long weird lane--must we not eternally return?"--
+
+Thus did I speak, and always more softly: for I was afraid of mine own
+thoughts, and arrear-thoughts. Then, suddenly did I hear a dog HOWL near
+me.
+
+Had I ever heard a dog howl thus? My thoughts ran back. Yes! When I was
+a child, in my most distant childhood:
+
+--Then did I hear a dog howl thus. And saw it also, with hair bristling,
+its head upwards, trembling in the stillest midnight, when even dogs
+believe in ghosts:
+
+--So that it excited my commiseration. For just then went the full moon,
+silent as death, over the house; just then did it stand still, a glowing
+globe--at rest on the flat roof, as if on some one's property:--
+
+Thereby had the dog been terrified: for dogs believe in thieves and
+ghosts. And when I again heard such howling, then did it excite my
+commiseration once more.
+
+Where was now the dwarf? And the gateway? And the spider? And all the
+whispering? Had I dreamt? Had I awakened? 'Twixt rugged rocks did I
+suddenly stand alone, dreary in the dreariest moonlight.
+
+BUT THERE LAY A MAN! And there! The dog leaping, bristling, whining--now
+did it see me coming--then did it howl again, then did it CRY:--had I
+ever heard a dog cry so for help?
+
+And verily, what I saw, the like had I never seen. A young shepherd did
+I see, writhing, choking, quivering, with distorted countenance, and
+with a heavy black serpent hanging out of his mouth.
+
+Had I ever seen so much loathing and pale horror on one countenance?
+He had perhaps gone to sleep? Then had the serpent crawled into his
+throat--there had it bitten itself fast.
+
+My hand pulled at the serpent, and pulled:--in vain! I failed to pull
+the serpent out of his throat. Then there cried out of me: "Bite! Bite!
+
+Its head off! Bite!"--so cried it out of me; my horror, my hatred, my
+loathing, my pity, all my good and my bad cried with one voice out of
+me.--
+
+Ye daring ones around me! Ye venturers and adventurers, and whoever
+of you have embarked with cunning sails on unexplored seas! Ye
+enigma-enjoyers!
+
+Solve unto me the enigma that I then beheld, interpret unto me the
+vision of the lonesomest one!
+
+For it was a vision and a foresight:--WHAT did I then behold in parable?
+And WHO is it that must come some day?
+
+WHO is the shepherd into whose throat the serpent thus crawled? WHO is
+the man into whose throat all the heaviest and blackest will thus crawl?
+
+--The shepherd however bit as my cry had admonished him; he bit with a
+strong bite! Far away did he spit the head of the serpent--: and sprang
+up.--
+
+No longer shepherd, no longer man--a transfigured being, a
+light-surrounded being, that LAUGHED! Never on earth laughed a man as HE
+laughed!
+
+O my brethren, I heard a laughter which was no human laughter,--and now
+gnaweth a thirst at me, a longing that is never allayed.
+
+My longing for that laughter gnaweth at me: oh, how can I still endure
+to live! And how could I endure to die at present!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XLVII. INVOLUNTARY BLISS.
+
+With such enigmas and bitterness in his heart did Zarathustra sail o'er
+the sea. When, however, he was four day-journeys from the Happy
+Isles and from his friends, then had he surmounted all his pain--:
+triumphantly and with firm foot did he again accept his fate. And then
+talked Zarathustra in this wise to his exulting conscience:
+
+Alone am I again, and like to be so, alone with the pure heaven, and the
+open sea; and again is the afternoon around me.
+
+On an afternoon did I find my friends for the first time; on an
+afternoon, also, did I find them a second time:--at the hour when all
+light becometh stiller.
+
+For whatever happiness is still on its way 'twixt heaven and earth, now
+seeketh for lodging a luminous soul: WITH HAPPINESS hath all light now
+become stiller.
+
+O afternoon of my life! Once did my happiness also descend to the valley
+that it might seek a lodging: then did it find those open hospitable
+souls.
+
+O afternoon of my life! What did I not surrender that I might have
+one thing: this living plantation of my thoughts, and this dawn of my
+highest hope!
+
+Companions did the creating one once seek, and children of HIS hope: and
+lo, it turned out that he could not find them, except he himself should
+first create them.
+
+Thus am I in the midst of my work, to my children going, and from
+them returning: for the sake of his children must Zarathustra perfect
+himself.
+
+For in one's heart one loveth only one's child and one's work; and where
+there is great love to oneself, then is it the sign of pregnancy: so
+have I found it.
+
+Still are my children verdant in their first spring, standing nigh one
+another, and shaken in common by the winds, the trees of my garden and
+of my best soil.
+
+And verily, where such trees stand beside one another, there ARE Happy
+Isles!
+
+But one day will I take them up, and put each by itself alone: that it
+may learn lonesomeness and defiance and prudence.
+
+Gnarled and crooked and with flexible hardness shall it then stand by
+the sea, a living lighthouse of unconquerable life.
+
+Yonder where the storms rush down into the sea, and the snout of the
+mountain drinketh water, shall each on a time have his day and night
+watches, for HIS testing and recognition.
+
+Recognised and tested shall each be, to see if he be of my type and
+lineage:--if he be master of a long will, silent even when he speaketh,
+and giving in such wise that he TAKETH in giving:--
+
+--So that he may one day become my companion, a fellow-creator and
+fellow-enjoyer with Zarathustra:--such a one as writeth my will on my
+tables, for the fuller perfection of all things.
+
+And for his sake and for those like him, must I perfect MYSELF:
+therefore do I now avoid my happiness, and present myself to every
+misfortune--for MY final testing and recognition.
+
+And verily, it were time that I went away; and the wanderer's shadow and
+the longest tedium and the stillest hour--have all said unto me: "It is
+the highest time!"
+
+The word blew to me through the keyhole and said "Come!" The door sprang
+subtlely open unto me, and said "Go!"
+
+But I lay enchained to my love for my children: desire spread this
+snare for me--the desire for love--that I should become the prey of my
+children, and lose myself in them.
+
+Desiring--that is now for me to have lost myself. I POSSESS YOU, MY
+CHILDREN! In this possessing shall everything be assurance and nothing
+desire.
+
+But brooding lay the sun of my love upon me, in his own juice stewed
+Zarathustra,--then did shadows and doubts fly past me.
+
+For frost and winter I now longed: "Oh, that frost and winter would
+again make me crack and crunch!" sighed I:--then arose icy mist out of
+me.
+
+My past burst its tomb, many pains buried alive woke up--: fully slept
+had they merely, concealed in corpse-clothes.
+
+So called everything unto me in signs: "It is time!" But I--heard not,
+until at last mine abyss moved, and my thought bit me.
+
+Ah, abysmal thought, which art MY thought! When shall I find strength to
+hear thee burrowing, and no longer tremble?
+
+To my very throat throbbeth my heart when I hear thee burrowing! Thy
+muteness even is like to strangle me, thou abysmal mute one!
+
+As yet have I never ventured to call thee UP; it hath been enough that
+I--have carried thee about with me! As yet have I not been strong
+enough for my final lion-wantonness and playfulness.
+
+Sufficiently formidable unto me hath thy weight ever been: but one day
+shall I yet find the strength and the lion's voice which will call thee
+up!
+
+When I shall have surmounted myself therein, then will I surmount myself
+also in that which is greater; and a VICTORY shall be the seal of my
+perfection!--
+
+Meanwhile do I sail along on uncertain seas; chance flattereth me,
+smooth-tongued chance; forward and backward do I gaze--, still see I no
+end.
+
+As yet hath the hour of my final struggle not come to me--or doth it
+come to me perhaps just now? Verily, with insidious beauty do sea and
+life gaze upon me round about:
+
+O afternoon of my life! O happiness before eventide! O haven upon high
+seas! O peace in uncertainty! How I distrust all of you!
+
+Verily, distrustful am I of your insidious beauty! Like the lover am I,
+who distrusteth too sleek smiling.
+
+As he pusheth the best-beloved before him--tender even in severity, the
+jealous one--, so do I push this blissful hour before me.
+
+Away with thee, thou blissful hour! With thee hath there come to me an
+involuntary bliss! Ready for my severest pain do I here stand:--at the
+wrong time hast thou come!
+
+Away with thee, thou blissful hour! Rather harbour there--with my
+children! Hasten! and bless them before eventide with MY happiness!
+
+There, already approacheth eventide: the sun sinketh. Away--my
+happiness!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra. And he waited for his misfortune the whole
+night; but he waited in vain. The night remained clear and calm, and
+happiness itself came nigher and nigher unto him. Towards morning,
+however, Zarathustra laughed to his heart, and said mockingly:
+"Happiness runneth after me. That is because I do not run after women.
+Happiness, however, is a woman."
+
+
+
+
+XLVIII. BEFORE SUNRISE.
+
+O heaven above me, thou pure, thou deep heaven! Thou abyss of light!
+Gazing on thee, I tremble with divine desires.
+
+Up to thy height to toss myself--that is MY depth! In thy purity to hide
+myself--that is MINE innocence!
+
+The God veileth his beauty: thus hidest thou thy stars. Thou speakest
+not: THUS proclaimest thou thy wisdom unto me.
+
+Mute o'er the raging sea hast thou risen for me to-day; thy love and thy
+modesty make a revelation unto my raging soul.
+
+In that thou camest unto me beautiful, veiled in thy beauty, in that
+thou spakest unto me mutely, obvious in thy wisdom:
+
+Oh, how could I fail to divine all the modesty of thy soul! BEFORE the
+sun didst thou come unto me--the lonesomest one.
+
+We have been friends from the beginning: to us are grief, gruesomeness,
+and ground common; even the sun is common to us.
+
+We do not speak to each other, because we know too much--: we keep
+silent to each other, we smile our knowledge to each other.
+
+Art thou not the light of my fire? Hast thou not the sister-soul of mine
+insight?
+
+Together did we learn everything; together did we learn to ascend beyond
+ourselves to ourselves, and to smile uncloudedly:--
+
+--Uncloudedly to smile down out of luminous eyes and out of miles of
+distance, when under us constraint and purpose and guilt steam like
+rain.
+
+And wandered I alone, for WHAT did my soul hunger by night and in
+labyrinthine paths? And climbed I mountains, WHOM did I ever seek, if
+not thee, upon mountains?
+
+And all my wandering and mountain-climbing: a necessity was it merely,
+and a makeshift of the unhandy one:--to FLY only, wanteth mine entire
+will, to fly into THEE!
+
+And what have I hated more than passing clouds, and whatever tainteth
+thee? And mine own hatred have I even hated, because it tainted thee!
+
+The passing clouds I detest--those stealthy cats of prey: they take
+from thee and me what is common to us--the vast unbounded Yea- and
+Amen-saying.
+
+These mediators and mixers we detest--the passing clouds: those
+half-and-half ones, that have neither learned to bless nor to curse from
+the heart.
+
+Rather will I sit in a tub under a closed heaven, rather will I sit in
+the abyss without heaven, than see thee, thou luminous heaven, tainted
+with passing clouds!
+
+And oft have I longed to pin them fast with the jagged gold-wires of
+lightning, that I might, like the thunder, beat the drum upon their
+kettle-bellies:--
+
+--An angry drummer, because they rob me of thy Yea and Amen!--thou
+heaven above me, thou pure, thou luminous heaven! Thou abyss of
+light!--because they rob thee of MY Yea and Amen.
+
+For rather will I have noise and thunders and tempest-blasts, than this
+discreet, doubting cat-repose; and also amongst men do I hate most
+of all the soft-treaders, and half-and-half ones, and the doubting,
+hesitating, passing clouds.
+
+And "he who cannot bless shall LEARN to curse!"--this clear teaching
+dropt unto me from the clear heaven; this star standeth in my heaven
+even in dark nights.
+
+I, however, am a blesser and a Yea-sayer, if thou be but around me, thou
+pure, thou luminous heaven! Thou abyss of light!--into all abysses do I
+then carry my beneficent Yea-saying.
+
+A blesser have I become and a Yea-sayer: and therefore strove I long and
+was a striver, that I might one day get my hands free for blessing.
+
+This, however, is my blessing: to stand above everything as its own
+heaven, its round roof, its azure bell and eternal security: and blessed
+is he who thus blesseth!
+
+For all things are baptized at the font of eternity, and beyond good and
+evil; good and evil themselves, however, are but fugitive shadows and
+damp afflictions and passing clouds.
+
+Verily, it is a blessing and not a blasphemy when I teach that "above
+all things there standeth the heaven of chance, the heaven of innocence,
+the heaven of hazard, the heaven of wantonness."
+
+"Of Hazard"--that is the oldest nobility in the world; that gave I back
+to all things; I emancipated them from bondage under purpose.
+
+This freedom and celestial serenity did I put like an azure bell above
+all things, when I taught that over them and through them, no "eternal
+Will"--willeth.
+
+This wantonness and folly did I put in place of that Will, when I taught
+that "In everything there is one thing impossible--rationality!"
+
+A LITTLE reason, to be sure, a germ of wisdom scattered from star to
+star--this leaven is mixed in all things: for the sake of folly, wisdom
+is mixed in all things!
+
+A little wisdom is indeed possible; but this blessed security have I
+found in all things, that they prefer--to DANCE on the feet of chance.
+
+O heaven above me! thou pure, thou lofty heaven! This is now thy purity
+unto me, that there is no eternal reason-spider and reason-cobweb:--
+
+--That thou art to me a dancing-floor for divine chances, that thou art
+to me a table of the Gods, for divine dice and dice-players!--
+
+But thou blushest? Have I spoken unspeakable things? Have I abused, when
+I meant to bless thee?
+
+Or is it the shame of being two of us that maketh thee blush!--Dost thou
+bid me go and be silent, because now--DAY cometh?
+
+The world is deep:--and deeper than e'er the day could read. Not
+everything may be uttered in presence of day. But day cometh: so let us
+part!
+
+O heaven above me, thou modest one! thou glowing one! O thou, my
+happiness before sunrise! The day cometh: so let us part!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+XLIX. THE BEDWARFING VIRTUE.
+
+1.
+
+When Zarathustra was again on the continent, he did not go straightway
+to his mountains and his cave, but made many wanderings and
+questionings, and ascertained this and that; so that he said of himself
+jestingly: "Lo, a river that floweth back unto its source in many
+windings!" For he wanted to learn what had taken place AMONG MEN during
+the interval: whether they had become greater or smaller. And once, when
+he saw a row of new houses, he marvelled, and said:
+
+"What do these houses mean? Verily, no great soul put them up as its
+simile!
+
+Did perhaps a silly child take them out of its toy-box? Would that
+another child put them again into the box!
+
+And these rooms and chambers--can MEN go out and in there? They seem to
+be made for silk dolls; or for dainty-eaters, who perhaps let others eat
+with them."
+
+And Zarathustra stood still and meditated. At last he said sorrowfully:
+"There hath EVERYTHING become smaller!
+
+Everywhere do I see lower doorways: he who is of MY type can still go
+therethrough, but--he must stoop!
+
+Oh, when shall I arrive again at my home, where I shall no longer have
+to stoop--shall no longer have to stoop BEFORE THE SMALL ONES!"--And
+Zarathustra sighed, and gazed into the distance.--
+
+The same day, however, he gave his discourse on the bedwarfing virtue.
+
+2.
+
+I pass through this people and keep mine eyes open: they do not forgive
+me for not envying their virtues.
+
+They bite at me, because I say unto them that for small people, small
+virtues are necessary--and because it is hard for me to understand that
+small people are NECESSARY!
+
+Here am I still like a cock in a strange farm-yard, at which even the
+hens peck: but on that account I am not unfriendly to the hens.
+
+I am courteous towards them, as towards all small annoyances; to be
+prickly towards what is small, seemeth to me wisdom for hedgehogs.
+
+They all speak of me when they sit around their fire in the
+evening--they speak of me, but no one thinketh--of me!
+
+This is the new stillness which I have experienced: their noise around
+me spreadeth a mantle over my thoughts.
+
+They shout to one another: "What is this gloomy cloud about to do to us?
+Let us see that it doth not bring a plague upon us!"
+
+And recently did a woman seize upon her child that was coming unto
+me: "Take the children away," cried she, "such eyes scorch children's
+souls."
+
+They cough when I speak: they think coughing an objection to strong
+winds--they divine nothing of the boisterousness of my happiness!
+
+"We have not yet time for Zarathustra"--so they object; but what matter
+about a time that "hath no time" for Zarathustra?
+
+And if they should altogether praise me, how could I go to sleep on
+THEIR praise? A girdle of spines is their praise unto me: it scratcheth
+me even when I take it off.
+
+And this also did I learn among them: the praiser doeth as if he gave
+back; in truth, however, he wanteth more to be given him!
+
+Ask my foot if their lauding and luring strains please it! Verily,
+to such measure and ticktack, it liketh neither to dance nor to stand
+still.
+
+To small virtues would they fain lure and laud me; to the ticktack of
+small happiness would they fain persuade my foot.
+
+I pass through this people and keep mine eyes open; they have become
+SMALLER, and ever become smaller:--THE REASON THEREOF IS THEIR DOCTRINE
+OF HAPPINESS AND VIRTUE.
+
+For they are moderate also in virtue,--because they want comfort. With
+comfort, however, moderate virtue only is compatible.
+
+To be sure, they also learn in their way to stride on and stride
+forward: that, I call their HOBBLING.--Thereby they become a hindrance
+to all who are in haste.
+
+And many of them go forward, and look backwards thereby, with stiffened
+necks: those do I like to run up against.
+
+Foot and eye shall not lie, nor give the lie to each other. But there is
+much lying among small people.
+
+Some of them WILL, but most of them are WILLED. Some of them are
+genuine, but most of them are bad actors.
+
+There are actors without knowing it amongst them, and actors without
+intending it--, the genuine ones are always rare, especially the genuine
+actors.
+
+Of man there is little here: therefore do their women masculinise
+themselves. For only he who is man enough, will--SAVE THE WOMAN in
+woman.
+
+And this hypocrisy found I worst amongst them, that even those who
+command feign the virtues of those who serve.
+
+"I serve, thou servest, we serve"--so chanteth here even the hypocrisy
+of the rulers--and alas! if the first lord be ONLY the first servant!
+
+Ah, even upon their hypocrisy did mine eyes' curiosity alight; and well
+did I divine all their fly-happiness, and their buzzing around sunny
+window-panes.
+
+So much kindness, so much weakness do I see. So much justice and pity,
+so much weakness.
+
+Round, fair, and considerate are they to one another, as grains of sand
+are round, fair, and considerate to grains of sand.
+
+Modestly to embrace a small happiness--that do they call "submission"!
+and at the same time they peer modestly after a new small happiness.
+
+In their hearts they want simply one thing most of all: that no one hurt
+them. Thus do they anticipate every one's wishes and do well unto every
+one.
+
+That, however, is COWARDICE, though it be called "virtue."--
+
+And when they chance to speak harshly, those small people, then do _I_
+hear therein only their hoarseness--every draught of air maketh them
+hoarse.
+
+Shrewd indeed are they, their virtues have shrewd fingers. But they lack
+fists: their fingers do not know how to creep behind fists.
+
+Virtue for them is what maketh modest and tame: therewith have they made
+the wolf a dog, and man himself man's best domestic animal.
+
+"We set our chair in the MIDST"--so saith their smirking unto me--"and
+as far from dying gladiators as from satisfied swine."
+
+That, however, is--MEDIOCRITY, though it be called moderation.--
+
+3.
+
+I pass through this people and let fall many words: but they know
+neither how to take nor how to retain them.
+
+They wonder why I came not to revile venery and vice; and verily, I came
+not to warn against pickpockets either!
+
+They wonder why I am not ready to abet and whet their wisdom: as if they
+had not yet enough of wiseacres, whose voices grate on mine ear like
+slate-pencils!
+
+And when I call out: "Curse all the cowardly devils in you, that
+would fain whimper and fold the hands and adore"--then do they shout:
+"Zarathustra is godless."
+
+And especially do their teachers of submission shout this;--but
+precisely in their ears do I love to cry: "Yea! I AM Zarathustra, the
+godless!"
+
+Those teachers of submission! Wherever there is aught puny, or sickly,
+or scabby, there do they creep like lice; and only my disgust preventeth
+me from cracking them.
+
+Well! This is my sermon for THEIR ears: I am Zarathustra the godless,
+who saith: "Who is more godless than I, that I may enjoy his teaching?"
+
+I am Zarathustra the godless: where do I find mine equal? And all
+those are mine equals who give unto themselves their Will, and divest
+themselves of all submission.
+
+I am Zarathustra the godless! I cook every chance in MY pot. And only
+when it hath been quite cooked do I welcome it as MY food.
+
+And verily, many a chance came imperiously unto me: but still more
+imperiously did my WILL speak unto it,--then did it lie imploringly upon
+its knees--
+
+--Imploring that it might find home and heart with me, and saying
+flatteringly: "See, O Zarathustra, how friend only cometh unto
+friend!"--
+
+But why talk I, when no one hath MINE ears! And so will I shout it out
+unto all the winds:
+
+Ye ever become smaller, ye small people! Ye crumble away, ye comfortable
+ones! Ye will yet perish--
+
+--By your many small virtues, by your many small omissions, and by your
+many small submissions!
+
+Too tender, too yielding: so is your soil! But for a tree to become
+GREAT, it seeketh to twine hard roots around hard rocks!
+
+Also what ye omit weaveth at the web of all the human future; even your
+naught is a cobweb, and a spider that liveth on the blood of the future.
+
+And when ye take, then is it like stealing, ye small virtuous ones;
+but even among knaves HONOUR saith that "one shall only steal when one
+cannot rob."
+
+"It giveth itself"--that is also a doctrine of submission. But I say
+unto you, ye comfortable ones, that IT TAKETH TO ITSELF, and will ever
+take more and more from you!
+
+Ah, that ye would renounce all HALF-willing, and would decide for
+idleness as ye decide for action!
+
+Ah, that ye understood my word: "Do ever what ye will--but first be such
+as CAN WILL.
+
+Love ever your neighbour as yourselves--but first be such as LOVE
+THEMSELVES--
+
+--Such as love with great love, such as love with great contempt!" Thus
+speaketh Zarathustra the godless.--
+
+But why talk I, when no one hath MINE ears! It is still an hour too
+early for me here.
+
+Mine own forerunner am I among this people, mine own cockcrow in dark
+lanes.
+
+But THEIR hour cometh! And there cometh also mine! Hourly do they become
+smaller, poorer, unfruitfuller,--poor herbs! poor earth!
+
+And SOON shall they stand before me like dry grass and prairie, and
+verily, weary of themselves--and panting for FIRE, more than for water!
+
+O blessed hour of the lightning! O mystery before noontide!--Running
+fires will I one day make of them, and heralds with flaming tongues:--
+
+--Herald shall they one day with flaming tongues: It cometh, it is nigh,
+THE GREAT NOONTIDE!
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+L. ON THE OLIVE-MOUNT.
+
+Winter, a bad guest, sitteth with me at home; blue are my hands with his
+friendly hand-shaking.
+
+I honour him, that bad guest, but gladly leave him alone. Gladly do I
+run away from him; and when one runneth WELL, then one escapeth him!
+
+With warm feet and warm thoughts do I run where the wind is calm--to the
+sunny corner of mine olive-mount.
+
+There do I laugh at my stern guest, and am still fond of him; because he
+cleareth my house of flies, and quieteth many little noises.
+
+For he suffereth it not if a gnat wanteth to buzz, or even two of them;
+also the lanes maketh he lonesome, so that the moonlight is afraid there
+at night.
+
+A hard guest is he,--but I honour him, and do not worship, like the
+tenderlings, the pot-bellied fire-idol.
+
+Better even a little teeth-chattering than idol-adoration!--so willeth
+my nature. And especially have I a grudge against all ardent, steaming,
+steamy fire-idols.
+
+Him whom I love, I love better in winter than in summer; better do I
+now mock at mine enemies, and more heartily, when winter sitteth in my
+house.
+
+Heartily, verily, even when I CREEP into bed--: there, still laugheth
+and wantoneth my hidden happiness; even my deceptive dream laugheth.
+
+I, a--creeper? Never in my life did I creep before the powerful; and if
+ever I lied, then did I lie out of love. Therefore am I glad even in my
+winter-bed.
+
+A poor bed warmeth me more than a rich one, for I am jealous of my
+poverty. And in winter she is most faithful unto me.
+
+With a wickedness do I begin every day: I mock at the winter with a cold
+bath: on that account grumbleth my stern house-mate.
+
+Also do I like to tickle him with a wax-taper, that he may finally let
+the heavens emerge from ashy-grey twilight.
+
+For especially wicked am I in the morning: at the early hour when the
+pail rattleth at the well, and horses neigh warmly in grey lanes:--
+
+Impatiently do I then wait, that the clear sky may finally dawn for me,
+the snow-bearded winter-sky, the hoary one, the white-head,--
+
+--The winter-sky, the silent winter-sky, which often stifleth even its
+sun!
+
+Did I perhaps learn from it the long clear silence? Or did it learn it
+from me? Or hath each of us devised it himself?
+
+Of all good things the origin is a thousandfold,--all good roguish
+things spring into existence for joy: how could they always do so--for
+once only!
+
+A good roguish thing is also the long silence, and to look, like the
+winter-sky, out of a clear, round-eyed countenance:--
+
+--Like it to stifle one's sun, and one's inflexible solar will: verily,
+this art and this winter-roguishness have I learnt WELL!
+
+My best-loved wickedness and art is it, that my silence hath learned not
+to betray itself by silence.
+
+Clattering with diction and dice, I outwit the solemn assistants: all
+those stern watchers, shall my will and purpose elude.
+
+That no one might see down into my depth and into mine ultimate
+will--for that purpose did I devise the long clear silence.
+
+Many a shrewd one did I find: he veiled his countenance and made his
+water muddy, that no one might see therethrough and thereunder.
+
+But precisely unto him came the shrewder distrusters and nut-crackers:
+precisely from him did they fish his best-concealed fish!
+
+But the clear, the honest, the transparent--these are for me the wisest
+silent ones: in them, so PROFOUND is the depth that even the clearest
+water doth not--betray it.--
+
+Thou snow-bearded, silent, winter-sky, thou round-eyed whitehead above
+me! Oh, thou heavenly simile of my soul and its wantonness!
+
+And MUST I not conceal myself like one who hath swallowed gold--lest my
+soul should be ripped up?
+
+MUST I not wear stilts, that they may OVERLOOK my long legs--all those
+enviers and injurers around me?
+
+Those dingy, fire-warmed, used-up, green-tinted, ill-natured souls--how
+COULD their envy endure my happiness!
+
+Thus do I show them only the ice and winter of my peaks--and NOT that my
+mountain windeth all the solar girdles around it!
+
+They hear only the whistling of my winter-storms: and know NOT that I
+also travel over warm seas, like longing, heavy, hot south-winds.
+
+They commiserate also my accidents and chances:--but MY word saith:
+"Suffer the chance to come unto me: innocent is it as a little child!"
+
+How COULD they endure my happiness, if I did not put around it
+accidents, and winter-privations, and bear-skin caps, and enmantling
+snowflakes!
+
+--If I did not myself commiserate their PITY, the pity of those enviers
+and injurers!
+
+--If I did not myself sigh before them, and chatter with cold, and
+patiently LET myself be swathed in their pity!
+
+This is the wise waggish-will and good-will of my soul, that it
+CONCEALETH NOT its winters and glacial storms; it concealeth not its
+chilblains either.
+
+To one man, lonesomeness is the flight of the sick one; to another, it
+is the flight FROM the sick ones.
+
+Let them HEAR me chattering and sighing with winter-cold, all those poor
+squinting knaves around me! With such sighing and chattering do I flee
+from their heated rooms.
+
+Let them sympathise with me and sigh with me on account of my
+chilblains: "At the ice of knowledge will he yet FREEZE TO DEATH!"--so
+they mourn.
+
+Meanwhile do I run with warm feet hither and thither on mine
+olive-mount: in the sunny corner of mine olive-mount do I sing, and mock
+at all pity.--
+
+Thus sang Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+LI. ON 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:
+
+O Zarathustra, here is the great city: here hast thou nothing to seek
+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!
+
+Here is the hell for anchorites' thoughts: here are great thoughts
+seethed alive and boiled small.
+
+Here do all great sentiments decay: here may only rattle-boned
+sensations rattle!
+
+Smellest thou not already the shambles and cookshops of the spirit?
+Steameth not this city 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!
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+All lusts and vices are here at home; but here there are also the
+virtuous; there is much appointable appointed virtue:--
+
+Much appointable virtue with scribe-fingers, and hardy sitting-flesh and
+waiting-flesh, blessed with small breast-stars, and padded, haunchless
+daughters.
+
+There is here also much piety, and much faithful spittle-licking and
+spittle-backing, before the God of Hosts.
+
+"From on high," drippeth the star, and the gracious spittle; for the
+high, longeth every starless bosom.
+
+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.
+
+"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!
+
+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.
+
+The God of the Hosts of war is not the God of the golden bar; the prince
+proposeth, but the shopman--disposeth!
+
+By all that is luminous and strong and good in thee, O Zarathustra! Spit
+on this city of shopmen and return 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!
+
+Spit on the city of compressed souls and slender breasts, of pointed
+eyes and sticky fingers--
+
+--On the city of the obtrusive, the brazen-faced, the pen-demagogues and
+tongue-demagogues, the overheated ambitious:--
+
+Where everything maimed, ill-famed, lustful, untrustful, over-mellow,
+sickly-yellow and seditious, festereth pernicious:--
+
+--Spit on the great city and turn back!--
+
+Here, however, did Zarathustra interrupt the foaming fool, and shut his
+mouth.--
+
+Stop this at once! called out Zarathustra, long have thy speech and thy
+species disgusted me!
+
+Why didst thou live so long by the swamp, that thou thyself hadst to
+become a frog and a toad?
+
+Floweth there not a tainted, frothy, swamp-blood in thine own veins,
+when thou hast thus learned to croak and revile?
+
+Why wentest thou not into the forest? Or why didst thou not till the
+ground? Is the sea not full of green islands?
+
+I despise thy contempt; and when thou warnedst me--why didst thou not
+warn thyself?
+
+Out of love alone shall my contempt and my warning bird take wing; but
+not out of 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.
+
+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,--
+
+--That thou mightest have cause for much VENGEANCE! For vengeance, thou
+vain fool, is all thy foaming; I have divined thee well!
+
+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!
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra. Then did he look on the great city and sighed,
+and was long silent. At last he spake thus:
+
+I loathe also this great city, and not only this fool. Here and there--
+there is nothing to better, nothing to worsen.
+
+Woe to this great city!--And I would that I already saw the pillar of
+fire in which it will be consumed!
+
+For such pillars of fire must precede the great noontide. But this hath
+its 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!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, and passed by the fool and the great city.
+
+
+
+
+LII. THE APOSTATES.
+
+1.
+
+Ah, lieth everything already withered and grey which but lately stood
+green and many-hued on this meadow! And how much honey of hope did I
+carry hence into my beehives!
+
+Those young hearts have already all become old--and not old even! only
+weary, ordinary, comfortable:--they declare it: "We have again become
+pious."
+
+Of late did I see them run forth at early morn with valorous steps: but
+the feet of their knowledge became weary, and now do they malign even
+their morning valour!
+
+Verily, many of them once lifted their legs like the dancer; to them
+winked the laughter of my wisdom:--then did they bethink themselves.
+Just now have I seen them bent down--to creep to the cross.
+
+Around light and liberty did they once flutter like gnats and young
+poets. A little older, a little colder: and already are they mystifiers,
+and mumblers and mollycoddles.
+
+Did perhaps their hearts despond, because lonesomeness had swallowed me
+like a whale? Did their ear perhaps hearken yearningly-long for me IN
+VAIN, and for my trumpet-notes and herald-calls?
+
+--Ah! Ever are there but few of those whose hearts have persistent
+courage and exuberance; and in such remaineth also the spirit patient.
+The rest, however, are COWARDLY.
+
+The rest: these are always the great majority, the common-place, the
+superfluous, the far-too many--those all are cowardly!--
+
+Him who is of my type, will also the experiences of my type meet on the
+way: so that his first companions must be corpses and buffoons.
+
+His second companions, however--they will call themselves his
+BELIEVERS,--will be a living host, with much love, much folly, much
+unbearded veneration.
+
+To those believers shall he who is of my type among men not bind his
+heart; in those spring-times and many-hued meadows shall he not believe,
+who knoweth the fickly faint-hearted human species!
+
+COULD they do otherwise, then would they also WILL otherwise. The
+half-and-half spoil every whole. That leaves become withered,--what is
+there to lament about that!
+
+Let them go and fall away, O Zarathustra, and do not lament! Better even
+to blow amongst them with rustling winds,--
+
+--Blow amongst those leaves, O Zarathustra, that everything WITHERED may
+run away from thee the faster!--
+
+2.
+
+"We have again become pious"--so do those apostates confess; and some of
+them are still too pusillanimous thus to confess.
+
+Unto them I look into the eye,--before them I say it unto their face and
+unto the blush on their cheeks: Ye are those who again PRAY!
+
+It is however a shame to pray! Not for all, but for thee, and me, and
+whoever hath his conscience in his head. For THEE it is a shame to pray!
+
+Thou knowest it well: the faint-hearted devil in thee, which would
+fain fold its arms, and place its hands in its bosom, and take it
+easier:--this faint-hearted devil persuadeth thee that "there IS a God!"
+
+THEREBY, however, dost thou belong to the light-dreading type, to whom
+light never permitteth repose: now must thou daily thrust thy head
+deeper into obscurity and vapour!
+
+And verily, thou choosest the hour well: for just now do the nocturnal
+birds again fly abroad. The hour hath come for all light-dreading
+people, the vesper hour and leisure hour, when they do not--"take
+leisure."
+
+I hear it and smell it: it hath come--their hour for hunt and
+procession, not indeed for a wild hunt, but for a tame, lame, snuffling,
+soft-treaders', soft-prayers' hunt,--
+
+--For a hunt after susceptible simpletons: all mouse-traps for the heart
+have again been set! And whenever I lift a curtain, a night-moth rusheth
+out of it.
+
+Did it perhaps squat there along with another night-moth? For everywhere
+do I smell small concealed communities; and wherever there are closets
+there are new devotees therein, and the atmosphere of devotees.
+
+They sit for long evenings beside one another, and say: "Let us again
+become like little children and say, 'good God!'"--ruined in mouths and
+stomachs by the pious confectioners.
+
+Or they look for long evenings at a crafty, lurking cross-spider, that
+preacheth prudence to the spiders themselves, and teacheth that "under
+crosses it is good for cobweb-spinning!"
+
+Or they sit all day at swamps with angle-rods, and on that account think
+themselves PROFOUND; but whoever fisheth where there are no fish, I do
+not even call him superficial!
+
+Or they learn in godly-gay style to play the harp with a hymn-poet,
+who would fain harp himself into the heart of young girls:--for he hath
+tired of old girls and their praises.
+
+Or they learn to shudder with a learned semi-madcap, who waiteth in
+darkened rooms for spirits to come to him--and the spirit runneth away
+entirely!
+
+Or they listen to an old roving howl-and growl-piper, who hath learnt
+from the sad winds the sadness of sounds; now pipeth he as the wind, and
+preacheth sadness in sad strains.
+
+And some of them have even become night-watchmen: they know now how to
+blow horns, and go about at night and awaken old things which have long
+fallen asleep.
+
+Five words about old things did I hear yester-night at the garden-wall:
+they came from such old, sorrowful, arid night-watchmen.
+
+"For a father he careth not sufficiently for his children: human fathers
+do this better!"--
+
+"He is too old! He now careth no more for his children,"--answered the
+other night-watchman.
+
+"HATH he then children? No one can prove it unless he himself prove it!
+I have long wished that he would for once prove it thoroughly."
+
+"Prove? As if HE had ever proved anything! Proving is difficult to him;
+he layeth great stress on one's BELIEVING him."
+
+"Ay! Ay! Belief saveth him; belief in him. That is the way with old
+people! So it is with us also!"--
+
+--Thus spake to each other the two old night-watchmen and light-scarers,
+and tooted thereupon sorrowfully on their horns: so did it happen
+yester-night at the garden-wall.
+
+To me, however, did the heart writhe with laughter, and was like to
+break; it knew not where to go, and sunk into the midriff.
+
+Verily, it will be my death yet--to choke with laughter when I see asses
+drunken, and hear night-watchmen thus doubt about God.
+
+Hath the time not LONG since passed for all such doubts? Who may
+nowadays awaken such old slumbering, light-shunning things!
+
+With the old Deities hath it long since come to an end:--and verily, a
+good joyful Deity-end had they!
+
+They did not "begloom" themselves to death--that do people fabricate! On
+the contrary, they--LAUGHED themselves to death once on a time!
+
+That took place when the unGodliest utterance came from a God
+himself--the utterance: "There is but one God! Thou shalt have no other
+Gods before me!"--
+
+--An old grim-beard of a God, a jealous one, forgot himself in such
+wise:--
+
+And all the Gods then laughed, and shook upon their thrones, and
+exclaimed: "Is it not just divinity that there are Gods, but no God?"
+
+He that hath an ear let him hear.--
+
+Thus talked Zarathustra in the city he loved, which is surnamed "The
+Pied Cow." For from here he had but two days to travel to reach once
+more his cave and his animals; his soul, however, rejoiced unceasingly
+on account of the nighness of his return home.
+
+
+
+
+LIII. THE RETURN HOME.
+
+O lonesomeness! My HOME, lonesomeness! Too long have I lived wildly in
+wild remoteness, to return to thee without tears!
+
+Now threaten me with the finger as mothers threaten; now smile upon me
+as mothers smile; now say just: "Who was it that like a whirlwind once
+rushed away from me?--
+
+--Who when departing called out: 'Too long have I sat with lonesomeness;
+there have I unlearned silence!' THAT hast thou learned now--surely?
+
+O Zarathustra, everything do I know; and that thou wert MORE FORSAKEN
+amongst the many, thou unique one, than thou ever wert with me!
+
+One thing is forsakenness, another matter is lonesomeness: THAT hast
+thou now learned! And that amongst men thou wilt ever be wild and
+strange:
+
+--Wild and strange even when they love thee: for above all they want to
+be TREATED INDULGENTLY!
+
+Here, however, art thou at home and house with thyself; here canst thou
+utter everything, and unbosom all motives; nothing is here ashamed of
+concealed, congealed feelings.
+
+Here do all things come caressingly to thy talk and flatter thee: for
+they want to ride upon thy back. On every simile dost thou here ride to
+every truth.
+
+Uprightly and openly mayest thou here talk to all things: and verily,
+it soundeth as praise in their ears, for one to talk to all
+things--directly!
+
+Another matter, however, is forsakenness. For, dost thou remember, O
+Zarathustra? When thy bird screamed overhead, when thou stoodest in the
+forest, irresolute, ignorant where to go, beside a corpse:--
+
+--When thou spakest: 'Let mine animals lead me! More dangerous have I
+found it among men than among animals:'--THAT was forsakenness!
+
+And dost thou remember, O Zarathustra? When thou sattest in thine isle,
+a well of wine giving and granting amongst empty buckets, bestowing and
+distributing amongst the thirsty:
+
+--Until at last thou alone sattest thirsty amongst the drunken ones, and
+wailedst nightly: 'Is taking not more blessed than giving? And stealing
+yet more blessed than taking?'--THAT was forsakenness!
+
+And dost thou remember, O Zarathustra? When thy stillest hour came and
+drove thee forth from thyself, when with wicked whispering it said:
+'Speak and succumb!'--
+
+--When it disgusted thee with all thy waiting and silence, and
+discouraged thy humble courage: THAT was forsakenness!"--
+
+O lonesomeness! My home, lonesomeness! How blessedly and tenderly
+speaketh thy voice unto me!
+
+We do not question each other, we do not complain to each other; we go
+together openly through open doors.
+
+For all is open with thee and clear; and even the hours run here on
+lighter feet. For in the dark, time weigheth heavier upon one than in
+the light.
+
+Here fly open unto me all being's words and word-cabinets: here all
+being wanteth to become words, here all becoming wanteth to learn of me
+how to talk.
+
+Down there, however--all talking is in vain! There, forgetting and
+passing-by are the best wisdom: THAT have I learned now!
+
+He who would understand everything in man must handle everything. But
+for that I have too clean hands.
+
+I do not like even to inhale their breath; alas! that I have lived so
+long among their noise and bad breaths!
+
+O blessed stillness around me! O pure odours around me! How from a deep
+breast this stillness fetcheth pure breath! How it hearkeneth, this
+blessed stillness!
+
+But down there--there speaketh everything, there is everything misheard.
+If one announce one's wisdom with bells, the shopmen in the market-place
+will out-jingle it with pennies!
+
+Everything among them talketh; no one knoweth any longer how to
+understand. Everything falleth into the water; nothing falleth any
+longer into deep wells.
+
+Everything among them talketh, nothing succeedeth any longer and
+accomplisheth itself. Everything cackleth, but who will still sit
+quietly on the nest and hatch eggs?
+
+Everything among them talketh, everything is out-talked. And that which
+yesterday was still too hard for time itself and its tooth, hangeth
+to-day, outchamped and outchewed, from the mouths of the men of to-day.
+
+Everything among them talketh, everything is betrayed. And what was once
+called the secret and secrecy of profound souls, belongeth to-day to the
+street-trumpeters and other butterflies.
+
+O human hubbub, thou wonderful thing! Thou noise in dark streets! Now
+art thou again behind me:--my greatest danger lieth behind me!
+
+In indulging and pitying lay ever my greatest danger; and all human
+hubbub wisheth to be indulged and tolerated.
+
+With suppressed truths, with fool's hand and befooled heart, and rich in
+petty lies of pity:--thus have I ever lived among men.
+
+Disguised did I sit amongst them, ready to misjudge MYSELF that I might
+endure THEM, and willingly saying to myself: "Thou fool, thou dost not
+know men!"
+
+One unlearneth men when one liveth amongst them: there is too much
+foreground in all men--what can far-seeing, far-longing eyes do THERE!
+
+And, fool that I was, when they misjudged me, I indulged them on that
+account more than myself, being habitually hard on myself, and often
+even taking revenge on myself for the indulgence.
+
+Stung all over by poisonous flies, and hollowed like the stone by
+many drops of wickedness: thus did I sit among them, and still said to
+myself: "Innocent is everything petty of its pettiness!"
+
+Especially did I find those who call themselves "the good," the most
+poisonous flies; they sting in all innocence, they lie in all innocence;
+how COULD they--be just towards me!
+
+He who liveth amongst the good--pity teacheth him to lie. Pity maketh
+stifling air for all free souls. For the stupidity of the good is
+unfathomable.
+
+To conceal myself and my riches--THAT did I learn down there: for every
+one did I still find poor in spirit. It was the lie of my pity, that I
+knew in every one,
+
+--That I saw and scented in every one, what was ENOUGH of spirit for
+him, and what was TOO MUCH!
+
+Their stiff wise men: I call them wise, not stiff--thus did I learn to
+slur over words.
+
+The grave-diggers dig for themselves diseases. Under old rubbish rest
+bad vapours. One should not stir up the marsh. One should live on
+mountains.
+
+With blessed nostrils do I again breathe mountain-freedom. Freed at last
+is my nose from the smell of all human hubbub!
+
+With sharp breezes tickled, as with sparkling wine, SNEEZETH my soul--
+sneezeth, and shouteth self-congratulatingly: "Health to thee!"
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+LIV. THE THREE EVIL THINGS.
+
+1.
+
+In my dream, in my last morning-dream, I stood to-day on a promontory--
+beyond the world; I held a pair of scales, and WEIGHED the world.
+
+Alas, that the rosy dawn came too early to me: she glowed me awake, the
+jealous one! Jealous is she always of the glows of my morning-dream.
+
+Measurable by him who hath time, weighable by a good weigher, attainable
+by strong pinions, divinable by divine nut-crackers: thus did my dream
+find the world:--
+
+My dream, a bold sailor, half-ship, half-hurricane, silent as the
+butterfly, impatient as the falcon: how had it the patience and leisure
+to-day for world-weighing!
+
+Did my wisdom perhaps speak secretly to it, my laughing, wide-awake
+day-wisdom, which mocketh at all "infinite worlds"? For it saith: "Where
+force is, there becometh NUMBER the master: it hath more force."
+
+How confidently did my dream contemplate this finite world, not
+new-fangledly, not old-fangledly, not timidly, not entreatingly:--
+
+--As if a big round apple presented itself to my hand, a ripe golden
+apple, with a coolly-soft, velvety skin:--thus did the world present
+itself unto me:--
+
+--As if a tree nodded unto me, a broad-branched, strong-willed tree,
+curved as a recline and a foot-stool for weary travellers: thus did the
+world stand on my promontory:--
+
+--As if delicate hands carried a casket towards me--a casket open for
+the delectation of modest adoring eyes: thus did the world present
+itself before me to-day:--
+
+--Not riddle enough to scare human love from it, not solution enough
+to put to sleep human wisdom:--a humanly good thing was the world to me
+to-day, of which such bad things are said!
+
+How I thank my morning-dream that I thus at to-day's dawn, weighed
+the world! As a humanly good thing did it come unto me, this dream and
+heart-comforter!
+
+And that I may do the like by day, and imitate and copy its best, now
+will I put the three worst things on the scales, and weigh them humanly
+well.--
+
+He who taught to bless taught also to curse: what are the three best
+cursed things in the world? These will I put on the scales.
+
+VOLUPTUOUSNESS, PASSION FOR POWER, and SELFISHNESS: these three things
+have hitherto been best cursed, and have been in worst and falsest
+repute--these three things will I weigh humanly well.
+
+Well! Here is my promontory, and there is the sea--IT rolleth hither
+unto me, shaggily and fawningly, the old, faithful, hundred-headed
+dog-monster that I love!--
+
+Well! Here will I hold the scales over the weltering sea: and also a
+witness do I choose to look on--thee, the anchorite-tree, thee, the
+strong-odoured, broad-arched tree that I love!--
+
+On what bridge goeth the now to the hereafter? By what constraint doth
+the high stoop to the low? And what enjoineth even the highest still--to
+grow upwards?--
+
+Now stand the scales poised and at rest: three heavy questions have I
+thrown in; three heavy answers carrieth the other scale.
+
+2.
+
+Voluptuousness: unto all hair-shirted despisers of the body, a sting and
+stake; and, cursed as "the world," by all backworldsmen: for it mocketh
+and befooleth all erring, misinferring teachers.
+
+Voluptuousness: to the rabble, the slow fire at which it is burnt;
+to all wormy wood, to all stinking rags, the prepared heat and stew
+furnace.
+
+Voluptuousness: to free hearts, a thing innocent and free, the
+garden-happiness of the earth, all the future's thanks-overflow to the
+present.
+
+Voluptuousness: only to the withered a sweet poison; to the lion-willed,
+however, the great cordial, and the reverently saved wine of wines.
+
+Voluptuousness: the great symbolic happiness of a higher happiness
+and highest hope. For to many is marriage promised, and more than
+marriage,--
+
+--To many that are more unknown to each other than man and woman:--and
+who hath fully understood HOW UNKNOWN to each other are man and woman!
+
+Voluptuousness:--but I will have hedges around my thoughts, and
+even around my words, lest swine and libertine should break into my
+gardens!--
+
+Passion for power: the glowing scourge of the hardest of the heart-hard;
+the cruel torture reserved for the cruellest themselves; the gloomy
+flame of living pyres.
+
+Passion for power: the wicked gadfly which is mounted on the vainest
+peoples; the scorner of all uncertain virtue; which rideth on every
+horse and on every pride.
+
+Passion for power: the earthquake which breaketh and upbreaketh all
+that is rotten and hollow; the rolling, rumbling, punitive demolisher
+of whited sepulchres; the flashing interrogative-sign beside premature
+answers.
+
+Passion for power: before whose glance man creepeth and croucheth and
+drudgeth, and becometh lower than the serpent and the swine:--until at
+last great contempt crieth out of him--,
+
+Passion for power: the terrible teacher of great contempt, which
+preacheth to their face to cities and empires: "Away with thee!"--until
+a voice crieth out of themselves: "Away with ME!"
+
+Passion for power: which, however, mounteth alluringly even to the pure
+and lonesome, and up to self-satisfied elevations, glowing like a love
+that painteth purple felicities alluringly on earthly heavens.
+
+Passion for power: but who would call it PASSION, when the height
+longeth to stoop for power! Verily, nothing sick or diseased is there in
+such longing and descending!
+
+That the lonesome height may not for ever remain lonesome and
+self-sufficing; that the mountains may come to the valleys and the winds
+of the heights to the plains:--
+
+Oh, who could find the right prenomen and honouring name for such
+longing! "Bestowing virtue"--thus did Zarathustra once name the
+unnamable.
+
+And then it happened also,--and verily, it happened for the first
+time!--that his word blessed SELFISHNESS, the wholesome, healthy
+selfishness, that springeth from the powerful soul:--
+
+--From the powerful soul, to which the high body appertaineth, the
+handsome, triumphing, refreshing body, around which everything becometh
+a mirror:
+
+--The pliant, persuasive body, the dancer, whose symbol and epitome
+is the self-enjoying soul. Of such bodies and souls the self-enjoyment
+calleth itself "virtue."
+
+With its words of good and bad doth such self-enjoyment shelter itself
+as with sacred groves; with the names of its happiness doth it banish
+from itself everything contemptible.
+
+Away from itself doth it banish everything cowardly; it saith:
+"Bad--THAT IS cowardly!" Contemptible seem to it the ever-solicitous,
+the sighing, the complaining, and whoever pick up the most trifling
+advantage.
+
+It despiseth also all bitter-sweet wisdom: for verily, there is also
+wisdom that bloometh in the dark, a night-shade wisdom, which ever
+sigheth: "All is vain!"
+
+Shy distrust is regarded by it as base, and every one who wanteth oaths
+instead of looks and hands: also all over-distrustful wisdom,--for such
+is the mode of cowardly souls.
+
+Baser still it regardeth the obsequious, doggish one, who immediately
+lieth on his back, the submissive one; and there is also wisdom that is
+submissive, and doggish, and pious, and obsequious.
+
+Hateful to it altogether, and a loathing, is he who will never defend
+himself, he who swalloweth down poisonous spittle and bad looks, the
+all-too-patient one, the all-endurer, the all-satisfied one: for that is
+the mode of slaves.
+
+Whether they be servile before Gods and divine spurnings, or before men
+and stupid human opinions: at ALL kinds of slaves doth it spit, this
+blessed selfishness!
+
+Bad: thus doth it call all that is spirit-broken, and
+sordidly-servile--constrained, blinking eyes, depressed hearts, and the
+false submissive style, which kisseth with broad cowardly lips.
+
+And spurious wisdom: so doth it call all the wit that slaves, and
+hoary-headed and weary ones affect; and especially all the cunning,
+spurious-witted, curious-witted foolishness of priests!
+
+The spurious wise, however, all the priests, the world-weary, and those
+whose souls are of feminine and servile nature--oh, how hath their game
+all along abused selfishness!
+
+And precisely THAT was to be virtue and was to be called virtue--to
+abuse selfishness! And "selfless"--so did they wish themselves with good
+reason, all those world-weary cowards and cross-spiders!
+
+But to all those cometh now the day, the change, the sword of judgment,
+THE GREAT NOONTIDE: then shall many things be revealed!
+
+And he who proclaimeth the EGO wholesome and holy, and selfishness
+blessed, verily, he, the prognosticator, speaketh also what he knoweth:
+"BEHOLD, IT COMETH, IT IS NIGH, THE GREAT NOONTIDE!"
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+LV. THE SPIRIT OF GRAVITY.
+
+1.
+
+My mouthpiece--is of the people: too coarsely and cordially do I
+talk for Angora rabbits. And still stranger soundeth my word unto all
+ink-fish and pen-foxes.
+
+My hand--is a fool's hand: woe unto all tables and walls, and whatever
+hath room for fool's sketching, fool's scrawling!
+
+My foot--is a horse-foot; therewith do I trample and trot over stick and
+stone, in the fields up and down, and am bedevilled with delight in all
+fast racing.
+
+My stomach--is surely an eagle's stomach? For it preferreth lamb's
+flesh. Certainly it is a bird's stomach.
+
+Nourished with innocent things, and with few, ready and impatient
+to fly, to fly away--that is now my nature: why should there not be
+something of bird-nature therein!
+
+And especially that I am hostile to the spirit of gravity, that is
+bird-nature:--verily, deadly hostile, supremely hostile, originally
+hostile! Oh, whither hath my hostility not flown and misflown!
+
+Thereof could I sing a song--and WILL sing it: though I be alone in an
+empty house, and must sing it to mine own ears.
+
+Other singers are there, to be sure, to whom only the full house
+maketh the voice soft, the hand eloquent, the eye expressive, the heart
+wakeful:--those do I not resemble.--
+
+2.
+
+He who one day teacheth men to fly will have shifted all landmarks; to
+him will all landmarks themselves fly into the air; the earth will he
+christen anew--as "the light body."
+
+The ostrich runneth faster than the fastest horse, but it also thrusteth
+its head heavily into the heavy earth: thus is it with the man who
+cannot yet fly.
+
+Heavy unto him are earth and life, and so WILLETH the spirit of gravity!
+But he who would become light, and be a bird, must love himself:--thus
+do _I_ teach.
+
+Not, to be sure, with the love of the sick and infected, for with them
+stinketh even self-love!
+
+One must learn to love oneself--thus do I teach--with a wholesome and
+healthy love: that one may endure to be with oneself, and not go roving
+about.
+
+Such roving about christeneth itself "brotherly love"; with these words
+hath there hitherto been the best lying and dissembling, and especially
+by those who have been burdensome to every one.
+
+And verily, it is no commandment for to-day and to-morrow to LEARN to
+love oneself. Rather is it of all arts the finest, subtlest, last and
+patientest.
+
+For to its possessor is all possession well concealed, and of all
+treasure-pits one's own is last excavated--so causeth the spirit of
+gravity.
+
+Almost in the cradle are we apportioned with heavy words and worths:
+"good" and "evil"--so calleth itself this dowry. For the sake of it we
+are forgiven for living.
+
+And therefore suffereth one little children to come unto one, to forbid
+them betimes to love themselves--so causeth the spirit of gravity.
+
+And we--we bear loyally what is apportioned unto us, on hard shoulders,
+over rugged mountains! And when we sweat, then do people say to us:
+"Yea, life is hard to bear!"
+
+But man himself only is hard to bear! The reason thereof is that he
+carrieth too many extraneous things on his shoulders. Like the camel
+kneeleth he down, and letteth himself be well laden.
+
+Especially the strong load-bearing man in whom reverence resideth. Too
+many EXTRANEOUS heavy words and worths loadeth he upon himself--then
+seemeth life to him a desert!
+
+And verily! Many a thing also that is OUR OWN is hard to bear! And many
+internal things in man are like the oyster--repulsive and slippery and
+hard to grasp;--
+
+So that an elegant shell, with elegant adornment, must plead for
+them. But this art also must one learn: to HAVE a shell, and a fine
+appearance, and sagacious blindness!
+
+Again, it deceiveth about many things in man, that many a shell is poor
+and pitiable, and too much of a shell. Much concealed goodness and power
+is never dreamt of; the choicest dainties find no tasters!
+
+Women know that, the choicest of them: a little fatter a little leaner--
+oh, how much fate is in so little!
+
+Man is difficult to discover, and unto himself most difficult of all;
+often lieth the spirit concerning the soul. So causeth the spirit of
+gravity.
+
+He, however, hath discovered himself who saith: This is MY good and
+evil: therewith hath he silenced the mole and the dwarf, who say: "Good
+for all, evil for all."
+
+Verily, neither do I like those who call everything good, and this world
+the best of all. Those do I call the all-satisfied.
+
+All-satisfiedness, which knoweth how to taste everything,--that is
+not the best taste! I honour the refractory, fastidious tongues and
+stomachs, which have learned to say "I" and "Yea" and "Nay."
+
+To chew and digest everything, however--that is the genuine
+swine-nature! Ever to say YE-A--that hath only the ass learnt, and those
+like it!--
+
+Deep yellow and hot red--so wanteth MY taste--it mixeth blood with all
+colours. He, however, who whitewasheth his house, betrayeth unto me a
+whitewashed soul.
+
+With mummies, some fall in love; others with phantoms: both alike
+hostile to all flesh and blood--oh, how repugnant are both to my taste!
+For I love blood.
+
+And there will I not reside and abide where every one spitteth and
+speweth: that is now MY taste,--rather would I live amongst thieves and
+perjurers. Nobody carrieth gold in his mouth.
+
+Still more repugnant unto me, however, are all lickspittles; and the
+most repugnant animal of man that I found, did I christen "parasite": it
+would not love, and would yet live by love.
+
+Unhappy do I call all those who have only one choice: either to become
+evil beasts, or evil beast-tamers. Amongst such would I not build my
+tabernacle.
+
+Unhappy do I also call those who have ever to WAIT,--they are repugnant
+to my taste--all the toll-gatherers and traders, and kings, and other
+landkeepers and shopkeepers.
+
+Verily, I learned waiting also, and thoroughly so,--but only waiting for
+MYSELF. And above all did I learn standing and walking and running and
+leaping and climbing and dancing.
+
+This however is my teaching: he who wisheth one day to fly, must first
+learn standing and walking and running and climbing and dancing:--one
+doth not fly into flying!
+
+With rope-ladders learned I to reach many a window, with nimble legs did
+I climb high masts: to sit on high masts of perception seemed to me no
+small bliss;--
+
+--To flicker like small flames on high masts: a small light, certainly,
+but a great comfort to cast-away sailors and ship-wrecked ones!
+
+By divers ways and wendings did I arrive at my truth; not by one ladder
+did I mount to the height where mine eye roveth into my remoteness.
+
+And unwillingly only did I ask my way--that was always counter to my
+taste! Rather did I question and test the ways themselves.
+
+A testing and a questioning hath been all my travelling:--and verily,
+one must also LEARN to answer such questioning! That, however,--is my
+taste:
+
+--Neither a good nor a bad taste, but MY taste, of which I have no
+longer either shame or secrecy.
+
+"This--is now MY way,--where is yours?" Thus did I answer those who
+asked me "the way." For THE way--it doth not exist!
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+LVI. OLD AND NEW TABLES.
+
+1.
+
+Here do I sit and wait, old broken tables around me and also new
+half-written tables. When cometh mine hour?
+
+--The hour of my descent, of my down-going: for once more will I go unto
+men.
+
+For that hour do I now wait: for first must the signs come unto me that
+it is MINE hour--namely, the laughing lion with the flock of doves.
+
+Meanwhile do I talk to myself as one who hath time. No one telleth me
+anything new, so I tell myself mine own story.
+
+2.
+
+When I came unto men, then found I them resting on an old infatuation:
+all of them thought they had long known what was good and bad for men.
+
+An old wearisome business seemed to them all discourse about virtue; and
+he who wished to sleep well spake of "good" and "bad" ere retiring to
+rest.
+
+This somnolence did I disturb when I taught that NO ONE YET KNOWETH what
+is good and bad:--unless it be the creating one!
+
+--It is he, however, who createth man's goal, and giveth to the earth
+its meaning and its future: he only EFFECTETH it THAT aught is good or
+bad.
+
+And I bade them upset their old academic chairs, and wherever that old
+infatuation had sat; I bade them laugh at their great moralists, their
+saints, their poets, and their Saviours.
+
+At their gloomy sages did I bid them laugh, and whoever had sat
+admonishing as a black scarecrow on the tree of life.
+
+On their great grave-highway did I seat myself, and even beside the
+carrion and vultures--and I laughed at all their bygone and its mellow
+decaying glory.
+
+Verily, like penitential preachers and fools did I cry wrath and shame
+on all their greatness and smallness. Oh, that their best is so very
+small! Oh, that their worst is so very small! Thus did I laugh.
+
+Thus did my wise longing, born in the mountains, cry and laugh in me; a
+wild wisdom, verily!--my great pinion-rustling longing.
+
+And oft did it carry me off and up and away and in the midst of
+laughter; then flew I quivering like an arrow with sun-intoxicated
+rapture:
+
+--Out into distant futures, which no dream hath yet seen, into warmer
+souths than ever sculptor conceived,--where gods in their dancing are
+ashamed of all clothes:
+
+(That I may speak in parables and halt and stammer like the poets: and
+verily I am ashamed that I have still to be a poet!)
+
+Where all becoming seemed to me dancing of Gods, and wantoning of Gods,
+and the world unloosed and unbridled and fleeing back to itself:--
+
+--As an eternal self-fleeing and re-seeking of one another of many Gods,
+as the blessed self-contradicting, recommuning, and refraternising with
+one another of many Gods:--
+
+Where all time seemed to me a blessed mockery of moments, where
+necessity was freedom itself, which played happily with the goad of
+freedom:--
+
+Where I also found again mine old devil and arch-enemy, the spirit
+of gravity, and all that it created: constraint, law, necessity and
+consequence and purpose and will and good and evil:--
+
+For must there not be that which is danced OVER, danced beyond? Must
+there not, for the sake of the nimble, the nimblest,--be moles and
+clumsy dwarfs?--
+
+3.
+
+There was it also where I picked up from the path the word "Superman,"
+and that man is something that must be surpassed.
+
+--That man is a bridge and not a goal--rejoicing over his noontides and
+evenings, as advances to new rosy dawns:
+
+--The Zarathustra word of the great noontide, and whatever else I have
+hung up over men like purple evening-afterglows.
+
+Verily, also new stars did I make them see, along with new nights;
+and over cloud and day and night, did I spread out laughter like a
+gay-coloured canopy.
+
+I taught them all MY poetisation and aspiration: to compose and collect
+into unity what is fragment in man, and riddle and fearful chance;--
+
+--As composer, riddle-reader, and redeemer of chance, did I teach them
+to create the future, and all that HATH BEEN--to redeem by creating.
+
+The past of man to redeem, and every "It was" to transform, until the
+Will saith: "But so did I will it! So shall I will it--"
+
+--This did I call redemption; this alone taught I them to call
+redemption.--
+
+Now do I await MY redemption--that I may go unto them for the last time.
+
+For once more will I go unto men: AMONGST them will my sun set; in dying
+will I give them my choicest gift!
+
+From the sun did I learn this, when it goeth down, the exuberant one:
+gold doth it then pour into the sea, out of inexhaustible riches,--
+
+--So that the poorest fisherman roweth even with GOLDEN oars! For this
+did I once see, and did not tire of weeping in beholding it.--
+
+Like the sun will also Zarathustra go down: now sitteth he here
+and waiteth, old broken tables around him, and also new
+tables--half-written.
+
+4.
+
+Behold, here is a new table; but where are my brethren who will carry it
+with me to the valley and into hearts of flesh?--
+
+Thus demandeth my great love to the remotest ones: BE NOT CONSIDERATE OF
+THY NEIGHBOUR! Man is something that must be surpassed.
+
+There are many divers ways and modes of surpassing: see THOU thereto!
+But only a buffoon thinketh: "man can also be OVERLEAPT."
+
+Surpass thyself even in thy neighbour: and a right which thou canst
+seize upon, shalt thou not allow to be given thee!
+
+What thou doest can no one do to thee again. Lo, there is no requital.
+
+He who cannot command himself shall obey. And many a one CAN command
+himself, but still sorely lacketh self-obedience!
+
+5.
+
+Thus wisheth the type of noble souls: they desire to have nothing
+GRATUITOUSLY, least of all, life.
+
+He who is of the populace wisheth to live gratuitously; we others,
+however, to whom life hath given itself--we are ever considering WHAT we
+can best give IN RETURN!
+
+And verily, it is a noble dictum which saith: "What life promiseth US,
+that promise will WE keep--to life!"
+
+One should not wish to enjoy where one doth not contribute to the
+enjoyment. And one should not WISH to enjoy!
+
+For enjoyment and innocence are the most bashful things. Neither like
+to be sought for. One should HAVE them,--but one should rather SEEK for
+guilt and pain!--
+
+6.
+
+O my brethren, he who is a firstling is ever sacrificed. Now, however,
+are we firstlings!
+
+We all bleed on secret sacrificial altars, we all burn and broil in
+honour of ancient idols.
+
+Our best is still young: this exciteth old palates. Our flesh is tender,
+our skin is only lambs' skin:--how could we not excite old idol-priests!
+
+IN OURSELVES dwelleth he still, the old idol-priest, who broileth our
+best for his banquet. Ah, my brethren, how could firstlings fail to be
+sacrifices!
+
+But so wisheth our type; and I love those who do not wish to preserve
+themselves, the down-going ones do I love with mine entire love: for
+they go beyond.--
+
+7.
+
+To be true--that CAN few be! And he who can, will not! Least of all,
+however, can the good be true.
+
+Oh, those good ones! GOOD MEN NEVER SPEAK THE TRUTH. For the spirit,
+thus to be good, is a malady.
+
+They yield, those good ones, they submit themselves; their heart
+repeateth, their soul obeyeth: HE, however, who obeyeth, DOTH NOT LISTEN
+TO HIMSELF!
+
+All that is called evil by the good, must come together in order that
+one truth may be born. O my brethren, are ye also evil enough for THIS
+truth?
+
+The daring venture, the prolonged distrust, the cruel Nay, the tedium,
+the cutting-into-the-quick--how seldom do THESE come together! Out of
+such seed, however--is truth produced!
+
+BESIDE the bad conscience hath hitherto grown all KNOWLEDGE! Break up,
+break up, ye discerning ones, the old tables!
+
+8.
+
+When the water hath planks, when gangways and railings o'erspan the
+stream, verily, he is not believed who then saith: "All is in flux."
+
+But even the simpletons contradict him. "What?" say the simpletons, "all
+in flux? Planks and railings are still OVER the stream!
+
+"OVER the stream all is stable, all the values of things, the bridges
+and bearings, all 'good' and 'evil': these are all STABLE!"--
+
+Cometh, however, the hard winter, the stream-tamer, then learn even the
+wittiest distrust, and verily, not only the simpletons then say: "Should
+not everything--STAND STILL?"
+
+"Fundamentally standeth everything still"--that is an appropriate winter
+doctrine, good cheer for an unproductive period, a great comfort for
+winter-sleepers and fireside-loungers.
+
+"Fundamentally standeth everything still"--: but CONTRARY thereto,
+preacheth the thawing wind!
+
+The thawing wind, a bullock, which is no ploughing bullock--a furious
+bullock, a destroyer, which with angry horns breaketh the ice! The ice
+however--BREAKETH GANGWAYS!
+
+O my brethren, is not everything AT PRESENT IN FLUX? Have not all
+railings and gangways fallen into the water? Who would still HOLD ON to
+"good" and "evil"?
+
+"Woe to us! Hail to us! The thawing wind bloweth!"--Thus preach, my
+brethren, through all the streets!
+
+9.
+
+There is an old illusion--it is called good and evil. Around soothsayers
+and astrologers hath hitherto revolved the orbit of this illusion.
+
+Once did one BELIEVE in soothsayers and astrologers; and THEREFORE did
+one believe, "Everything is fate: thou shalt, for thou must!"
+
+Then again did one distrust all soothsayers and astrologers; and
+THEREFORE did one believe, "Everything is freedom: thou canst, for thou
+willest!"
+
+O my brethren, concerning the stars and the future there hath hitherto
+been only illusion, and not knowledge; and THEREFORE concerning good and
+evil there hath hitherto been only illusion and not knowledge!
+
+10.
+
+"Thou shalt not rob! Thou shalt not slay!"--such precepts were once
+called holy; before them did one bow the knee and the head, and take off
+one's shoes.
+
+But I ask you: Where have there ever been better robbers and slayers in
+the world than such holy precepts?
+
+Is there not even in all life--robbing and slaying? And for such
+precepts to be called holy, was not TRUTH itself thereby--slain?
+
+--Or was it a sermon of death that called holy what contradicted and
+dissuaded from life?--O my brethren, break up, break up for me the old
+tables!
+
+11.
+
+It is my sympathy with all the past that I see it is abandoned,--
+
+--Abandoned to the favour, the spirit and the madness of every
+generation that cometh, and reinterpreteth all that hath been as its
+bridge!
+
+A great potentate might arise, an artful prodigy, who with approval and
+disapproval could strain and constrain all the past, until it became for
+him a bridge, a harbinger, a herald, and a cock-crowing.
+
+This however is the other danger, and mine other sympathy:--he who is
+of the populace, his thoughts go back to his grandfather,--with his
+grandfather, however, doth time cease.
+
+Thus is all the past abandoned: for it might some day happen for the
+populace to become master, and drown all time in shallow waters.
+
+Therefore, O my brethren, a NEW NOBILITY is needed, which shall be the
+adversary of all populace and potentate rule, and shall inscribe anew
+the word "noble" on new tables.
+
+For many noble ones are needed, and many kinds of noble ones, FOR A NEW
+NOBILITY! Or, as I once said in parable: "That is just divinity, that
+there are Gods, but no God!"
+
+12.
+
+O my brethren, I consecrate you and point you to a new nobility: ye
+shall become procreators and cultivators and sowers of the future;--
+
+--Verily, not to a nobility which ye could purchase like traders with
+traders' gold; for little worth is all that hath its price.
+
+Let it not be your honour henceforth whence ye come, but whither ye go!
+Your Will and your feet which seek to surpass you--let these be your new
+honour!
+
+Verily, not that ye have served a prince--of what account are princes
+now!--nor that ye have become a bulwark to that which standeth, that it
+may stand more firmly.
+
+Not that your family have become courtly at courts, and that ye have
+learned--gay-coloured, like the flamingo--to stand long hours in shallow
+pools:
+
+(For ABILITY-to-stand is a merit in courtiers; and all courtiers believe
+that unto blessedness after death pertaineth--PERMISSION-to-sit!)
+
+Nor even that a Spirit called Holy, led your forefathers into promised
+lands, which I do not praise: for where the worst of all trees grew--the
+cross,--in that land there is nothing to praise!--
+
+--And verily, wherever this "Holy Spirit" led its knights, always in
+such campaigns did--goats and geese, and wryheads and guyheads run
+FOREMOST!--
+
+O my brethren, not backward shall your nobility gaze, but OUTWARD!
+Exiles shall ye be from all fatherlands and forefather-lands!
+
+Your CHILDREN'S LAND shall ye love: let this love be your new
+nobility,--the undiscovered in the remotest seas! For it do I bid your
+sails search and search!
+
+Unto your children shall ye MAKE AMENDS for being the children of your
+fathers: all the past shall ye THUS redeem! This new table do I place
+over you!
+
+13.
+
+"Why should one live? All is vain! To live--that is to thrash straw; to
+live--that is to burn oneself and yet not get warm."--
+
+Such ancient babbling still passeth for "wisdom"; because it is old,
+however, and smelleth mustily, THEREFORE is it the more honoured. Even
+mould ennobleth.--
+
+Children might thus speak: they SHUN the fire because it hath burnt
+them! There is much childishness in the old books of wisdom.
+
+And he who ever "thrasheth straw," why should he be allowed to rail at
+thrashing! Such a fool one would have to muzzle!
+
+Such persons sit down to the table and bring nothing with them, not even
+good hunger:--and then do they rail: "All is vain!"
+
+But to eat and drink well, my brethren, is verily no vain art! Break up,
+break up for me the tables of the never-joyous ones!
+
+14.
+
+"To the clean are all things clean"--thus say the people. I, however,
+say unto you: To the swine all things become swinish!
+
+Therefore preach the visionaries and bowed-heads (whose hearts are also
+bowed down): "The world itself is a filthy monster."
+
+For these are all unclean spirits; especially those, however, who have
+no peace or rest, unless they see the world FROM THE BACKSIDE--the
+backworldsmen!
+
+TO THOSE do I say it to the face, although it sound unpleasantly: the
+world resembleth man, in that it hath a backside,--SO MUCH is true!
+
+There is in the world much filth: SO MUCH is true! But the world itself
+is not therefore a filthy monster!
+
+There is wisdom in the fact that much in the world smelleth badly:
+loathing itself createth wings, and fountain-divining powers!
+
+In the best there is still something to loathe; and the best is still
+something that must be surpassed!--
+
+O my brethren, there is much wisdom in the fact that much filth is in
+the world!--
+
+15.
+
+Such sayings did I hear pious backworldsmen speak to their consciences,
+and verily without wickedness or guile,--although there is nothing more
+guileful in the world, or more wicked.
+
+"Let the world be as it is! Raise not a finger against it!"
+
+"Let whoever will choke and stab and skin and scrape the people: raise
+not a finger against it! Thereby will they learn to renounce the world."
+
+"And thine own reason--this shalt thou thyself stifle and choke; for it
+is a reason of this world,--thereby wilt thou learn thyself to renounce
+the world."--
+
+--Shatter, shatter, O my brethren, those old tables of the pious! Tatter
+the maxims of the world-maligners!--
+
+16.
+
+"He who learneth much unlearneth all violent cravings"--that do people
+now whisper to one another in all the dark lanes.
+
+"Wisdom wearieth, nothing is worth while; thou shalt not crave!"--this
+new table found I hanging even in the public markets.
+
+Break up for me, O my brethren, break up also that NEW table! The
+weary-o'-the-world put it up, and the preachers of death and the jailer:
+for lo, it is also a sermon for slavery:--
+
+Because they learned badly and not the best, and everything too early
+and everything too fast; because they ATE badly: from thence hath
+resulted their ruined stomach;--
+
+--For a ruined stomach, is their spirit: IT persuadeth to death! For
+verily, my brethren, the spirit IS a stomach!
+
+Life is a well of delight, but to him in whom the ruined stomach
+speaketh, the father of affliction, all fountains are poisoned.
+
+To discern: that is DELIGHT to the lion-willed! But he who hath become
+weary, is himself merely "willed"; with him play all the waves.
+
+And such is always the nature of weak men: they lose themselves on their
+way. And at last asketh their weariness: "Why did we ever go on the way?
+All is indifferent!"
+
+TO THEM soundeth it pleasant to have preached in their ears: "Nothing is
+worth while! Ye shall not will!" That, however, is a sermon for slavery.
+
+O my brethren, a fresh blustering wind cometh Zarathustra unto all
+way-weary ones; many noses will he yet make sneeze!
+
+Even through walls bloweth my free breath, and in into prisons and
+imprisoned spirits!
+
+Willing emancipateth: for willing is creating: so do I teach. And ONLY
+for creating shall ye learn!
+
+And also the learning shall ye LEARN only from me, the learning
+well!--He who hath ears let him hear!
+
+17.
+
+There standeth the boat--thither goeth it over, perhaps into vast
+nothingness--but who willeth to enter into this "Perhaps"?
+
+None of you want to enter into the death-boat! How should ye then be
+WORLD-WEARY ones!
+
+World-weary ones! And have not even withdrawn from the earth! Eager
+did I ever find you for the earth, amorous still of your own
+earth-weariness!
+
+Not in vain doth your lip hang down:--a small worldly wish still sitteth
+thereon! And in your eye--floateth there not a cloudlet of unforgotten
+earthly bliss?
+
+There are on the earth many good inventions, some useful, some pleasant:
+for their sake is the earth to be loved.
+
+And many such good inventions are there, that they are like woman's
+breasts: useful at the same time, and pleasant.
+
+Ye world-weary ones, however! Ye earth-idlers! You, shall one beat with
+stripes! With stripes shall one again make you sprightly limbs.
+
+For if ye be not invalids, or decrepit creatures, of whom the earth is
+weary, then are ye sly sloths, or dainty, sneaking pleasure-cats. And if
+ye will not again RUN gaily, then shall ye--pass away!
+
+To the incurable shall one not seek to be a physician: thus teacheth
+Zarathustra:--so shall ye pass away!
+
+But more COURAGE is needed to make an end than to make a new verse: that
+do all physicians and poets know well.--
+
+18.
+
+O my brethren, there are tables which weariness framed, and tables
+which slothfulness framed, corrupt slothfulness: although they speak
+similarly, they want to be heard differently.--
+
+See this languishing one! Only a span-breadth is he from his goal; but
+from weariness hath he lain down obstinately in the dust, this brave
+one!
+
+From weariness yawneth he at the path, at the earth, at the goal, and at
+himself: not a step further will he go,--this brave one!
+
+Now gloweth the sun upon him, and the dogs lick at his sweat: but he
+lieth there in his obstinacy and preferreth to languish:--
+
+--A span-breadth from his goal, to languish! Verily, ye will have to
+drag him into his heaven by the hair of his head--this hero!
+
+Better still that ye let him lie where he hath lain down, that sleep may
+come unto him, the comforter, with cooling patter-rain.
+
+Let him lie, until of his own accord he awakeneth,--until of his own
+accord he repudiateth all weariness, and what weariness hath taught
+through him!
+
+Only, my brethren, see that ye scare the dogs away from him, the idle
+skulkers, and all the swarming vermin:--
+
+--All the swarming vermin of the "cultured," that--feast on the sweat of
+every hero!--
+
+19.
+
+I form circles around me and holy boundaries; ever fewer ascend with
+me ever higher mountains: I build a mountain-range out of ever holier
+mountains.--
+
+But wherever ye would ascend with me, O my brethren, take care lest a
+PARASITE ascend with you!
+
+A parasite: that is a reptile, a creeping, cringing reptile, that trieth
+to fatten on your infirm and sore places.
+
+And THIS is its art: it divineth where ascending souls are weary, in
+your trouble and dejection, in your sensitive modesty, doth it build its
+loathsome nest.
+
+Where the strong are weak, where the noble are all-too-gentle--there
+buildeth it its loathsome nest; the parasite liveth where the great have
+small sore-places.
+
+What is the highest of all species of being, and what is the lowest?
+The parasite is the lowest species; he, however, who is of the highest
+species feedeth most parasites.
+
+For the soul which hath the longest ladder, and can go deepest down: how
+could there fail to be most parasites upon it?--
+
+--The most comprehensive soul, which can run and stray and rove furthest
+in itself; the most necessary soul, which out of joy flingeth itself
+into chance:--
+
+--The soul in Being, which plungeth into Becoming; the possessing soul,
+which SEEKETH to attain desire and longing:--
+
+--The soul fleeing from itself, which overtaketh itself in the widest
+circuit; the wisest soul, unto which folly speaketh most sweetly:--
+
+--The soul most self-loving, in which all things have their current and
+counter-current, their ebb and their flow:--oh, how could THE LOFTIEST
+SOUL fail to have the worst parasites?
+
+20.
+
+O my brethren, am I then cruel? But I say: What falleth, that shall one
+also push!
+
+Everything of to-day--it falleth, it decayeth; who would preserve it!
+But I--I wish also to push it!
+
+Know ye the delight which rolleth stones into precipitous depths?--Those
+men of to-day, see just how they roll into my depths!
+
+A prelude am I to better players, O my brethren! An example! DO
+according to mine example!
+
+And him whom ye do not teach to fly, teach I pray you--TO FALL FASTER!--
+
+21.
+
+I love the brave: but it is not enough to be a swordsman,--one must also
+know WHEREON to use swordsmanship!
+
+And often is it greater bravery to keep quiet and pass by, that THEREBY
+one may reserve oneself for a worthier foe!
+
+Ye shall only have foes to be hated; but not foes to be despised: ye
+must be proud of your foes. Thus have I already taught.
+
+For the worthier foe, O my brethren, shall ye reserve yourselves:
+therefore must ye pass by many a one,--
+
+--Especially many of the rabble, who din your ears with noise about
+people and peoples.
+
+Keep your eye clear of their For and Against! There is there much right,
+much wrong: he who looketh on becometh wroth.
+
+Therein viewing, therein hewing--they are the same thing: therefore
+depart into the forests and lay your sword to sleep!
+
+Go YOUR ways! and let the people and peoples go theirs!--gloomy ways,
+verily, on which not a single hope glinteth any more!
+
+Let there the trader rule, where all that still glittereth is--traders'
+gold. It is the time of kings no longer: that which now calleth itself
+the people is unworthy of kings.
+
+See how these peoples themselves now do just like the traders: they pick
+up the smallest advantage out of all kinds of rubbish!
+
+They lay lures for one another, they lure things out of one
+another,--that they call "good neighbourliness." O blessed remote period
+when a people said to itself: "I will be--MASTER over peoples!"
+
+For, my brethren, the best shall rule, the best also WILLETH to rule!
+And where the teaching is different, there--the best is LACKING.
+
+22.
+
+If THEY had--bread for nothing, alas! for what would THEY cry! Their
+maintainment--that is their true entertainment; and they shall have it
+hard!
+
+Beasts of prey, are they: in their "working"--there is even plundering,
+in their "earning"--there is even overreaching! Therefore shall they
+have it hard!
+
+Better beasts of prey shall they thus become, subtler, cleverer, MORE
+MAN-LIKE: for man is the best beast of prey.
+
+All the animals hath man already robbed of their virtues: that is why of
+all animals it hath been hardest for man.
+
+Only the birds are still beyond him. And if man should yet learn to fly,
+alas! TO WHAT HEIGHT--would his rapacity fly!
+
+23.
+
+Thus would I have man and woman: fit for war, the one; fit for
+maternity, the other; both, however, fit for dancing with head and legs.
+
+And lost be the day to us in which a measure hath not been danced. And
+false be every truth which hath not had laughter along with it!
+
+24.
+
+Your marriage-arranging: see that it be not a bad ARRANGING! Ye have
+arranged too hastily: so there FOLLOWETH therefrom--marriage-breaking!
+
+And better marriage-breaking than marriage-bending,
+marriage-lying!--Thus spake a woman unto me: "Indeed, I broke the
+marriage, but first did the marriage break--me!
+
+The badly paired found I ever the most revengeful: they make every one
+suffer for it that they no longer run singly.
+
+On that account want I the honest ones to say to one another: "We love
+each other: let us SEE TO IT that we maintain our love! Or shall our
+pledging be blundering?"
+
+--"Give us a set term and a small marriage, that we may see if we are
+fit for the great marriage! It is a great matter always to be twain."
+
+Thus do I counsel all honest ones; and what would be my love to the
+Superman, and to all that is to come, if I should counsel and speak
+otherwise!
+
+Not only to propagate yourselves onwards but UPWARDS--thereto, O my
+brethren, may the garden of marriage help you!
+
+25.
+
+He who hath grown wise concerning old origins, lo, he will at last seek
+after the fountains of the future and new origins.--
+
+O my brethren, not long will it be until NEW PEOPLES shall arise and new
+fountains shall rush down into new depths.
+
+For the earthquake--it choketh up many wells, it causeth much
+languishing: but it bringeth also to light inner powers and secrets.
+
+The earthquake discloseth new fountains. In the earthquake of old
+peoples new fountains burst forth.
+
+And whoever calleth out: "Lo, here is a well for many thirsty ones, one
+heart for many longing ones, one will for many instruments":--around him
+collecteth a PEOPLE, that is to say, many attempting ones.
+
+Who can command, who must obey--THAT IS THERE ATTEMPTED! Ah, with what
+long seeking and solving and failing and learning and re-attempting!
+
+Human society: it is an attempt--so I teach--a long seeking: it seeketh
+however the ruler!--
+
+--An attempt, my brethren! And NO "contract"! Destroy, I pray you,
+destroy that word of the soft-hearted and half-and-half!
+
+26.
+
+O my brethren! With whom lieth the greatest danger to the whole human
+future? Is it not with the good and just?--
+
+--As those who say and feel in their hearts: "We already know what
+is good and just, we possess it also; woe to those who still seek
+thereafter!
+
+And whatever harm the wicked may do, the harm of the good is the
+harmfulest harm!
+
+And whatever harm the world-maligners may do, the harm of the good is
+the harmfulest harm!
+
+O my brethren, into the hearts of the good and just looked some one
+once on a time, who said: "They are the Pharisees." But people did not
+understand him.
+
+The good and just themselves were not free to understand him; their
+spirit was imprisoned in their good conscience. The stupidity of the
+good is unfathomably wise.
+
+It is the truth, however, that the good MUST be Pharisees--they have no
+choice!
+
+The good MUST crucify him who deviseth his own virtue! That IS the
+truth!
+
+The second one, however, who discovered their country--the country,
+heart and soil of the good and just,--it was he who asked: "Whom do they
+hate most?"
+
+The CREATOR, hate they most, him who breaketh the tables and old values,
+the breaker,--him they call the law-breaker.
+
+For the good--they CANNOT create; they are always the beginning of the
+end:--
+
+--They crucify him who writeth new values on new tables, they sacrifice
+UNTO THEMSELVES the future--they crucify the whole human future!
+
+The good--they have always been the beginning of the end.--
+
+27.
+
+O my brethren, have ye also understood this word? And what I once said
+of the "last man"?--
+
+With whom lieth the greatest danger to the whole human future? Is it not
+with the good and just?
+
+BREAK UP, BREAK UP, I PRAY YOU, THE GOOD AND JUST!--O my brethren, have
+ye understood also this word?
+
+28.
+
+Ye flee from me? Ye are frightened? Ye tremble at this word?
+
+O my brethren, when I enjoined you to break up the good, and the tables
+of the good, then only did I embark man on his high seas.
+
+And now only cometh unto him the great terror, the great outlook, the
+great sickness, the great nausea, the great sea-sickness.
+
+False shores and false securities did the good teach you; in the lies of
+the good were ye born and bred. Everything hath been radically contorted
+and distorted by the good.
+
+But he who discovered the country of "man," discovered also the country
+of "man's future." Now shall ye be sailors for me, brave, patient!
+
+Keep yourselves up betimes, my brethren, learn to keep yourselves up!
+The sea stormeth: many seek to raise themselves again by you.
+
+The sea stormeth: all is in the sea. Well! Cheer up! Ye old
+seaman-hearts!
+
+What of fatherland! THITHER striveth our helm where our CHILDREN'S LAND
+is! Thitherwards, stormier than the sea, stormeth our great longing!--
+
+29.
+
+"Why so hard!"--said to the diamond one day the charcoal; "are we then
+not near relatives?"--
+
+Why so soft? O my brethren; thus do _I_ ask you: are ye then not--my
+brethren?
+
+Why so soft, so submissive and yielding? Why is there so much negation
+and abnegation in your hearts? Why is there so little fate in your
+looks?
+
+And if ye will not be fates and inexorable ones, how can ye one day--
+conquer with me?
+
+And if your hardness will not glance and cut and chip to pieces, how can
+ye one day--create with me?
+
+For the creators are hard. And blessedness must it seem to you to press
+your hand upon millenniums as upon wax,--
+
+--Blessedness to write upon the will of millenniums as upon
+brass,--harder than brass, nobler than brass. Entirely hard is only the
+noblest.
+
+This new table, O my brethren, put I up over you: BECOME HARD!--
+
+30.
+
+O thou, my Will! Thou change of every need, MY needfulness! Preserve me
+from all small victories!
+
+Thou fatedness of my soul, which I call fate! Thou In-me! Over-me!
+Preserve and spare me for one great fate!
+
+And thy last greatness, my Will, spare it for thy last--that thou mayest
+be inexorable IN thy victory! Ah, who hath not succumbed to his victory!
+
+Ah, whose eye hath not bedimmed in this intoxicated twilight! Ah, whose
+foot hath not faltered and forgotten in victory--how to stand!--
+
+--That I may one day be ready and ripe in the great noontide: ready and
+ripe like the glowing ore, the lightning-bearing cloud, and the swelling
+milk-udder:--
+
+--Ready for myself and for my most hidden Will: a bow eager for its
+arrow, an arrow eager for its star:--
+
+--A star, ready and ripe in its noontide, glowing, pierced, blessed, by
+annihilating sun-arrows:--
+
+--A sun itself, and an inexorable sun-will, ready for annihilation in
+victory!
+
+O Will, thou change of every need, MY needfulness! Spare me for one
+great victory!---
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+LVII. THE CONVALESCENT.
+
+1.
+
+One morning, not long after his return to his cave, Zarathustra sprang
+up from his couch like a madman, crying with a frightful voice, and
+acting as if some one still lay on the couch who did not wish to rise.
+Zarathustra's voice also resounded in such a manner that his animals
+came to him frightened, and out of all the neighbouring caves and
+lurking-places all the creatures slipped away--flying, fluttering,
+creeping or leaping, according to their variety of foot or wing.
+Zarathustra, however, spake these words:
+
+Up, abysmal thought out of my depth! I am thy cock and morning dawn,
+thou overslept reptile: Up! Up! My voice shall soon crow thee awake!
+
+Unbind the fetters of thine ears: listen! For I wish to hear thee! Up!
+Up! There is thunder enough to make the very graves listen!
+
+And rub the sleep and all the dimness and blindness out of thine eyes!
+Hear me also with thine eyes: my voice is a medicine even for those born
+blind.
+
+And once thou art awake, then shalt thou ever remain awake. It is not
+MY custom to awake great-grandmothers out of their sleep that I may bid
+them--sleep on!
+
+Thou stirrest, stretchest thyself, wheezest? Up! Up! Not wheeze, shalt
+thou,--but speak unto me! Zarathustra calleth thee, Zarathustra the
+godless!
+
+I, Zarathustra, the advocate of living, the advocate of suffering, the
+advocate of the circuit--thee do I call, my most abysmal thought!
+
+Joy to me! Thou comest,--I hear thee! Mine abyss SPEAKETH, my lowest
+depth have I turned over into the light!
+
+Joy to me! Come hither! Give me thy hand--ha! let be! aha!--Disgust,
+disgust, disgust--alas to me!
+
+2.
+
+Hardly, however, had Zarathustra spoken these words, when he fell down
+as one dead, and remained long as one dead. When however he again came
+to himself, then was he pale and trembling, and remained lying; and for
+long he would neither eat nor drink. This condition continued for seven
+days; his animals, however, did not leave him day nor night, except that
+the eagle flew forth to fetch food. And what it fetched and foraged,
+it laid on Zarathustra's couch: so that Zarathustra at last lay among
+yellow and red berries, grapes, rosy apples, sweet-smelling herbage, and
+pine-cones. At his feet, however, two lambs were stretched, which the
+eagle had with difficulty carried off from their shepherds.
+
+At last, after seven days, Zarathustra raised himself upon his couch,
+took a rosy apple in his hand, smelt it and found its smell pleasant.
+Then did his animals think the time had come to speak unto him.
+
+"O Zarathustra," said they, "now hast thou lain thus for seven days with
+heavy eyes: wilt thou not set thyself again upon thy feet?
+
+Step out of thy cave: the world waiteth for thee as a garden. The wind
+playeth with heavy fragrance which seeketh for thee; and all brooks
+would like to run after thee.
+
+All things long for thee, since thou hast remained alone for seven
+days--step forth out of thy cave! All things want to be thy physicians!
+
+Did perhaps a new knowledge come to thee, a bitter, grievous knowledge?
+Like leavened dough layest thou, thy soul arose and swelled beyond all
+its bounds.--"
+
+--O mine animals, answered Zarathustra, talk on thus and let me listen!
+It refresheth me so to hear your talk: where there is talk, there is the
+world as a garden unto me.
+
+How charming it is that there are words and tones; are not words and
+tones rainbows and seeming bridges 'twixt the eternally separated?
+
+To each soul belongeth another world; to each soul is every other soul a
+back-world.
+
+Among the most alike doth semblance deceive most delightfully: for the
+smallest gap is most difficult to bridge over.
+
+For me--how could there be an outside-of-me? There is no outside! But
+this we forget on hearing tones; how delightful it is that we forget!
+
+Have not names and tones been given unto things that man may refresh
+himself with them? It is a beautiful folly, speaking; therewith danceth
+man over everything.
+
+How lovely is all speech and all falsehoods of tones! With tones danceth
+our love on variegated rainbows.--
+
+--"O Zarathustra," said then his animals, "to those who think like us,
+things all dance themselves: they come and hold out the hand and laugh
+and flee--and return.
+
+Everything goeth, everything returneth; eternally rolleth the wheel
+of existence. Everything dieth, everything blossometh forth again;
+eternally runneth on the year of existence.
+
+Everything breaketh, everything is integrated anew; eternally buildeth
+itself the same house of existence. All things separate, all things
+again greet one another; eternally true to itself remaineth the ring of
+existence.
+
+Every moment beginneth existence, around every 'Here' rolleth the ball
+'There.' The middle is everywhere. Crooked is the path of eternity."--
+
+--O ye wags and barrel-organs! answered Zarathustra, and smiled once
+more, how well do ye know what had to be fulfilled in seven days:--
+
+--And how that monster crept into my throat and choked me! But I bit off
+its head and spat it away from me.
+
+And ye--ye have made a lyre-lay out of it? Now, however, do I lie here,
+still exhausted with that biting and spitting-away, still sick with mine
+own salvation.
+
+AND YE LOOKED ON AT IT ALL? O mine animals, are ye also cruel? Did
+ye like to look at my great pain as men do? For man is the cruellest
+animal.
+
+At tragedies, bull-fights, and crucifixions hath he hitherto been
+happiest on earth; and when he invented his hell, behold, that was his
+heaven on earth.
+
+When the great man crieth--: immediately runneth the little man thither,
+and his tongue hangeth out of his mouth for very lusting. He, however,
+calleth it his "pity."
+
+The little man, especially the poet--how passionately doth he accuse
+life in words! Hearken to him, but do not fail to hear the delight which
+is in all accusation!
+
+Such accusers of life--them life overcometh with a glance of the eye.
+"Thou lovest me?" saith the insolent one; "wait a little, as yet have I
+no time for thee."
+
+Towards himself man is the cruellest animal; and in all who call
+themselves "sinners" and "bearers of the cross" and "penitents," do not
+overlook the voluptuousness in their plaints and accusations!
+
+And I myself--do I thereby want to be man's accuser? Ah, mine animals,
+this only have I learned hitherto, that for man his baddest is necessary
+for his best,--
+
+--That all that is baddest is the best POWER, and the hardest stone for
+the highest creator; and that man must become better AND badder:--
+
+Not to THIS torture-stake was I tied, that I know man is bad,--but I
+cried, as no one hath yet cried:
+
+"Ah, that his baddest is so very small! Ah, that his best is so very
+small!"
+
+The great disgust at man--IT strangled me and had crept into my throat:
+and what the soothsayer had presaged: "All is alike, nothing is worth
+while, knowledge strangleth."
+
+A long twilight limped on before me, a fatally weary, fatally
+intoxicated sadness, which spake with yawning mouth.
+
+"Eternally he returneth, the man of whom thou art weary, the small
+man"--so yawned my sadness, and dragged its foot and could not go to
+sleep.
+
+A cavern, became the human earth to me; its breast caved in; everything
+living became to me human dust and bones and mouldering past.
+
+My sighing sat on all human graves, and could no longer arise: my
+sighing and questioning croaked and choked, and gnawed and nagged day
+and night:
+
+--"Ah, man returneth eternally! The small man returneth eternally!"
+
+Naked had I once seen both of them, the greatest man and the smallest
+man: all too like one another--all too human, even the greatest man!
+
+All too small, even the greatest man!--that was my disgust at man! And
+the eternal return also of the smallest man!--that was my disgust at all
+existence!
+
+Ah, Disgust! Disgust! Disgust!--Thus spake Zarathustra, and sighed and
+shuddered; for he remembered his sickness. Then did his animals prevent
+him from speaking further.
+
+"Do not speak further, thou convalescent!"--so answered his animals,
+"but go out where the world waiteth for thee like a garden.
+
+Go out unto the roses, the bees, and the flocks of doves! Especially,
+however, unto the singing-birds, to learn SINGING from them!
+
+For singing is for the convalescent; the sound ones may talk. And
+when the sound also want songs, then want they other songs than the
+convalescent."
+
+--"O ye wags and barrel-organs, do be silent!" answered Zarathustra, and
+smiled at his animals. "How well ye know what consolation I devised for
+myself in seven days!
+
+That I have to sing once more--THAT consolation did I devise for myself,
+and THIS convalescence: would ye also make another lyre-lay thereof?"
+
+--"Do not talk further," answered his animals once more; "rather, thou
+convalescent, prepare for thyself first a lyre, a new lyre!
+
+For behold, O Zarathustra! For thy new lays there are needed new lyres.
+
+Sing and bubble over, O Zarathustra, heal thy soul with new lays: that
+thou mayest bear thy great fate, which hath not yet been any one's fate!
+
+For thine animals know it well, O Zarathustra, who thou art and must
+become: behold, THOU ART THE TEACHER OF THE ETERNAL RETURN,--that is now
+THY fate!
+
+That thou must be the first to teach this teaching--how could this great
+fate not be thy greatest danger and infirmity!
+
+Behold, we know what thou teachest: that all things eternally return,
+and ourselves with them, and that we have already existed times without
+number, and all things with us.
+
+Thou teachest that there is a great year of Becoming, a prodigy of a
+great year; it must, like a sand-glass, ever turn up anew, that it may
+anew run down and run out:--
+
+--So that all those years are like one another in the greatest and also
+in the smallest, so that we ourselves, in every great year, are like
+ourselves in the greatest and also in the smallest.
+
+And if thou wouldst now die, O Zarathustra, behold, we know also how
+thou wouldst then speak to thyself:--but thine animals beseech thee not
+to die yet!
+
+Thou wouldst speak, and without trembling, buoyant rather with bliss,
+for a great weight and worry would be taken from thee, thou patientest
+one!--
+
+'Now do I die and disappear,' wouldst thou say, 'and in a moment I am
+nothing. Souls are as mortal as bodies.
+
+But the plexus of causes returneth in which I am intertwined,--it will
+again create me! I myself pertain to the causes of the eternal return.
+
+I come again with this sun, with this earth, with this eagle, with this
+serpent--NOT to a new life, or a better life, or a similar life:
+
+--I come again eternally to this identical and selfsame life, in its
+greatest and its smallest, to teach again the eternal return of all
+things,--
+
+--To speak again the word of the great noontide of earth and man, to
+announce again to man the Superman.
+
+I have spoken my word. I break down by my word: so willeth mine eternal
+fate--as announcer do I succumb!
+
+The hour hath now come for the down-goer to bless himself. Thus--ENDETH
+Zarathustra's down-going.'"--
+
+When the animals had spoken these words they were silent and waited, so
+that Zarathustra might say something to them: but Zarathustra did not
+hear that they were silent. On the contrary, he lay quietly with closed
+eyes like a person sleeping, although he did not sleep; for he communed
+just then with his soul. The serpent, however, and the eagle, when they
+found him silent in such wise, respected the great stillness around him,
+and prudently retired.
+
+
+
+
+LVIII. THE GREAT LONGING.
+
+O my soul, I have taught thee to say "to-day" as "once on a time" and
+"formerly," and to dance thy measure over every Here and There and
+Yonder.
+
+O my soul, I delivered thee from all by-places, I brushed down from thee
+dust and spiders and twilight.
+
+O my soul, I washed the petty shame and the by-place virtue from thee,
+and persuaded thee to stand naked before the eyes of the sun.
+
+With the storm that is called "spirit" did I blow over thy surging
+sea; all clouds did I blow away from it; I strangled even the strangler
+called "sin."
+
+O my soul, I gave thee the right to say Nay like the storm, and to say
+Yea as the open heaven saith Yea: calm as the light remainest thou, and
+now walkest through denying storms.
+
+O my soul, I restored to thee liberty over the created and the
+uncreated; and who knoweth, as thou knowest, the voluptuousness of the
+future?
+
+O my soul, I taught thee the contempt which doth not come like
+worm-eating, the great, the loving contempt, which loveth most where it
+contemneth most.
+
+O my soul, I taught thee so to persuade that thou persuadest even the
+grounds themselves to thee: like the sun, which persuadeth even the sea
+to its height.
+
+O my soul, I have taken from thee all obeying and knee-bending and
+homage-paying; I have myself given thee the names, "Change of need" and
+"Fate."
+
+O my soul, I have given thee new names and gay-coloured playthings,
+I have called thee "Fate" and "the Circuit of circuits" and "the
+Navel-string of time" and "the Azure bell."
+
+O my soul, to thy domain gave I all wisdom to drink, all new wines, and
+also all immemorially old strong wines of wisdom.
+
+O my soul, every sun shed I upon thee, and every night and every silence
+and every longing:--then grewest thou up for me as a vine.
+
+O my soul, exuberant and heavy dost thou now stand forth, a vine with
+swelling udders and full clusters of brown golden grapes:--
+
+--Filled and weighted by thy happiness, waiting from superabundance, and
+yet ashamed of thy waiting.
+
+O my soul, there is nowhere a soul which could be more loving and more
+comprehensive and more extensive! Where could future and past be closer
+together than with thee?
+
+O my soul, I have given thee everything, and all my hands have become
+empty by thee:--and now! Now sayest thou to me, smiling and full of
+melancholy: "Which of us oweth thanks?--
+
+--Doth the giver not owe thanks because the receiver received? Is
+bestowing not a necessity? Is receiving not--pitying?"--
+
+O my soul, I understand the smiling of thy melancholy: thine
+over-abundance itself now stretcheth out longing hands!
+
+Thy fulness looketh forth over raging seas, and seeketh and waiteth: the
+longing of over-fulness looketh forth from the smiling heaven of thine
+eyes!
+
+And verily, O my soul! Who could see thy smiling and not melt
+into tears? The angels themselves melt into tears through the
+over-graciousness of thy smiling.
+
+Thy graciousness and over-graciousness, is it which will not complain
+and weep: and yet, O my soul, longeth thy smiling for tears, and thy
+trembling mouth for sobs.
+
+"Is not all weeping complaining? And all complaining, accusing?" Thus
+speakest thou to thyself; and therefore, O my soul, wilt thou rather
+smile than pour forth thy grief--
+
+--Than in gushing tears pour forth all thy grief concerning thy
+fulness, and concerning the craving of the vine for the vintager and
+vintage-knife!
+
+But wilt thou not weep, wilt thou not weep forth thy purple melancholy,
+then wilt thou have to SING, O my soul!--Behold, I smile myself, who
+foretell thee this:
+
+--Thou wilt have to sing with passionate song, until all seas turn calm
+to hearken unto thy longing,--
+
+--Until over calm longing seas the bark glideth, the golden marvel,
+around the gold of which all good, bad, and marvellous things frisk:--
+
+--Also many large and small animals, and everything that hath light
+marvellous feet, so that it can run on violet-blue paths,--
+
+--Towards the golden marvel, the spontaneous bark, and its master: he,
+however, is the vintager who waiteth with the diamond vintage-knife,--
+
+--Thy great deliverer, O my soul, the nameless one--for whom future
+songs only will find names! And verily, already hath thy breath the
+fragrance of future songs,--
+
+--Already glowest thou and dreamest, already drinkest thou thirstily at
+all deep echoing wells of consolation, already reposeth thy melancholy
+in the bliss of future songs!--
+
+O my soul, now have I given thee all, and even my last possession, and
+all my hands have become empty by thee:--THAT I BADE THEE SING, behold,
+that was my last thing to give!
+
+That I bade thee sing,--say now, say: WHICH of us now--oweth thanks?--
+Better still, however: sing unto me, sing, O my soul! And let me thank
+thee!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+LIX. THE SECOND DANCE-SONG.
+
+1.
+
+"Into thine eyes gazed I lately, O Life: gold saw I gleam in thy
+night-eyes,--my heart stood still with delight:
+
+--A golden bark saw I gleam on darkened waters, a sinking, drinking,
+reblinking, golden swing-bark!
+
+At my dance-frantic foot, dost thou cast a glance, a laughing,
+questioning, melting, thrown glance:
+
+Twice only movedst thou thy rattle with thy little hands--then did my
+feet swing with dance-fury.--
+
+My heels reared aloft, my toes they hearkened,--thee they would know:
+hath not the dancer his ear--in his toe!
+
+Unto thee did I spring: then fledst thou back from my bound; and towards
+me waved thy fleeing, flying tresses round!
+
+Away from thee did I spring, and from thy snaky tresses: then stoodst
+thou there half-turned, and in thine eye caresses.
+
+With crooked glances--dost thou teach me crooked courses; on crooked
+courses learn my feet--crafty fancies!
+
+I fear thee near, I love thee far; thy flight allureth me, thy seeking
+secureth me:--I suffer, but for thee, what would I not gladly bear!
+
+For thee, whose coldness inflameth, whose hatred misleadeth, whose
+flight enchaineth, whose mockery--pleadeth:
+
+--Who would not hate thee, thou great bindress, inwindress, temptress,
+seekress, findress! Who would not love thee, thou innocent, impatient,
+wind-swift, child-eyed sinner!
+
+Whither pullest thou me now, thou paragon and tomboy? And now foolest
+thou me fleeing; thou sweet romp dost annoy!
+
+I dance after thee, I follow even faint traces lonely. Where art thou?
+Give me thy hand! Or thy finger only!
+
+Here are caves and thickets: we shall go astray!--Halt! Stand still!
+Seest thou not owls and bats in fluttering fray?
+
+Thou bat! Thou owl! Thou wouldst play me foul? Where are we? From the
+dogs hast thou learned thus to bark and howl.
+
+Thou gnashest on me sweetly with little white teeth; thine evil eyes
+shoot out upon me, thy curly little mane from underneath!
+
+This is a dance over stock and stone: I am the hunter,--wilt thou be my
+hound, or my chamois anon?
+
+Now beside me! And quickly, wickedly springing! Now up! And over!--Alas!
+I have fallen myself overswinging!
+
+Oh, see me lying, thou arrogant one, and imploring grace! Gladly would I
+walk with thee--in some lovelier place!
+
+--In the paths of love, through bushes variegated, quiet, trim! Or there
+along the lake, where gold-fishes dance and swim!
+
+Thou art now a-weary? There above are sheep and sun-set stripes: is it
+not sweet to sleep--the shepherd pipes?
+
+Thou art so very weary? I carry thee thither; let just thine arm sink!
+And art thou thirsty--I should have something; but thy mouth would not
+like it to drink!--
+
+--Oh, that cursed, nimble, supple serpent and lurking-witch! Where art
+thou gone? But in my face do I feel through thy hand, two spots and red
+blotches itch!
+
+I am verily weary of it, ever thy sheepish shepherd to be. Thou witch,
+if I have hitherto sung unto thee, now shalt THOU--cry unto me!
+
+To the rhythm of my whip shalt thou dance and cry! I forget not my
+whip?--Not I!"--
+
+2.
+
+Then did Life answer me thus, and kept thereby her fine ears closed:
+
+"O Zarathustra! Crack not so terribly with thy whip! Thou knowest surely
+that noise killeth thought,--and just now there came to me such delicate
+thoughts.
+
+We are both of us genuine ne'er-do-wells and ne'er-do-ills. Beyond
+good and evil found we our island and our green meadow--we two alone!
+Therefore must we be friendly to each other!
+
+And even should we not love each other from the bottom of our
+hearts,--must we then have a grudge against each other if we do not love
+each other perfectly?
+
+And that I am friendly to thee, and often too friendly, that knowest
+thou: and the reason is that I am envious of thy Wisdom. Ah, this mad
+old fool, Wisdom!
+
+If thy Wisdom should one day run away from thee, ah! then would also my
+love run away from thee quickly."--
+
+Thereupon did Life look thoughtfully behind and around, and said softly:
+"O Zarathustra, thou art not faithful enough to me!
+
+Thou lovest me not nearly so much as thou sayest; I know thou thinkest
+of soon leaving me.
+
+There is an old heavy, heavy, booming-clock: it boometh by night up to
+thy cave:--
+
+--When thou hearest this clock strike the hours at midnight, then
+thinkest thou between one and twelve thereon--
+
+--Thou thinkest thereon, O Zarathustra, I know it--of soon leaving
+me!"--
+
+"Yea," answered I, hesitatingly, "but thou knowest it also"--And I
+said something into her ear, in amongst her confused, yellow, foolish
+tresses.
+
+"Thou KNOWEST that, O Zarathustra? That knoweth no one--"
+
+And we gazed at each other, and looked at the green meadow o'er which
+the cool evening was just passing, and we wept together.--Then, however,
+was Life dearer unto me than all my Wisdom had ever been.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+3.
+
+One!
+
+O man! Take heed!
+
+Two!
+
+What saith deep midnight's voice indeed?
+
+Three!
+
+"I slept my sleep--
+
+Four!
+
+"From deepest dream I've woke and plead:--
+
+Five!
+
+"The world is deep,
+
+Six!
+
+"And deeper than the day could read.
+
+Seven!
+
+"Deep is its woe--
+
+Eight!
+
+"Joy--deeper still than grief can be:
+
+Nine!
+
+"Woe saith: Hence! Go!
+
+Ten!
+
+"But joys all want eternity--
+
+Eleven!
+
+"Want deep profound eternity!"
+
+Twelve!
+
+
+
+
+LX. THE SEVEN SEALS.
+
+(OR THE YEA AND AMEN LAY.)
+
+1.
+
+If I be a diviner and full of the divining spirit which wandereth on
+high mountain-ridges, 'twixt two seas,--
+
+Wandereth 'twixt the past and the future as a heavy cloud--hostile to
+sultry plains, and to all that is weary and can neither die nor live:
+
+Ready for lightning in its dark bosom, and for the redeeming flash of
+light, charged with lightnings which say Yea! which laugh Yea! ready for
+divining flashes of lightning:--
+
+--Blessed, however, is he who is thus charged! And verily, long must he
+hang like a heavy tempest on the mountain, who shall one day kindle the
+light of the future!--
+
+Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity and for the marriage-ring of
+rings--the ring of the return?
+
+Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
+
+FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!
+
+2.
+
+If ever my wrath hath burst graves, shifted landmarks, or rolled old
+shattered tables into precipitous depths:
+
+If ever my scorn hath scattered mouldered words to the winds, and if I
+have come like a besom to cross-spiders, and as a cleansing wind to old
+charnel-houses:
+
+If ever I have sat rejoicing where old Gods lie buried, world-blessing,
+world-loving, beside the monuments of old world-maligners:--
+
+--For even churches and Gods'-graves do I love, if only heaven looketh
+through their ruined roofs with pure eyes; gladly do I sit like grass
+and red poppies on ruined churches--
+
+Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of
+rings--the ring of the return?
+
+Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
+
+FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!
+
+3.
+
+If ever a breath hath come to me of the creative breath, and of the
+heavenly necessity which compelleth even chances to dance star-dances:
+
+If ever I have laughed with the laughter of the creative lightning,
+to which the long thunder of the deed followeth, grumblingly, but
+obediently:
+
+If ever I have played dice with the Gods at the divine table of
+the earth, so that the earth quaked and ruptured, and snorted forth
+fire-streams:--
+
+--For a divine table is the earth, and trembling with new creative
+dictums and dice-casts of the Gods:
+
+Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of
+rings--the ring of the return?
+
+Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
+
+FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!
+
+4.
+
+If ever I have drunk a full draught of the foaming spice- and
+confection-bowl in which all things are well mixed:
+
+If ever my hand hath mingled the furthest with the nearest, fire with
+spirit, joy with sorrow, and the harshest with the kindest:
+
+If I myself am a grain of the saving salt which maketh everything in the
+confection-bowl mix well:--
+
+--For there is a salt which uniteth good with evil; and even the evilest
+is worthy, as spicing and as final over-foaming:--
+
+Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of
+rings--the ring of the return?
+
+Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
+
+FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!
+
+5.
+
+If I be fond of the sea, and all that is sealike, and fondest of it when
+it angrily contradicteth me:
+
+If the exploring delight be in me, which impelleth sails to the
+undiscovered, if the seafarer's delight be in my delight:
+
+If ever my rejoicing hath called out: "The shore hath vanished,--now
+hath fallen from me the last chain--
+
+The boundless roareth around me, far away sparkle for me space and
+time,--well! cheer up! old heart!"--
+
+Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of
+rings--the ring of the return?
+
+Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
+
+FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!
+
+6.
+
+If my virtue be a dancer's virtue, and if I have often sprung with both
+feet into golden-emerald rapture:
+
+If my wickedness be a laughing wickedness, at home among rose-banks and
+hedges of lilies:
+
+--For in laughter is all evil present, but it is sanctified and absolved
+by its own bliss:--
+
+And if it be my Alpha and Omega that everything heavy shall become
+light, every body a dancer, and every spirit a bird: and verily, that is
+my Alpha and Omega!--
+
+Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of
+rings--the ring of the return?
+
+Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
+
+FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!
+
+7.
+
+If ever I have spread out a tranquil heaven above me, and have flown
+into mine own heaven with mine own pinions:
+
+If I have swum playfully in profound luminous distances, and if my
+freedom's avian wisdom hath come to me:--
+
+--Thus however speaketh avian wisdom:--"Lo, there is no above and no
+below! Throw thyself about,--outward, backward, thou light one! Sing!
+speak no more!
+
+--Are not all words made for the heavy? Do not all words lie to the
+light ones? Sing! speak no more!"--
+
+Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of
+rings--the ring of the return?
+
+Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
+
+FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!
+
+
+
+
+FOURTH AND LAST PART.
+
+Ah, where in the world have there been greater follies than with the
+pitiful? And what in the world hath caused more suffering than the
+follies of the pitiful?
+
+Woe unto all loving ones who have not an elevation which is above their
+pity!
+
+Thus spake the devil unto me, once on a time: "Even God hath his hell:
+it is his love for man."
+
+And lately did I hear him say these words: "God is dead: of his pity for
+man hath God died."--ZARATHUSTRA, II., "The Pitiful."
+
+
+
+
+LXI. THE HONEY SACRIFICE.
+
+--And again passed moons and years over Zarathustra's soul, and he
+heeded it not; his hair, however, became white. One day when he sat on
+a stone in front of his cave, and gazed calmly into the distance--one
+there gazeth out on the sea, and away beyond sinuous abysses,--then went
+his animals thoughtfully round about him, and at last set themselves in
+front of him.
+
+"O Zarathustra," said they, "gazest thou out perhaps for thy
+happiness?"--"Of what account is my happiness!" answered he, "I have
+long ceased to strive any more for happiness, I strive for my work."--"O
+Zarathustra," said the animals once more, "that sayest thou as one
+who hath overmuch of good things. Liest thou not in a sky-blue lake of
+happiness?"--"Ye wags," answered Zarathustra, and smiled, "how well did
+ye choose the simile! But ye know also that my happiness is heavy, and
+not like a fluid wave of water: it presseth me and will not leave me,
+and is like molten pitch."--
+
+Then went his animals again thoughtfully around him, and placed
+themselves once more in front of him. "O Zarathustra," said they, "it is
+consequently FOR THAT REASON that thou thyself always becometh yellower
+and darker, although thy hair looketh white and flaxen? Lo, thou sittest
+in thy pitch!"--"What do ye say, mine animals?" said Zarathustra,
+laughing; "verily I reviled when I spake of pitch. As it happeneth with
+me, so is it with all fruits that turn ripe. It is the HONEY in my veins
+that maketh my blood thicker, and also my soul stiller."--"So will it
+be, O Zarathustra," answered his animals, and pressed up to him; "but
+wilt thou not to-day ascend a high mountain? The air is pure, and to-day
+one seeth more of the world than ever."--"Yea, mine animals," answered
+he, "ye counsel admirably and according to my heart: I will to-day
+ascend a high mountain! But see that honey is there ready to hand,
+yellow, white, good, ice-cool, golden-comb-honey. For know that when
+aloft I will make the honey-sacrifice."--
+
+When Zarathustra, however, was aloft on the summit, he sent his animals
+home that had accompanied him, and found that he was now alone:--then he
+laughed from the bottom of his heart, looked around him, and spake thus:
+
+That I spake of sacrifices and honey-sacrifices, it was merely a ruse
+in talking and verily, a useful folly! Here aloft can I now speak freer
+than in front of mountain-caves and anchorites' domestic animals.
+
+What to sacrifice! I squander what is given me, a squanderer with a
+thousand hands: how could I call that--sacrificing?
+
+And when I desired honey I only desired bait, and sweet mucus and
+mucilage, for which even the mouths of growling bears, and strange,
+sulky, evil birds, water:
+
+--The best bait, as huntsmen and fishermen require it. For if the world
+be as a gloomy forest of animals, and a pleasure-ground for all wild
+huntsmen, it seemeth to me rather--and preferably--a fathomless, rich
+sea;
+
+--A sea full of many-hued fishes and crabs, for which even the Gods
+might long, and might be tempted to become fishers in it, and casters of
+nets,--so rich is the world in wonderful things, great and small!
+
+Especially the human world, the human sea:--towards IT do I now throw
+out my golden angle-rod and say: Open up, thou human abyss!
+
+Open up, and throw unto me thy fish and shining crabs! With my best bait
+shall I allure to myself to-day the strangest human fish!
+
+--My happiness itself do I throw out into all places far and wide 'twixt
+orient, noontide, and occident, to see if many human fish will not learn
+to hug and tug at my happiness;--
+
+Until, biting at my sharp hidden hooks, they have to come up unto MY
+height, the motleyest abyss-groundlings, to the wickedest of all fishers
+of men.
+
+For THIS am I from the heart and from the beginning--drawing,
+hither-drawing, upward-drawing, upbringing; a drawer, a trainer, a
+training-master, who not in vain counselled himself once on a time:
+"Become what thou art!"
+
+Thus may men now come UP to me; for as yet do I await the signs that it
+is time for my down-going; as yet do I not myself go down, as I must do,
+amongst men.
+
+Therefore do I here wait, crafty and scornful upon high mountains,
+no impatient one, no patient one; rather one who hath even unlearnt
+patience,--because he no longer "suffereth."
+
+For my fate giveth me time: it hath forgotten me perhaps? Or doth it sit
+behind a big stone and catch flies?
+
+And verily, I am well-disposed to mine eternal fate, because it doth not
+hound and hurry me, but leaveth me time for merriment and mischief; so
+that I have to-day ascended this high mountain to catch fish.
+
+Did ever any one catch fish upon high mountains? And though it be a
+folly what I here seek and do, it is better so than that down below I
+should become solemn with waiting, and green and yellow--
+
+--A posturing wrath-snorter with waiting, a holy howl-storm from
+the mountains, an impatient one that shouteth down into the valleys:
+"Hearken, else I will scourge you with the scourge of God!"
+
+Not that I would have a grudge against such wrathful ones on that
+account: they are well enough for laughter to me! Impatient must they
+now be, those big alarm-drums, which find a voice now or never!
+
+Myself, however, and my fate--we do not talk to the Present, neither
+do we talk to the Never: for talking we have patience and time and more
+than time. For one day must it yet come, and may not pass by.
+
+What must one day come and may not pass by? Our great Hazar, that is
+to say, our great, remote human-kingdom, the Zarathustra-kingdom of a
+thousand years--
+
+How remote may such "remoteness" be? What doth it concern me? But on
+that account it is none the less sure unto me--, with both feet stand I
+secure on this ground;
+
+--On an eternal ground, on hard primary rock, on this highest, hardest,
+primary mountain-ridge, unto which all winds come, as unto the
+storm-parting, asking Where? and Whence? and Whither?
+
+Here laugh, laugh, my hearty, healthy wickedness! From high mountains
+cast down thy glittering scorn-laughter! Allure for me with thy
+glittering the finest human fish!
+
+And whatever belongeth unto ME in all seas, my in-and-for-me in all
+things--fish THAT out for me, bring THAT up to me: for that do I wait,
+the wickedest of all fish-catchers.
+
+Out! out! my fishing-hook! In and down, thou bait of my happiness! Drip
+thy sweetest dew, thou honey of my heart! Bite, my fishing-hook, into
+the belly of all black affliction!
+
+Look out, look out, mine eye! Oh, how many seas round about me, what
+dawning human futures! And above me--what rosy red stillness! What
+unclouded silence!
+
+
+
+
+LXII. THE CRY OF DISTRESS.
+
+The next day sat Zarathustra again on the stone in front of his cave,
+whilst his animals roved about in the world outside to bring home new
+food,--also new honey: for Zarathustra had spent and wasted the old
+honey to the very last particle. When he thus sat, however, with a
+stick in his hand, tracing the shadow of his figure on the earth, and
+reflecting--verily! not upon himself and his shadow,--all at once he
+startled and shrank back: for he saw another shadow beside his own.
+And when he hastily looked around and stood up, behold, there stood the
+soothsayer beside him, the same whom he had once given to eat and drink
+at his table, the proclaimer of the great weariness, who taught: "All is
+alike, nothing is worth while, the world is without meaning, knowledge
+strangleth." But his face had changed since then; and when Zarathustra
+looked into his eyes, his heart was startled once more: so much evil
+announcement and ashy-grey lightnings passed over that countenance.
+
+The soothsayer, who had perceived what went on in Zarathustra's soul,
+wiped his face with his hand, as if he would wipe out the impression;
+the same did also Zarathustra. And when both of them had thus silently
+composed and strengthened themselves, they gave each other the hand, as
+a token that they wanted once more to recognise each other.
+
+"Welcome hither," said Zarathustra, "thou soothsayer of the great
+weariness, not in vain shalt thou once have been my messmate and guest.
+Eat and drink also with me to-day, and forgive it that a cheerful old
+man sitteth with thee at table!"--"A cheerful old man?" answered the
+soothsayer, shaking his head, "but whoever thou art, or wouldst be, O
+Zarathustra, thou hast been here aloft the longest time,--in a little
+while thy bark shall no longer rest on dry land!"--"Do I then rest
+on dry land?"--asked Zarathustra, laughing.--"The waves around thy
+mountain," answered the soothsayer, "rise and rise, the waves of great
+distress and affliction: they will soon raise thy bark also and carry
+thee away."--Thereupon was Zarathustra silent and wondered.--"Dost thou
+still hear nothing?" continued the soothsayer: "doth it not rush and
+roar out of the depth?"--Zarathustra was silent once more and listened:
+then heard he a long, long cry, which the abysses threw to one another
+and passed on; for none of them wished to retain it: so evil did it
+sound.
+
+"Thou ill announcer," said Zarathustra at last, "that is a cry of
+distress, and the cry of a man; it may come perhaps out of a black sea.
+But what doth human distress matter to me! My last sin which hath been
+reserved for me,--knowest thou what it is called?"
+
+--"PITY!" answered the soothsayer from an overflowing heart, and raised
+both his hands aloft--"O Zarathustra, I have come that I may seduce thee
+to thy last sin!"--
+
+And hardly had those words been uttered when there sounded the cry
+once more, and longer and more alarming than before--also much nearer.
+"Hearest thou? Hearest thou, O Zarathustra?" called out the soothsayer,
+"the cry concerneth thee, it calleth thee: Come, come, come; it is time,
+it is the highest time!"--
+
+Zarathustra was silent thereupon, confused and staggered; at last he
+asked, like one who hesitateth in himself: "And who is it that there
+calleth me?"
+
+"But thou knowest it, certainly," answered the soothsayer warmly, "why
+dost thou conceal thyself? It is THE HIGHER MAN that crieth for thee!"
+
+"The higher man?" cried Zarathustra, horror-stricken: "what wanteth HE?
+What wanteth HE? The higher man! What wanteth he here?"--and his skin
+covered with perspiration.
+
+The soothsayer, however, did not heed Zarathustra's alarm, but listened
+and listened in the downward direction. When, however, it had been still
+there for a long while, he looked behind, and saw Zarathustra standing
+trembling.
+
+"O Zarathustra," he began, with sorrowful voice, "thou dost not stand
+there like one whose happiness maketh him giddy: thou wilt have to dance
+lest thou tumble down!
+
+But although thou shouldst dance before me, and leap all thy side-leaps,
+no one may say unto me: 'Behold, here danceth the last joyous man!'
+
+In vain would any one come to this height who sought HIM here: caves
+would he find, indeed, and back-caves, hiding-places for hidden ones;
+but not lucky mines, nor treasure-chambers, nor new gold-veins of
+happiness.
+
+Happiness--how indeed could one find happiness among such buried-alive
+and solitary ones! Must I yet seek the last happiness on the Happy
+Isles, and far away among forgotten seas?
+
+But all is alike, nothing is worth while, no seeking is of service,
+there are no longer any Happy Isles!"--
+
+Thus sighed the soothsayer; with his last sigh, however, Zarathustra
+again became serene and assured, like one who hath come out of a deep
+chasm into the light. "Nay! Nay! Three times Nay!" exclaimed he with a
+strong voice, and stroked his beard--"THAT do I know better! There are
+still Happy Isles! Silence THEREON, thou sighing sorrow-sack!
+
+Cease to splash THEREON, thou rain-cloud of the forenoon! Do I not
+already stand here wet with thy misery, and drenched like a dog?
+
+Now do I shake myself and run away from thee, that I may again become
+dry: thereat mayest thou not wonder! Do I seem to thee discourteous?
+Here however is MY court.
+
+But as regards the higher man: well! I shall seek him at once in those
+forests: FROM THENCE came his cry. Perhaps he is there hard beset by an
+evil beast.
+
+He is in MY domain: therein shall he receive no scath! And verily, there
+are many evil beasts about me."--
+
+With those words Zarathustra turned around to depart. Then said the
+soothsayer: "O Zarathustra, thou art a rogue!
+
+I know it well: thou wouldst fain be rid of me! Rather wouldst thou run
+into the forest and lay snares for evil beasts!
+
+But what good will it do thee? In the evening wilt thou have me again:
+in thine own cave will I sit, patient and heavy like a block--and wait
+for thee!"
+
+"So be it!" shouted back Zarathustra, as he went away: "and what is mine
+in my cave belongeth also unto thee, my guest!
+
+Shouldst thou however find honey therein, well! just lick it up, thou
+growling bear, and sweeten thy soul! For in the evening we want both to
+be in good spirits;
+
+--In good spirits and joyful, because this day hath come to an end! And
+thou thyself shalt dance to my lays, as my dancing-bear.
+
+Thou dost not believe this? Thou shakest thy head? Well! Cheer up, old
+bear! But I also--am a soothsayer."
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+LXIII. TALK WITH THE KINGS.
+
+1.
+
+Ere Zarathustra had been an hour on his way in the mountains and
+forests, he saw all at once a strange procession. Right on the path
+which he was about to descend came two kings walking, bedecked with
+crowns and purple girdles, and variegated like flamingoes: they drove
+before them a laden ass. "What do these kings want in my domain?" said
+Zarathustra in astonishment to his heart, and hid himself hastily behind
+a thicket. When however the kings approached to him, he said half-aloud,
+like one speaking only to himself: "Strange! Strange! How doth this
+harmonise? Two kings do I see--and only one ass!"
+
+Thereupon the two kings made a halt; they smiled and looked towards the
+spot whence the voice proceeded, and afterwards looked into each other's
+faces. "Such things do we also think among ourselves," said the king on
+the right, "but we do not utter them."
+
+The king on the left, however, shrugged his shoulders and answered:
+"That may perhaps be a goat-herd. Or an anchorite who hath lived too
+long among rocks and trees. For no society at all spoileth also good
+manners."
+
+"Good manners?" replied angrily and bitterly the other king: "what
+then do we run out of the way of? Is it not 'good manners'? Our 'good
+society'?
+
+Better, verily, to live among anchorites and goat-herds, than with
+our gilded, false, over-rouged populace--though it call itself 'good
+society.'
+
+--Though it call itself 'nobility.' But there all is false and foul,
+above all the blood--thanks to old evil diseases and worse curers.
+
+The best and dearest to me at present is still a sound peasant, coarse,
+artful, obstinate and enduring: that is at present the noblest type.
+
+The peasant is at present the best; and the peasant type should be
+master! But it is the kingdom of the populace--I no longer allow
+anything to be imposed upon me. The populace, however--that meaneth,
+hodgepodge.
+
+Populace-hodgepodge: therein is everything mixed with everything, saint
+and swindler, gentleman and Jew, and every beast out of Noah's ark.
+
+Good manners! Everything is false and foul with us. No one knoweth any
+longer how to reverence: it is THAT precisely that we run away from.
+They are fulsome obtrusive dogs; they gild palm-leaves.
+
+This loathing choketh me, that we kings ourselves have become false,
+draped and disguised with the old faded pomp of our ancestors,
+show-pieces for the stupidest, the craftiest, and whosoever at present
+trafficketh for power.
+
+We ARE NOT the first men--and have nevertheless to STAND FOR them: of
+this imposture have we at last become weary and disgusted.
+
+From the rabble have we gone out of the way, from all those bawlers and
+scribe-blowflies, from the trader-stench, the ambition-fidgeting, the
+bad breath--: fie, to live among the rabble;
+
+--Fie, to stand for the first men among the rabble! Ah, loathing!
+Loathing! Loathing! What doth it now matter about us kings!"--
+
+"Thine old sickness seizeth thee," said here the king on the left, "thy
+loathing seizeth thee, my poor brother. Thou knowest, however, that some
+one heareth us."
+
+Immediately thereupon, Zarathustra, who had opened ears and eyes to this
+talk, rose from his hiding-place, advanced towards the kings, and thus
+began:
+
+"He who hearkeneth unto you, he who gladly hearkeneth unto you, is
+called Zarathustra.
+
+I am Zarathustra who once said: 'What doth it now matter about kings!'
+Forgive me; I rejoiced when ye said to each other: 'What doth it matter
+about us kings!'
+
+Here, however, is MY domain and jurisdiction: what may ye be seeking in
+my domain? Perhaps, however, ye have FOUND on your way what _I_ seek:
+namely, the higher man."
+
+When the kings heard this, they beat upon their breasts and said with
+one voice: "We are recognised!
+
+With the sword of thine utterance severest thou the thickest darkness of
+our hearts. Thou hast discovered our distress; for lo! we are on our way
+to find the higher man--
+
+--The man that is higher than we, although we are kings. To him do we
+convey this ass. For the highest man shall also be the highest lord on
+earth.
+
+There is no sorer misfortune in all human destiny, than when the mighty
+of the earth are not also the first men. Then everything becometh false
+and distorted and monstrous.
+
+And when they are even the last men, and more beast than man, then
+riseth and riseth the populace in honour, and at last saith even the
+populace-virtue: 'Lo, I alone am virtue!'"--
+
+What have I just heard? answered Zarathustra. What wisdom in kings! I
+am enchanted, and verily, I have already promptings to make a rhyme
+thereon:--
+
+--Even if it should happen to be a rhyme not suited for every one's
+ears. I unlearned long ago to have consideration for long ears. Well
+then! Well now!
+
+(Here, however, it happened that the ass also found utterance: it said
+distinctly and with malevolence, Y-E-A.)
+
+'Twas once--methinks year one of our blessed Lord,--Drunk without wine,
+the Sybil thus deplored:--"How ill things go! Decline! Decline! Ne'er
+sank the world so low! Rome now hath turned harlot and harlot-stew,
+Rome's Caesar a beast, and God--hath turned Jew!
+
+2.
+
+With those rhymes of Zarathustra the kings were delighted; the king on
+the right, however, said: "O Zarathustra, how well it was that we set
+out to see thee!
+
+For thine enemies showed us thy likeness in their mirror: there lookedst
+thou with the grimace of a devil, and sneeringly: so that we were afraid
+of thee.
+
+But what good did it do! Always didst thou prick us anew in heart and
+ear with thy sayings. Then did we say at last: What doth it matter how
+he look!
+
+We must HEAR him; him who teacheth: 'Ye shall love peace as a means to
+new wars, and the short peace more than the long!'
+
+No one ever spake such warlike words: 'What is good? To be brave is
+good. It is the good war that halloweth every cause.'
+
+O Zarathustra, our fathers' blood stirred in our veins at such words: it
+was like the voice of spring to old wine-casks.
+
+When the swords ran among one another like red-spotted serpents, then
+did our fathers become fond of life; the sun of every peace seemed to
+them languid and lukewarm, the long peace, however, made them ashamed.
+
+How they sighed, our fathers, when they saw on the wall brightly
+furbished, dried-up swords! Like those they thirsted for war. For a
+sword thirsteth to drink blood, and sparkleth with desire."--
+
+--When the kings thus discoursed and talked eagerly of the happiness of
+their fathers, there came upon Zarathustra no little desire to mock at
+their eagerness: for evidently they were very peaceable kings whom he
+saw before him, kings with old and refined features. But he restrained
+himself. "Well!" said he, "thither leadeth the way, there lieth the
+cave of Zarathustra; and this day is to have a long evening! At present,
+however, a cry of distress calleth me hastily away from you.
+
+It will honour my cave if kings want to sit and wait in it: but, to be
+sure, ye will have to wait long!
+
+Well! What of that! Where doth one at present learn better to wait
+than at courts? And the whole virtue of kings that hath remained unto
+them--is it not called to-day: ABILITY to wait?"
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+LXIV. THE LEECH.
+
+And Zarathustra went thoughtfully on, further and lower down, through
+forests and past moory bottoms; as it happeneth, however, to every one
+who meditateth upon hard matters, he trod thereby unawares upon a man.
+And lo, there spurted into his face all at once a cry of pain, and two
+curses and twenty bad invectives, so that in his fright he raised his
+stick and also struck the trodden one. Immediately afterwards, however,
+he regained his composure, and his heart laughed at the folly he had
+just committed.
+
+"Pardon me," said he to the trodden one, who had got up enraged, and had
+seated himself, "pardon me, and hear first of all a parable.
+
+As a wanderer who dreameth of remote things on a lonesome highway,
+runneth unawares against a sleeping dog, a dog which lieth in the sun:
+
+--As both of them then start up and snap at each other, like deadly
+enemies, those two beings mortally frightened--so did it happen unto us.
+
+And yet! And yet--how little was lacking for them to caress each other,
+that dog and that lonesome one! Are they not both--lonesome ones!"
+
+--"Whoever thou art," said the trodden one, still enraged, "thou
+treadest also too nigh me with thy parable, and not only with thy foot!
+
+Lo! am I then a dog?"--And thereupon the sitting one got up, and pulled
+his naked arm out of the swamp. For at first he had lain outstretched
+on the ground, hidden and indiscernible, like those who lie in wait for
+swamp-game.
+
+"But whatever art thou about!" called out Zarathustra in alarm, for he
+saw a deal of blood streaming over the naked arm,--"what hath hurt thee?
+Hath an evil beast bit thee, thou unfortunate one?"
+
+The bleeding one laughed, still angry, "What matter is it to thee!" said
+he, and was about to go on. "Here am I at home and in my province.
+Let him question me whoever will: to a dolt, however, I shall hardly
+answer."
+
+"Thou art mistaken," said Zarathustra sympathetically, and held him
+fast; "thou art mistaken. Here thou art not at home, but in my domain,
+and therein shall no one receive any hurt.
+
+Call me however what thou wilt--I am who I must be. I call myself
+Zarathustra.
+
+Well! Up thither is the way to Zarathustra's cave: it is not far,--wilt
+thou not attend to thy wounds at my home?
+
+It hath gone badly with thee, thou unfortunate one, in this life: first
+a beast bit thee, and then--a man trod upon thee!"--
+
+When however the trodden one had heard the name of Zarathustra he was
+transformed. "What happeneth unto me!" he exclaimed, "WHO preoccupieth
+me so much in this life as this one man, namely Zarathustra, and that
+one animal that liveth on blood, the leech?
+
+For the sake of the leech did I lie here by this swamp, like a fisher,
+and already had mine outstretched arm been bitten ten times, when there
+biteth a still finer leech at my blood, Zarathustra himself!
+
+O happiness! O miracle! Praised be this day which enticed me into the
+swamp! Praised be the best, the livest cupping-glass, that at present
+liveth; praised be the great conscience-leech Zarathustra!"--
+
+Thus spake the trodden one, and Zarathustra rejoiced at his words and
+their refined reverential style. "Who art thou?" asked he, and gave
+him his hand, "there is much to clear up and elucidate between us, but
+already methinketh pure clear day is dawning."
+
+"I am THE SPIRITUALLY CONSCIENTIOUS ONE," answered he who was asked,
+"and in matters of the spirit it is difficult for any one to take it
+more rigorously, more restrictedly, and more severely than I, except him
+from whom I learnt it, Zarathustra himself.
+
+Better know nothing than half-know many things! Better be a fool on
+one's own account, than a sage on other people's approbation! I--go to
+the basis:
+
+--What matter if it be great or small? If it be called swamp or sky?
+A handbreadth of basis is enough for me, if it be actually basis and
+ground!
+
+--A handbreadth of basis: thereon can one stand. In the true
+knowing-knowledge there is nothing great and nothing small."
+
+"Then thou art perhaps an expert on the leech?" asked Zarathustra; "and
+thou investigatest the leech to its ultimate basis, thou conscientious
+one?"
+
+"O Zarathustra," answered the trodden one, "that would be something
+immense; how could I presume to do so!
+
+That, however, of which I am master and knower, is the BRAIN of the
+leech:--that is MY world!
+
+And it is also a world! Forgive it, however, that my pride here findeth
+expression, for here I have not mine equal. Therefore said I: 'here am I
+at home.'
+
+How long have I investigated this one thing, the brain of the leech, so
+that here the slippery truth might no longer slip from me! Here is MY
+domain!
+
+--For the sake of this did I cast everything else aside, for the sake of
+this did everything else become indifferent to me; and close beside my
+knowledge lieth my black ignorance.
+
+My spiritual conscience requireth from me that it should be so--that I
+should know one thing, and not know all else: they are a loathing unto
+me, all the semi-spiritual, all the hazy, hovering, and visionary.
+
+Where mine honesty ceaseth, there am I blind, and want also to be blind.
+Where I want to know, however, there want I also to be honest--namely,
+severe, rigorous, restricted, cruel and inexorable.
+
+Because THOU once saidest, O Zarathustra: 'Spirit is life which itself
+cutteth into life';--that led and allured me to thy doctrine. And
+verily, with mine own blood have I increased mine own knowledge!"
+
+--"As the evidence indicateth," broke in Zarathustra; for still was the
+blood flowing down on the naked arm of the conscientious one. For there
+had ten leeches bitten into it.
+
+"O thou strange fellow, how much doth this very evidence teach
+me--namely, thou thyself! And not all, perhaps, might I pour into thy
+rigorous ear!
+
+Well then! We part here! But I would fain find thee again. Up thither is
+the way to my cave: to-night shalt thou there be my welcome guest!
+
+Fain would I also make amends to thy body for Zarathustra treading upon
+thee with his feet: I think about that. Just now, however, a cry of
+distress calleth me hastily away from thee."
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+LXV. THE MAGICIAN.
+
+1.
+
+When however Zarathustra had gone round a rock, then saw he on the same
+path, not far below him, a man who threw his limbs about like a maniac,
+and at last tumbled to the ground on his belly. "Halt!" said then
+Zarathustra to his heart, "he there must surely be the higher man, from
+him came that dreadful cry of distress,--I will see if I can help him."
+When, however, he ran to the spot where the man lay on the ground,
+he found a trembling old man, with fixed eyes; and in spite of all
+Zarathustra's efforts to lift him and set him again on his feet, it was
+all in vain. The unfortunate one, also, did not seem to notice that some
+one was beside him; on the contrary, he continually looked around with
+moving gestures, like one forsaken and isolated from all the world.
+At last, however, after much trembling, and convulsion, and
+curling-himself-up, he began to lament thus:
+
+     Who warm'th me, who lov'th me still?
+     Give ardent fingers!
+     Give heartening charcoal-warmers!
+     Prone, outstretched, trembling,
+     Like him, half dead and cold, whose feet one warm'th--
+     And shaken, ah! by unfamiliar fevers,
+     Shivering with sharpened, icy-cold frost-arrows,
+     By thee pursued, my fancy!
+     Ineffable!  Recondite!  Sore-frightening!
+     Thou huntsman 'hind the cloud-banks!
+     Now lightning-struck by thee,
+     Thou mocking eye that me in darkness watcheth:
+     --Thus do I lie,
+     Bend myself, twist myself, convulsed
+     With all eternal torture,
+     And smitten
+     By thee, cruellest huntsman,
+     Thou unfamiliar--GOD...
+
+     Smite deeper!
+     Smite yet once more!
+     Pierce through and rend my heart!
+     What mean'th this torture
+     With dull, indented arrows?
+     Why look'st thou hither,
+     Of human pain not weary,
+     With mischief-loving, godly flash-glances?
+     Not murder wilt thou,
+     But torture, torture?
+     For why--ME torture,
+     Thou mischief-loving, unfamiliar God?--
+
+     Ha!  Ha!
+     Thou stealest nigh
+     In midnight's gloomy hour?...
+     What wilt thou?
+     Speak!
+     Thou crowdst me, pressest--
+     Ha! now far too closely!
+     Thou hearst me breathing,
+     Thou o'erhearst my heart,
+     Thou ever jealous one!
+     --Of what, pray, ever jealous?
+     Off!  Off!
+     For why the ladder?
+     Wouldst thou GET IN?
+     To heart in-clamber?
+     To mine own secretest
+     Conceptions in-clamber?
+     Shameless one!  Thou unknown one!--Thief!
+     What seekst thou by thy stealing?
+     What seekst thou by thy hearkening?
+     What seekst thou by thy torturing?
+     Thou torturer!
+     Thou--hangman-God!
+     Or shall I, as the mastiffs do,
+     Roll me before thee?
+     And cringing, enraptured, frantical,
+     My tail friendly--waggle!
+
+     In vain!
+     Goad further!
+     Cruellest goader!
+     No dog--thy game just am I,
+     Cruellest huntsman!
+     Thy proudest of captives,
+     Thou robber 'hind the cloud-banks...
+     Speak finally!
+     Thou lightning-veiled one!  Thou unknown one!  Speak!
+     What wilt thou, highway-ambusher, from--ME?
+     What WILT thou, unfamiliar--God?
+     What?
+     Ransom-gold?
+     How much of ransom-gold?
+     Solicit much--that bid'th my pride!
+     And be concise--that bid'th mine other pride!
+
+     Ha!  Ha!
+     ME--wantst thou?  me?
+     --Entire?...
+
+     Ha!  Ha!
+     And torturest me, fool that thou art,
+     Dead-torturest quite my pride?
+     Give LOVE to me--who warm'th me still?
+     Who lov'th me still?--
+     Give ardent fingers
+     Give heartening charcoal-warmers,
+     Give me, the lonesomest,
+     The ice (ah! seven-fold frozen ice
+     For very enemies,
+     For foes, doth make one thirst).
+     Give, yield to me,
+     Cruellest foe,
+     --THYSELF!--
+
+     Away!
+     There fled he surely,
+     My final, only comrade,
+     My greatest foe,
+     Mine unfamiliar--
+     My hangman-God!...
+
+     --Nay!
+     Come thou back!
+     WITH all of thy great tortures!
+     To me the last of lonesome ones,
+     Oh, come thou back!
+     All my hot tears in streamlets trickle
+     Their course to thee!
+     And all my final hearty fervour--
+     Up-glow'th to THEE!
+     Oh, come thou back,
+     Mine unfamiliar God! my PAIN!
+     My final bliss!
+
+2.
+
+--Here, however, Zarathustra could no longer restrain himself; he took
+his staff and struck the wailer with all his might. "Stop this," cried
+he to him with wrathful laughter, "stop this, thou stage-player! Thou
+false coiner! Thou liar from the very heart! I know thee well!
+
+I will soon make warm legs to thee, thou evil magician: I know well
+how--to make it hot for such as thou!"
+
+--"Leave off," said the old man, and sprang up from the ground, "strike
+me no more, O Zarathustra! I did it only for amusement!
+
+That kind of thing belongeth to mine art. Thee thyself, I wanted to put
+to the proof when I gave this performance. And verily, thou hast well
+detected me!
+
+But thou thyself--hast given me no small proof of thyself: thou art
+HARD, thou wise Zarathustra! Hard strikest thou with thy 'truths,' thy
+cudgel forceth from me--THIS truth!"
+
+--"Flatter not," answered Zarathustra, still excited and frowning,
+"thou stage-player from the heart! Thou art false: why speakest thou--of
+truth!
+
+Thou peacock of peacocks, thou sea of vanity; WHAT didst thou represent
+before me, thou evil magician; WHOM was I meant to believe in when thou
+wailedst in such wise?"
+
+"THE PENITENT IN SPIRIT," said the old man, "it was him--I represented;
+thou thyself once devisedst this expression--
+
+--The poet and magician who at last turneth his spirit against himself,
+the transformed one who freezeth to death by his bad science and
+conscience.
+
+And just acknowledge it: it was long, O Zarathustra, before thou
+discoveredst my trick and lie! Thou BELIEVEDST in my distress when thou
+heldest my head with both thy hands,--
+
+--I heard thee lament 'we have loved him too little, loved him too
+little!' Because I so far deceived thee, my wickedness rejoiced in me."
+
+"Thou mayest have deceived subtler ones than I," said Zarathustra
+sternly. "I am not on my guard against deceivers; I HAVE TO BE without
+precaution: so willeth my lot.
+
+Thou, however,--MUST deceive: so far do I know thee! Thou must ever be
+equivocal, trivocal, quadrivocal, and quinquivocal! Even what thou hast
+now confessed, is not nearly true enough nor false enough for me!
+
+Thou bad false coiner, how couldst thou do otherwise! Thy very malady
+wouldst thou whitewash if thou showed thyself naked to thy physician.
+
+Thus didst thou whitewash thy lie before me when thou saidst: 'I did
+so ONLY for amusement!' There was also SERIOUSNESS therein, thou ART
+something of a penitent-in-spirit!
+
+I divine thee well: thou hast become the enchanter of all the world; but
+for thyself thou hast no lie or artifice left,--thou art disenchanted to
+thyself!
+
+Thou hast reaped disgust as thy one truth. No word in thee is any longer
+genuine, but thy mouth is so: that is to say, the disgust that cleaveth
+unto thy mouth."--
+
+--"Who art thou at all!" cried here the old magician with defiant voice,
+"who dareth to speak thus unto ME, the greatest man now living?"--and a
+green flash shot from his eye at Zarathustra. But immediately after he
+changed, and said sadly:
+
+"O Zarathustra, I am weary of it, I am disgusted with mine arts, I am
+not GREAT, why do I dissemble! But thou knowest it well--I sought for
+greatness!
+
+A great man I wanted to appear, and persuaded many; but the lie hath
+been beyond my power. On it do I collapse.
+
+O Zarathustra, everything is a lie in me; but that I collapse--this my
+collapsing is GENUINE!"--
+
+"It honoureth thee," said Zarathustra gloomily, looking down with
+sidelong glance, "it honoureth thee that thou soughtest for greatness,
+but it betrayeth thee also. Thou art not great.
+
+Thou bad old magician, THAT is the best and the honestest thing I honour
+in thee, that thou hast become weary of thyself, and hast expressed it:
+'I am not great.'
+
+THEREIN do I honour thee as a penitent-in-spirit, and although only for
+the twinkling of an eye, in that one moment wast thou--genuine.
+
+But tell me, what seekest thou here in MY forests and rocks? And if thou
+hast put thyself in MY way, what proof of me wouldst thou have?--
+
+--Wherein didst thou put ME to the test?"
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, and his eyes sparkled. But the old magician kept
+silence for a while; then said he: "Did I put thee to the test? I--seek
+only.
+
+O Zarathustra, I seek a genuine one, a right one, a simple one, an
+unequivocal one, a man of perfect honesty, a vessel of wisdom, a saint
+of knowledge, a great man!
+
+Knowest thou it not, O Zarathustra? I SEEK ZARATHUSTRA."
+
+--And here there arose a long silence between them: Zarathustra,
+however, became profoundly absorbed in thought, so that he shut his
+eyes. But afterwards coming back to the situation, he grasped the hand
+of the magician, and said, full of politeness and policy:
+
+"Well! Up thither leadeth the way, there is the cave of Zarathustra. In
+it mayest thou seek him whom thou wouldst fain find.
+
+And ask counsel of mine animals, mine eagle and my serpent: they shall
+help thee to seek. My cave however is large.
+
+I myself, to be sure--I have as yet seen no great man. That which is
+great, the acutest eye is at present insensible to it. It is the kingdom
+of the populace.
+
+Many a one have I found who stretched and inflated himself, and the
+people cried: 'Behold; a great man!' But what good do all bellows do!
+The wind cometh out at last.
+
+At last bursteth the frog which hath inflated itself too long: then
+cometh out the wind. To prick a swollen one in the belly, I call good
+pastime. Hear that, ye boys!
+
+Our to-day is of the populace: who still KNOWETH what is great and what
+is small! Who could there seek successfully for greatness! A fool only:
+it succeedeth with fools.
+
+Thou seekest for great men, thou strange fool? Who TAUGHT that to thee?
+Is to-day the time for it? Oh, thou bad seeker, why dost thou--tempt
+me?"--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, comforted in his heart, and went laughing on his
+way.
+
+
+
+
+LXVI. OUT OF SERVICE.
+
+Not long, however, after Zarathustra had freed himself from the
+magician, he again saw a person sitting beside the path which he
+followed, namely a tall, black man, with a haggard, pale countenance:
+THIS MAN grieved him exceedingly. "Alas," said he to his heart, "there
+sitteth disguised affliction; methinketh he is of the type of the
+priests: what do THEY want in my domain?
+
+What! Hardly have I escaped from that magician, and must another
+necromancer again run across my path,--
+
+--Some sorcerer with laying-on-of-hands, some sombre wonder-worker by
+the grace of God, some anointed world-maligner, whom, may the devil
+take!
+
+But the devil is never at the place which would be his right place: he
+always cometh too late, that cursed dwarf and club-foot!"--
+
+Thus cursed Zarathustra impatiently in his heart, and considered how
+with averted look he might slip past the black man. But behold, it came
+about otherwise. For at the same moment had the sitting one already
+perceived him; and not unlike one whom an unexpected happiness
+overtaketh, he sprang to his feet, and went straight towards
+Zarathustra.
+
+"Whoever thou art, thou traveller," said he, "help a strayed one, a
+seeker, an old man, who may here easily come to grief!
+
+The world here is strange to me, and remote; wild beasts also did I hear
+howling; and he who could have given me protection--he is himself no
+more.
+
+I was seeking the pious man, a saint and an anchorite, who, alone in his
+forest, had not yet heard of what all the world knoweth at present."
+
+"WHAT doth all the world know at present?" asked Zarathustra. "Perhaps
+that the old God no longer liveth, in whom all the world once believed?"
+
+"Thou sayest it," answered the old man sorrowfully. "And I served that
+old God until his last hour.
+
+Now, however, am I out of service, without master, and yet not free;
+likewise am I no longer merry even for an hour, except it be in
+recollections.
+
+Therefore did I ascend into these mountains, that I might finally have
+a festival for myself once more, as becometh an old pope and
+church-father: for know it, that I am the last pope!--a festival of
+pious recollections and divine services.
+
+Now, however, is he himself dead, the most pious of men, the saint in
+the forest, who praised his God constantly with singing and mumbling.
+
+He himself found I no longer when I found his cot--but two wolves found
+I therein, which howled on account of his death,--for all animals loved
+him. Then did I haste away.
+
+Had I thus come in vain into these forests and mountains? Then did my
+heart determine that I should seek another, the most pious of all
+those who believe not in God--, my heart determined that I should seek
+Zarathustra!"
+
+Thus spake the hoary man, and gazed with keen eyes at him who stood
+before him. Zarathustra however seized the hand of the old pope and
+regarded it a long while with admiration.
+
+"Lo! thou venerable one," said he then, "what a fine and long hand! That
+is the hand of one who hath ever dispensed blessings. Now, however, doth
+it hold fast him whom thou seekest, me, Zarathustra.
+
+It is I, the ungodly Zarathustra, who saith: 'Who is ungodlier than I,
+that I may enjoy his teaching?'"--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, and penetrated with his glances the thoughts and
+arrear-thoughts of the old pope. At last the latter began:
+
+"He who most loved and possessed him hath now also lost him most--:
+
+--Lo, I myself am surely the most godless of us at present? But who
+could rejoice at that!"--
+
+--"Thou servedst him to the last?" asked Zarathustra thoughtfully, after
+a deep silence, "thou knowest HOW he died? Is it true what they say,
+that sympathy choked him;
+
+--That he saw how MAN hung on the cross, and could not endure it;--that
+his love to man became his hell, and at last his death?"--
+
+The old pope however did not answer, but looked aside timidly, with a
+painful and gloomy expression.
+
+"Let him go," said Zarathustra, after prolonged meditation, still
+looking the old man straight in the eye.
+
+"Let him go, he is gone. And though it honoureth thee that thou speakest
+only in praise of this dead one, yet thou knowest as well as I WHO he
+was, and that he went curious ways."
+
+"To speak before three eyes," said the old pope cheerfully (he was blind
+of one eye), "in divine matters I am more enlightened than Zarathustra
+himself--and may well be so.
+
+My love served him long years, my will followed all his will. A good
+servant, however, knoweth everything, and many a thing even which a
+master hideth from himself.
+
+He was a hidden God, full of secrecy. Verily, he did not come by his
+son otherwise than by secret ways. At the door of his faith standeth
+adultery.
+
+Whoever extolleth him as a God of love, doth not think highly enough of
+love itself. Did not that God want also to be judge? But the loving one
+loveth irrespective of reward and requital.
+
+When he was young, that God out of the Orient, then was he harsh and
+revengeful, and built himself a hell for the delight of his favourites.
+
+At last, however, he became old and soft and mellow and pitiful,
+more like a grandfather than a father, but most like a tottering old
+grandmother.
+
+There did he sit shrivelled in his chimney-corner, fretting on account
+of his weak legs, world-weary, will-weary, and one day he suffocated of
+his all-too-great pity."--
+
+"Thou old pope," said here Zarathustra interposing, "hast thou seen THAT
+with thine eyes? It could well have happened in that way: in that way,
+AND also otherwise. When Gods die they always die many kinds of death.
+
+Well! At all events, one way or other--he is gone! He was counter to the
+taste of mine ears and eyes; worse than that I should not like to say
+against him.
+
+I love everything that looketh bright and speaketh honestly. But
+he--thou knowest it, forsooth, thou old priest, there was something of
+thy type in him, the priest-type--he was equivocal.
+
+He was also indistinct. How he raged at us, this wrath-snorter, because
+we understood him badly! But why did he not speak more clearly?
+
+And if the fault lay in our ears, why did he give us ears that heard him
+badly? If there was dirt in our ears, well! who put it in them?
+
+Too much miscarried with him, this potter who had not learned
+thoroughly! That he took revenge on his pots and creations, however,
+because they turned out badly--that was a sin against GOOD TASTE.
+
+There is also good taste in piety: THIS at last said: 'Away with SUCH
+a God! Better to have no God, better to set up destiny on one's own
+account, better to be a fool, better to be God oneself!'"
+
+--"What do I hear!" said then the old pope, with intent ears; "O
+Zarathustra, thou art more pious than thou believest, with such an
+unbelief! Some God in thee hath converted thee to thine ungodliness.
+
+Is it not thy piety itself which no longer letteth thee believe in a
+God? And thine over-great honesty will yet lead thee even beyond good
+and evil!
+
+Behold, what hath been reserved for thee? Thou hast eyes and hands and
+mouth, which have been predestined for blessing from eternity. One doth
+not bless with the hand alone.
+
+Nigh unto thee, though thou professest to be the ungodliest one, I feel
+a hale and holy odour of long benedictions: I feel glad and grieved
+thereby.
+
+Let me be thy guest, O Zarathustra, for a single night! Nowhere on earth
+shall I now feel better than with thee!"--
+
+"Amen! So shall it be!" said Zarathustra, with great astonishment; "up
+thither leadeth the way, there lieth the cave of Zarathustra.
+
+Gladly, forsooth, would I conduct thee thither myself, thou venerable
+one; for I love all pious men. But now a cry of distress calleth me
+hastily away from thee.
+
+In my domain shall no one come to grief; my cave is a good haven. And
+best of all would I like to put every sorrowful one again on firm land
+and firm legs.
+
+Who, however, could take THY melancholy off thy shoulders? For that I am
+too weak. Long, verily, should we have to wait until some one re-awoke
+thy God for thee.
+
+For that old God liveth no more: he is indeed dead."--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+LXVII. THE UGLIEST MAN.
+
+--And again did Zarathustra's feet run through mountains and forests,
+and his eyes sought and sought, but nowhere was he to be seen whom they
+wanted to see--the sorely distressed sufferer and crier. On the whole
+way, however, he rejoiced in his heart and was full of gratitude. "What
+good things," said he, "hath this day given me, as amends for its bad
+beginning! What strange interlocutors have I found!
+
+At their words will I now chew a long while as at good corn; small
+shall my teeth grind and crush them, until they flow like milk into my
+soul!"--
+
+When, however, the path again curved round a rock, all at once the
+landscape changed, and Zarathustra entered into a realm of death. Here
+bristled aloft black and red cliffs, without any grass, tree, or bird's
+voice. For it was a valley which all animals avoided, even the beasts of
+prey, except that a species of ugly, thick, green serpent came here to
+die when they became old. Therefore the shepherds called this valley:
+"Serpent-death."
+
+Zarathustra, however, became absorbed in dark recollections, for it
+seemed to him as if he had once before stood in this valley. And much
+heaviness settled on his mind, so that he walked slowly and always more
+slowly, and at last stood still. Then, however, when he opened his eyes,
+he saw something sitting by the wayside shaped like a man, and hardly
+like a man, something nondescript. And all at once there came over
+Zarathustra a great shame, because he had gazed on such a thing.
+Blushing up to the very roots of his white hair, he turned aside his
+glance, and raised his foot that he might leave this ill-starred place.
+Then, however, became the dead wilderness vocal: for from the ground a
+noise welled up, gurgling and rattling, as water gurgleth and rattleth
+at night through stopped-up water-pipes; and at last it turned into
+human voice and human speech:--it sounded thus:
+
+"Zarathustra! Zarathustra! Read my riddle! Say, say! WHAT IS THE REVENGE
+ON THE WITNESS?
+
+I entice thee back; here is smooth ice! See to it, see to it, that thy
+pride doth not here break its legs!
+
+Thou thinkest thyself wise, thou proud Zarathustra! Read then the
+riddle, thou hard nut-cracker,--the riddle that I am! Say then: who am
+_I_!"
+
+--When however Zarathustra had heard these words,--what think ye then
+took place in his soul? PITY OVERCAME HIM; and he sank down all at
+once, like an oak that hath long withstood many tree-fellers,--heavily,
+suddenly, to the terror even of those who meant to fell it. But
+immediately he got up again from the ground, and his countenance became
+stern.
+
+"I know thee well," said he, with a brazen voice, "THOU ART THE MURDERER
+OF GOD! Let me go.
+
+Thou couldst not ENDURE him who beheld THEE,--who ever beheld thee
+through and through, thou ugliest man. Thou tookest revenge on this
+witness!"
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra and was about to go; but the nondescript grasped
+at a corner of his garment and began anew to gurgle and seek for words.
+"Stay," said he at last--
+
+--"Stay! Do not pass by! I have divined what axe it was that struck thee
+to the ground: hail to thee, O Zarathustra, that thou art again upon thy
+feet!
+
+Thou hast divined, I know it well, how the man feeleth who killed
+him,--the murderer of God. Stay! Sit down here beside me; it is not to
+no purpose.
+
+To whom would I go but unto thee? Stay, sit down! Do not however look at
+me! Honour thus--mine ugliness!
+
+They persecute me: now art THOU my last refuge. NOT with their hatred,
+NOT with their bailiffs;--Oh, such persecution would I mock at, and be
+proud and cheerful!
+
+Hath not all success hitherto been with the well-persecuted ones? And
+he who persecuteth well learneth readily to be OBSEQUENT--when once he
+is--put behind! But it is their PITY--
+
+--Their pity is it from which I flee away and flee to thee. O
+Zarathustra, protect me, thou, my last refuge, thou sole one who
+divinedst me:
+
+--Thou hast divined how the man feeleth who killed HIM. Stay! And if
+thou wilt go, thou impatient one, go not the way that I came. THAT way
+is bad.
+
+Art thou angry with me because I have already racked language too long?
+Because I have already counselled thee? But know that it is I, the
+ugliest man,
+
+--Who have also the largest, heaviest feet. Where _I_ have gone, the way
+is bad. I tread all paths to death and destruction.
+
+But that thou passedst me by in silence, that thou blushedst--I saw it
+well: thereby did I know thee as Zarathustra.
+
+Every one else would have thrown to me his alms, his pity, in look and
+speech. But for that--I am not beggar enough: that didst thou divine.
+
+For that I am too RICH, rich in what is great, frightful, ugliest, most
+unutterable! Thy shame, O Zarathustra, HONOURED me!
+
+With difficulty did I get out of the crowd of the pitiful,--that I might
+find the only one who at present teacheth that 'pity is obtrusive'--
+thyself, O Zarathustra!
+
+--Whether it be the pity of a God, or whether it be human pity, it is
+offensive to modesty. And unwillingness to help may be nobler than the
+virtue that rusheth to do so.
+
+THAT however--namely, pity--is called virtue itself at present by
+all petty people:--they have no reverence for great misfortune, great
+ugliness, great failure.
+
+Beyond all these do I look, as a dog looketh over the backs of thronging
+flocks of sheep. They are petty, good-wooled, good-willed, grey people.
+
+As the heron looketh contemptuously at shallow pools, with backward-bent
+head, so do I look at the throng of grey little waves and wills and
+souls.
+
+Too long have we acknowledged them to be right, those petty people: SO
+we have at last given them power as well;--and now do they teach that
+'good is only what petty people call good.'
+
+And 'truth' is at present what the preacher spake who himself sprang
+from them, that singular saint and advocate of the petty people, who
+testified of himself: 'I--am the truth.'
+
+That immodest one hath long made the petty people greatly puffed up,--he
+who taught no small error when he taught: 'I--am the truth.'
+
+Hath an immodest one ever been answered more courteously?--Thou,
+however, O Zarathustra, passedst him by, and saidst: 'Nay! Nay! Three
+times Nay!'
+
+Thou warnedst against his error; thou warnedst--the first to do
+so--against pity:--not every one, not none, but thyself and thy type.
+
+Thou art ashamed of the shame of the great sufferer; and verily when
+thou sayest: 'From pity there cometh a heavy cloud; take heed, ye men!'
+
+--When thou teachest: 'All creators are hard, all great love is beyond
+their pity:' O Zarathustra, how well versed dost thou seem to me in
+weather-signs!
+
+Thou thyself, however,--warn thyself also against THY pity! For many are
+on their way to thee, many suffering, doubting, despairing, drowning,
+freezing ones--
+
+I warn thee also against myself. Thou hast read my best, my worst
+riddle, myself, and what I have done. I know the axe that felleth thee.
+
+But he--HAD TO die: he looked with eyes which beheld EVERYTHING,--he
+beheld men's depths and dregs, all his hidden ignominy and ugliness.
+
+His pity knew no modesty: he crept into my dirtiest corners. This most
+prying, over-intrusive, over-pitiful one had to die.
+
+He ever beheld ME: on such a witness I would have revenge--or not live
+myself.
+
+The God who beheld everything, AND ALSO MAN: that God had to die! Man
+cannot ENDURE it that such a witness should live."
+
+Thus spake the ugliest man. Zarathustra however got up, and prepared to
+go on: for he felt frozen to the very bowels.
+
+"Thou nondescript," said he, "thou warnedst me against thy path. As
+thanks for it I praise mine to thee. Behold, up thither is the cave of
+Zarathustra.
+
+My cave is large and deep and hath many corners; there findeth he
+that is most hidden his hiding-place. And close beside it, there are
+a hundred lurking-places and by-places for creeping, fluttering, and
+hopping creatures.
+
+Thou outcast, who hast cast thyself out, thou wilt not live amongst men
+and men's pity? Well then, do like me! Thus wilt thou learn also from
+me; only the doer learneth.
+
+And talk first and foremost to mine animals! The proudest animal and the
+wisest animal--they might well be the right counsellors for us both!"--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra and went his way, more thoughtfully and slowly
+even than before: for he asked himself many things, and hardly knew what
+to answer.
+
+"How poor indeed is man," thought he in his heart, "how ugly, how
+wheezy, how full of hidden shame!
+
+They tell me that man loveth himself. Ah, how great must that self-love
+be! How much contempt is opposed to it!
+
+Even this man hath loved himself, as he hath despised himself,--a great
+lover methinketh he is, and a great despiser.
+
+No one have I yet found who more thoroughly despised himself: even THAT
+is elevation. Alas, was THIS perhaps the higher man whose cry I heard?
+
+I love the great despisers. Man is something that hath to be
+surpassed."--
+
+
+
+
+LXVIII. THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR.
+
+When Zarathustra had left the ugliest man, he was chilled and felt
+lonesome: for much coldness and lonesomeness came over his spirit, so
+that even his limbs became colder thereby. When, however, he wandered
+on and on, uphill and down, at times past green meadows, though also
+sometimes over wild stony couches where formerly perhaps an impatient
+brook had made its bed, then he turned all at once warmer and heartier
+again.
+
+"What hath happened unto me?" he asked himself, "something warm and
+living quickeneth me; it must be in the neighbourhood.
+
+Already am I less alone; unconscious companions and brethren rove around
+me; their warm breath toucheth my soul."
+
+When, however, he spied about and sought for the comforters of his
+lonesomeness, behold, there were kine there standing together on an
+eminence, whose proximity and smell had warmed his heart. The kine,
+however, seemed to listen eagerly to a speaker, and took no heed of him
+who approached. When, however, Zarathustra was quite nigh unto them,
+then did he hear plainly that a human voice spake in the midst of the
+kine, and apparently all of them had turned their heads towards the
+speaker.
+
+Then ran Zarathustra up speedily and drove the animals aside; for he
+feared that some one had here met with harm, which the pity of the
+kine would hardly be able to relieve. But in this he was deceived; for
+behold, there sat a man on the ground who seemed to be persuading
+the animals to have no fear of him, a peaceable man and
+Preacher-on-the-Mount, out of whose eyes kindness itself preached. "What
+dost thou seek here?" called out Zarathustra in astonishment.
+
+"What do I here seek?" answered he: "the same that thou seekest, thou
+mischief-maker; that is to say, happiness upon earth.
+
+To that end, however, I would fain learn of these kine. For I tell thee
+that I have already talked half a morning unto them, and just now were
+they about to give me their answer. Why dost thou disturb them?
+
+Except we be converted and become as kine, we shall in no wise enter
+into the kingdom of heaven. For we ought to learn from them one thing:
+ruminating.
+
+And verily, although a man should gain the whole world, and yet not
+learn one thing, ruminating, what would it profit him! He would not be
+rid of his affliction,
+
+--His great affliction: that, however, is at present called DISGUST. Who
+hath not at present his heart, his mouth and his eyes full of disgust?
+Thou also! Thou also! But behold these kine!"--
+
+Thus spake the Preacher-on-the-Mount, and turned then his own look
+towards Zarathustra--for hitherto it had rested lovingly on the kine--:
+then, however, he put on a different expression. "Who is this with whom
+I talk?" he exclaimed frightened, and sprang up from the ground.
+
+"This is the man without disgust, this is Zarathustra himself, the
+surmounter of the great disgust, this is the eye, this is the mouth,
+this is the heart of Zarathustra himself."
+
+And whilst he thus spake he kissed with o'erflowing eyes the hands
+of him with whom he spake, and behaved altogether like one to whom a
+precious gift and jewel hath fallen unawares from heaven. The kine,
+however, gazed at it all and wondered.
+
+"Speak not of me, thou strange one; thou amiable one!" said Zarathustra,
+and restrained his affection, "speak to me firstly of thyself! Art thou
+not the voluntary beggar who once cast away great riches,--
+
+--Who was ashamed of his riches and of the rich, and fled to the poorest
+to bestow upon them his abundance and his heart? But they received him
+not."
+
+"But they received me not," said the voluntary beggar, "thou knowest it,
+forsooth. So I went at last to the animals and to those kine."
+
+"Then learnedst thou," interrupted Zarathustra, "how much harder it is
+to give properly than to take properly, and that bestowing well is an
+ART--the last, subtlest master-art of kindness."
+
+"Especially nowadays," answered the voluntary beggar: "at present, that
+is to say, when everything low hath become rebellious and exclusive and
+haughty in its manner--in the manner of the populace.
+
+For the hour hath come, thou knowest it forsooth, for the great, evil,
+long, slow mob-and-slave-insurrection: it extendeth and extendeth!
+
+Now doth it provoke the lower classes, all benevolence and petty giving;
+and the overrich may be on their guard!
+
+Whoever at present drip, like bulgy bottles out of all-too-small
+necks:--of such bottles at present one willingly breaketh the necks.
+
+Wanton avidity, bilious envy, careworn revenge, populace-pride: all
+these struck mine eye. It is no longer true that the poor are blessed.
+The kingdom of heaven, however, is with the kine."
+
+"And why is it not with the rich?" asked Zarathustra temptingly, while
+he kept back the kine which sniffed familiarly at the peaceful one.
+
+"Why dost thou tempt me?" answered the other. "Thou knowest it thyself
+better even than I. What was it drove me to the poorest, O Zarathustra?
+Was it not my disgust at the richest?
+
+--At the culprits of riches, with cold eyes and rank thoughts, who pick
+up profit out of all kinds of rubbish--at this rabble that stinketh to
+heaven,
+
+--At this gilded, falsified populace, whose fathers were pickpockets,
+or carrion-crows, or rag-pickers, with wives compliant, lewd and
+forgetful:--for they are all of them not far different from harlots--
+
+Populace above, populace below! What are 'poor' and 'rich' at present!
+That distinction did I unlearn,--then did I flee away further and ever
+further, until I came to those kine."
+
+Thus spake the peaceful one, and puffed himself and perspired with
+his words: so that the kine wondered anew. Zarathustra, however, kept
+looking into his face with a smile, all the time the man talked so
+severely--and shook silently his head.
+
+"Thou doest violence to thyself, thou Preacher-on-the-Mount, when thou
+usest such severe words. For such severity neither thy mouth nor thine
+eye have been given thee.
+
+Nor, methinketh, hath thy stomach either: unto IT all such rage and
+hatred and foaming-over is repugnant. Thy stomach wanteth softer things:
+thou art not a butcher.
+
+Rather seemest thou to me a plant-eater and a root-man. Perhaps thou
+grindest corn. Certainly, however, thou art averse to fleshly joys, and
+thou lovest honey."
+
+"Thou hast divined me well," answered the voluntary beggar, with
+lightened heart. "I love honey, I also grind corn; for I have sought out
+what tasteth sweetly and maketh pure breath:
+
+--Also what requireth a long time, a day's-work and a mouth's-work for
+gentle idlers and sluggards.
+
+Furthest, to be sure, have those kine carried it: they have devised
+ruminating and lying in the sun. They also abstain from all heavy
+thoughts which inflate the heart."
+
+--"Well!" said Zarathustra, "thou shouldst also see MINE animals, mine
+eagle and my serpent,--their like do not at present exist on earth.
+
+Behold, thither leadeth the way to my cave: be to-night its guest. And
+talk to mine animals of the happiness of animals,--
+
+--Until I myself come home. For now a cry of distress calleth me hastily
+away from thee. Also, shouldst thou find new honey with me, ice-cold,
+golden-comb-honey, eat it!
+
+Now, however, take leave at once of thy kine, thou strange one! thou
+amiable one! though it be hard for thee. For they are thy warmest
+friends and preceptors!"--
+
+--"One excepted, whom I hold still dearer," answered the voluntary
+beggar. "Thou thyself art good, O Zarathustra, and better even than a
+cow!"
+
+"Away, away with thee! thou evil flatterer!" cried Zarathustra
+mischievously, "why dost thou spoil me with such praise and
+flattery-honey?
+
+"Away, away from me!" cried he once more, and heaved his stick at the
+fond beggar, who, however, ran nimbly away.
+
+
+
+
+LXIX. THE SHADOW.
+
+Scarcely however was the voluntary beggar gone in haste, and Zarathustra
+again alone, when he heard behind him a new voice which called out:
+"Stay! Zarathustra! Do wait! It is myself, forsooth, O Zarathustra,
+myself, thy shadow!" But Zarathustra did not wait; for a sudden
+irritation came over him on account of the crowd and the crowding in his
+mountains. "Whither hath my lonesomeness gone?" spake he.
+
+"It is verily becoming too much for me; these mountains swarm; my
+kingdom is no longer of THIS world; I require new mountains.
+
+My shadow calleth me? What matter about my shadow! Let it run after me!
+I--run away from it."
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra to his heart and ran away. But the one behind
+followed after him, so that immediately there were three runners,
+one after the other--namely, foremost the voluntary beggar, then
+Zarathustra, and thirdly, and hindmost, his shadow. But not long had
+they run thus when Zarathustra became conscious of his folly, and shook
+off with one jerk all his irritation and detestation.
+
+"What!" said he, "have not the most ludicrous things always happened to
+us old anchorites and saints?
+
+Verily, my folly hath grown big in the mountains! Now do I hear six old
+fools' legs rattling behind one another!
+
+But doth Zarathustra need to be frightened by his shadow? Also,
+methinketh that after all it hath longer legs than mine."
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, and, laughing with eyes and entrails, he stood
+still and turned round quickly--and behold, he almost thereby threw his
+shadow and follower to the ground, so closely had the latter followed at
+his heels, and so weak was he. For when Zarathustra scrutinised him
+with his glance he was frightened as by a sudden apparition, so slender,
+swarthy, hollow and worn-out did this follower appear.
+
+"Who art thou?" asked Zarathustra vehemently, "what doest thou here? And
+why callest thou thyself my shadow? Thou art not pleasing unto me."
+
+"Forgive me," answered the shadow, "that it is I; and if I please thee
+not--well, O Zarathustra! therein do I admire thee and thy good taste.
+
+A wanderer am I, who have walked long at thy heels; always on the way,
+but without a goal, also without a home: so that verily, I lack little
+of being the eternally Wandering Jew, except that I am not eternal and
+not a Jew.
+
+What? Must I ever be on the way? Whirled by every wind, unsettled,
+driven about? O earth, thou hast become too round for me!
+
+On every surface have I already sat, like tired dust have I fallen
+asleep on mirrors and window-panes: everything taketh from me, nothing
+giveth; I become thin--I am almost equal to a shadow.
+
+After thee, however, O Zarathustra, did I fly and hie longest; and
+though I hid myself from thee, I was nevertheless thy best shadow:
+wherever thou hast sat, there sat I also.
+
+With thee have I wandered about in the remotest, coldest worlds, like a
+phantom that voluntarily haunteth winter roofs and snows.
+
+With thee have I pushed into all the forbidden, all the worst and the
+furthest: and if there be anything of virtue in me, it is that I have
+had no fear of any prohibition.
+
+With thee have I broken up whatever my heart revered; all
+boundary-stones and statues have I o'erthrown; the most dangerous wishes
+did I pursue,--verily, beyond every crime did I once go.
+
+With thee did I unlearn the belief in words and worths and in great
+names. When the devil casteth his skin, doth not his name also fall
+away? It is also skin. The devil himself is perhaps--skin.
+
+'Nothing is true, all is permitted': so said I to myself. Into the
+coldest water did I plunge with head and heart. Ah, how oft did I stand
+there naked on that account, like a red crab!
+
+Ah, where have gone all my goodness and all my shame and all my belief
+in the good! Ah, where is the lying innocence which I once possessed,
+the innocence of the good and of their noble lies!
+
+Too oft, verily, did I follow close to the heels of truth: then did it
+kick me on the face. Sometimes I meant to lie, and behold! then only did
+I hit--the truth.
+
+Too much hath become clear unto me: now it doth not concern me any more.
+Nothing liveth any longer that I love,--how should I still love myself?
+
+'To live as I incline, or not to live at all': so do I wish; so wisheth
+also the holiest. But alas! how have _I_ still--inclination?
+
+Have _I_--still a goal? A haven towards which MY sail is set?
+
+A good wind? Ah, he only who knoweth WHITHER he saileth, knoweth what
+wind is good, and a fair wind for him.
+
+What still remaineth to me? A heart weary and flippant; an unstable
+will; fluttering wings; a broken backbone.
+
+This seeking for MY home: O Zarathustra, dost thou know that this
+seeking hath been MY home-sickening; it eateth me up.
+
+'WHERE is--MY home?' For it do I ask and seek, and have sought, but
+have not found it. O eternal everywhere, O eternal nowhere, O
+eternal--in-vain!"
+
+Thus spake the shadow, and Zarathustra's countenance lengthened at his
+words. "Thou art my shadow!" said he at last sadly.
+
+"Thy danger is not small, thou free spirit and wanderer! Thou hast had a
+bad day: see that a still worse evening doth not overtake thee!
+
+To such unsettled ones as thou, seemeth at last even a prisoner blessed.
+Didst thou ever see how captured criminals sleep? They sleep quietly,
+they enjoy their new security.
+
+Beware lest in the end a narrow faith capture thee, a hard, rigorous
+delusion! For now everything that is narrow and fixed seduceth and
+tempteth thee.
+
+Thou hast lost thy goal. Alas, how wilt thou forego and forget that
+loss? Thereby--hast thou also lost thy way!
+
+Thou poor rover and rambler, thou tired butterfly! wilt thou have a rest
+and a home this evening? Then go up to my cave!
+
+Thither leadeth the way to my cave. And now will I run quickly away from
+thee again. Already lieth as it were a shadow upon me.
+
+I will run alone, so that it may again become bright around me.
+Therefore must I still be a long time merrily upon my legs. In the
+evening, however, there will be--dancing with me!"--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+LXX. NOONTIDE.
+
+--And Zarathustra ran and ran, but he found no one else, and was alone
+and ever found himself again; he enjoyed and quaffed his solitude, and
+thought of good things--for hours. About the hour of noontide, however,
+when the sun stood exactly over Zarathustra's head, he passed an old,
+bent and gnarled tree, which was encircled round by the ardent love of
+a vine, and hidden from itself; from this there hung yellow grapes in
+abundance, confronting the wanderer. Then he felt inclined to quench a
+little thirst, and to break off for himself a cluster of grapes. When,
+however, he had already his arm out-stretched for that purpose, he felt
+still more inclined for something else--namely, to lie down beside the
+tree at the hour of perfect noontide and sleep.
+
+This Zarathustra did; and no sooner had he laid himself on the ground in
+the stillness and secrecy of the variegated grass, than he had forgotten
+his little thirst, and fell asleep. For as the proverb of Zarathustra
+saith: "One thing is more necessary than the other." Only that his eyes
+remained open:--for they never grew weary of viewing and admiring the
+tree and the love of the vine. In falling asleep, however, Zarathustra
+spake thus to his heart:
+
+"Hush! Hush! Hath not the world now become perfect? What hath happened
+unto me?
+
+As a delicate wind danceth invisibly upon parqueted seas, light,
+feather-light, so--danceth sleep upon me.
+
+No eye doth it close to me, it leaveth my soul awake. Light is it,
+verily, feather-light.
+
+It persuadeth me, I know not how, it toucheth me inwardly with a
+caressing hand, it constraineth me. Yea, it constraineth me, so that my
+soul stretcheth itself out:--
+
+--How long and weary it becometh, my strange soul! Hath a seventh-day
+evening come to it precisely at noontide? Hath it already wandered too
+long, blissfully, among good and ripe things?
+
+It stretcheth itself out, long--longer! it lieth still, my strange
+soul. Too many good things hath it already tasted; this golden sadness
+oppresseth it, it distorteth its mouth.
+
+--As a ship that putteth into the calmest cove:--it now draweth up to
+the land, weary of long voyages and uncertain seas. Is not the land more
+faithful?
+
+As such a ship huggeth the shore, tuggeth the shore:--then it sufficeth
+for a spider to spin its thread from the ship to the land. No stronger
+ropes are required there.
+
+As such a weary ship in the calmest cove, so do I also now repose, nigh
+to the earth, faithful, trusting, waiting, bound to it with the lightest
+threads.
+
+O happiness! O happiness! Wilt thou perhaps sing, O my soul? Thou liest
+in the grass. But this is the secret, solemn hour, when no shepherd
+playeth his pipe.
+
+Take care! Hot noontide sleepeth on the fields. Do not sing! Hush! The
+world is perfect.
+
+Do not sing, thou prairie-bird, my soul! Do not even whisper! Lo--hush!
+The old noontide sleepeth, it moveth its mouth: doth it not just now
+drink a drop of happiness--
+
+--An old brown drop of golden happiness, golden wine? Something whisketh
+over it, its happiness laugheth. Thus--laugheth a God. Hush!--
+
+--'For happiness, how little sufficeth for happiness!' Thus spake I
+once and thought myself wise. But it was a blasphemy: THAT have I now
+learned. Wise fools speak better.
+
+The least thing precisely, the gentlest thing, the lightest thing, a
+lizard's rustling, a breath, a whisk, an eye-glance--LITTLE maketh up
+the BEST happiness. Hush!
+
+--What hath befallen me: Hark! Hath time flown away? Do I not fall? Have
+I not fallen--hark! into the well of eternity?
+
+--What happeneth to me? Hush! It stingeth me--alas--to the heart? To
+the heart! Oh, break up, break up, my heart, after such happiness, after
+such a sting!
+
+--What? Hath not the world just now become perfect? Round and ripe? Oh,
+for the golden round ring--whither doth it fly? Let me run after it!
+Quick!
+
+Hush--" (and here Zarathustra stretched himself, and felt that he was
+asleep.)
+
+"Up!" said he to himself, "thou sleeper! Thou noontide sleeper! Well
+then, up, ye old legs! It is time and more than time; many a good
+stretch of road is still awaiting you--
+
+Now have ye slept your fill; for how long a time? A half-eternity! Well
+then, up now, mine old heart! For how long after such a sleep mayest
+thou--remain awake?"
+
+(But then did he fall asleep anew, and his soul spake against him and
+defended itself, and lay down again)--"Leave me alone! Hush! Hath not
+the world just now become perfect? Oh, for the golden round ball!--
+
+"Get up," said Zarathustra, "thou little thief, thou sluggard! What!
+Still stretching thyself, yawning, sighing, falling into deep wells?
+
+Who art thou then, O my soul!" (and here he became frightened, for a
+sunbeam shot down from heaven upon his face.)
+
+"O heaven above me," said he sighing, and sat upright, "thou gazest at
+me? Thou hearkenest unto my strange soul?
+
+When wilt thou drink this drop of dew that fell down upon all earthly
+things,--when wilt thou drink this strange soul--
+
+--When, thou well of eternity! thou joyous, awful, noontide abyss! when
+wilt thou drink my soul back into thee?"
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, and rose from his couch beside the tree, as if
+awakening from a strange drunkenness: and behold! there stood the
+sun still exactly above his head. One might, however, rightly infer
+therefrom that Zarathustra had not then slept long.
+
+
+
+
+LXXI. THE GREETING.
+
+It was late in the afternoon only when Zarathustra, after long useless
+searching and strolling about, again came home to his cave. When,
+however, he stood over against it, not more than twenty paces therefrom,
+the thing happened which he now least of all expected: he heard anew the
+great CRY OF DISTRESS. And extraordinary! this time the cry came out
+of his own cave. It was a long, manifold, peculiar cry, and Zarathustra
+plainly distinguished that it was composed of many voices: although
+heard at a distance it might sound like the cry out of a single mouth.
+
+Thereupon Zarathustra rushed forward to his cave, and behold! what a
+spectacle awaited him after that concert! For there did they all sit
+together whom he had passed during the day: the king on the right and
+the king on the left, the old magician, the pope, the voluntary
+beggar, the shadow, the intellectually conscientious one, the sorrowful
+soothsayer, and the ass; the ugliest man, however, had set a crown on
+his head, and had put round him two purple girdles,--for he liked, like
+all ugly ones, to disguise himself and play the handsome person. In the
+midst, however, of that sorrowful company stood Zarathustra's eagle,
+ruffled and disquieted, for it had been called upon to answer too much
+for which its pride had not any answer; the wise serpent however hung
+round its neck.
+
+All this did Zarathustra behold with great astonishment; then however he
+scrutinised each individual guest with courteous curiosity, read their
+souls and wondered anew. In the meantime the assembled ones had risen
+from their seats, and waited with reverence for Zarathustra to speak.
+Zarathustra however spake thus:
+
+"Ye despairing ones! Ye strange ones! So it was YOUR cry of distress
+that I heard? And now do I know also where he is to be sought, whom I
+have sought for in vain to-day: THE HIGHER MAN--:
+
+--In mine own cave sitteth he, the higher man! But why do I wonder! Have
+not I myself allured him to me by honey-offerings and artful lure-calls
+of my happiness?
+
+But it seemeth to me that ye are badly adapted for company: ye make
+one another's hearts fretful, ye that cry for help, when ye sit here
+together? There is one that must first come,
+
+--One who will make you laugh once more, a good jovial buffoon, a
+dancer, a wind, a wild romp, some old fool:--what think ye?
+
+Forgive me, however, ye despairing ones, for speaking such trivial words
+before you, unworthy, verily, of such guests! But ye do not divine WHAT
+maketh my heart wanton:--
+
+--Ye yourselves do it, and your aspect, forgive it me! For every one
+becometh courageous who beholdeth a despairing one. To encourage a
+despairing one--every one thinketh himself strong enough to do so.
+
+To myself have ye given this power,--a good gift, mine honourable
+guests! An excellent guest's-present! Well, do not then upbraid when I
+also offer you something of mine.
+
+This is mine empire and my dominion: that which is mine, however, shall
+this evening and tonight be yours. Mine animals shall serve you: let my
+cave be your resting-place!
+
+At house and home with me shall no one despair: in my purlieus do I
+protect every one from his wild beasts. And that is the first thing
+which I offer you: security!
+
+The second thing, however, is my little finger. And when ye have THAT,
+then take the whole hand also, yea, and the heart with it! Welcome here,
+welcome to you, my guests!"
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, and laughed with love and mischief. After this
+greeting his guests bowed once more and were reverentially silent; the
+king on the right, however, answered him in their name.
+
+"O Zarathustra, by the way in which thou hast given us thy hand and thy
+greeting, we recognise thee as Zarathustra. Thou hast humbled thyself
+before us; almost hast thou hurt our reverence--:
+
+--Who however could have humbled himself as thou hast done, with such
+pride? THAT uplifteth us ourselves; a refreshment is it, to our eyes and
+hearts.
+
+To behold this, merely, gladly would we ascend higher mountains than
+this. For as eager beholders have we come; we wanted to see what
+brighteneth dim eyes.
+
+And lo! now is it all over with our cries of distress. Now are our minds
+and hearts open and enraptured. Little is lacking for our spirits to
+become wanton.
+
+There is nothing, O Zarathustra, that groweth more pleasingly on earth
+than a lofty, strong will: it is the finest growth. An entire landscape
+refresheth itself at one such tree.
+
+To the pine do I compare him, O Zarathustra, which groweth up like
+thee--tall, silent, hardy, solitary, of the best, supplest wood,
+stately,--
+
+--In the end, however, grasping out for ITS dominion with strong, green
+branches, asking weighty questions of the wind, the storm, and whatever
+is at home on high places;
+
+--Answering more weightily, a commander, a victor! Oh! who should not
+ascend high mountains to behold such growths?
+
+At thy tree, O Zarathustra, the gloomy and ill-constituted also refresh
+themselves; at thy look even the wavering become steady and heal their
+hearts.
+
+And verily, towards thy mountain and thy tree do many eyes turn to-day;
+a great longing hath arisen, and many have learned to ask: 'Who is
+Zarathustra?'
+
+And those into whose ears thou hast at any time dripped thy song and thy
+honey: all the hidden ones, the lone-dwellers and the twain-dwellers,
+have simultaneously said to their hearts:
+
+'Doth Zarathustra still live? It is no longer worth while to live,
+everything is indifferent, everything is useless: or else--we must live
+with Zarathustra!'
+
+'Why doth he not come who hath so long announced himself?' thus do many
+people ask; 'hath solitude swallowed him up? Or should we perhaps go to
+him?'
+
+Now doth it come to pass that solitude itself becometh fragile and
+breaketh open, like a grave that breaketh open and can no longer hold
+its dead. Everywhere one seeth resurrected ones.
+
+Now do the waves rise and rise around thy mountain, O Zarathustra. And
+however high be thy height, many of them must rise up to thee: thy boat
+shall not rest much longer on dry ground.
+
+And that we despairing ones have now come into thy cave, and already no
+longer despair:--it is but a prognostic and a presage that better ones
+are on the way to thee,--
+
+--For they themselves are on the way to thee, the last remnant of
+God among men--that is to say, all the men of great longing, of great
+loathing, of great satiety,
+
+--All who do not want to live unless they learn again to HOPE--unless
+they learn from thee, O Zarathustra, the GREAT hope!"
+
+Thus spake the king on the right, and seized the hand of Zarathustra in
+order to kiss it; but Zarathustra checked his veneration, and stepped
+back frightened, fleeing as it were, silently and suddenly into the far
+distance. After a little while, however, he was again at home with his
+guests, looked at them with clear scrutinising eyes, and said:
+
+"My guests, ye higher men, I will speak plain language and plainly with
+you. It is not for YOU that I have waited here in these mountains."
+
+("'Plain language and plainly?' Good God!" said here the king on the
+left to himself; "one seeth he doth not know the good Occidentals, this
+sage out of the Orient!
+
+But he meaneth 'blunt language and bluntly'--well! That is not the worst
+taste in these days!")
+
+"Ye may, verily, all of you be higher men," continued Zarathustra; "but
+for me--ye are neither high enough, nor strong enough.
+
+For me, that is to say, for the inexorable which is now silent in me,
+but will not always be silent. And if ye appertain to me, still it is
+not as my right arm.
+
+For he who himself standeth, like you, on sickly and tender legs,
+wisheth above all to be TREATED INDULGENTLY, whether he be conscious of
+it or hide it from himself.
+
+My arms and my legs, however, I do not treat indulgently, I DO NOT TREAT
+MY WARRIORS INDULGENTLY: how then could ye be fit for MY warfare?
+
+With you I should spoil all my victories. And many of you would tumble
+over if ye but heard the loud beating of my drums.
+
+Moreover, ye are not sufficiently beautiful and well-born for me. I
+require pure, smooth mirrors for my doctrines; on your surface even mine
+own likeness is distorted.
+
+On your shoulders presseth many a burden, many a recollection; many a
+mischievous dwarf squatteth in your corners. There is concealed populace
+also in you.
+
+And though ye be high and of a higher type, much in you is crooked and
+misshapen. There is no smith in the world that could hammer you right
+and straight for me.
+
+Ye are only bridges: may higher ones pass over upon you! Ye signify
+steps: so do not upbraid him who ascendeth beyond you into HIS height!
+
+Out of your seed there may one day arise for me a genuine son and
+perfect heir: but that time is distant. Ye yourselves are not those unto
+whom my heritage and name belong.
+
+Not for you do I wait here in these mountains; not with you may I
+descend for the last time. Ye have come unto me only as a presage that
+higher ones are on the way to me,--
+
+--NOT the men of great longing, of great loathing, of great satiety, and
+that which ye call the remnant of God;
+
+--Nay! Nay! Three times Nay! For OTHERS do I wait here in these
+mountains, and will not lift my foot from thence without them;
+
+--For higher ones, stronger ones, triumphanter ones, merrier ones, for
+such as are built squarely in body and soul: LAUGHING LIONS must come!
+
+O my guests, ye strange ones--have ye yet heard nothing of my children?
+And that they are on the way to me?
+
+Do speak unto me of my gardens, of my Happy Isles, of my new beautiful
+race--why do ye not speak unto me thereof?
+
+This guests'-present do I solicit of your love, that ye speak unto me of
+my children. For them am I rich, for them I became poor: what have I not
+surrendered,
+
+--What would I not surrender that I might have one thing: THESE
+children, THIS living plantation, THESE life-trees of my will and of my
+highest hope!"
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, and stopped suddenly in his discourse: for his
+longing came over him, and he closed his eyes and his mouth, because
+of the agitation of his heart. And all his guests also were silent, and
+stood still and confounded: except only that the old soothsayer made
+signs with his hands and his gestures.
+
+
+
+
+LXXII. THE SUPPER.
+
+For at this point the soothsayer interrupted the greeting of Zarathustra
+and his guests: he pressed forward as one who had no time to lose,
+seized Zarathustra's hand and exclaimed: "But Zarathustra!
+
+One thing is more necessary than the other, so sayest thou thyself:
+well, one thing is now more necessary UNTO ME than all others.
+
+A word at the right time: didst thou not invite me to TABLE? And here
+are many who have made long journeys. Thou dost not mean to feed us
+merely with discourses?
+
+Besides, all of you have thought too much about freezing, drowning,
+suffocating, and other bodily dangers: none of you, however, have
+thought of MY danger, namely, perishing of hunger-"
+
+(Thus spake the soothsayer. When Zarathustra's animals, however, heard
+these words, they ran away in terror. For they saw that all they
+had brought home during the day would not be enough to fill the one
+soothsayer.)
+
+"Likewise perishing of thirst," continued the soothsayer. "And although
+I hear water splashing here like words of wisdom--that is to say,
+plenteously and unweariedly, I--want WINE!
+
+Not every one is a born water-drinker like Zarathustra. Neither doth
+water suit weary and withered ones: WE deserve wine--IT alone giveth
+immediate vigour and improvised health!"
+
+On this occasion, when the soothsayer was longing for wine, it happened
+that the king on the left, the silent one, also found expression for
+once. "WE took care," said he, "about wine, I, along with my brother the
+king on the right: we have enough of wine,--a whole ass-load of it. So
+there is nothing lacking but bread."
+
+"Bread," replied Zarathustra, laughing when he spake, "it is precisely
+bread that anchorites have not. But man doth not live by bread alone,
+but also by the flesh of good lambs, of which I have two:
+
+--THESE shall we slaughter quickly, and cook spicily with sage: it is
+so that I like them. And there is also no lack of roots and fruits,
+good enough even for the fastidious and dainty,--nor of nuts and other
+riddles for cracking.
+
+Thus will we have a good repast in a little while. But whoever wish to
+eat with us must also give a hand to the work, even the kings. For with
+Zarathustra even a king may be a cook."
+
+This proposal appealed to the hearts of all of them, save that the
+voluntary beggar objected to the flesh and wine and spices.
+
+"Just hear this glutton Zarathustra!" said he jokingly: "doth one go
+into caves and high mountains to make such repasts?
+
+Now indeed do I understand what he once taught us: Blessed be moderate
+poverty!' And why he wisheth to do away with beggars."
+
+"Be of good cheer," replied Zarathustra, "as I am. Abide by thy
+customs, thou excellent one: grind thy corn, drink thy water, praise thy
+cooking,--if only it make thee glad!
+
+I am a law only for mine own; I am not a law for all. He, however, who
+belongeth unto me must be strong of bone and light of foot,--
+
+--Joyous in fight and feast, no sulker, no John o' Dreams, ready for the
+hardest task as for the feast, healthy and hale.
+
+The best belongeth unto mine and me; and if it be not given us, then do
+we take it:--the best food, the purest sky, the strongest thoughts, the
+fairest women!"--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra; the king on the right however answered and said:
+"Strange! Did one ever hear such sensible things out of the mouth of a
+wise man?
+
+And verily, it is the strangest thing in a wise man, if over and above,
+he be still sensible, and not an ass."
+
+Thus spake the king on the right and wondered; the ass however, with
+ill-will, said YE-A to his remark. This however was the beginning of
+that long repast which is called "The Supper" in the history-books. At
+this there was nothing else spoken of but THE HIGHER MAN.
+
+
+
+
+LXXIII. THE HIGHER MAN.
+
+1.
+
+When I came unto men for the first time, then did I commit the anchorite
+folly, the great folly: I appeared on the market-place.
+
+And when I spake unto all, I spake unto none. In the evening, however,
+rope-dancers were my companions, and corpses; and I myself almost a
+corpse.
+
+With the new morning, however, there came unto me a new truth: then did
+I learn to say: "Of what account to me are market-place and populace and
+populace-noise and long populace-ears!"
+
+Ye higher men, learn THIS from me: On the market-place no one believeth
+in higher men. But if ye will speak there, very well! The populace,
+however, blinketh: "We are all equal."
+
+"Ye higher men,"--so blinketh the populace--"there are no higher men, we
+are all equal; man is man, before God--we are all equal!"
+
+Before God!--Now, however, this God hath died. Before the populace,
+however, we will not be equal. Ye higher men, away from the
+market-place!
+
+2.
+
+Before God!--Now however this God hath died! Ye higher men, this God was
+your greatest danger.
+
+Only since he lay in the grave have ye again arisen. Now only cometh the
+great noontide, now only doth the higher man become--master!
+
+Have ye understood this word, O my brethren? Ye are frightened: do your
+hearts turn giddy? Doth the abyss here yawn for you? Doth the hell-hound
+here yelp at you?
+
+Well! Take heart! ye higher men! Now only travaileth the mountain of the
+human future. God hath died: now do WE desire--the Superman to live.
+
+3.
+
+The most careful ask to-day: "How is man to be maintained?" Zarathustra
+however asketh, as the first and only one: "How is man to be SURPASSED?"
+
+The Superman, I have at heart; THAT is the first and only thing to
+me--and NOT man: not the neighbour, not the poorest, not the sorriest,
+not the best.--
+
+O my brethren, what I can love in man is that he is an over-going and a
+down-going. And also in you there is much that maketh me love and hope.
+
+In that ye have despised, ye higher men, that maketh me hope. For the
+great despisers are the great reverers.
+
+In that ye have despaired, there is much to honour. For ye have not
+learned to submit yourselves, ye have not learned petty policy.
+
+For to-day have the petty people become master: they all preach
+submission and humility and policy and diligence and consideration and
+the long et cetera of petty virtues.
+
+Whatever is of the effeminate type, whatever originateth from the
+servile type, and especially the populace-mishmash:--THAT wisheth now to
+be master of all human destiny--O disgust! Disgust! Disgust!
+
+THAT asketh and asketh and never tireth: "How is man to maintain himself
+best, longest, most pleasantly?" Thereby--are they the masters of
+to-day.
+
+These masters of to-day--surpass them, O my brethren--these petty
+people: THEY are the Superman's greatest danger!
+
+Surpass, ye higher men, the petty virtues, the petty policy, the
+sand-grain considerateness, the ant-hill trumpery, the pitiable
+comfortableness, the "happiness of the greatest number"--!
+
+And rather despair than submit yourselves. And verily, I love you,
+because ye know not to-day how to live, ye higher men! For thus do YE
+live--best!
+
+4.
+
+Have ye courage, O my brethren? Are ye stout-hearted? NOT the courage
+before witnesses, but anchorite and eagle courage, which not even a God
+any longer beholdeth?
+
+Cold souls, mules, the blind and the drunken, I do not call
+stout-hearted. He hath heart who knoweth fear, but VANQUISHETH it; who
+seeth the abyss, but with PRIDE.
+
+He who seeth the abyss, but with eagle's eyes,--he who with eagle's
+talons GRASPETH the abyss: he hath courage.--
+
+5.
+
+"Man is evil"--so said to me for consolation, all the wisest ones. Ah,
+if only it be still true to-day! For the evil is man's best force.
+
+"Man must become better and eviler"--so do _I_ teach. The evilest is
+necessary for the Superman's best.
+
+It may have been well for the preacher of the petty people to suffer and
+be burdened by men's sin. I, however, rejoice in great sin as my great
+CONSOLATION.--
+
+Such things, however, are not said for long ears. Every word, also,
+is not suited for every mouth. These are fine far-away things: at them
+sheep's claws shall not grasp!
+
+6.
+
+Ye higher men, think ye that I am here to put right what ye have put
+wrong?
+
+Or that I wished henceforth to make snugger couches for you sufferers?
+Or show you restless, miswandering, misclimbing ones, new and easier
+footpaths?
+
+Nay! Nay! Three times Nay! Always more, always better ones of your
+type shall succumb,--for ye shall always have it worse and harder. Thus
+only--
+
+--Thus only groweth man aloft to the height where the lightning striketh
+and shattereth him: high enough for the lightning!
+
+Towards the few, the long, the remote go forth my soul and my seeking:
+of what account to me are your many little, short miseries!
+
+Ye do not yet suffer enough for me! For ye suffer from yourselves, ye
+have not yet suffered FROM MAN. Ye would lie if ye spake otherwise! None
+of you suffereth from what _I_ have suffered.--
+
+7.
+
+It is not enough for me that the lightning no longer doeth harm. I do
+not wish to conduct it away: it shall learn--to work for ME.--
+
+My wisdom hath accumulated long like a cloud, it becometh stiller and
+darker. So doeth all wisdom which shall one day bear LIGHTNINGS.--
+
+Unto these men of to-day will I not be LIGHT, nor be called light.
+THEM--will I blind: lightning of my wisdom! put out their eyes!
+
+8.
+
+Do not will anything beyond your power: there is a bad falseness in
+those who will beyond their power.
+
+Especially when they will great things! For they awaken distrust in
+great things, these subtle false-coiners and stage-players:--
+
+--Until at last they are false towards themselves, squint-eyed, whited
+cankers, glossed over with strong words, parade virtues and brilliant
+false deeds.
+
+Take good care there, ye higher men! For nothing is more precious to me,
+and rarer, than honesty.
+
+Is this to-day not that of the populace? The populace however knoweth
+not what is great and what is small, what is straight and what is
+honest: it is innocently crooked, it ever lieth.
+
+9.
+
+Have a good distrust to-day ye, higher men, ye enheartened ones! Ye
+open-hearted ones! And keep your reasons secret! For this to-day is that
+of the populace.
+
+What the populace once learned to believe without reasons, who could--
+refute it to them by means of reasons?
+
+And on the market-place one convinceth with gestures. But reasons make
+the populace distrustful.
+
+And when truth hath once triumphed there, then ask yourselves with good
+distrust: "What strong error hath fought for it?"
+
+Be on your guard also against the learned! They hate you, because they
+are unproductive! They have cold, withered eyes before which every bird
+is unplumed.
+
+Such persons vaunt about not lying: but inability to lie is still far
+from being love to truth. Be on your guard!
+
+Freedom from fever is still far from being knowledge! Refrigerated
+spirits I do not believe in. He who cannot lie, doth not know what truth
+is.
+
+10.
+
+If ye would go up high, then use your own legs! Do not get yourselves
+CARRIED aloft; do not seat yourselves on other people's backs and heads!
+
+Thou hast mounted, however, on horseback? Thou now ridest briskly up
+to thy goal? Well, my friend! But thy lame foot is also with thee on
+horseback!
+
+When thou reachest thy goal, when thou alightest from thy horse:
+precisely on thy HEIGHT, thou higher man,--then wilt thou stumble!
+
+11.
+
+Ye creating ones, ye higher men! One is only pregnant with one's own
+child.
+
+Do not let yourselves be imposed upon or put upon! Who then is YOUR
+neighbour? Even if ye act "for your neighbour"--ye still do not create
+for him!
+
+Unlearn, I pray you, this "for," ye creating ones: your very virtue
+wisheth you to have naught to do with "for" and "on account of" and
+"because." Against these false little words shall ye stop your ears.
+
+"For one's neighbour," is the virtue only of the petty people: there it
+is said "like and like," and "hand washeth hand":--they have neither the
+right nor the power for YOUR self-seeking!
+
+In your self-seeking, ye creating ones, there is the foresight and
+foreseeing of the pregnant! What no one's eye hath yet seen, namely, the
+fruit--this, sheltereth and saveth and nourisheth your entire love.
+
+Where your entire love is, namely, with your child, there is also your
+entire virtue! Your work, your will is YOUR "neighbour": let no false
+values impose upon you!
+
+12.
+
+Ye creating ones, ye higher men! Whoever hath to give birth is sick;
+whoever hath given birth, however, is unclean.
+
+Ask women: one giveth birth, not because it giveth pleasure. The pain
+maketh hens and poets cackle.
+
+Ye creating ones, in you there is much uncleanliness. That is because ye
+have had to be mothers.
+
+A new child: oh, how much new filth hath also come into the world! Go
+apart! He who hath given birth shall wash his soul!
+
+13.
+
+Be not virtuous beyond your powers! And seek nothing from yourselves
+opposed to probability!
+
+Walk in the footsteps in which your fathers' virtue hath already walked!
+How would ye rise high, if your fathers' will should not rise with you?
+
+He, however, who would be a firstling, let him take care lest he also
+become a lastling! And where the vices of your fathers are, there should
+ye not set up as saints!
+
+He whose fathers were inclined for women, and for strong wine and flesh
+of wildboar swine; what would it be if he demanded chastity of himself?
+
+A folly would it be! Much, verily, doth it seem to me for such a one, if
+he should be the husband of one or of two or of three women.
+
+And if he founded monasteries, and inscribed over their portals: "The
+way to holiness,"--I should still say: What good is it! it is a new
+folly!
+
+He hath founded for himself a penance-house and refuge-house: much good
+may it do! But I do not believe in it.
+
+In solitude there groweth what any one bringeth into it--also the brute
+in one's nature. Thus is solitude inadvisable unto many.
+
+Hath there ever been anything filthier on earth than the saints of
+the wilderness? AROUND THEM was not only the devil loose--but also the
+swine.
+
+14.
+
+Shy, ashamed, awkward, like the tiger whose spring hath failed--thus, ye
+higher men, have I often seen you slink aside. A CAST which ye made had
+failed.
+
+But what doth it matter, ye dice-players! Ye had not learned to play and
+mock, as one must play and mock! Do we not ever sit at a great table of
+mocking and playing?
+
+And if great things have been a failure with you, have ye yourselves
+therefore--been a failure? And if ye yourselves have been a failure,
+hath man therefore--been a failure? If man, however, hath been a
+failure: well then! never mind!
+
+15.
+
+The higher its type, always the seldomer doth a thing succeed. Ye higher
+men here, have ye not all--been failures?
+
+Be of good cheer; what doth it matter? How much is still possible! Learn
+to laugh at yourselves, as ye ought to laugh!
+
+What wonder even that ye have failed and only half-succeeded, ye
+half-shattered ones! Doth not--man's FUTURE strive and struggle in you?
+
+Man's furthest, profoundest, star-highest issues, his prodigious
+powers--do not all these foam through one another in your vessel?
+
+What wonder that many a vessel shattereth! Learn to laugh at yourselves,
+as ye ought to laugh! Ye higher men, O, how much is still possible!
+
+And verily, how much hath already succeeded! How rich is this earth in
+small, good, perfect things, in well-constituted things!
+
+Set around you small, good, perfect things, ye higher men. Their golden
+maturity healeth the heart. The perfect teacheth one to hope.
+
+16.
+
+What hath hitherto been the greatest sin here on earth? Was it not the
+word of him who said: "Woe unto them that laugh now!"
+
+Did he himself find no cause for laughter on the earth? Then he sought
+badly. A child even findeth cause for it.
+
+He--did not love sufficiently: otherwise would he also have loved
+us, the laughing ones! But he hated and hooted us; wailing and
+teeth-gnashing did he promise us.
+
+Must one then curse immediately, when one doth not love? That--seemeth
+to me bad taste. Thus did he, however, this absolute one. He sprang from
+the populace.
+
+And he himself just did not love sufficiently; otherwise would he have
+raged less because people did not love him. All great love doth not SEEK
+love:--it seeketh more.
+
+Go out of the way of all such absolute ones! They are a poor sickly
+type, a populace-type: they look at this life with ill-will, they have
+an evil eye for this earth.
+
+Go out of the way of all such absolute ones! They have heavy feet and
+sultry hearts:--they do not know how to dance. How could the earth be
+light to such ones!
+
+17.
+
+Tortuously do all good things come nigh to their goal. Like cats
+they curve their backs, they purr inwardly with their approaching
+happiness,--all good things laugh.
+
+His step betrayeth whether a person already walketh on HIS OWN path:
+just see me walk! He, however, who cometh nigh to his goal, danceth.
+
+And verily, a statue have I not become, not yet do I stand there stiff,
+stupid and stony, like a pillar; I love fast racing.
+
+And though there be on earth fens and dense afflictions, he who hath
+light feet runneth even across the mud, and danceth, as upon well-swept
+ice.
+
+Lift up your hearts, my brethren, high, higher! And do not forget your
+legs! Lift up also your legs, ye good dancers, and better still, if ye
+stand upon your heads!
+
+18.
+
+This crown of the laughter, this rose-garland crown: I myself have put
+on this crown, I myself have consecrated my laughter. No one else have I
+found to-day potent enough for this.
+
+Zarathustra the dancer, Zarathustra the light one, who beckoneth with
+his pinions, one ready for flight, beckoning unto all birds, ready and
+prepared, a blissfully light-spirited one:--
+
+Zarathustra the soothsayer, Zarathustra the sooth-laugher, no impatient
+one, no absolute one, one who loveth leaps and side-leaps; I myself have
+put on this crown!
+
+19.
+
+Lift up your hearts, my brethren, high, higher! And do not forget your
+legs! Lift up also your legs, ye good dancers, and better still if ye
+stand upon your heads!
+
+There are also heavy animals in a state of happiness, there are
+club-footed ones from the beginning. Curiously do they exert themselves,
+like an elephant which endeavoureth to stand upon its head.
+
+Better, however, to be foolish with happiness than foolish with
+misfortune, better to dance awkwardly than walk lamely. So learn, I
+pray you, my wisdom, ye higher men: even the worst thing hath two good
+reverse sides,--
+
+--Even the worst thing hath good dancing-legs: so learn, I pray you, ye
+higher men, to put yourselves on your proper legs!
+
+So unlearn, I pray you, the sorrow-sighing, and all the
+populace-sadness! Oh, how sad the buffoons of the populace seem to me
+to-day! This to-day, however, is that of the populace.
+
+20.
+
+Do like unto the wind when it rusheth forth from its mountain-caves:
+unto its own piping will it dance; the seas tremble and leap under its
+footsteps.
+
+That which giveth wings to asses, that which milketh the lionesses:--
+praised be that good, unruly spirit, which cometh like a hurricane unto
+all the present and unto all the populace,--
+
+--Which is hostile to thistle-heads and puzzle-heads, and to all
+withered leaves and weeds:--praised be this wild, good, free spirit of
+the storm, which danceth upon fens and afflictions, as upon meadows!
+
+Which hateth the consumptive populace-dogs, and all the ill-constituted,
+sullen brood:--praised be this spirit of all free spirits, the laughing
+storm, which bloweth dust into the eyes of all the melanopic and
+melancholic!
+
+Ye higher men, the worst thing in you is that ye have none of you
+learned to dance as ye ought to dance--to dance beyond yourselves! What
+doth it matter that ye have failed!
+
+How many things are still possible! So LEARN to laugh beyond yourselves!
+Lift up your hearts, ye good dancers, high! higher! And do not forget
+the good laughter!
+
+This crown of the laughter, this rose-garland crown: to you my brethren
+do I cast this crown! Laughing have I consecrated; ye higher men, LEARN,
+I pray you--to laugh!
+
+
+
+
+LXXIV. THE SONG OF MELANCHOLY.
+
+1.
+
+When Zarathustra spake these sayings, he stood nigh to the entrance of
+his cave; with the last words, however, he slipped away from his guests,
+and fled for a little while into the open air.
+
+"O pure odours around me," cried he, "O blessed stillness around me! But
+where are mine animals? Hither, hither, mine eagle and my serpent!
+
+Tell me, mine animals: these higher men, all of them--do they perhaps
+not SMELL well? O pure odours around me! Now only do I know and feel how
+I love you, mine animals."
+
+--And Zarathustra said once more: "I love you, mine animals!" The eagle,
+however, and the serpent pressed close to him when he spake these
+words, and looked up to him. In this attitude were they all three silent
+together, and sniffed and sipped the good air with one another. For the
+air here outside was better than with the higher men.
+
+2.
+
+Hardly, however, had Zarathustra left the cave when the old magician got
+up, looked cunningly about him, and said: "He is gone!
+
+And already, ye higher men--let me tickle you with this complimentary
+and flattering name, as he himself doeth--already doth mine evil spirit
+of deceit and magic attack me, my melancholy devil,
+
+--Which is an adversary to this Zarathustra from the very heart: forgive
+it for this! Now doth it wish to conjure before you, it hath just ITS
+hour; in vain do I struggle with this evil spirit.
+
+Unto all of you, whatever honours ye like to assume in your names,
+whether ye call yourselves 'the free spirits' or 'the conscientious,'
+or 'the penitents of the spirit,' or 'the unfettered,' or 'the great
+longers,'--
+
+--Unto all of you, who like me suffer FROM THE GREAT LOATHING, to
+whom the old God hath died, and as yet no new God lieth in cradles and
+swaddling clothes--unto all of you is mine evil spirit and magic-devil
+favourable.
+
+I know you, ye higher men, I know him,--I know also this fiend whom I
+love in spite of me, this Zarathustra: he himself often seemeth to me
+like the beautiful mask of a saint,
+
+--Like a new strange mummery in which mine evil spirit, the melancholy
+devil, delighteth:--I love Zarathustra, so doth it often seem to me, for
+the sake of mine evil spirit.--
+
+But already doth IT attack me and constrain me, this spirit of
+melancholy, this evening-twilight devil: and verily, ye higher men, it
+hath a longing--
+
+--Open your eyes!--it hath a longing to come NAKED, whether male or
+female, I do not yet know: but it cometh, it constraineth me, alas! open
+your wits!
+
+The day dieth out, unto all things cometh now the evening, also unto
+the best things; hear now, and see, ye higher men, what devil--man or
+woman--this spirit of evening-melancholy is!"
+
+Thus spake the old magician, looked cunningly about him, and then seized
+his harp.
+
+3.
+
+     In evening's limpid air,
+     What time the dew's soothings
+     Unto the earth downpour,
+     Invisibly and unheard--
+     For tender shoe-gear wear
+     The soothing dews, like all that's kind-gentle--:
+     Bethinkst thou then, bethinkst thou, burning heart,
+     How once thou thirstedest
+     For heaven's kindly teardrops and dew's down-droppings,
+     All singed and weary thirstedest,
+     What time on yellow grass-pathways
+     Wicked, occidental sunny glances
+     Through sombre trees about thee sported,
+     Blindingly sunny glow-glances, gladly-hurting?
+
+     "Of TRUTH the wooer?  Thou?"--so taunted they--
+     "Nay!  Merely poet!
+     A brute insidious, plundering, grovelling,
+     That aye must lie,
+     That wittingly, wilfully, aye must lie:
+     For booty lusting,
+     Motley masked,
+     Self-hidden, shrouded,
+     Himself his booty--
+     HE--of truth the wooer?
+     Nay!  Mere fool!  Mere poet!
+     Just motley speaking,
+     From mask of fool confusedly shouting,
+     Circumambling on fabricated word-bridges,
+     On motley rainbow-arches,
+     'Twixt the spurious heavenly,
+     And spurious earthly,
+     Round us roving, round us soaring,--
+     MERE FOOL!  MERE POET!
+
+     HE--of truth the wooer?
+     Not still, stiff, smooth and cold,
+     Become an image,
+     A godlike statue,
+     Set up in front of temples,
+     As a God's own door-guard:
+     Nay! hostile to all such truthfulness-statues,
+     In every desert homelier than at temples,
+     With cattish wantonness,
+     Through every window leaping
+     Quickly into chances,
+     Every wild forest a-sniffing,
+     Greedily-longingly, sniffing,
+     That thou, in wild forests,
+     'Mong the motley-speckled fierce creatures,
+     Shouldest rove, sinful-sound and fine-coloured,
+     With longing lips smacking,
+     Blessedly mocking, blessedly hellish, blessedly bloodthirsty,
+     Robbing, skulking, lying--roving:--
+
+     Or unto eagles like which fixedly,
+     Long adown the precipice look,
+     Adown THEIR precipice:--
+     Oh, how they whirl down now,
+     Thereunder, therein,
+     To ever deeper profoundness whirling!--
+     Then,
+     Sudden,
+     With aim aright,
+     With quivering flight,
+     On LAMBKINS pouncing,
+     Headlong down, sore-hungry,
+     For lambkins longing,
+     Fierce 'gainst all lamb-spirits,
+     Furious-fierce all that look
+     Sheeplike, or lambeyed, or crisp-woolly,
+     --Grey, with lambsheep kindliness!
+
+     Even thus,
+     Eaglelike, pantherlike,
+     Are the poet's desires,
+     Are THINE OWN desires 'neath a thousand guises,
+     Thou fool!  Thou poet!
+     Thou who all mankind viewedst--
+     So God, as sheep--:
+     The God TO REND within mankind,
+     As the sheep in mankind,
+     And in rending LAUGHING--
+
+     THAT, THAT is thine own blessedness!
+     Of a panther and eagle--blessedness!
+     Of a poet and fool--the blessedness!--
+
+     In evening's limpid air,
+     What time the moon's sickle,
+     Green, 'twixt the purple-glowings,
+     And jealous, steal'th forth:
+     --Of day the foe,
+     With every step in secret,
+     The rosy garland-hammocks
+     Downsickling, till they've sunken
+     Down nightwards, faded, downsunken:--
+
+     Thus had I sunken one day
+     From mine own truth-insanity,
+     From mine own fervid day-longings,
+     Of day aweary, sick of sunshine,
+     --Sunk downwards, evenwards, shadowwards:
+     By one sole trueness
+     All scorched and thirsty:
+     --Bethinkst thou still, bethinkst thou, burning heart,
+     How then thou thirstedest?--
+     THAT I SHOULD BANNED BE
+     FROM ALL THE TRUENESS!
+     MERE FOOL!  MERE POET!
+
+
+
+
+LXXV. SCIENCE.
+
+Thus sang the magician; and all who were present went like birds
+unawares into the net of his artful and melancholy voluptuousness.
+Only the spiritually conscientious one had not been caught: he at once
+snatched the harp from the magician and called out: "Air! Let in good
+air! Let in Zarathustra! Thou makest this cave sultry and poisonous,
+thou bad old magician!
+
+Thou seducest, thou false one, thou subtle one, to unknown desires and
+deserts. And alas, that such as thou should talk and make ado about the
+TRUTH!
+
+Alas, to all free spirits who are not on their guard against SUCH
+magicians! It is all over with their freedom: thou teachest and temptest
+back into prisons,--
+
+--Thou old melancholy devil, out of thy lament soundeth a lurement: thou
+resemblest those who with their praise of chastity secretly invite to
+voluptuousness!"
+
+Thus spake the conscientious one; the old magician, however, looked
+about him, enjoying his triumph, and on that account put up with the
+annoyance which the conscientious one caused him. "Be still!" said he
+with modest voice, "good songs want to re-echo well; after good songs
+one should be long silent.
+
+Thus do all those present, the higher men. Thou, however, hast perhaps
+understood but little of my song? In thee there is little of the magic
+spirit.
+
+"Thou praisest me," replied the conscientious one, "in that thou
+separatest me from thyself; very well! But, ye others, what do I see? Ye
+still sit there, all of you, with lusting eyes--:
+
+Ye free spirits, whither hath your freedom gone! Ye almost seem to me
+to resemble those who have long looked at bad girls dancing naked: your
+souls themselves dance!
+
+In you, ye higher men, there must be more of that which the magician
+calleth his evil spirit of magic and deceit:--we must indeed be
+different.
+
+And verily, we spake and thought long enough together ere Zarathustra
+came home to his cave, for me not to be unaware that we ARE different.
+
+We SEEK different things even here aloft, ye and I. For I seek more
+SECURITY; on that account have I come to Zarathustra. For he is still
+the most steadfast tower and will--
+
+--To-day, when everything tottereth, when all the earth quaketh. Ye,
+however, when I see what eyes ye make, it almost seemeth to me that ye
+seek MORE INSECURITY,
+
+--More horror, more danger, more earthquake. Ye long (it almost seemeth
+so to me--forgive my presumption, ye higher men)--
+
+--Ye long for the worst and dangerousest life, which frighteneth ME
+most,--for the life of wild beasts, for forests, caves, steep mountains
+and labyrinthine gorges.
+
+And it is not those who lead OUT OF danger that please you best, but
+those who lead you away from all paths, the misleaders. But if
+such longing in you be ACTUAL, it seemeth to me nevertheless to be
+IMPOSSIBLE.
+
+For fear--that is man's original and fundamental feeling; through fear
+everything is explained, original sin and original virtue. Through fear
+there grew also MY virtue, that is to say: Science.
+
+For fear of wild animals--that hath been longest fostered in
+man, inclusive of the animal which he concealeth and feareth in
+himself:--Zarathustra calleth it 'the beast inside.'
+
+Such prolonged ancient fear, at last become subtle, spiritual and
+intellectual--at present, me thinketh, it is called SCIENCE."--
+
+Thus spake the conscientious one; but Zarathustra, who had just come
+back into his cave and had heard and divined the last discourse, threw a
+handful of roses to the conscientious one, and laughed on account of
+his "truths." "Why!" he exclaimed, "what did I hear just now? Verily, it
+seemeth to me, thou art a fool, or else I myself am one: and quietly and
+quickly will I put thy 'truth' upside down.
+
+For FEAR--is an exception with us. Courage, however, and adventure, and
+delight in the uncertain, in the unattempted--COURAGE seemeth to me the
+entire primitive history of man.
+
+The wildest and most courageous animals hath he envied and robbed of all
+their virtues: thus only did he become--man.
+
+THIS courage, at last become subtle, spiritual and intellectual, this
+human courage, with eagle's pinions and serpent's wisdom: THIS, it
+seemeth to me, is called at present--"
+
+"ZARATHUSTRA!" cried all of them there assembled, as if with one voice,
+and burst out at the same time into a great laughter; there arose,
+however, from them as it were a heavy cloud. Even the magician laughed,
+and said wisely: "Well! It is gone, mine evil spirit!
+
+And did I not myself warn you against it when I said that it was a
+deceiver, a lying and deceiving spirit?
+
+Especially when it showeth itself naked. But what can _I_ do with regard
+to its tricks! Have _I_ created it and the world?
+
+Well! Let us be good again, and of good cheer! And although Zarathustra
+looketh with evil eye--just see him! he disliketh me--:
+
+--Ere night cometh will he again learn to love and laud me; he cannot
+live long without committing such follies.
+
+HE--loveth his enemies: this art knoweth he better than any one I have
+seen. But he taketh revenge for it--on his friends!"
+
+Thus spake the old magician, and the higher men applauded him; so that
+Zarathustra went round, and mischievously and lovingly shook hands with
+his friends,--like one who hath to make amends and apologise to every
+one for something. When however he had thereby come to the door of his
+cave, lo, then had he again a longing for the good air outside, and for
+his animals,--and wished to steal out.
+
+
+
+
+LXXVI. AMONG DAUGHTERS OF THE DESERT.
+
+1.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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,--
+
+--The bad game of drifting clouds, of damp melancholy, of curtained
+heavens, of stolen suns, of 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!
+
+Thou hast nourished us with strong food for men, and powerful proverbs:
+do not let the weakly, womanly spirits attack us anew 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?
+
+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!
+
+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:--
+
+For with them was there equally good, clear, Oriental air; there was I
+furthest 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.
+
+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--
+
+Many-hued and foreign, forsooth! but without clouds: riddles which
+can be guessed: to please such maidens I then 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.
+
+2.
+
+THE DESERTS GROW: WOE HIM WHO DOTH THEM HIDE!
+
+     --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!
+
+THE DESERTS GROW: WOE HIM WHO DOTH THEM HIDE!
+
+
+
+
+LXXVII. THE AWAKENING.
+
+1.
+
+After the song of the wanderer and shadow, the cave became all at once
+full of noise and laughter: and since the assembled guests all spake
+simultaneously, and even the ass, encouraged thereby, no longer
+remained silent, a little aversion and scorn for his visitors came over
+Zarathustra, although he rejoiced at their gladness. For it seemed to
+him a sign of convalescence. So he slipped out into the open air and
+spake to his animals.
+
+"Whither hath their distress now gone?" said he, and already did he
+himself feel relieved of his petty disgust--"with me, it seemeth that
+they have unlearned their cries of distress!
+
+--Though, alas! not yet their crying." And Zarathustra stopped his
+ears, for just then did the YE-A of the ass mix strangely with the noisy
+jubilation of those higher men.
+
+"They are merry," he began again, "and who knoweth? perhaps at their
+host's expense; and if they have learned of me to laugh, still it is not
+MY laughter they have learned.
+
+But what matter about that! They are old people: they recover in their
+own way, they laugh in their own way; mine ears have already endured
+worse and have not become peevish.
+
+This day is a victory: he already yieldeth, he fleeth, THE SPIRIT OF
+GRAVITY, mine old arch-enemy! How well this day is about to end, which
+began so badly and gloomily!
+
+And it is ABOUT TO end. Already cometh the evening: over the sea
+rideth it hither, the good rider! How it bobbeth, the blessed one, the
+home-returning one, in its purple saddles!
+
+The sky gazeth brightly thereon, the world lieth deep. Oh, all ye
+strange ones who have come to me, it is already worth while to have
+lived with me!"
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra. And again came the cries and laughter of the
+higher men out of the cave: then began he anew:
+
+"They bite at it, my bait taketh, there departeth also from them their
+enemy, the spirit of gravity. Now do they learn to laugh at themselves:
+do I hear rightly?
+
+My virile food taketh effect, my strong and savoury sayings: and verily,
+I did not nourish them with flatulent vegetables! But with warrior-food,
+with conqueror-food: new desires did I awaken.
+
+New hopes are in their arms and legs, their hearts expand. They find new
+words, soon will their spirits breathe wantonness.
+
+Such food may sure enough not be proper for children, nor even for
+longing girls old and young. One persuadeth their bowels otherwise; I am
+not their physician and teacher.
+
+The DISGUST departeth from these higher men; well! that is my victory.
+In my domain they become assured; all stupid shame fleeth away; they
+empty themselves.
+
+They empty their hearts, good times return unto them, they keep holiday
+and ruminate,--they become THANKFUL.
+
+THAT do I take as the best sign: they become thankful. Not long will it
+be ere they devise festivals, and put up memorials to their old joys.
+
+They are CONVALESCENTS!" Thus spake Zarathustra joyfully to his heart
+and gazed outward; his animals, however, pressed up to him, and honoured
+his happiness and his silence.
+
+2.
+
+All on a sudden however, Zarathustra's ear was frightened: for the cave
+which had hitherto been full of noise and laughter, became all at once
+still as death;--his nose, however, smelt a sweet-scented vapour and
+incense-odour, as if from burning pine-cones.
+
+"What happeneth? What are they about?" he asked himself, and stole up
+to the entrance, that he might be able unobserved to see his guests.
+But wonder upon wonder! what was he then obliged to behold with his own
+eyes!
+
+"They have all of them become PIOUS again, they PRAY, they are
+mad!"--said he, and was astonished beyond measure. And forsooth! all
+these higher men, the two kings, the pope out of service, the evil
+magician, the voluntary beggar, the wanderer and shadow, the old
+soothsayer, the spiritually conscientious one, and the ugliest man--they
+all lay on their knees like children and credulous old women, and
+worshipped the ass. And just then began the ugliest man to gurgle and
+snort, as if something unutterable in him tried to find expression;
+when, however, he had actually found words, behold! it was a pious,
+strange litany in praise of the adored and censed ass. And the litany
+sounded thus:
+
+Amen! And glory and honour and wisdom and thanks and praise and strength
+be to our God, from everlasting to everlasting!
+
+--The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+
+He carrieth our burdens, he hath taken upon him the form of a servant,
+he is patient of heart and never saith Nay; and he who loveth his God
+chastiseth him.
+
+--The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+
+He speaketh not: except that he ever saith Yea to the world which
+he created: thus doth he extol his world. It is his artfulness that
+speaketh not: thus is he rarely found wrong.
+
+--The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+
+Uncomely goeth he through the world. Grey is the favourite colour in
+which he wrappeth his virtue. Hath he spirit, then doth he conceal it;
+every one, however, believeth in his long ears.
+
+--The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+
+What hidden wisdom it is to wear long ears, and only to say Yea and
+never Nay! Hath he not created the world in his own image, namely, as
+stupid as possible?
+
+--The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+
+Thou goest straight and crooked ways; it concerneth thee little what
+seemeth straight or crooked unto us men. Beyond good and evil is thy
+domain. It is thine innocence not to know what innocence is.
+
+--The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+
+Lo! how thou spurnest none from thee, neither beggars nor kings. Thou
+sufferest little children to come unto thee, and when the bad boys decoy
+thee, then sayest thou simply, YE-A.
+
+--The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+
+Thou lovest she-asses and fresh figs, thou art no food-despiser. A
+thistle tickleth thy heart when thou chancest to be hungry. There is the
+wisdom of a God therein.
+
+--The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+
+
+
+
+LXXVIII. THE ASS-FESTIVAL.
+
+1.
+
+At this place in the litany, however, Zarathustra could no longer
+control himself; he himself cried out YE-A, louder even than the ass,
+and sprang into the midst of his maddened guests. "Whatever are you
+about, ye grown-up children?" he exclaimed, pulling up the praying ones
+from the ground. "Alas, if any one else, except Zarathustra, had seen
+you:
+
+Every one would think you the worst blasphemers, or the very foolishest
+old women, with your new belief!
+
+And thou thyself, thou old pope, how is it in accordance with thee, to
+adore an ass in such a manner as God?"--
+
+"O Zarathustra," answered the pope, "forgive me, but in divine matters
+I am more enlightened even than thou. And it is right that it should be
+so.
+
+Better to adore God so, in this form, than in no form at all! Think over
+this saying, mine exalted friend: thou wilt readily divine that in such
+a saying there is wisdom.
+
+He who said 'God is a Spirit'--made the greatest stride and slide
+hitherto made on earth towards unbelief: such a dictum is not easily
+amended again on earth!
+
+Mine old heart leapeth and boundeth because there is still something
+to adore on earth. Forgive it, O Zarathustra, to an old, pious
+pontiff-heart!--"
+
+--"And thou," said Zarathustra to the wanderer and shadow, "thou callest
+and thinkest thyself a free spirit? And thou here practisest such
+idolatry and hierolatry?
+
+Worse verily, doest thou here than with thy bad brown girls, thou bad,
+new believer!"
+
+"It is sad enough," answered the wanderer and shadow, "thou art right:
+but how can I help it! The old God liveth again, O Zarathustra, thou
+mayst say what thou wilt.
+
+The ugliest man is to blame for it all: he hath reawakened him. And
+if he say that he once killed him, with Gods DEATH is always just a
+prejudice."
+
+--"And thou," said Zarathustra, "thou bad old magician, what didst thou
+do! Who ought to believe any longer in thee in this free age, when THOU
+believest in such divine donkeyism?
+
+It was a stupid thing that thou didst; how couldst thou, a shrewd man,
+do such a stupid thing!"
+
+"O Zarathustra," answered the shrewd magician, "thou art right, it was a
+stupid thing,--it was also repugnant to me."
+
+--"And thou even," said Zarathustra to the spiritually conscientious
+one, "consider, and put thy finger to thy nose! Doth nothing go against
+thy conscience here? Is thy spirit not too cleanly for this praying and
+the fumes of those devotees?"
+
+"There is something therein," said the spiritually conscientious one,
+and put his finger to his nose, "there is something in this spectacle
+which even doeth good to my conscience.
+
+Perhaps I dare not believe in God: certain it is however, that God
+seemeth to me most worthy of belief in this form.
+
+God is said to be eternal, according to the testimony of the most pious:
+he who hath so much time taketh his time. As slow and as stupid as
+possible: THEREBY can such a one nevertheless go very far.
+
+And he who hath too much spirit might well become infatuated with
+stupidity and folly. Think of thyself, O Zarathustra!
+
+Thou thyself--verily! even thou couldst well become an ass through
+superabundance of wisdom.
+
+Doth not the true sage willingly walk on the crookedest paths? The
+evidence teacheth it, O Zarathustra,--THINE OWN evidence!"
+
+--"And thou thyself, finally," said Zarathustra, and turned towards the
+ugliest man, who still lay on the ground stretching up his arm to the
+ass (for he gave it wine to drink). "Say, thou nondescript, what hast
+thou been about!
+
+Thou seemest to me transformed, thine eyes glow, the mantle of the
+sublime covereth thine ugliness: WHAT didst thou do?
+
+Is it then true what they say, that thou hast again awakened him? And
+why? Was he not for good reasons killed and made away with?
+
+Thou thyself seemest to me awakened: what didst thou do? why didst THOU
+turn round? Why didst THOU get converted? Speak, thou nondescript!"
+
+"O Zarathustra," answered the ugliest man, "thou art a rogue!
+
+Whether HE yet liveth, or again liveth, or is thoroughly dead--which of
+us both knoweth that best? I ask thee.
+
+One thing however do I know,--from thyself did I learn it once, O
+Zarathustra: he who wanteth to kill most thoroughly, LAUGHETH.
+
+'Not by wrath but by laughter doth one kill'--thus spakest thou once,
+O Zarathustra, thou hidden one, thou destroyer without wrath, thou
+dangerous saint,--thou art a rogue!"
+
+2.
+
+Then, however, did it come to pass that Zarathustra, astonished at such
+merely roguish answers, jumped back to the door of his cave, and turning
+towards all his guests, cried out with a strong voice:
+
+"O ye wags, all of you, ye buffoons! Why do ye dissemble and disguise
+yourselves before me!
+
+How the hearts of all of you convulsed with delight and wickedness,
+because ye had at last become again like little children--namely,
+pious,--
+
+--Because ye at last did again as children do--namely, prayed, folded
+your hands and said 'good God'!
+
+But now leave, I pray you, THIS nursery, mine own cave, where to-day
+all childishness is carried on. Cool down, here outside, your hot
+child-wantonness and heart-tumult!
+
+To be sure: except ye become as little children ye shall not enter into
+THAT kingdom of heaven." (And Zarathustra pointed aloft with his hands.)
+
+"But we do not at all want to enter into the kingdom of heaven: we have
+become men,--SO WE WANT THE KINGDOM OF EARTH."
+
+3.
+
+And once more began Zarathustra to speak. "O my new friends," said he,--
+"ye strange ones, ye higher men, how well do ye now please me,--
+
+--Since ye have again become joyful! Ye have, verily, all blossomed
+forth: it seemeth to me that for such flowers as you, NEW FESTIVALS are
+required.
+
+--A little valiant nonsense, some divine service and ass-festival, some
+old joyful Zarathustra fool, some blusterer to blow your souls bright.
+
+Forget not this night and this ass-festival, ye higher men! THAT did ye
+devise when with me, that do I take as a good omen,--such things only
+the convalescents devise!
+
+And should ye celebrate it again, this ass-festival, do it from love to
+yourselves, do it also from love to me! And in remembrance of me!"
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+
+
+LXXIX. THE DRUNKEN SONG.
+
+1.
+
+Meanwhile one after another had gone out into the open air, and into the
+cool, thoughtful night; Zarathustra himself, however, led the ugliest
+man by the hand, that he might show him his night-world, and the great
+round moon, and the silvery water-falls near his cave. There they at
+last stood still beside one another; all of them old people, but with
+comforted, brave hearts, and astonished in themselves that it was so
+well with them on earth; the mystery of the night, however, came nigher
+and nigher to their hearts. And anew Zarathustra thought to himself:
+"Oh, how well do they now please me, these higher men!"--but he did not
+say it aloud, for he respected their happiness and their silence.--
+
+Then, however, there happened that which in this astonishing long day
+was most astonishing: the ugliest man began once more and for the last
+time to gurgle and snort, and when he had at length found expression,
+behold! there sprang a question plump and plain out of his mouth, a
+good, deep, clear question, which moved the hearts of all who listened
+to him.
+
+"My friends, all of you," said the ugliest man, "what think ye? For the
+sake of this day--_I_ am for the first time content to have lived mine
+entire life.
+
+And that I testify so much is still not enough for me. It is worth while
+living on the earth: one day, one festival with Zarathustra, hath taught
+me to love the earth.
+
+'Was THAT--life?' will I say unto death. 'Well! Once more!'
+
+My friends, what think ye? Will ye not, like me, say unto death: 'Was
+THAT--life? For the sake of Zarathustra, well! Once more!'"--
+
+Thus spake the ugliest man; it was not, however, far from midnight.
+And what took place then, think ye? As soon as the higher men heard his
+question, they became all at once conscious of their transformation and
+convalescence, and of him who was the cause thereof: then did they rush
+up to Zarathustra, thanking, honouring, caressing him, and kissing his
+hands, each in his own peculiar way; so that some laughed and some wept.
+The old soothsayer, however, danced with delight; and though he was
+then, as some narrators suppose, full of sweet wine, he was certainly
+still fuller of sweet life, and had renounced all weariness. There are
+even those who narrate that the ass then danced: for not in vain had the
+ugliest man previously given it wine to drink. That may be the case, or
+it may be otherwise; and if in truth the ass did not dance that evening,
+there nevertheless happened then greater and rarer wonders than
+the dancing of an ass would have been. In short, as the proverb of
+Zarathustra saith: "What doth it matter!"
+
+2.
+
+When, however, this took place with the ugliest man, Zarathustra stood
+there like one drunken: his glance dulled, his tongue faltered and his
+feet staggered. And who could divine what thoughts then passed through
+Zarathustra's soul? Apparently, however, his spirit retreated and fled
+in advance and was in remote distances, and as it were "wandering on
+high mountain-ridges," as it standeth written, "'twixt two seas,
+
+--Wandering 'twixt the past and the future as a heavy cloud." Gradually,
+however, while the higher men held him in their arms, he came back to
+himself a little, and resisted with his hands the crowd of the honouring
+and caring ones; but he did not speak. All at once, however, he turned
+his head quickly, for he seemed to hear something: then laid he his
+finger on his mouth and said: "COME!"
+
+And immediately it became still and mysterious round about; from
+the depth however there came up slowly the sound of a clock-bell.
+Zarathustra listened thereto, like the higher men; then, however, laid
+he his finger on his mouth the second time, and said again: "COME! COME!
+IT IS GETTING ON TO MIDNIGHT!"--and his voice had changed. But still
+he had not moved from the spot. Then it became yet stiller and more
+mysterious, and everything hearkened, even the ass, and Zarathustra's
+noble animals, the eagle and the serpent,--likewise the cave of
+Zarathustra and the big cool moon, and the night itself. Zarathustra,
+however, laid his hand upon his mouth for the third time, and said:
+
+COME! COME! COME! LET US NOW WANDER! IT IS THE HOUR: LET US WANDER INTO
+THE NIGHT!
+
+3.
+
+Ye higher men, it is getting on to midnight: then will I say something
+into your ears, as that old clock-bell saith it into mine ear,--
+
+--As mysteriously, as frightfully, and as cordially as that midnight
+clock-bell speaketh it to me, which hath experienced more than one man:
+
+--Which hath already counted the smarting throbbings of your fathers'
+hearts--ah! ah! how it sigheth! how it laugheth in its dream! the old,
+deep, deep midnight!
+
+Hush! Hush! Then is there many a thing heard which may not be heard
+by day; now however, in the cool air, when even all the tumult of your
+hearts hath become still,--
+
+--Now doth it speak, now is it heard, now doth it steal into
+overwakeful, nocturnal souls: ah! ah! how the midnight sigheth! how it
+laugheth in its dream!
+
+--Hearest thou not how it mysteriously, frightfully, and cordially
+speaketh unto THEE, the old deep, deep midnight?
+
+O MAN, TAKE HEED!
+
+4.
+
+Woe to me! Whither hath time gone? Have I not sunk into deep wells? The
+world sleepeth--
+
+Ah! Ah! The dog howleth, the moon shineth. Rather will I die, rather
+will I die, than say unto you what my midnight-heart now thinketh.
+
+Already have I died. It is all over. Spider, why spinnest thou around
+me? Wilt thou have blood? Ah! Ah! The dew falleth, the hour cometh--
+
+--The hour in which I frost and freeze, which asketh and asketh and
+asketh: "Who hath sufficient courage for it?
+
+--Who is to be master of the world? Who is going to say: THUS shall ye
+flow, ye great and small streams!"
+
+--The hour approacheth: O man, thou higher man, take heed! this talk is
+for fine ears, for thine ears--WHAT SAITH DEEP MIDNIGHT'S VOICE INDEED?
+
+5.
+
+It carrieth me away, my soul danceth. Day's-work! Day's-work! Who is to
+be master of the world?
+
+The moon is cool, the wind is still. Ah! Ah! Have ye already flown high
+enough? Ye have danced: a leg, nevertheless, is not a wing.
+
+Ye good dancers, now is all delight over: wine hath become lees, every
+cup hath become brittle, the sepulchres mutter.
+
+Ye have not flown high enough: now do the sepulchres mutter: "Free the
+dead! Why is it so long night? Doth not the moon make us drunken?"
+
+Ye higher men, free the sepulchres, awaken the corpses! Ah, why doth the
+worm still burrow? There approacheth, there approacheth, the hour,--
+
+--There boometh the clock-bell, there thrilleth still the heart, there
+burroweth still the wood-worm, the heart-worm. Ah! Ah! THE WORLD IS
+DEEP!
+
+6.
+
+Sweet lyre! Sweet lyre! I love thy tone, thy drunken, ranunculine
+tone!--how long, how far hath come unto me thy tone, from the distance,
+from the ponds of love!
+
+Thou old clock-bell, thou sweet lyre! Every pain hath torn thy heart,
+father-pain, fathers'-pain, forefathers'-pain; thy speech hath become
+ripe,--
+
+--Ripe like the golden autumn and the afternoon, like mine anchorite
+heart--now sayest thou: The world itself hath become ripe, the grape
+turneth brown,
+
+--Now doth it wish to die, to die of happiness. Ye higher men, do ye not
+feel it? There welleth up mysteriously an odour,
+
+--A perfume and odour of eternity, a rosy-blessed, brown,
+gold-wine-odour of old happiness,
+
+--Of drunken midnight-death happiness, which singeth: the world is deep,
+AND DEEPER THAN THE DAY COULD READ!
+
+7.
+
+Leave me alone! Leave me alone! I am too pure for thee. Touch me not!
+Hath not my world just now become perfect?
+
+My skin is too pure for thy hands. Leave me alone, thou dull, doltish,
+stupid day! Is not the midnight brighter?
+
+The purest are to be masters of the world, the least known, the
+strongest, the midnight-souls, who are brighter and deeper than any day.
+
+O day, thou gropest for me? Thou feelest for my happiness? For thee am I
+rich, lonesome, a treasure-pit, a gold chamber?
+
+O world, thou wantest ME? Am I worldly for thee? Am I spiritual for
+thee? Am I divine for thee? But day and world, ye are too coarse,--
+
+--Have cleverer hands, grasp after deeper happiness, after deeper
+unhappiness, grasp after some God; grasp not after me:
+
+--Mine unhappiness, my happiness is deep, thou strange day, but yet am I
+no God, no God's-hell: DEEP IS ITS WOE.
+
+8.
+
+God's woe is deeper, thou strange world! Grasp at God's woe, not at me!
+What am I! A drunken sweet lyre,--
+
+--A midnight-lyre, a bell-frog, which no one understandeth, but which
+MUST speak before deaf ones, ye higher men! For ye do not understand me!
+
+Gone! Gone! O youth! O noontide! O afternoon! Now have come evening and
+night and midnight,--the dog howleth, the wind:
+
+--Is the wind not a dog? It whineth, it barketh, it howleth. Ah! Ah!
+how she sigheth! how she laugheth, how she wheezeth and panteth, the
+midnight!
+
+How she just now speaketh soberly, this drunken poetess! hath she
+perhaps overdrunk her drunkenness? hath she become overawake? doth she
+ruminate?
+
+--Her woe doth she ruminate over, in a dream, the old, deep
+midnight--and still more her joy. For joy, although woe be deep, JOY IS
+DEEPER STILL THAN GRIEF CAN BE.
+
+9.
+
+Thou grape-vine! Why dost thou praise me? Have I not cut thee! I am
+cruel, thou bleedest--: what meaneth thy praise of my drunken cruelty?
+
+"Whatever hath become perfect, everything mature--wanteth to die!" so
+sayest thou. Blessed, blessed be the vintner's knife! But everything
+immature wanteth to live: alas!
+
+Woe saith: "Hence! Go! Away, thou woe!" But everything that suffereth
+wanteth to live, that it may become mature and lively and longing,
+
+--Longing for the further, the higher, the brighter. "I want heirs,"
+so saith everything that suffereth, "I want children, I do not want
+MYSELF,"--
+
+Joy, however, doth not want heirs, it doth not want children,--joy
+wanteth itself, it wanteth eternity, it wanteth recurrence, it wanteth
+everything eternally-like-itself.
+
+Woe saith: "Break, bleed, thou heart! Wander, thou leg! Thou wing, fly!
+Onward! upward! thou pain!" Well! Cheer up! O mine old heart: WOE SAITH:
+"HENCE! GO!"
+
+10.
+
+Ye higher men, what think ye? Am I a soothsayer? Or a dreamer? Or a
+drunkard? Or a dream-reader? Or a midnight-bell?
+
+Or a drop of dew? Or a fume and fragrance of eternity? Hear ye it not?
+Smell ye it not? Just now hath my world become perfect, midnight is also
+mid-day,--
+
+Pain is also a joy, curse is also a blessing, night is also a sun,--go
+away! or ye will learn that a sage is also a fool.
+
+Said ye ever Yea to one joy? O my friends, then said ye Yea also unto
+ALL woe. All things are enlinked, enlaced and enamoured,--
+
+--Wanted ye ever once to come twice; said ye ever: "Thou pleasest me,
+happiness! Instant! Moment!" then wanted ye ALL to come back again!
+
+--All anew, all eternal, all enlinked, enlaced and enamoured, Oh, then
+did ye LOVE the world,--
+
+--Ye eternal ones, ye love it eternally and for all time: and also unto
+woe do ye say: Hence! Go! but come back! FOR JOYS ALL WANT--ETERNITY!
+
+11.
+
+All joy wanteth the eternity of all things, it wanteth honey, it
+wanteth lees, it wanteth drunken midnight, it wanteth graves, it wanteth
+grave-tears' consolation, it wanteth gilded evening-red--
+
+--WHAT doth not joy want! it is thirstier, heartier, hungrier, more
+frightful, more mysterious, than all woe: it wanteth ITSELF, it biteth
+into ITSELF, the ring's will writheth in it,--
+
+--It wanteth love, it wanteth hate, it is over-rich, it bestoweth, it
+throweth away, it beggeth for some one to take from it, it thanketh the
+taker, it would fain be hated,--
+
+--So rich is joy that it thirsteth for woe, for hell, for hate, for
+shame, for the lame, for the WORLD,--for this world, Oh, ye know it
+indeed!
+
+Ye higher men, for you doth it long, this joy, this irrepressible,
+blessed joy--for your woe, ye failures! For failures, longeth all
+eternal joy.
+
+For joys all want themselves, therefore do they also want grief! O
+happiness, O pain! Oh break, thou heart! Ye higher men, do learn it,
+that joys want eternity.
+
+--Joys want the eternity of ALL things, they WANT DEEP, PROFOUND
+ETERNITY!
+
+12.
+
+Have ye now learned my song? Have ye divined what it would say? Well!
+Cheer up! Ye higher men, sing now my roundelay!
+
+Sing now yourselves the song, the name of which is "Once more," the
+signification of which is "Unto all eternity!"--sing, ye higher men,
+Zarathustra's roundelay!
+
+     O man!  Take heed!
+     What saith deep midnight's voice indeed?
+     "I slept my sleep--,
+     "From deepest dream I've woke, and plead:--
+     "The world is deep,
+     "And deeper than the day could read.
+     "Deep is its woe--,
+     "Joy--deeper still than grief can be:
+     "Woe saith:  Hence!  Go!
+     "But joys all want eternity-,
+     "-Want deep, profound eternity!"
+
+
+
+
+LXXX. THE SIGN.
+
+In the morning, however, after this night, Zarathustra jumped up from
+his couch, and, having girded his loins, he came out of his cave glowing
+and strong, like a morning sun coming out of gloomy mountains.
+
+"Thou great star," spake he, as he had spoken once before, "thou deep
+eye of happiness, what would be all thy happiness if thou hadst not
+THOSE for whom thou shinest!
+
+And if they remained in their chambers whilst thou art already awake,
+and comest and bestowest and distributest, how would thy proud modesty
+upbraid for it!
+
+Well! they still sleep, these higher men, whilst _I_ am awake: THEY are
+not my proper companions! Not for them do I wait here in my mountains.
+
+At my work I want to be, at my day: but they understand not what are the
+signs of my morning, my step--is not for them the awakening-call.
+
+They still sleep in my cave; their dream still drinketh at my drunken
+songs. The audient ear for ME--the OBEDIENT ear, is yet lacking in their
+limbs."
+
+--This had Zarathustra spoken to his heart when the sun arose: then
+looked he inquiringly aloft, for he heard above him the sharp call of
+his eagle. "Well!" called he upwards, "thus is it pleasing and proper to
+me. Mine animals are awake, for I am awake.
+
+Mine eagle is awake, and like me honoureth the sun. With eagle-talons
+doth it grasp at the new light. Ye are my proper animals; I love you.
+
+But still do I lack my proper men!"--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra; then, however, it happened that all on a sudden
+he became aware that he was flocked around and fluttered around, as if
+by innumerable birds,--the whizzing of so many wings, however, and the
+crowding around his head was so great that he shut his eyes. And verily,
+there came down upon him as it were a cloud, like a cloud of arrows
+which poureth upon a new enemy. But behold, here it was a cloud of love,
+and showered upon a new friend.
+
+"What happeneth unto me?" thought Zarathustra in his astonished heart,
+and slowly seated himself on the big stone which lay close to the exit
+from his cave. But while he grasped about with his hands, around him,
+above him and below him, and repelled the tender birds, behold, there
+then happened to him something still stranger: for he grasped thereby
+unawares into a mass of thick, warm, shaggy hair; at the same time,
+however, there sounded before him a roar,--a long, soft lion-roar.
+
+"THE SIGN COMETH," said Zarathustra, and a change came over his heart.
+And in truth, when it turned clear before him, there lay a yellow,
+powerful animal at his feet, resting its head on his knee,--unwilling to
+leave him out of love, and doing like a dog which again findeth its old
+master. The doves, however, were no less eager with their love than the
+lion; and whenever a dove whisked over its nose, the lion shook its head
+and wondered and laughed.
+
+When all this went on Zarathustra spake only a word: "MY CHILDREN ARE
+NIGH, MY CHILDREN"--, then he became quite mute. His heart, however,
+was loosed, and from his eyes there dropped down tears and fell upon
+his hands. And he took no further notice of anything, but sat there
+motionless, without repelling the animals further. Then flew the doves
+to and fro, and perched on his shoulder, and caressed his white hair,
+and did not tire of their tenderness and joyousness. The strong lion,
+however, licked always the tears that fell on Zarathustra's hands, and
+roared and growled shyly. Thus did these animals do.--
+
+All this went on for a long time, or a short time: for properly
+speaking, there is NO time on earth for such things--. Meanwhile,
+however, the higher men had awakened in Zarathustra's cave, and
+marshalled themselves for a procession to go to meet Zarathustra, and
+give him their morning greeting: for they had found when they awakened
+that he no longer tarried with them. When, however, they reached the
+door of the cave and the noise of their steps had preceded them, the
+lion started violently; it turned away all at once from Zarathustra, and
+roaring wildly, sprang towards the cave. The higher men, however, when
+they heard the lion roaring, cried all aloud as with one voice, fled
+back and vanished in an instant.
+
+Zarathustra himself, however, stunned and strange, rose from his seat,
+looked around him, stood there astonished, inquired of his heart,
+bethought himself, and remained alone. "What did I hear?" said he at
+last, slowly, "what happened unto me just now?"
+
+But soon there came to him his recollection, and he took in at a glance
+all that had taken place between yesterday and to-day. "Here is indeed
+the stone," said he, and stroked his beard, "on IT sat I yester-morn;
+and here came the soothsayer unto me, and here heard I first the cry
+which I heard just now, the great cry of distress.
+
+O ye higher men, YOUR distress was it that the old soothsayer foretold
+to me yester-morn,--
+
+--Unto your distress did he want to seduce and tempt me: 'O
+Zarathustra,' said he to me, 'I come to seduce thee to thy last sin.'
+
+To my last sin?" cried Zarathustra, and laughed angrily at his own
+words: "WHAT hath been reserved for me as my last sin?"
+
+--And once more Zarathustra became absorbed in himself, and sat down
+again on the big stone and meditated. Suddenly he sprang up,--
+
+"FELLOW-SUFFERING! FELLOW-SUFFERING WITH THE HIGHER MEN!" he cried out,
+and his countenance changed into brass. "Well! THAT--hath had its time!
+
+My suffering and my fellow-suffering--what matter about them! Do I then
+strive after HAPPINESS? I strive after my WORK!
+
+Well! The lion hath come, my children are nigh, Zarathustra hath grown
+ripe, mine hour hath come:--
+
+This is MY morning, MY day beginneth: ARISE NOW, ARISE, THOU GREAT
+NOONTIDE!"--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra and left his cave, glowing and strong, like a
+morning sun coming out of gloomy mountains.
+
+
+
+
+APPENDIX.
+
+NOTES ON "THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA" BY ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI.
+
+I have had some opportunities of studying the conditions under which
+Nietzsche is read in Germany, France, and England, and I have found
+that, in each of these countries, students of his philosophy, as if
+actuated by precisely similar motives and desires, and misled by the
+same mistaken tactics on the part of most publishers, all proceed in the
+same happy-go-lucky style when "taking him up." They have had it said to
+them that he wrote without any system, and they very naturally conclude
+that it does not matter in the least whether they begin with his first,
+third, or last book, provided they can obtain a few vague ideas as to
+what his leading and most sensational principles were.
+
+Now, it is clear that the book with the most mysterious, startling, or
+suggestive title, will always stand the best chance of being purchased
+by those who have no other criteria to guide them in their choice
+than the aspect of a title-page; and this explains why "Thus Spake
+Zarathustra" is almost always the first and often the only one of
+Nietzsche's books that falls into the hands of the uninitiated.
+
+The title suggests all kinds of mysteries; a glance at the
+chapter-headings quickly confirms the suspicions already aroused,
+and the sub-title: "A Book for All and None", generally succeeds in
+dissipating the last doubts the prospective purchaser may entertain
+concerning his fitness for the book or its fitness for him. And what
+happens?
+
+"Thus Spake Zarathustra" is taken home; the reader, who perchance may
+know no more concerning Nietzsche than a magazine article has told him,
+tries to read it and, understanding less than half he reads, probably
+never gets further than the second or third part,--and then only to feel
+convinced that Nietzsche himself was "rather hazy" as to what he was
+talking about. Such chapters as "The Child with the Mirror", "In the
+Happy Isles", "The Grave-Song," "Immaculate Perception," "The Stillest
+Hour", "The Seven Seals", and many others, are almost utterly devoid of
+meaning to all those who do not know something of Nietzsche's life, his
+aims and his friendships.
+
+As a matter of fact, "Thus Spake Zarathustra", though it is
+unquestionably Nietzsche's opus magnum, is by no means the first of
+Nietzsche's works that the beginner ought to undertake to read. The
+author himself refers to it as the deepest work ever offered to the
+German public, and elsewhere speaks of his other writings as being
+necessary for the understanding of it. But when it is remembered that
+in Zarathustra we not only have the history of his most intimate
+experiences, friendships, feuds, disappointments, triumphs and the like,
+but that the very form in which they are narrated is one which tends
+rather to obscure than to throw light upon them, the difficulties which
+meet the reader who starts quite unprepared will be seen to be really
+formidable.
+
+Zarathustra, then,--this shadowy, allegorical personality, speaking in
+allegories and parables, and at times not even refraining from relating
+his own dreams--is a figure we can understand but very imperfectly if we
+have no knowledge of his creator and counterpart, Friedrich Nietzsche;
+and it were therefore well, previous to our study of the more abstruse
+parts of this book, if we were to turn to some authoritative book on
+Nietzsche's life and works and to read all that is there said on the
+subject. Those who can read German will find an excellent guide, in this
+respect, in Frau Foerster-Nietzsche's exhaustive and highly interesting
+biography of her brother: "Das Leben Friedrich Nietzsche's" (published
+by Naumann); while the works of Deussen, Raoul Richter, and Baroness
+Isabelle von Unger-Sternberg, will be found to throw useful and
+necessary light upon many questions which it would be difficult for a
+sister to touch upon.
+
+In regard to the actual philosophical views expounded in this work,
+there is an excellent way of clearing up any difficulties they may
+present, and that is by an appeal to Nietzsche's other works. Again and
+again, of course, he will be found to express himself so clearly that
+all reference to his other writings may be dispensed with; but where
+this is not the case, the advice he himself gives is after all the best
+to be followed here, viz.:--to regard such works as: "Joyful Science",
+"Beyond Good and Evil", "The Genealogy of Morals", "The Twilight of
+the Idols", "The Antichrist", "The Will to Power", etc., etc., as the
+necessary preparation for "Thus Spake Zarathustra".
+
+These directions, though they are by no means simple to carry out, seem
+at least to possess the quality of definiteness and straightforwardness.
+"Follow them and all will be clear," I seem to imply. But I regret to
+say that this is not really the case. For my experience tells me that
+even after the above directions have been followed with the greatest
+possible zeal, the student will still halt in perplexity before certain
+passages in the book before us, and wonder what they mean. Now, it is
+with the view of giving a little additional help to all those who find
+themselves in this position that I proceed to put forth my own personal
+interpretation of the more abstruse passages in this work.
+
+In offering this little commentary to the Nietzsche student, I should
+like it to be understood that I make no claim as to its infallibility or
+indispensability. It represents but an attempt on my part--a very feeble
+one perhaps--to give the reader what little help I can in surmounting
+difficulties which a long study of Nietzsche's life and works has
+enabled me, partially I hope, to overcome.
+
+...
+
+Perhaps it would be as well to start out with a broad and rapid sketch
+of Nietzsche as a writer on Morals, Evolution, and Sociology, so that
+the reader may be prepared to pick out for himself, so to speak, all
+passages in this work bearing in any way upon Nietzsche's views in those
+three important branches of knowledge.
+
+(A.) Nietzsche and Morality.
+
+In morality, Nietzsche starts out by adopting the position of the
+relativist. He says there are no absolute values "good" and "evil";
+these are mere means adopted by all in order to acquire power to
+maintain their place in the world, or to become supreme. It is the
+lion's good to devour an antelope. It is the dead-leaf butterfly's
+good to tell a foe a falsehood. For when the dead-leaf butterfly is in
+danger, it clings to the side of a twig, and what it says to its foe is
+practically this: "I am not a butterfly, I am a dead leaf, and can be
+of no use to thee." This is a lie which is good to the butterfly, for
+it preserves it. In nature every species of organic being instinctively
+adopts and practises those acts which most conduce to the prevalence
+or supremacy of its kind. Once the most favourable order of conduct is
+found, proved efficient and established, it becomes the ruling morality
+of the species that adopts it and bears them along to victory. All
+species must not and cannot value alike, for what is the lion's good is
+the antelope's evil and vice versa.
+
+Concepts of good and evil are therefore, in their origin, merely a means
+to an end, they are expedients for acquiring power.
+
+Applying this principle to mankind, Nietzsche attacked Christian
+moral values. He declared them to be, like all other morals, merely
+an expedient for protecting a certain type of man. In the case of
+Christianity this type was, according to Nietzsche, a low one.
+
+Conflicting moral codes have been no more than the conflicting weapons
+of different classes of men; for in mankind there is a continual war
+between the powerful, the noble, the strong, and the well-constituted
+on the one side, and the impotent, the mean, the weak, and the
+ill-constituted on the other. The war is a war of moral principles.
+The morality of the powerful class, Nietzsche calls NOBLE- or
+MASTER-MORALITY; that of the weak and subordinate class he calls
+SLAVE-MORALITY. In the first morality it is the eagle which, looking
+down upon a browsing lamb, contends that "eating lamb is good." In the
+second, the slave-morality, it is the lamb which, looking up from the
+sward, bleats dissentingly: "Eating lamb is evil."
+
+(B.) The Master- and Slave-Morality Compared.
+
+The first morality is active, creative, Dionysian. The second is
+passive, defensive,--to it belongs the "struggle for existence."
+
+Where attempts have not been made to reconcile the two moralities, they
+may be described as follows:--All is GOOD in the noble morality which
+proceeds from strength, power, health, well-constitutedness, happiness,
+and awfulness; for, the motive force behind the people practising it is
+"the struggle for power." The antithesis "good and bad" to this
+first class means the same as "noble" and "despicable." "Bad" in the
+master-morality must be applied to the coward, to all acts that spring
+from weakness, to the man with "an eye to the main chance," who would
+forsake everything in order to live.
+
+With the second, the slave-morality, the case is different. There,
+inasmuch as the community is an oppressed, suffering, unemancipated, and
+weary one, all THAT will be held to be good which alleviates the
+state of suffering. Pity, the obliging hand, the warm heart, patience,
+industry, and humility--these are unquestionably the qualities we shall
+here find flooded with the light of approval and admiration; because
+they are the most USEFUL qualities--; they make life endurable, they are
+of assistance in the "struggle for existence" which is the motive force
+behind the people practising this morality. To this class, all that is
+AWFUL is bad, in fact it is THE evil par excellence. Strength, health,
+superabundance of animal spirits and power, are regarded with hate,
+suspicion, and fear by the subordinate class.
+
+Now Nietzsche believed that the first or the noble-morality conduced to
+an ascent in the line of life; because it was creative and active. On
+the other hand, he believed that the second or slave-morality, where
+it became paramount, led to degeneration, because it was passive and
+defensive, wanting merely to keep those who practised it alive. Hence
+his earnest advocacy of noble-morality.
+
+(C.) Nietzsche and Evolution.
+
+Nietzsche as an evolutionist I shall have occasion to define and discuss
+in the course of these notes (see Notes on Chapter LVI., par.10, and on
+Chapter LVII.). For the present let it suffice for us to know that he
+accepted the "Development Hypothesis" as an explanation of the origin of
+species: but he did not halt where most naturalists have halted. He
+by no means regarded man as the highest possible being which evolution
+could arrive at; for though his physical development may have reached
+its limit, this is not the case with his mental or spiritual attributes.
+If the process be a fact; if things have BECOME what they are, then, he
+contends, we may describe no limit to man's aspirations. If he struggled
+up from barbarism, and still more remotely from the lower Primates,
+his ideal should be to surpass man himself and reach Superman (see
+especially the Prologue).
+
+(D.) Nietzsche and Sociology.
+
+Nietzsche as a sociologist aims at an aristocratic arrangement of
+society. He would have us rear an ideal race. Honest and truthful in
+intellectual matters, he could not even think that men are equal. "With
+these preachers of equality will I not be mixed up and confounded. For
+thus speaketh justice unto ME: 'Men are not equal.'" He sees precisely
+in this inequality a purpose to be served, a condition to be exploited.
+"Every elevation of the type 'man,'" he writes in "Beyond Good and
+Evil", "has hitherto been the work of an aristocratic society--and so
+will it always be--a society believing in a long scale of gradations of
+rank and differences of worth among human beings."
+
+Those who are sufficiently interested to desire to read his own detailed
+account of the society he would fain establish, will find an excellent
+passage in Aphorism 57 of "The Antichrist".
+
+...
+
+PART I. THE PROLOGUE.
+
+In Part I. including the Prologue, no very great difficulties will
+appear. Zarathustra's habit of designating a whole class of men or a
+whole school of thought by a single fitting nickname may perhaps lead to
+a little confusion at first; but, as a rule, when the general drift
+of his arguments is grasped, it requires but a slight effort of the
+imagination to discover whom he is referring to. In the ninth paragraph
+of the Prologue, for instance, it is quite obvious that "Herdsmen" in
+the verse "Herdsmen, I say, etc., etc.," stands for all those to-day
+who are the advocates of gregariousness--of the ant-hill. And when our
+author says: "A robber shall Zarathustra be called by the herdsmen," it
+is clear that these words may be taken almost literally from one whose
+ideal was the rearing of a higher aristocracy. Again, "the good and
+just," throughout the book, is the expression used in referring to the
+self-righteous of modern times,--those who are quite sure that they
+know all that is to be known concerning good and evil, and are satisfied
+that the values their little world of tradition has handed down to them,
+are destined to rule mankind as long as it lasts.
+
+In the last paragraph of the Prologue, verse 7, Zarathustra gives us a
+foretaste of his teaching concerning the big and the little sagacities,
+expounded subsequently. He says he would he were as wise as his serpent;
+this desire will be found explained in the discourse entitled "The
+Despisers of the Body", which I shall have occasion to refer to later.
+
+...
+
+THE DISCOURSES.
+
+Chapter I. The Three Metamorphoses.
+
+This opening discourse is a parable in which Zarathustra discloses the
+mental development of all creators of new values. It is the story of
+a life which reaches its consummation in attaining to a second
+ingenuousness or in returning to childhood. Nietzsche, the supposed
+anarchist, here plainly disclaims all relationship whatever to anarchy,
+for he shows us that only by bearing the burdens of the existing law and
+submitting to it patiently, as the camel submits to being laden, does
+the free spirit acquire that ascendancy over tradition which enables him
+to meet and master the dragon "Thou shalt,"--the dragon with the values
+of a thousand years glittering on its scales. There are two lessons in
+this discourse: first, that in order to create one must be as a little
+child; secondly, that it is only through existing law and order that
+one attains to that height from which new law and new order may be
+promulgated.
+
+Chapter II. The Academic Chairs of Virtue.
+
+Almost the whole of this is quite comprehensible. It is a discourse
+against all those who confound virtue with tameness and smug ease, and
+who regard as virtuous only that which promotes security and tends to
+deepen sleep.
+
+Chapter IV. The Despisers of the Body.
+
+Here Zarathustra gives names to the intellect and the instincts; he
+calls the one "the little sagacity" and the latter "the big sagacity."
+Schopenhauer's teaching concerning the intellect is fully endorsed here.
+"An instrument of thy body is also thy little sagacity, my brother,
+which thou callest 'spirit,'" says Zarathustra. From beginning to end it
+is a warning to those who would think too lightly of the instincts
+and unduly exalt the intellect and its derivatives: Reason and
+Understanding.
+
+Chapter IX. The Preachers of Death.
+
+This is an analysis of the psychology of all those who have the "evil
+eye" and are pessimists by virtue of their constitutions.
+
+Chapter XV. The Thousand and One Goals.
+
+In this discourse Zarathustra opens his exposition of the doctrine of
+relativity in morality, and declares all morality to be a mere means
+to power. Needless to say that verses 9, 10, 11, and 12 refer to the
+Greeks, the Persians, the Jews, and the Germans respectively. In the
+penultimate verse he makes known his discovery concerning the root of
+modern Nihilism and indifference,--i.e., that modern man has no goal, no
+aim, no ideals (see Note A).
+
+Chapter XVIII. Old and Young Women.
+
+Nietzsche's views on women have either to be loved at first sight
+or they become perhaps the greatest obstacle in the way of those who
+otherwise would be inclined to accept his philosophy. Women especially,
+of course, have been taught to dislike them, because it has been
+rumoured that his views are unfriendly to themselves. Now, to my mind,
+all this is pure misunderstanding and error.
+
+German philosophers, thanks to Schopenhauer, have earned rather a bad
+name for their views on women. It is almost impossible for one of them
+to write a line on the subject, however kindly he may do so, without
+being suspected of wishing to open a crusade against the fair sex.
+Despite the fact, therefore, that all Nietzsche's views in this respect
+were dictated to him by the profoundest love; despite Zarathustra's
+reservation in this discourse, that "with women nothing (that can be
+said) is impossible," and in the face of other overwhelming evidence
+to the contrary, Nietzsche is universally reported to have mis son
+pied dans le plat, where the female sex is concerned. And what is the
+fundamental doctrine which has given rise to so much bitterness and
+aversion?--Merely this: that the sexes are at bottom ANTAGONISTIC--that
+is to say, as different as blue is from yellow, and that the best
+possible means of rearing anything approaching a desirable race is to
+preserve and to foster this profound hostility. What Nietzsche strives
+to combat and to overthrow is the modern democratic tendency which is
+slowly labouring to level all things--even the sexes. His quarrel is not
+with women--what indeed could be more undignified?--it is with those who
+would destroy the natural relationship between the sexes, by modifying
+either the one or the other with a view to making them more alike. The
+human world is just as dependent upon women's powers as upon men's. It
+is women's strongest and most valuable instincts which help to determine
+who are to be the fathers of the next generation. By destroying these
+particular instincts, that is to say by attempting to masculinise woman,
+and to feminise men, we jeopardise the future of our people. The general
+democratic movement of modern times, in its frantic struggle to mitigate
+all differences, is now invading even the world of sex. It is against
+this movement that Nietzsche raises his voice; he would have woman
+become ever more woman and man become ever more man. Only thus, and
+he is undoubtedly right, can their combined instincts lead to the
+excellence of humanity. Regarded in this light, all his views on woman
+appear not only necessary but just (see Note on Chapter LVI., par. 21.)
+
+It is interesting to observe that the last line of the discourse, which
+has so frequently been used by women as a weapon against Nietzsche's
+views concerning them, was suggested to Nietzsche by a woman (see "Das
+Leben F. Nietzsche's").
+
+Chapter XXI. Voluntary Death.
+
+In regard to this discourse, I should only like to point out that
+Nietzsche had a particular aversion to the word "suicide"--self-murder.
+He disliked the evil it suggested, and in rechristening the act
+Voluntary Death, i.e., the death that comes from no other hand than
+one's own, he was desirous of elevating it to the position it held in
+classical antiquity (see Aphorism 36 in "The Twilight of the Idols").
+
+Chapter XXII. The Bestowing Virtue.
+
+An important aspect of Nietzsche's philosophy is brought to light in
+this discourse. His teaching, as is well known, places the Aristotelian
+man of spirit, above all others in the natural divisions of man. The
+man with overflowing strength, both of mind and body, who must discharge
+this strength or perish, is the Nietzschean ideal. To such a man, giving
+from his overflow becomes a necessity; bestowing develops into a means
+of existence, and this is the only giving, the only charity, that
+Nietzsche recognises. In paragraph 3 of the discourse, we read
+Zarathustra's healthy exhortation to his disciples to become independent
+thinkers and to find themselves before they learn any more from him (see
+Notes on Chapters LVI., par. 5, and LXXIII., pars. 10, 11).
+
+...
+
+PART II.
+
+Chapter XXIII. The Child with the Mirror.
+
+Nietzsche tells us here, in a poetical form, how deeply grieved he was
+by the manifold misinterpretations and misunderstandings which were
+becoming rife concerning his publications. He does not recognise
+himself in the mirror of public opinion, and recoils terrified from the
+distorted reflection of his features. In verse 20 he gives us a
+hint which it were well not to pass over too lightly; for, in the
+introduction to "The Genealogy of Morals" (written in 1887) he finds it
+necessary to refer to the matter again and with greater precision. The
+point is this, that a creator of new values meets with his surest and
+strongest obstacles in the very spirit of the language which is at his
+disposal. Words, like all other manifestations of an evolving race, are
+stamped with the values that have long been paramount in that race.
+Now, the original thinker who finds himself compelled to use the current
+speech of his country in order to impart new and hitherto untried views
+to his fellows, imposes a task upon the natural means of communication
+which it is totally unfitted to perform,--hence the obscurities and
+prolixities which are so frequently met with in the writings of original
+thinkers. In the "Dawn of Day", Nietzsche actually cautions young
+writers against THE DANGER OF ALLOWING THEIR THOUGHTS TO BE MOULDED BY
+THE WORDS AT THEIR DISPOSAL.
+
+Chapter XXIV. In the Happy Isles.
+
+While writing this, Nietzsche is supposed to have been thinking of the
+island of Ischia which was ultimately destroyed by an earthquake. His
+teaching here is quite clear. He was among the first thinkers of Europe
+to overcome the pessimism which godlessness generally brings in its
+wake. He points to creating as the surest salvation from the suffering
+which is a concomitant of all higher life. "What would there be to
+create," he asks, "if there were--Gods?" His ideal, the Superman, lends
+him the cheerfulness necessary to the overcoming of that despair usually
+attendant upon godlessness and upon the apparent aimlessness of a world
+without a god.
+
+Chapter XXIX. The Tarantulas.
+
+The tarantulas are the Socialists and Democrats. This discourse offers
+us an analysis of their mental attitude. Nietzsche refuses to be
+confounded with those resentful and revengeful ones who condemn society
+FROM BELOW, and whose criticism is only suppressed envy. "There are
+those who preach my doctrine of life," he says of the Nietzschean
+Socialists, "and are at the same time preachers of equality and
+tarantulas" (see Notes on Chapter XL. and Chapter LI.).
+
+Chapter XXX. The Famous Wise Ones.
+
+This refers to all those philosophers hitherto, who have run in the
+harness of established values and have not risked their reputation with
+the people in pursuit of truth. The philosopher, however, as Nietzsche
+understood him, is a man who creates new values, and thus leads mankind
+in a new direction.
+
+Chapter XXXIII. The Grave-Song.
+
+Here Zarathustra sings about the ideals and friendships of his youth.
+Verses 27 to 31 undoubtedly refer to Richard Wagner (see Note on Chapter
+LXV.).
+
+Chapter XXXIV. Self-Surpassing.
+
+In this discourse we get the best exposition in the whole book of
+Nietzsche's doctrine of the Will to Power. I go into this question
+thoroughly in the Note on Chapter LVII.
+
+Nietzsche was not an iconoclast from choice. Those who hastily class him
+with the anarchists (or the Progressivists of the last century) fail
+to understand the high esteem in which he always held both law and
+discipline. In verse 41 of this most decisive discourse he truly
+explains his position when he says: "...he who hath to be a creator in
+good and evil--verily he hath first to be a destroyer, and break values
+in pieces." This teaching in regard to self-control is evidence enough
+of his reverence for law.
+
+Chapter XXXV. The Sublime Ones.
+
+These belong to a type which Nietzsche did not altogether dislike, but
+which he would fain have rendered more subtle and plastic. It is the
+type that takes life and itself too seriously, that never surmounts the
+camel-stage mentioned in the first discourse, and that is obdurately
+sublime and earnest. To be able to smile while speaking of lofty things
+and NOT TO BE OPPRESSED by them, is the secret of real greatness. He
+whose hand trembles when it lays hold of a beautiful thing, has the
+quality of reverence, without the artist's unembarrassed friendship
+with the beautiful. Hence the mistakes which have arisen in regard to
+confounding Nietzsche with his extreme opposites the anarchists and
+agitators. For what they dare to touch and break with the impudence
+and irreverence of the unappreciative, he seems likewise to touch and
+break,--but with other fingers--with the fingers of the loving and
+unembarrassed artist who is on good terms with the beautiful and who
+feels able to create it and to enhance it with his touch. The question
+of taste plays an important part in Nietzsche's philosophy, and verses
+9, 10 of this discourse exactly state Nietzsche's ultimate views on the
+subject. In the "Spirit of Gravity", he actually cries:--"Neither a good
+nor a bad taste, but MY taste, of which I have no longer either shame or
+secrecy."
+
+Chapter XXXVI. The Land of Culture.
+
+This is a poetical epitome of some of the scathing criticism of
+scholars which appears in the first of the "Thoughts out of Season"--the
+polemical pamphlet (written in 1873) against David Strauss and his
+school. He reproaches his former colleagues with being sterile and
+shows them that their sterility is the result of their not believing
+in anything. "He who had to create, had always his presaging dreams and
+astral premonitions--and believed in believing!" (See Note on Chapter
+LXXVII.) In the last two verses he reveals the nature of his altruism.
+How far it differs from that of Christianity we have already read in the
+discourse "Neighbour-Love", but here he tells us definitely the nature
+of his love to mankind; he explains why he was compelled to assail the
+Christian values of pity and excessive love of the neighbour, not only
+because they are slave-values and therefore tend to promote degeneration
+(see Note B.), but because he could only love his children's land, the
+undiscovered land in a remote sea; because he would fain retrieve the
+errors of his fathers in his children.
+
+Chapter XXXVII. Immaculate Perception.
+
+An important feature of Nietzsche's interpretation of Life is disclosed
+in this discourse. As Buckle suggests in his "Influence of Women on the
+Progress of Knowledge", the scientific spirit of the investigator is
+both helped and supplemented by the latter's emotions and personality,
+and the divorce of all emotionalism and individual temperament from
+science is a fatal step towards sterility. Zarathustra abjures all those
+who would fain turn an IMPERSONAL eye upon nature and contemplate her
+phenomena with that pure objectivity to which the scientific idealists
+of to-day would so much like to attain. He accuses such idealists of
+hypocrisy and guile; he says they lack innocence in their desires and
+therefore slander all desiring.
+
+Chapter XXXVIII. Scholars.
+
+This is a record of Nietzsche's final breach with his former
+colleagues--the scholars of Germany. Already after the publication of
+the "Birth of Tragedy", numbers of German philologists and professional
+philosophers had denounced him as one who had strayed too far from
+their flock, and his lectures at the University of Bale were deserted
+in consequence; but it was not until 1879, when he finally severed all
+connection with University work, that he may be said to have attained to
+the freedom and independence which stamp this discourse.
+
+Chapter XXXIX. Poets.
+
+People have sometimes said that Nietzsche had no sense of humour. I
+have no intention of defending him here against such foolish critics; I
+should only like to point out to the reader that we have him here at
+his best, poking fun at himself, and at his fellow-poets (see Note on
+Chapter LXIII., pars. 16, 17, 18, 19, 20).
+
+Chapter XL. Great Events.
+
+Here we seem to have a puzzle. Zarathustra himself, while relating
+his experience with the fire-dog to his disciples, fails to get them
+interested in his narrative, and we also may be only too ready to turn
+over these pages under the impression that they are little more than
+a mere phantasy or poetical flight. Zarathustra's interview with the
+fire-dog is, however, of great importance. In it we find Nietzsche
+face to face with the creature he most sincerely loathes--the spirit
+of revolution, and we obtain fresh hints concerning his hatred of the
+anarchist and rebel. "'Freedom' ye all roar most eagerly," he says to
+the fire-dog, "but I have unlearned the belief in 'Great Events' when
+there is much roaring and smoke about them. Not around the inventors
+of new noise, but around the inventors of new values, doth the world
+revolve; INAUDIBLY it revolveth."
+
+Chapter XLI. The Soothsayer.
+
+This refers, of course, to Schopenhauer. Nietzsche, as is well known,
+was at one time an ardent follower of Schopenhauer. He overcame
+Pessimism by discovering an object in existence; he saw the possibility
+of raising society to a higher level and preached the profoundest
+Optimism in consequence.
+
+Chapter XLII. Redemption.
+
+Zarathustra here addresses cripples. He tells them of other
+cripples--the GREAT MEN in this world who have one organ or faculty
+inordinately developed at the cost of their other faculties. This is
+doubtless a reference to a fact which is too often noticeable in the
+case of so many of the world's giants in art, science, or religion. In
+verse 19 we are told what Nietzsche called Redemption--that is to say,
+the ability to say of all that is past: "Thus would I have it." The
+in ability to say this, and the resentment which results therefrom,
+he regards as the source of all our feelings of revenge, and all our
+desires to punish--punishment meaning to him merely a euphemism for the
+word revenge, invented in order to still our consciences. He who can be
+proud of his enemies, who can be grateful to them for the obstacles they
+have put in his way; he who can regard his worst calamity as but the
+extra strain on the bow of his life, which is to send the arrow of
+his longing even further than he could have hoped;--this man knows no
+revenge, neither does he know despair, he truly has found redemption and
+can turn on the worst in his life and even in himself, and call it his
+best (see Notes on Chapter LVII.).
+
+Chapter XLIII. Manly Prudence.
+
+This discourse is very important. In "Beyond Good and Evil" we hear
+often enough that the select and superior man must wear a mask, and
+here we find this injunction explained. "And he who would not languish
+amongst men, must learn to drink out of all glasses: and he who would
+keep clean amongst men, must know how to wash himself even with dirty
+water." This, I venture to suggest, requires some explanation. At a time
+when individuality is supposed to be shown most tellingly by putting
+boots on one's hands and gloves on one's feet, it is somewhat refreshing
+to come across a true individualist who feels the chasm between himself
+and others so deeply, that he must perforce adapt himself to them
+outwardly, at least, in all respects, so that the inner difference
+should be overlooked. Nietzsche practically tells us here that it is not
+he who intentionally wears eccentric clothes or does eccentric things
+who is truly the individualist. The profound man, who is by nature
+differentiated from his fellows, feels this difference too keenly to
+call attention to it by any outward show. He is shamefast and bashful
+with those who surround him and wishes not to be discovered by them,
+just as one instinctively avoids all lavish display of comfort or wealth
+in the presence of a poor friend.
+
+Chapter XLIV. The Stillest Hour.
+
+This seems to me to give an account of the great struggle which must
+have taken place in Nietzsche's soul before he finally resolved to make
+known the more esoteric portions of his teaching. Our deepest feelings
+crave silence. There is a certain self-respect in the serious man which
+makes him hold his profoundest feelings sacred. Before they are uttered
+they are full of the modesty of a virgin, and often the oldest sage will
+blush like a girl when this virginity is violated by an indiscretion
+which forces him to reveal his deepest thoughts.
+
+...
+
+PART III.
+
+This is perhaps the most important of all the four parts. If it
+contained only "The Vision and the Enigma" and "The Old and New Tables"
+I should still be of this opinion; for in the former of these discourses
+we meet with what Nietzsche regarded as the crowning doctrine of his
+philosophy and in "The Old and New Tables" we have a valuable epitome of
+practically all his leading principles.
+
+Chapter XLVI. The Vision and the Enigma.
+
+"The Vision and the Enigma" is perhaps an example of Nietzsche in his
+most obscure vein. We must know how persistently he inveighed against
+the oppressing and depressing influence of man's sense of guilt and
+consciousness of sin in order fully to grasp the significance of this
+discourse. Slowly but surely, he thought the values of Christianity and
+Judaic traditions had done their work in the minds of men. What were
+once but expedients devised for the discipline of a certain portion of
+humanity, had now passed into man's blood and had become instincts. This
+oppressive and paralysing sense of guilt and of sin is what Nietzsche
+refers to when he speaks of "the spirit of gravity." This creature
+half-dwarf, half-mole, whom he bears with him a certain distance on his
+climb and finally defies, and whom he calls his devil and arch-enemy, is
+nothing more than the heavy millstone "guilty conscience," together with
+the concept of sin which at present hangs round the neck of men. To rise
+above it--to soar--is the most difficult of all things to-day. Nietzsche
+is able to think cheerfully and optimistically of the possibility of
+life in this world recurring again and again, when he has once cast the
+dwarf from his shoulders, and he announces his doctrine of the Eternal
+Recurrence of all things great and small to his arch-enemy and in
+defiance of him.
+
+That there is much to be said for Nietzsche's hypothesis of the Eternal
+Recurrence of all things great and small, nobody who has read the
+literature on the subject will doubt for an instant; but it remains a
+very daring conjecture notwithstanding and even in its ultimate effect,
+as a dogma, on the minds of men, I venture to doubt whether Nietzsche
+ever properly estimated its worth (see Note on Chapter LVII.).
+
+What follows is clear enough. Zarathustra sees a young shepherd
+struggling on the ground with a snake holding fast to the back of his
+throat. The sage, assuming that the snake must have crawled into the
+young man's mouth while he lay sleeping, runs to his help and pulls
+at the loathsome reptile with all his might, but in vain. At last, in
+despair, Zarathustra appeals to the young man's will. Knowing full well
+what a ghastly operation he is recommending, he nevertheless cries,
+"Bite! Bite! Its head off! Bite!" as the only possible solution of the
+difficulty. The young shepherd bites, and far away he spits the
+snake's head, whereupon he rises, "No longer shepherd, no longer man--a
+transfigured being, a light-surrounded being, that LAUGHED! Never on
+earth laughed a man as he laughed!"
+
+In this parable the young shepherd is obviously the man of to-day; the
+snake that chokes him represents the stultifying and paralysing social
+values that threaten to shatter humanity, and the advice "Bite! Bite!"
+is but Nietzsche's exasperated cry to mankind to alter their values
+before it is too late.
+
+Chapter XLVII. Involuntary Bliss.
+
+This, like "The Wanderer", is one of the many introspective passages
+in the work, and is full of innuendos and hints as to the Nietzschean
+outlook on life.
+
+Chapter XLVIII. Before Sunrise.
+
+Here we have a record of Zarathustra's avowal of optimism, as also the
+important statement concerning "Chance" or "Accident" (verse 27). Those
+who are familiar with Nietzsche's philosophy will not require to be told
+what an important role his doctrine of chance plays in his teaching.
+The Giant Chance has hitherto played with the puppet "man,"--this is
+the fact he cannot contemplate with equanimity. Man shall now exploit
+chance, he says again and again, and make it fall on its knees before
+him! (See verse 33 in "On the Olive Mount", and verses 9-10 in "The
+Bedwarfing Virtue").
+
+Chapter XLIX. The Bedwarfing Virtue.
+
+This requires scarcely any comment. It is a satire on modern man and
+his belittling virtues. In verses 23 and 24 of the second part of the
+discourse we are reminded of Nietzsche's powerful indictment of the
+great of to-day, in the Antichrist (Aphorism 43):--"At present
+nobody has any longer the courage for separate rights, for rights of
+domination, for a feeling of reverence for himself and his equals,--FOR
+PATHOS OF DISTANCE...Our politics are MORBID from this want of
+courage!--The aristocracy of character has been undermined most craftily
+by the lie of the equality of souls; and if the belief in the 'privilege
+of the many,' makes revolutions and WILL CONTINUE TO MAKE them, it is
+Christianity, let us not doubt it, it is CHRISTIAN valuations, which
+translate every revolution merely into blood and crime!" (see also
+"Beyond Good and Evil", pages 120, 121). Nietzsche thought it was a
+bad sign of the times that even rulers have lost the courage of
+their positions, and that a man of Frederick the Great's power and
+distinguished gifts should have been able to say: "Ich bin der erste
+Diener des Staates" (I am the first servant of the State.) To this
+utterance of the great sovereign, verse 24 undoubtedly refers.
+"Cowardice" and "Mediocrity," are the names with which he labels modern
+notions of virtue and moderation.
+
+In Part III., we get the sentiments of the discourse "In the Happy
+Isles", but perhaps in stronger terms. Once again we find Nietzsche
+thoroughly at ease, if not cheerful, as an atheist, and speaking with
+vertiginous daring of making chance go on its knees to him. In verse
+20, Zarathustra makes yet another attempt at defining his entirely
+anti-anarchical attitude, and unless such passages have been completely
+overlooked or deliberately ignored hitherto by those who will persist in
+laying anarchy at his door, it is impossible to understand how he ever
+became associated with that foul political party.
+
+The last verse introduces the expression, "THE GREAT NOONTIDE!" In the
+poem to be found at the end of "Beyond Good and Evil", we meet with
+the expression again, and we shall find it occurring time and again in
+Nietzsche's works. It will be found fully elucidated in the fifth part
+of "The Twilight of the Idols"; but for those who cannot refer to
+this book, it were well to point out that Nietzsche called the present
+period--our period--the noon of man's history. Dawn is behind us. The
+childhood of mankind is over. Now we KNOW; there is now no longer any
+excuse for mistakes which will tend to botch and disfigure the type man.
+"With respect to what is past," he says, "I have, like all discerning
+ones, great toleration, that is to say, GENEROUS self-control...But my
+feeling changes suddenly, and breaks out as soon as I enter the modern
+period, OUR period. Our age KNOWS..." (See Note on Chapter LXX.).
+
+Chapter LI. On Passing-by.
+
+Here we find Nietzsche confronted with his extreme opposite, with
+him therefore for whom he is most frequently mistaken by the unwary.
+"Zarathustra's ape" he is called in the discourse. He is one of those
+at whose hands Nietzsche had to suffer most during his life-time, and
+at whose hands his philosophy has suffered most since his death. In this
+respect it may seem a little trivial to speak of extremes meeting; but
+it is wonderfully apt. Many have adopted Nietzsche's mannerisms and
+word-coinages, who had nothing in common with him beyond the ideas and
+"business" they plagiarised; but the superficial observer and a large
+portion of the public, not knowing of these things,--not knowing perhaps
+that there are iconoclasts who destroy out of love and are therefore
+creators, and that there are others who destroy out of resentment and
+revengefulness and who are therefore revolutionists and anarchists,--are
+prone to confound the two, to the detriment of the nobler type.
+
+If we now read what the fool says to Zarathustra, and note the tricks of
+speech he has borrowed from him: if we carefully follow the attitude
+he assumes, we shall understand why Zarathustra finally interrupts him.
+"Stop this at once," Zarathustra cries, "long have thy speech and
+thy species disgusted me...Out of love alone shall my contempt and my
+warning bird take wing; BUT NOT OUT OF THE SWAMP!" It were well if
+this discourse were taken to heart by all those who are too ready to
+associate Nietzsche with lesser and noiser men,--with mountebanks and
+mummers.
+
+Chapter LII. The Apostates.
+
+It is clear that this applies to all those breathless and hasty "tasters
+of everything," who plunge too rashly into the sea of independent
+thought and "heresy," and who, having miscalculated their strength, find
+it impossible to keep their head above water. "A little older, a little
+colder," says Nietzsche. They soon clamber back to the conventions of
+the age they intended reforming. The French then say "le diable se fait
+hermite," but these men, as a rule, have never been devils, neither
+do they become angels; for, in order to be really good or evil, some
+strength and deep breathing is required. Those who are more interested
+in supporting orthodoxy than in being over nice concerning the kind of
+support they give it, often refer to these people as evidence in favour
+of the true faith.
+
+Chapter LIII. The Return Home.
+
+This is an example of a class of writing which may be passed over too
+lightly by those whom poetasters have made distrustful of poetry. From
+first to last it is extremely valuable as an autobiographical note. The
+inevitable superficiality of the rabble is contrasted with the peaceful
+and profound depths of the anchorite. Here we first get a direct hint
+concerning Nietzsche's fundamental passion--the main force behind all
+his new values and scathing criticism of existing values. In verse 30
+we are told that pity was his greatest danger. The broad altruism of the
+law-giver, thinking over vast eras of time, was continually being pitted
+by Nietzsche, in himself, against that transient and meaner sympathy for
+the neighbour which he more perhaps than any of his contemporaries had
+suffered from, but which he was certain involved enormous dangers not
+only for himself but also to the next and subsequent generations (see
+Note B., where "pity" is mentioned among the degenerate virtues). Later
+in the book we shall see how his profound compassion leads him into
+temptation, and how frantically he struggles against it. In verses 31
+and 32, he tells us to what extent he had to modify himself in order
+to be endured by his fellows whom he loved (see also verse 12 in "Manly
+Prudence"). Nietzsche's great love for his fellows, which he confesses
+in the Prologue, and which is at the root of all his teaching, seems
+rather to elude the discerning powers of the average philanthropist and
+modern man. He cannot see the wood for the trees. A philanthropy that
+sacrifices the minority of the present-day for the majority constituting
+posterity, completely evades his mental grasp, and Nietzsche's
+philosophy, because it declares Christian values to be a danger to the
+future of our kind, is therefore shelved as brutal, cold, and hard (see
+Note on Chapter XXXVI.). Nietzsche tried to be all things to all men;
+he was sufficiently fond of his fellows for that: in the Return Home he
+describes how he ultimately returns to loneliness in order to recover
+from the effects of his experiment.
+
+Chapter LIV. The Three Evil Things.
+
+Nietzsche is here completely in his element. Three things hitherto
+best-cursed and most calumniated on earth, are brought forward to be
+weighed. Voluptuousness, thirst of power, and selfishness,--the three
+forces in humanity which Christianity has done most to garble and
+besmirch,--Nietzsche endeavours to reinstate in their former places of
+honour. Voluptuousness, or sensual pleasure, is a dangerous thing to
+discuss nowadays. If we mention it with favour we may be regarded,
+however unjustly, as the advocate of savages, satyrs, and pure
+sensuality. If we condemn it, we either go over to the Puritans or we
+join those who are wont to come to table with no edge to their appetites
+and who therefore grumble at all good fare. There can be no doubt that
+the value of healthy innocent voluptuousness, like the value of health
+itself, must have been greatly discounted by all those who, resenting
+their inability to partake of this world's goods, cried like St Paul:
+"I would that all men were even as I myself." Now Nietzsche's philosophy
+might be called an attempt at giving back to healthy and normal men
+innocence and a clean conscience in their desires--NOT to applaud the
+vulgar sensualists who respond to every stimulus and whose passions are
+out of hand; not to tell the mean, selfish individual, whose selfishness
+is a pollution (see Aphorism 33, "Twilight of the Idols"), that he is
+right, nor to assure the weak, the sick, and the crippled, that the
+thirst of power, which they gratify by exploiting the happier and
+healthier individuals, is justified;--but to save the clean healthy man
+from the values of those around him, who look at everything through the
+mud that is in their own bodies,--to give him, and him alone, a clean
+conscience in his manhood and the desires of his manhood. "Do I counsel
+you to slay your instincts? I counsel to innocence in your instincts."
+In verse 7 of the second paragraph (as in verse I of paragraph 19 in
+"The Old and New Tables") Nietzsche gives us a reason for his occasional
+obscurity (see also verses 3 to 7 of "Poets"). As I have already pointed
+out, his philosophy is quite esoteric. It can serve no purpose with the
+ordinary, mediocre type of man. I, personally, can no longer have any
+doubt that Nietzsche's only object, in that part of his philosophy where
+he bids his friends stand "Beyond Good and Evil" with him, was to save
+higher men, whose growth and scope might be limited by the too
+strict observance of modern values from foundering on the rocks of a
+"Compromise" between their own genius and traditional conventions. The
+only possible way in which the great man can achieve greatness is
+by means of exceptional freedom--the freedom which assists him in
+experiencing HIMSELF. Verses 20 to 30 afford an excellent supplement to
+Nietzsche's description of the attitude of the noble type towards the
+slaves in Aphorism 260 of the work "Beyond Good and Evil" (see also Note
+B.)
+
+Chapter LV. The Spirit of Gravity.
+
+(See Note on Chapter XLVI.) In Part II. of this discourse we meet with
+a doctrine not touched upon hitherto, save indirectly;--I refer to the
+doctrine of self-love. We should try to understand this perfectly before
+proceeding; for it is precisely views of this sort which, after having
+been cut out of the original context, are repeated far and wide as
+internal evidence proving the general unsoundness of Nietzsche's
+philosophy. Already in the last of the "Thoughts out of Season"
+Nietzsche speaks as follows about modern men: "...these modern creatures
+wish rather to be hunted down, wounded and torn to shreds, than to
+live alone with themselves in solitary calm. Alone with oneself!--this
+thought terrifies the modern soul; it is his one anxiety, his one
+ghastly fear" (English Edition, page 141). In his feverish scurry to
+find entertainment and diversion, whether in a novel, a newspaper, or a
+play, the modern man condemns his own age utterly; for he shows that in
+his heart of hearts he despises himself. One cannot change a condition
+of this sort in a day; to become endurable to oneself an inner
+transformation is necessary. Too long have we lost ourselves in our
+friends and entertainments to be able to find ourselves so soon at
+another's bidding. "And verily, it is no commandment for to-day and
+to-morrow to LEARN to love oneself. Rather is it of all arts the finest,
+subtlest, last, and patientest."
+
+In the last verse Nietzsche challenges us to show that our way is
+the right way. In his teaching he does not coerce us, nor does he
+overpersuade; he simply says: "I am a law only for mine own, I am not a
+law for all. This--is now MY way,--where is yours?"
+
+Chapter LVI. Old and New Tables. Par. 2.
+
+Nietzsche himself declares this to be the most decisive portion of
+the whole of "Thus Spake Zarathustra". It is a sort of epitome of his
+leading doctrines. In verse 12 of the second paragraph, we learn how he
+himself would fain have abandoned the poetical method of expression had
+he not known only too well that the only chance a new doctrine has of
+surviving, nowadays, depends upon its being given to the world in some
+kind of art-form. Just as prophets, centuries ago, often had to have
+recourse to the mask of madness in order to mitigate the hatred of those
+who did not and could not see as they did; so, to-day, the struggle for
+existence among opinions and values is so great, that an art-form
+is practically the only garb in which a new philosophy can dare to
+introduce itself to us.
+
+Pars. 3 and 4.
+
+Many of the paragraphs will be found to be merely reminiscent of former
+discourses. For instance, par. 3 recalls "Redemption". The last verse
+of par. 4 is important. Freedom which, as I have pointed out before,
+Nietzsche considered a dangerous acquisition in inexperienced or
+unworthy hands, here receives its death-blow as a general desideratum.
+In the first Part we read under "The Way of the Creating One", that
+freedom as an end in itself does not concern Zarathustra at all. He says
+there: "Free from what? What doth that matter to Zarathustra? Clearly,
+however, shall thine eye answer me: free FOR WHAT?" And in "The
+Bedwarfing Virtue": "Ah that ye understood my word: 'Do ever what ye
+will--but first be such as CAN WILL.'"
+
+Par. 5.
+
+Here we have a description of the kind of altruism Nietzsche exacted
+from higher men. It is really a comment upon "The Bestowing Virtue" (see
+Note on Chapter XXII.).
+
+Par. 6.
+
+This refers, of course, to the reception pioneers of Nietzsche's stamp
+meet with at the hands of their contemporaries.
+
+Par. 8.
+
+Nietzsche teaches that nothing is stable,--not even values,--not
+even the concepts good and evil. He likens life unto a stream. But
+foot-bridges and railings span the stream, and they seem to stand
+firm. Many will be reminded of good and evil when they look upon these
+structures; for thus these same values stand over the stream of life,
+and life flows on beneath them and leaves them standing. When, however,
+winter comes and the stream gets frozen, many inquire: "Should not
+everything--STAND STILL? Fundamentally everything standeth still." But
+soon the spring cometh and with it the thaw-wind. It breaks the ice, and
+the ice breaks down the foot-bridges and railings, whereupon everything
+is swept away. This state of affairs, according to Nietzsche, has now
+been reached. "Oh, my brethren, is not everything AT PRESENT IN FLUX?
+Have not all railings and foot-bridges fallen into the water? Who would
+still HOLD ON to 'good' and 'evil'?"
+
+Par. 9.
+
+This is complementary to the first three verses of par. 2.
+
+Par. 10.
+
+So far, this is perhaps the most important paragraph. It is a protest
+against reading a moral order of things in life. "Life is something
+essentially immoral!" Nietzsche tells us in the introduction to the
+"Birth of Tragedy". Even to call life "activity," or to define it
+further as "the continuous adjustment of internal relations to external
+relations," as Spencer has it, Nietzsche characterises as a "democratic
+idiosyncracy." He says to define it in this way, "is to mistake the
+true nature and function of life, which is Will to Power...Life is
+ESSENTIALLY appropriation, injury, conquest of the strange and weak,
+suppression, severity, obtrusion of its own forms, incorporation and
+at least, putting it mildest, exploitation." Adaptation is merely a
+secondary activity, a mere re-activity (see Note on Chapter LVII.).
+
+Pars. 11, 12.
+
+These deal with Nietzsche's principle of the desirability of rearing a
+select race. The biological and historical grounds for his insistence
+upon this principle are, of course, manifold. Gobineau in his great
+work, "L'Inegalite des Races Humaines", lays strong emphasis upon the
+evils which arise from promiscuous and inter-social marriages. He alone
+would suffice to carry Nietzsche's point against all those who are
+opposed to the other conditions, to the conditions which would have
+saved Rome, which have maintained the strength of the Jewish race, and
+which are strictly maintained by every breeder of animals throughout the
+world. Darwin in his remarks relative to the degeneration of CULTIVATED
+types of animals through the action of promiscuous breeding, brings
+Gobineau support from the realm of biology.
+
+The last two verses of par. 12 were discussed in the Notes on Chapters
+XXXVI. and LIII.
+
+Par. 13.
+
+This, like the first part of "The Soothsayer", is obviously a reference
+to the Schopenhauerian Pessimism.
+
+Pars. 14, 15, 16, 17.
+
+These are supplementary to the discourse "Backworld's-men".
+
+Par. 18.
+
+We must be careful to separate this paragraph, in sense, from the
+previous four paragraphs. Nietzsche is still dealing with Pessimism
+here; but it is the pessimism of the hero--the man most susceptible of
+all to desperate views of life, owing to the obstacles that are arrayed
+against him in a world where men of his kind are very rare and are
+continually being sacrificed. It was to save this man that Nietzsche
+wrote. Heroism foiled, thwarted, and wrecked, hoping and fighting until
+the last, is at length overtaken by despair, and renounces all struggle
+for sleep. This is not the natural or constitutional pessimism which
+proceeds from an unhealthy body--the dyspeptic's lack of appetite; it
+is rather the desperation of the netted lion that ultimately stops all
+movement, because the more it moves the more involved it becomes.
+
+Par. 20.
+
+"All that increases power is good, all that springs from weakness is
+bad. The weak and ill-constituted shall perish: first principle of our
+charity. And one shall also help them thereto." Nietzsche partly divined
+the kind of reception moral values of this stamp would meet with at
+the hands of the effeminate manhood of Europe. Here we see that he had
+anticipated the most likely form their criticism would take (see also
+the last two verses of par. 17).
+
+Par. 21.
+
+The first ten verses, here, are reminiscent of "War and Warriors" and
+of "The Flies in the Market-place." Verses 11 and 12, however, are
+particularly important. There is a strong argument in favour of the
+sharp differentiation of castes and of races (and even of sexes; see
+Note on Chapter XVIII.) running all through Nietzsche's writings.
+But sharp differentiation also implies antagonism in some form or
+other--hence Nietzsche's fears for modern men. What modern men desire
+above all, is peace and the cessation of pain. But neither great races
+nor great castes have ever been built up in this way. "Who still wanteth
+to rule?" Zarathustra asks in the "Prologue". "Who still wanteth to
+obey? Both are too burdensome." This is rapidly becoming everybody's
+attitude to-day. The tame moral reading of the face of nature, together
+with such democratic interpretations of life as those suggested by
+Herbert Spencer, are signs of a physiological condition which is the
+reverse of that bounding and irresponsible healthiness in which harder
+and more tragic values rule.
+
+Par. 24.
+
+This should be read in conjunction with "Child and Marriage". In the
+fifth verse we shall recognise our old friend "Marriage on the ten-years
+system," which George Meredith suggested some years ago. This, however,
+must not be taken too literally. I do not think Nietzsche's profoundest
+views on marriage were ever intended to be given over to the public at
+all, at least not for the present. They appear in the biography by his
+sister, and although their wisdom is unquestionable, the nature of the
+reforms he suggests render it impossible for them to become popular just
+now.
+
+Pars. 26, 27.
+
+See Note on "The Prologue".
+
+Par. 28.
+
+Nietzsche was not an iconoclast from predilection. No bitterness or
+empty hate dictated his vituperations against existing values and
+against the dogmas of his parents and forefathers. He knew too well what
+these things meant to the millions who profess them, to approach the
+task of uprooting them with levity or even with haste. He saw what
+modern anarchists and revolutionists do NOT see--namely, that man is in
+danger of actual destruction when his customs and values are broken.
+I need hardly point out, therefore, how deeply he was conscious of
+the responsibility he threw upon our shoulders when he invited us to
+reconsider our position. The lines in this paragraph are evidence enough
+of his earnestness.
+
+Chapter LVII. The Convalescent.
+
+We meet with several puzzles here. Zarathustra calls himself the
+advocate of the circle (the Eternal Recurrence of all things), and he
+calls this doctrine his abysmal thought. In the last verse of the
+first paragraph, however, after hailing his deepest thought, he cries:
+"Disgust, disgust, disgust!" We know Nietzsche's ideal man was that
+"world-approving, exuberant, and vivacious creature, who has not only
+learnt to compromise and arrange with that which was and is, but wishes
+to have it again, AS IT WAS AND IS, for all eternity insatiably calling
+out da capo, not only to himself, but to the whole piece and play" (see
+Note on Chapter XLII.). But if one ask oneself what the conditions to
+such an attitude are, one will realise immediately how utterly different
+Nietzsche was from his ideal. The man who insatiably cries da capo to
+himself and to the whole of his mise-en-scene, must be in a position to
+desire every incident in his life to be repeated, not once, but
+again and again eternally. Now, Nietzsche's life had been too full of
+disappointments, illness, unsuccessful struggles, and snubs, to allow of
+his thinking of the Eternal Recurrence without loathing--hence probably
+the words of the last verse.
+
+In verses 15 and 16, we have Nietzsche declaring himself an evolutionist
+in the broadest sense--that is to say, that he believes in the
+Development Hypothesis as the description of the process by which
+species have originated. Now, to understand his position correctly
+we must show his relationship to the two greatest of modern
+evolutionists--Darwin and Spencer. As a philosopher, however, Nietzsche
+does not stand or fall by his objections to the Darwinian or Spencerian
+cosmogony. He never laid claim to a very profound knowledge of biology,
+and his criticism is far more valuable as the attitude of a fresh mind
+than as that of a specialist towards the question. Moreover, in his
+objections many difficulties are raised which are not settled by an
+appeal to either of the men above mentioned. We have given Nietzsche's
+definition of life in the Note on Chapter LVI., par. 10. Still, there
+remains a hope that Darwin and Nietzsche may some day become reconciled
+by a new description of the processes by which varieties occur. The
+appearance of varieties among animals and of "sporting plants" in
+the vegetable kingdom, is still shrouded in mystery, and the question
+whether this is not precisely the ground on which Darwin and Nietzsche
+will meet, is an interesting one. The former says in his "Origin of
+Species", concerning the causes of variability: "...there are two
+factors, namely, the nature of the organism, and the nature of the
+conditions. THE FORMER SEEMS TO BE MUCH THE MORE IMPORTANT (The italics
+are mine.), for nearly similar variations sometimes arise under, as
+far as we can judge, dissimilar conditions; and on the other hand,
+dissimilar variations arise under conditions which appear to be
+nearly uniform." Nietzsche, recognising this same truth, would ascribe
+practically all the importance to the "highest functionaries in the
+organism, in which the life-will appears as an active and formative
+principle," and except in certain cases (where passive organisms alone
+are concerned) would not give such a prominent place to the influence
+of environment. Adaptation, according to him, is merely a secondary
+activity, a mere re-activity, and he is therefore quite opposed to
+Spencer's definition: "Life is the continuous adjustment of internal
+relations to external relations." Again in the motive force behind
+animal and plant life, Nietzsche disagrees with Darwin. He
+transforms the "Struggle for Existence"--the passive and involuntary
+condition--into the "Struggle for Power," which is active and creative,
+and much more in harmony with Darwin's own view, given above, concerning
+the importance of the organism itself. The change is one of such
+far-reaching importance that we cannot dispose of it in a breath, as a
+mere play upon words. "Much is reckoned higher than life itself by the
+living one." Nietzsche says that to speak of the activity of life as a
+"struggle for existence," is to state the case inadequately. He warns us
+not to confound Malthus with nature. There is something more than
+this struggle between the organic beings on this earth; want, which is
+supposed to bring this struggle about, is not so common as is supposed;
+some other force must be operative. The Will to Power is this force,
+"the instinct of self-preservation is only one of the indirect and most
+frequent results thereof." A certain lack of acumen in psychological
+questions and the condition of affairs in England at the time Darwin
+wrote, may both, according to Nietzsche, have induced the renowned
+naturalist to describe the forces of nature as he did in his "Origin of
+Species".
+
+In verses 28, 29, and 30 of the second portion of this discourse we meet
+with a doctrine which, at first sight, seems to be merely "le manoir
+a l'envers," indeed one English critic has actually said of Nietzsche,
+that "Thus Spake Zarathustra" is no more than a compendium of modern
+views and maxims turned upside down. Examining these heterodox
+pronouncements a little more closely, however, we may possibly perceive
+their truth. Regarding good and evil as purely relative values, it
+stands to reason that what may be bad or evil in a given man, relative
+to a certain environment, may actually be good if not highly virtuous
+in him relative to a certain other environment. If this hypothetical man
+represent the ascending line of life--that is to say, if he promise all
+that which is highest in a Graeco-Roman sense, then it is likely that
+he will be condemned as wicked if introduced into the society of men
+representing the opposite and descending line of life.
+
+By depriving a man of his wickedness--more particularly nowadays--
+therefore, one may unwittingly be doing violence to the greatest in him.
+It may be an outrage against his wholeness, just as the lopping-off of a
+leg would be. Fortunately, the natural so-called "wickedness" of higher
+men has in a certain measure been able to resist this lopping process
+which successive slave-moralities have practised; but signs are not
+wanting which show that the noblest wickedness is fast vanishing from
+society--the wickedness of courage and determination--and that Nietzsche
+had good reasons for crying: "Ah, that (man's) baddest is so very small!
+Ah, that his best is so very small. What is good? To be brave is good!
+It is the good war which halloweth every cause!" (see also par. 5,
+"Higher Man").
+
+Chapter LX. The Seven Seals.
+
+This is a final paean which Zarathustra sings to Eternity and the
+marriage-ring of rings, the ring of the Eternal Recurrence.
+
+...
+
+PART IV.
+
+In my opinion this part is Nietzsche's open avowal that all his
+philosophy, together with all his hopes, enthusiastic outbursts,
+blasphemies, prolixities, and obscurities, were merely so many gifts
+laid at the feet of higher men. He had no desire to save the world. What
+he wished to determine was: Who is to be master of the world? This is
+a very different thing. He came to save higher men;--to give them that
+freedom by which, alone, they can develop and reach their zenith (see
+Note on Chapter LIV., end). It has been argued, and with considerable
+force, that no such philosophy is required by higher men, that, as a
+matter of fact, higher men, by virtue of their constitutions always, do
+stand Beyond Good and Evil, and never allow anything to stand in the
+way of their complete growth. Nietzsche, however, was evidently not so
+confident about this. He would probably have argued that we only see the
+successful cases. Being a great man himself, he was well aware of the
+dangers threatening greatness in our age. In "Beyond Good and Evil" he
+writes: "There are few pains so grievous as to have seen, divined,
+or experienced how an exceptional man has missed his way and
+deteriorated..." He knew "from his painfullest recollections on what
+wretched obstacles promising developments of the highest rank have
+hitherto usually gone to pieces, broken down, sunk, and become
+contemptible." Now in Part IV. we shall find that his strongest
+temptation to descend to the feeling of "pity" for his contemporaries,
+is the "cry for help" which he hears from the lips of the higher men
+exposed to the dreadful danger of their modern environment.
+
+Chapter LXI. The Honey Sacrifice.
+
+In the fourteenth verse of this discourse Nietzsche defines the solemn
+duty he imposed upon himself: "Become what thou art." Surely the
+criticism which has been directed against this maxim must all fall to
+the ground when it is remembered, once and for all, that Nietzsche's
+teaching was never intended to be other than an esoteric one. "I am a
+law only for mine own," he says emphatically, "I am not a law for
+all." It is of the greatest importance to humanity that its highest
+individuals should be allowed to attain to their full development; for,
+only by means of its heroes can the human race be led forward step by
+step to higher and yet higher levels. "Become what thou art" applied
+to all, of course, becomes a vicious maxim; it is to be hoped, however,
+that we may learn in time that the same action performed by a given
+number of men, loses its identity precisely that same number of
+times.--"Quod licet Jovi, non licet bovi."
+
+At the last eight verses many readers may be tempted to laugh. In
+England we almost always laugh when a man takes himself seriously at
+anything save sport. And there is of course no reason why the reader
+should not be hilarious.--A certain greatness is requisite, both in
+order to be sublime and to have reverence for the sublime. Nietzsche
+earnestly believed that the Zarathustra-kingdom--his dynasty of a
+thousand years--would one day come; if he had not believed it so
+earnestly, if every artist in fact had not believed so earnestly in
+his Hazar, whether of ten, fifteen, a hundred, or a thousand years, we
+should have lost all our higher men; they would have become pessimists,
+suicides, or merchants. If the minor poet and philosopher has made us
+shy of the prophetic seriousness which characterized an Isaiah or a
+Jeremiah, it is surely our loss and the minor poet's gain.
+
+Chapter LXII. The Cry of Distress.
+
+We now meet with Zarathustra in extraordinary circumstances. He is
+confronted with Schopenhauer and tempted by the old Soothsayer to commit
+the sin of pity. "I have come that I may seduce thee to thy last sin!"
+says the Soothsayer to Zarathustra. It will be remembered that in
+Schopenhauer's ethics, pity is elevated to the highest place among the
+virtues, and very consistently too, seeing that the Weltanschauung is
+a pessimistic one. Schopenhauer appeals to Nietzsche's deepest and
+strongest sentiment--his sympathy for higher men. "Why dost thou conceal
+thyself?" he cries. "It is THE HIGHER MAN that calleth for thee!"
+Zarathustra is almost overcome by the Soothsayer's pleading, as he
+had been once already in the past, but he resists him step by step. At
+length he can withstand him no longer, and, on the plea that the higher
+man is on his ground and therefore under his protection, Zarathustra
+departs in search of him, leaving Schopenhauer--a higher man in
+Nietzsche's opinion--in the cave as a guest.
+
+Chapter LXIII. Talk with the Kings.
+
+On his way Zarathustra meets two more higher men of his time; two
+kings cross his path. They are above the average modern type; for their
+instincts tell them what real ruling is, and they despise the mockery
+which they have been taught to call "Reigning." "We ARE NOT the first
+men," they say, "and have nevertheless to STAND FOR them: of this
+imposture have we at last become weary and disgusted." It is the kings
+who tell Zarathustra: "There is no sorer misfortune in all human destiny
+than when the mighty of the earth are not also the first men. There
+everything becometh false and distorted and monstrous." The kings are
+also asked by Zarathustra to accept the shelter of his cave, whereupon
+he proceeds on his way.
+
+Chapter LXIV. The Leech.
+
+Among the higher men whom Zarathustra wishes to save, is also the
+scientific specialist--the man who honestly and scrupulously pursues his
+investigations, as Darwin did, in one department of knowledge. "I love
+him who liveth in order to know, and seeketh to know in order that the
+Superman may hereafter live. Thus seeketh he his own down-going."
+"The spiritually conscientious one," he is called in this discourse.
+Zarathustra steps on him unawares, and the slave of science, bleeding
+from the violence he has done to himself by his self-imposed task,
+speaks proudly of his little sphere of knowledge--his little hand's
+breadth of ground on Zarathustra's territory, philosophy. "Where mine
+honesty ceaseth," says the true scientific specialist, "there am I blind
+and want also to be blind. Where I want to know, however, there want
+I also to be honest--namely, severe, rigorous, restricted, cruel, and
+inexorable." Zarathustra greatly respecting this man, invites him too to
+the cave, and then vanishes in answer to another cry for help.
+
+Chapter LXV. The Magician.
+
+The Magician is of course an artist, and Nietzsche's intimate knowledge
+of perhaps the greatest artist of his age rendered the selection of
+Wagner, as the type in this discourse, almost inevitable. Most readers
+will be acquainted with the facts relating to Nietzsche's and Wagner's
+friendship and ultimate separation. As a boy and a youth Nietzsche had
+shown such a remarkable gift for music that it had been a question at
+one time whether he should not perhaps give up everything else in order
+to develop this gift, but he became a scholar notwithstanding, although
+he never entirely gave up composing, and playing the piano. While
+still in his teens, he became acquainted with Wagner's music and
+grew passionately fond of it. Long before he met Wagner he must have
+idealised him in his mind to an extent which only a profoundly artistic
+nature could have been capable of. Nietzsche always had high ideals for
+humanity. If one were asked whether, throughout his many changes, there
+was yet one aim, one direction, and one hope to which he held fast,
+one would be forced to reply in the affirmative and declare that aim,
+direction, and hope to have been "the elevation of the type man."
+Now, when Nietzsche met Wagner he was actually casting about for an
+incarnation of his dreams for the German people, and we have only to
+remember his youth (he was twenty-one when he was introduced to Wagner),
+his love of Wagner's music, and the undoubted power of the great
+musician's personality, in order to realise how very uncritical his
+attitude must have been in the first flood of his enthusiasm. Again,
+when the friendship ripened, we cannot well imagine Nietzsche, the
+younger man, being anything less than intoxicated by his senior's
+attention and love, and we are therefore not surprised to find him
+pressing Wagner forward as the great Reformer and Saviour of mankind.
+"Wagner in Bayreuth" (English Edition, 1909) gives us the best proof
+of Nietzsche's infatuation, and although signs are not wanting in this
+essay which show how clearly and even cruelly he was sub-consciously
+"taking stock" of his friend--even then, the work is a record of what
+great love and admiration can do in the way of endowing the object
+of one's affection with all the qualities and ideals that a fertile
+imagination can conceive.
+
+When the blow came it was therefore all the more severe. Nietzsche
+at length realised that the friend of his fancy and the real Richard
+Wagner--the composer of Parsifal--were not one; the fact dawned
+upon him slowly; disappointment upon disappointment, revelation after
+revelation, ultimately brought it home to him, and though his best
+instincts were naturally opposed to it at first, the revulsion of
+feeling at last became too strong to be ignored, and Nietzsche was
+plunged into the blackest despair. Years after his break with Wagner,
+he wrote "The Case of Wagner", and "Nietzsche contra Wagner", and these
+works are with us to prove the sincerity and depth of his views on the
+man who was the greatest event of his life.
+
+The poem in this discourse is, of course, reminiscent of Wagner's own
+poetical manner, and it must be remembered that the whole was written
+subsequent to Nietzsche's final break with his friend. The dialogue
+between Zarathustra and the Magician reveals pretty fully what it
+was that Nietzsche grew to loathe so intensely in Wagner,--viz., his
+pronounced histrionic tendencies, his dissembling powers, his inordinate
+vanity, his equivocalness, his falseness. "It honoureth thee," says
+Zarathustra, "that thou soughtest for greatness, but it betrayeth thee
+also. Thou art not great." The Magician is nevertheless sent as a guest
+to Zarathustra's cave; for, in his heart, Zarathustra believed until the
+end that the Magician was a higher man broken by modern values.
+
+Chapter LXVI. Out of Service.
+
+Zarathustra now meets the last pope, and, in a poetical form, we get
+Nietzsche's description of the course Judaism and Christianity pursued
+before they reached their final break-up in Atheism, Agnosticism, and
+the like. The God of a strong, warlike race--the God of Israel--is a
+jealous, revengeful God. He is a power that can be pictured and endured
+only by a hardy and courageous race, a race rich enough to sacrifice and
+to lose in sacrifice. The image of this God degenerates with the people
+that appropriate it, and gradually He becomes a God of love--"soft and
+mellow," a lower middle-class deity, who is "pitiful." He can no longer
+be a God who requires sacrifice, for we ourselves are no longer rich
+enough for that. The tables are therefore turned upon Him; HE must
+sacrifice to us. His pity becomes so great that he actually does
+sacrifice something to us--His only begotten Son. Such a process
+carried to its logical conclusions must ultimately end in His own
+destruction, and thus we find the pope declaring that God was one day
+suffocated by His all-too-great pity. What follows is clear enough.
+Zarathustra recognises another higher man in the ex-pope and sends him
+too as a guest to the cave.
+
+Chapter LXVII. The Ugliest Man.
+
+This discourse contains perhaps the boldest of Nietzsche's suggestions
+concerning Atheism, as well as some extremely penetrating remarks upon
+the sentiment of pity. Zarathustra comes across the repulsive creature
+sitting on the wayside, and what does he do? He manifests the only
+correct feelings that can be manifested in the presence of any great
+misery--that is to say, shame, reverence, embarrassment. Nietzsche
+detested the obtrusive and gushing pity that goes up to misery without
+a blush either on its cheek or in its heart--the pity which is only
+another form of self-glorification. "Thank God that I am not like
+thee!"--only this self-glorifying sentiment can lend a well-constituted
+man the impudence to SHOW his pity for the cripple and the
+ill-constituted. In the presence of the ugliest man Nietzsche
+blushes,--he blushes for his race; his own particular kind of
+altruism--the altruism that might have prevented the existence of this
+man--strikes him with all its force. He will have the world otherwise.
+He will have a world where one need not blush for one's fellows--hence
+his appeal to us to love only our children's land, the land undiscovered
+in the remotest sea.
+
+Zarathustra calls the ugliest man the murderer of God! Certainly, this
+is one aspect of a certain kind of Atheism--the Atheism of the man who
+reveres beauty to such an extent that his own ugliness, which outrages
+him, must be concealed from every eye lest it should not be respected as
+Zarathustra respected it. If there be a God, He too must be evaded. His
+pity must be foiled. But God is ubiquitous and omniscient. Therefore,
+for the really GREAT ugly man, He must not exist. "Their pity IS it from
+which I flee away," he says--that is to say: "It is from their want of
+reverence and lack of shame in presence of my great misery!" The ugliest
+man despises himself; but Zarathustra said in his Prologue: "I love
+the great despisers because they are the great adorers, and arrows of
+longing for the other shore." He therefore honours the ugliest man: sees
+height in his self-contempt, and invites him to join the other higher
+men in the cave.
+
+Chapter LXVIII. The Voluntary Beggar.
+
+In this discourse, we undoubtedly have the ideal Buddhist, if not
+Gautama Buddha himself. Nietzsche had the greatest respect for Buddhism,
+and almost wherever he refers to it in his works, it is in terms of
+praise. He recognised that though Buddhism is undoubtedly a religion for
+decadents, its decadent values emanate from the higher and not, as in
+Christianity, from the lower grades of society. In Aphorism 20 of "The
+Antichrist", he compares it exhaustively with Christianity, and
+the result of his investigation is very much in favour of the older
+religion. Still, he recognised a most decided Buddhistic influence
+in Christ's teaching, and the words in verses 29, 30, and 31 are very
+reminiscent of his views in regard to the Christian Savior.
+
+The figure of Christ has been introduced often enough into fiction, and
+many scholars have undertaken to write His life according to their own
+lights, but few perhaps have ever attempted to present Him to us bereft
+of all those characteristics which a lack of the sense of harmony has
+attached to His person through the ages in which His doctrines have been
+taught. Now Nietzsche disagreed entirely with Renan's view, that Christ
+was "le grand maitre en ironie"; in Aphorism 31 of "The Antichrist",
+he says that he (Nietzsche) always purged his picture of the Humble
+Nazarene of all those bitter and spiteful outbursts which, in view of
+the struggle the first Christians went through, may very well have been
+added to the original character by Apologists and Sectarians who, at
+that time, could ill afford to consider nice psychological points,
+seeing that what they needed, above all, was a wrangling and abusive
+deity. These two conflicting halves in the character of the Christ of
+the Gospels, which no sound psychology can ever reconcile, Nietzsche
+always kept distinct in his own mind; he could not credit the same man
+with sentiments sometimes so noble and at other times so vulgar, and
+in presenting us with this new portrait of the Saviour, purged of all
+impurities, Nietzsche rendered military honours to a foe, which far
+exceed in worth all that His most ardent disciples have ever claimed for
+Him. In verse 26 we are vividly reminded of Herbert Spencer's words "'Le
+mariage de convenance' is legalised prostitution."
+
+Chapter LXIX. The Shadow.
+
+Here we have a description of that courageous and wayward spirit that
+literally haunts the footsteps of every great thinker and every great
+leader; sometimes with the result that it loses all aims, all hopes,
+and all trust in a definite goal. It is the case of the bravest and
+most broad-minded men of to-day. These literally shadow the most daring
+movements in the science and art of their generation; they completely
+lose their bearings and actually find themselves, in the end, without a
+way, a goal, or a home. "On every surface have I already sat!...I become
+thin, I am almost equal to a shadow!" At last, in despair, such men
+do indeed cry out: "Nothing is true; all is permitted," and then they
+become mere wreckage. "Too much hath become clear unto me: now nothing
+mattereth to me any more. Nothing liveth any longer that I love,--how
+should I still love myself! Have I still a goal? Where is MY home?"
+Zarathustra realises the danger threatening such a man. "Thy danger is
+not small, thou free spirit and wanderer," he says. "Thou hast had a bad
+day. See that a still worse evening doth not overtake thee!" The danger
+Zarathustra refers to is precisely this, that even a prison may seem a
+blessing to such a man. At least the bars keep him in a place of rest;
+a place of confinement, at its worst, is real. "Beware lest in the end
+a narrow faith capture thee," says Zarathustra, "for now everything that
+is narrow and fixed seduceth and tempteth thee."
+
+Chapter LXX. Noontide.
+
+At the noon of life Nietzsche said he entered the world; with him
+man came of age. We are now held responsible for our actions; our old
+guardians, the gods and demi-gods of our youth, the superstitions and
+fears of our childhood, withdraw; the field lies open before us; we
+lived through our morning with but one master--chance--; let us see to
+it that we MAKE our afternoon our own (see Note XLIX., Part III.).
+
+Chapter LXXI. The Greeting.
+
+Here I think I may claim that my contention in regard to the purpose and
+aim of the whole of Nietzsche's philosophy (as stated at the beginning
+of my Notes on Part IV.) is completely upheld. He fought for "all who
+do not want to live, unless they learn again to HOPE--unless THEY learn
+(from him) the GREAT hope!" Zarathustra's address to his guests shows
+clearly enough how he wished to help them: "I DO NOT TREAT MY WARRIORS
+INDULGENTLY," he says: "how then could ye be fit for MY warfare?" He
+rebukes and spurns them, no word of love comes from his lips. Elsewhere
+he says a man should be a hard bed to his friend, thus alone can he be
+of use to him. Nietzsche would be a hard bed to higher men. He would
+make them harder; for, in order to be a law unto himself, man must
+possess the requisite hardness. "I wait for higher ones, stronger ones,
+more triumphant ones, merrier ones, for such as are built squarely in
+body and soul." He says in par. 6 of "Higher Man":--
+
+"Ye higher men, think ye that I am here to put right what ye have put
+wrong? Or that I wished henceforth to make snugger couches for you
+sufferers? Or show you restless, miswandering, misclimbing ones new and
+easier footpaths?"
+
+"Nay! Nay! Three times nay! Always more, always better ones of your type
+shall succumb--for ye shall always have it worse and harder."
+
+Chapter LXXII. The Supper.
+
+In the first seven verses of this discourse, I cannot help seeing
+a gentle allusion to Schopenhauer's habits as a bon-vivant. For a
+pessimist, be it remembered, Schopenhauer led quite an extraordinary
+life. He ate well, loved well, played the flute well, and I believe he
+smoked the best cigars. What follows is clear enough.
+
+Chapter LXXIII. The Higher Man. Par. 1.
+
+Nietzsche admits, here, that at one time he had thought of appealing to
+the people, to the crowd in the market-place, but that he had ultimately
+to abandon the task. He bids higher men depart from the market-place.
+
+Par. 3.
+
+Here we are told quite plainly what class of men actually owe all their
+impulses and desires to the instinct of self-preservation. The struggle
+for existence is indeed the only spur in the case of such people.
+To them it matters not in what shape or condition man be preserved,
+provided only he survive. The transcendental maxim that "Life per se is
+precious" is the ruling maxim here.
+
+Par. 4.
+
+In the Note on Chapter LVII. (end) I speak of Nietzsche's elevation of
+the virtue, Courage, to the highest place among the virtues. Here he
+tells higher men the class of courage he expects from them.
+
+Pars. 5, 6.
+
+These have already been referred to in the Notes on Chapters LVII. (end)
+and LXXI.
+
+Par. 7.
+
+I suggest that the last verse in this paragraph strongly confirms the
+view that Nietzsche's teaching was always meant by him to be esoteric
+and for higher man alone.
+
+Par. 9.
+
+In the last verse, here, another shaft of light is thrown upon the
+Immaculate Perception or so-called "pure objectivity" of the scientific
+mind. "Freedom from fever is still far from being knowledge." Where a
+man's emotions cease to accompany him in his investigations, he is
+not necessarily nearer the truth. Says Spencer, in the Preface to his
+Autobiography:--"In the genesis of a system of thought, the emotional
+nature is a large factor: perhaps as large a factor as the intellectual
+nature" (see pages 134, 141 of Vol. I., "Thoughts out of Season").
+
+Pars. 10, 11.
+
+When we approach Nietzsche's philosophy we must be prepared to be
+independent thinkers; in fact, the greatest virtue of his works is
+perhaps the subtlety with which they impose the obligation upon one
+of thinking alone, of scoring off one's own bat, and of shifting
+intellectually for oneself.
+
+Par. 13.
+
+"I am a railing alongside the torrent; whoever is able to grasp me, may
+grasp me! Your crutch, however, I am not." These two paragraphs are an
+exhortation to higher men to become independent.
+
+Par. 15.
+
+Here Nietzsche perhaps exaggerates the importance of heredity. As,
+however, the question is by no means one on which we are all agreed,
+what he says is not without value.
+
+A very important principle in Nietzsche's philosophy is enunciated in
+the first verse of this paragraph. "The higher its type, always the
+seldomer doth a thing succeed" (see page 82 of "Beyond Good and Evil").
+Those who, like some political economists, talk in a business-like way
+about the terrific waste of human life and energy, deliberately overlook
+the fact that the waste most to be deplored usually occurs among
+higher individuals. Economy was never precisely one of nature's leading
+principles. All this sentimental wailing over the larger proportion
+of failures than successes in human life, does not seem to take into
+account the fact that it is the rarest thing on earth for a highly
+organised being to attain to the fullest development and activity of all
+its functions, simply because it is so highly organised. The blind Will
+to Power in nature therefore stands in urgent need of direction by man.
+
+Pars. 16, 17, 18, 19, 20.
+
+These paragraphs deal with Nietzsche's protest against the democratic
+seriousness (Pobelernst) of modern times. "All good things laugh," he
+says, and his final command to the higher men is, "LEARN, I pray you--to
+laugh." All that is GOOD, in Nietzsche's sense, is cheerful. To be able
+to crack a joke about one's deepest feelings is the greatest test of
+their value. The man who does not laugh, like the man who does not make
+faces, is already a buffoon at heart.
+
+"What hath hitherto been the greatest sin here on earth? Was it not the
+word of him who said: 'Woe unto them that laugh now!' Did he himself
+find no cause for laughter on the earth? Then he sought badly. A child
+even findeth cause for it."
+
+Chapter LXXIV. The Song of Melancholy.
+
+After his address to the higher men, Zarathustra goes out into the
+open to recover himself. Meanwhile the magician (Wagner), seizing the
+opportunity in order to draw them all into his net once more, sings the
+Song of Melancholy.
+
+Chapter LXXV. Science.
+
+The only one to resist the "melancholy voluptuousness" of his art, is
+the spiritually conscientious one--the scientific specialist of whom we
+read in the discourse entitled "The Leech". He takes the harp from the
+magician and cries for air, while reproving the musician in the style
+of "The Case of Wagner". When the magician retaliates by saying that the
+spiritually conscientious one could have understood little of his song,
+the latter replies: "Thou praisest me in that thou separatest me from
+thyself." The speech of the scientific man to his fellow higher men is
+well worth studying. By means of it, Nietzsche pays a high tribute to
+the honesty of the true specialist, while, in representing him as the
+only one who can resist the demoniacal influence of the magician's
+music, he elevates him at a stroke, above all those present. Zarathustra
+and the spiritually conscientious one join issue at the end on the
+question of the proper place of "fear" in man's history, and Nietzsche
+avails himself of the opportunity in order to restate his views
+concerning the relation of courage to humanity. It is precisely because
+courage has played the most important part in our development that
+he would not see it vanish from among our virtues to-day. "...courage
+seemeth to me the entire primitive history of man."
+
+Chapter LXXVI. Among the Daughters of the Desert.
+
+This tells its own tale.
+
+Chapter LXXVII. The Awakening.
+
+In this discourse, Nietzsche wishes to give his followers a warning.
+He thinks he has so far helped them that they have become convalescent,
+that new desires are awakened in them and that new hopes are in their
+arms and legs. But he mistakes the nature of the change. True, he has
+helped them, he has given them back what they most need, i.e., belief in
+believing--the confidence in having confidence in something, but how
+do they use it? This belief in faith, if one can so express it without
+seeming tautological, has certainly been restored to them, and in
+the first flood of their enthusiasm they use it by bowing down and
+worshipping an ass! When writing this passage, Nietzsche was obviously
+thinking of the accusations which were levelled at the early Christians
+by their pagan contemporaries. It is well known that they were supposed
+not only to be eaters of human flesh but also ass-worshippers, and among
+the Roman graffiti, the most famous is the one found on the Palatino,
+showing a man worshipping a cross on which is suspended a figure
+with the head of an ass (see Minucius Felix, "Octavius" IX.; Tacitus,
+"Historiae" v. 3; Tertullian, "Apologia", etc.). Nietzsche's obvious
+moral, however, is that great scientists and thinkers, once they have
+reached the wall encircling scepticism and have thereby learned to
+recover their confidence in the act of believing, as such, usually
+manifest the change in their outlook by falling victims to the narrowest
+and most superstitious of creeds. So much for the introduction of the
+ass as an object of worship.
+
+Now, with regard to the actual service and Ass-Festival, no reader who
+happens to be acquainted with the religious history of the Middle Ages
+will fail to see the allusion here to the asinaria festa which were by
+no means uncommon in France, Germany, and elsewhere in Europe during the
+thirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries.
+
+Chapter LXXVIII. The Ass-Festival.
+
+At length, in the middle of their feast, Zarathustra bursts in upon
+them and rebukes them soundly. But he does not do so long; in the
+Ass-Festival, it suddenly occurs to him, that he is concerned with a
+ceremony that may not be without its purpose, as something foolish but
+necessary--a recreation for wise men. He is therefore highly pleased
+that the higher men have all blossomed forth; they therefore require
+new festivals,--"A little valiant nonsense, some divine service and
+ass-festival, some old joyful Zarathustra fool, some blusterer to blow
+their souls bright."
+
+He tells them not to forget that night and the ass-festival, for "such
+things only the convalescent devise! And should ye celebrate it again,"
+he concludes, "do it from love to yourselves, do it also from love to
+me! And in remembrance of ME!"
+
+Chapter LXXIX. The Drunken Song.
+
+It were the height of presumption to attempt to fix any particular
+interpretation of my own to the words of this song. With what has gone
+before, the reader, while reading it as poetry, should be able to seek
+and find his own meaning in it. The doctrine of the Eternal Recurrence
+appears for the last time here, in an art-form. Nietzsche lays stress
+upon the fact that all happiness, all delight, longs for repetitions,
+and just as a child cries "Again! Again!" to the adult who happens to
+be amusing him; so the man who sees a meaning, and a joyful meaning, in
+existence must also cry "Again!" and yet "Again!" to all his life.
+
+Chapter LXXX. The Sign.
+
+In this discourse, Nietzsche disassociates himself finally from the
+higher men, and by the symbol of the lion, wishes to convey to us that
+he has won over and mastered the best and the most terrible in nature.
+That great power and tenderness are kin, was already his belief in
+1875--eight years before he wrote this speech, and when the birds and
+the lion come to him, it is because he is the embodiment of the two
+qualities. All that is terrible and great in nature, the higher men are
+not yet prepared for; for they retreat horror-stricken into the cave
+when the lion springs at them; but Zarathustra makes not a move towards
+them. He was tempted to them on the previous day, he says, but "That
+hath had its time! My suffering and my fellow suffering,--what matter
+about them! Do I then strive after HAPPINESS? I strive after my work!
+Well! the lion hath come, my children are nigh. Zarathustra hath grown
+ripe. MY day beginneth: ARISE NOW, ARISE, THOU GREAT NOONDAY!"
+
+...
+
+The above I know to be open to much criticism. I shall be grateful to
+all those who will be kind enough to show me where and how I have gone
+wrong; but I should like to point out that, as they stand, I have not
+given to these Notes by any means their final form.
+
+ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI.
+
+London, February 1909.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Thus Spake Zarathustra, by Friedrich Nietzsche
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diff --git a/old/1998.zip b/old/1998.zip
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+Project Gutenberg Etext of Thus Spake Zarathustra, by Nietzsche
+#1 in our series by by Friedrich Nietzsche
+
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+Title: Thus Spake Zarathustra
+
+Author: Friedrich Nietzsche
+
+Translator: Thomas Common
+
+December, 1999  [Etext #1998]
+[Date last updated: March 2, 2006]
+[Most recently updated on May 27, 2007]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
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+
+
+
+FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE
+
+
+THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA
+
+
+A BOOK FOR ALL AND NONE
+
+
+TRANSLATED BY THOMAS COMMON
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+INTRODUCTION BY MRS FORSTER-NIETZSCHE.
+
+
+
+THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA.
+
+FIRST PART.
+
+Zarathustra's Prologue.
+
+Zarathustra' Discourses.
+
+I.  The Three Metamorphoses.
+
+II.  The Academic Chairs of Virtue.
+
+III.  Backworldsmen.
+
+IV.  The Despisers of the Body.
+
+V.  Joys and Passions.
+
+VI.  The Pale Criminal.
+
+VII.  Reading and Writing.
+
+VIII.  The Tree on the Hill.
+
+IX.  The Preachers of Death.
+
+X.  War and Warriors.
+
+XI.  The New Idol.
+
+XII.  The Flies in the Market-place.
+
+XIII.  Chastity.
+
+XIV.  The Friend.
+
+XV.  The Thousand and One Goals.
+
+XVI.  Neighbour-Love.
+
+XVII.  The Way of the Creating One.
+
+XVIII.  Old and Young Women.
+
+XIX.  The Bite of the Adder.
+
+XX.  Child and Marriage.
+
+XXI.  Voluntary Death.
+
+XXII.  The Bestowing Virtue.
+
+
+SECOND PART.
+
+XXIII.  The Child with the Mirror.
+
+XXIV.  In the Happy Isles.
+
+XXV.  The Pitiful.
+
+XXVI.  The Priests.
+
+XXVII.  The Virtuous.
+
+XXVIII.  The Rabble.
+
+XXIX.  The Tarantulas.
+
+XXX.  The Famous Wise Ones.
+
+XXXI.  The Night-Song.
+
+XXXII.  The Dance-Song.
+
+XXXIII.  The Grave-Song.
+
+XXXIV.  Self-Surpassing.
+
+XXXV.  The Sublime Ones.
+
+XXXVI.  The Land of Culture.
+
+XXXVII.  Immaculate Perception.
+
+XXXVIII.  Scholars.
+
+XXXIX.  Poets.
+
+XL.  Great Events.
+
+XLI.  The Soothsayer.
+
+XLII.  Redemption.
+
+XLIII.  Manly Prudence.
+
+XLIV.  The Stillest Hour.
+
+
+THIRD PART.
+
+XLV.  The Wanderer.
+
+XLVI.  The Vision and the Enigma.
+
+XLVII.  Involuntary Bliss.
+
+XLVIII.  Before Sunrise.
+
+XLIX.  The Bedwarfing Virtue.
+
+L.  On the Olive-Mount.
+
+LI.  On Passing-by.
+
+LII.  The Apostates.
+
+LIII.  The Return Home.
+
+LIV.  The Three Evil Things.
+
+LV.  The Spirit of Gravity.
+
+LVI.  Old and New Tables.
+
+LVII.  The Convalescent.
+
+LVIII.  The Great Longing.
+
+LIX.  The Second Dance-Song.
+
+LX.  The Seven Seals.
+
+
+FOURTH AND LAST PART.
+
+LXI.  The Honey Sacrifice.
+
+LXII.  The Cry of Distress.
+
+LXIII.  Talk with the Kings.
+
+LXIV.  The Leech.
+
+LXV.  The Magician.
+
+LXVI.  Out of Service.
+
+LXVII.  The Ugliest Man.
+
+LXVIII.  The Voluntary Beggar.
+
+LXIX.  The Shadow.
+
+LXX.  Noon-Tide.
+
+LXXI.  The Greeting.
+
+LXXII.  The Supper.
+
+LXIII.  The Higher Man.
+
+LXXIV.  The Song of Melancholy.
+
+LXXV.  Science.
+
+LXXVI.  Among Daughters of the Desert.
+
+LXXVII.  The Awakening.
+
+LXXVIII.  The Ass-Festival.
+
+LXXIX.  The Drunken Song.
+
+LXXX.  The Sign.
+
+
+APPENDIX.
+
+Notes on "Thus Spake Zarathustra" by Anthony M. Ludovici.
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION BY MRS FORSTER-NIETZSCHE.
+
+HOW ZARATHUSTRA CAME INTO BEING.
+
+"Zarathustra" is my brother's most personal work; it is the history of his
+most individual experiences, of his friendships, ideals, raptures,
+bitterest disappointments and sorrows.  Above it all, however, there soars,
+transfiguring it, the image of his greatest hopes and remotest aims.  My
+brother had the figure of Zarathustra in his mind from his very earliest
+youth:  he once told me that even as a child he had dreamt of him.  At
+different periods in his life, he would call this haunter of his dreams by
+different names; "but in the end," he declares in a note on the subject, "I
+had to do a PERSIAN the honour of identifying him with this creature of my
+fancy.  Persians were the first to take a broad and comprehensive view of
+history.  Every series of evolutions, according to them, was presided over
+by a prophet; and every prophet had his 'Hazar,'--his dynasty of a thousand
+years."
+
+All Zarathustra's views, as also his personality, were early conceptions of
+my brother's mind.  Whoever reads his posthumously published writings for
+the years 1869-82 with care, will constantly meet with passages suggestive
+of Zarathustra's thoughts and doctrines.  For instance, the ideal of the
+Superman is put forth quite clearly in all his writings during the years
+1873-75; and in "We Philologists", the following remarkable observations
+occur:--
+
+"How can one praise and glorify a nation as a whole?--Even among the
+Greeks, it was the INDIVIDUALS that counted."
+
+"The Greeks are interesting and extremely important because they reared
+such a vast number of great individuals.  How was this possible?  The
+question is one which ought to be studied.
+
+"I am interested only in the relations of a people to the rearing of the
+individual man, and among the Greeks the conditions were unusually
+favourable for the development of the individual; not by any means owing to
+the goodness of the people, but because of the struggles of their evil
+instincts.
+
+"WITH THE HELP OF FAVOURABLE MEASURES GREAT INDIVIDUALS MIGHT BE REARED WHO
+WOULD BE BOTH DIFFERENT FROM AND HIGHER THAN THOSE WHO HERETOFORE HAVE OWED
+THEIR EXISTENCE TO MERE CHANCE.  Here we may still be hopeful:  in the
+rearing of exceptional men."
+
+The notion of rearing the Superman is only a new form of an ideal Nietzsche
+already had in his youth, that "THE OBJECT OF MANKIND SHOULD LIE IN ITS
+HIGHEST INDIVIDUALS" (or, as he writes in "Schopenhauer as Educator":
+"Mankind ought constantly to be striving to produce great men--this and
+nothing else is its duty.")  But the ideals he most revered in those days
+are no longer held to be the highest types of men.  No, around this future
+ideal of a coming humanity--the Superman--the poet spread the veil of
+becoming.  Who can tell to what glorious heights man can still ascend?
+That is why, after having tested the worth of our noblest ideal--that of
+the Saviour, in the light of the new valuations, the poet cries with
+passionate emphasis in "Zarathustra":
+
+"Never yet hath there been a Superman.  Naked have I seen both of them, the
+greatest and the smallest man:--
+
+All-too-similar are they still to each other.  Verily even the greatest
+found I--all-too-human!"--
+
+The phrase "the rearing of the Superman," has very often been
+misunderstood.  By the word "rearing," in this case, is meant the act of
+modifying by means of new and higher values--values which, as laws and
+guides of conduct and opinion, are now to rule over mankind.  In general
+the doctrine of the Superman can only be understood correctly in
+conjunction with other ideas of the author's, such as:--the Order of Rank,
+the Will to Power, and the Transvaluation of all Values.  He assumes that
+Christianity, as a product of the resentment of the botched and the weak,
+has put in ban all that is beautiful, strong, proud, and powerful, in fact
+all the qualities resulting from strength, and that, in consequence, all
+forces which tend to promote or elevate life have been seriously
+undermined.  Now, however, a new table of valuations must be placed over
+mankind--namely, that of the strong, mighty, and magnificent man,
+overflowing with life and elevated to his zenith--the Superman, who is now
+put before us with overpowering passion as the aim of our life, hope, and
+will.  And just as the old system of valuing, which only extolled the
+qualities favourable to the weak, the suffering, and the oppressed, has
+succeeded in producing a weak, suffering, and "modern" race, so this new
+and reversed system of valuing ought to rear a healthy, strong, lively, and
+courageous type, which would be a glory to life itself.  Stated briefly,
+the leading principle of this new system of valuing would be:  "All that
+proceeds from power is good, all that springs from weakness is bad."
+
+This type must not be regarded as a fanciful figure:  it is not a nebulous
+hope which is to be realised at some indefinitely remote period, thousands
+of years hence; nor is it a new species (in the Darwinian sense) of which
+we can know nothing, and which it would therefore be somewhat absurd to
+strive after.  But it is meant to be a possibility which men of the present
+could realise with all their spiritual and physical energies, provided they
+adopted the new values.
+
+The author of "Zarathustra" never lost sight of that egregious example of a
+transvaluation of all values through Christianity, whereby the whole of the
+deified mode of life and thought of the Greeks, as well as strong Romedom,
+was almost annihilated or transvalued in a comparatively short time.  Could
+not a rejuvenated Graeco-Roman system of valuing (once it had been refined
+and made more profound by the schooling which two thousand years of
+Christianity had provided) effect another such revolution within a
+calculable period of time, until that glorious type of manhood shall
+finally appear which is to be our new faith and hope, and in the creation
+of which Zarathustra exhorts us to participate?
+
+In his private notes on the subject the author uses the expression
+"Superman" (always in the singular, by-the-bye), as signifying "the most
+thoroughly well-constituted type," as opposed to "modern man"; above all,
+however, he designates Zarathustra himself as an example of the Superman.
+In "Ecco Homo" he is careful to enlighten us concerning the precursors and
+prerequisites to the advent of this highest type, in referring to a certain
+passage in the "Gay Science":--
+
+"In order to understand this type, we must first be quite clear in regard
+to the leading physiological condition on which it depends:  this condition
+is what I call GREAT HEALTHINESS.  I know not how to express my meaning
+more plainly or more personally than I have done already in one of the last
+chapters (Aphorism 382) of the fifth book of the 'Gaya Scienza'."
+
+"We, the new, the nameless, the hard-to-understand,"--it says there,--"we
+firstlings of a yet untried future--we require for a new end also a new
+means, namely, a new healthiness, stronger, sharper, tougher, bolder and
+merrier than all healthiness hitherto.  He whose soul longeth to experience
+the whole range of hitherto recognised values and desirabilities, and to
+circumnavigate all the coasts of this ideal 'Mediterranean Sea', who, from
+the adventures of his most personal experience, wants to know how it feels
+to be a conqueror, and discoverer of the ideal--as likewise how it is with
+the artist, the saint, the legislator, the sage, the scholar, the devotee,
+the prophet, and the godly non-conformist of the old style:--requires one
+thing above all for that purpose, GREAT HEALTHINESS--such healthiness as
+one not only possesses, but also constantly acquires and must acquire,
+because one unceasingly sacrifices it again, and must sacrifice it!--And
+now, after having been long on the way in this fashion, we Argonauts of the
+ideal, more courageous perhaps than prudent, and often enough shipwrecked
+and brought to grief, nevertheless dangerously healthy, always healthy
+again,--it would seem as if, in recompense for it all, that we have a still
+undiscovered country before us, the boundaries of which no one has yet
+seen, a beyond to all countries and corners of the ideal known hitherto, a
+world so over-rich in the beautiful, the strange, the questionable, the
+frightful, and the divine, that our curiosity as well as our thirst for
+possession thereof, have got out of hand--alas! that nothing will now any
+longer satisfy us!--
+
+"How could we still be content with THE MAN OF THE PRESENT DAY after such
+outlooks, and with such a craving in our conscience and consciousness?  Sad
+enough; but it is unavoidable that we should look on the worthiest aims and
+hopes of the man of the present day with ill-concealed amusement, and
+perhaps should no longer look at them.  Another ideal runs on before us, a
+strange, tempting ideal full of danger, to which we should not like to
+persuade any one, because we do not so readily acknowledge any one's RIGHT
+THERETO:  the ideal of a spirit who plays naively (that is to say
+involuntarily and from overflowing abundance and power) with everything
+that has hitherto been called holy, good, intangible, or divine; to whom
+the loftiest conception which the people have reasonably made their measure
+of value, would already practically imply danger, ruin, abasement, or at
+least relaxation, blindness, or temporary self-forgetfulness; the ideal of
+a humanly superhuman welfare and benevolence, which will often enough
+appear INHUMAN, for example, when put alongside of all past seriousness on
+earth, and alongside of all past solemnities in bearing, word, tone, look,
+morality, and pursuit, as their truest involuntary parody--and WITH which,
+nevertheless, perhaps THE GREAT SERIOUSNESS only commences, when the proper
+interrogative mark is set up, the fate of the soul changes, the hour-hand
+moves, and tragedy begins..."
+
+Although the figure of Zarathustra and a large number of the leading
+thoughts in this work had appeared much earlier in the dreams and writings
+of the author, "Thus Spake Zarathustra" did not actually come into being
+until the month of August 1881 in Sils Maria; and it was the idea of the
+Eternal Recurrence of all things which finally induced my brother to set
+forth his new views in poetic language.  In regard to his first conception
+of this idea, his autobiographical sketch, "Ecce Homo", written in the
+autumn of 1888, contains the following passage:--
+
+"The fundamental idea of my work--namely, the Eternal Recurrence of all
+things--this highest of all possible formulae of a Yea-saying philosophy,
+first occurred to me in August 1881.  I made a note of the thought on a
+sheet of paper, with the postscript:  6,000 feet beyond men and time!  That
+day I happened to be wandering through the woods alongside of the lake of
+Silvaplana, and I halted beside a huge, pyramidal and towering rock not far
+from Surlei.  It was then that the thought struck me.  Looking back now, I
+find that exactly two months previous to this inspiration, I had had an
+omen of its coming in the form of a sudden and decisive alteration in my
+tastes--more particularly in music.  It would even be possible to consider
+all 'Zarathustra' as a musical composition.  At all events, a very
+necessary condition in its production was a renaissance in myself of the
+art of hearing.  In a small mountain resort (Recoaro) near Vicenza, where I
+spent the spring of 1881, I and my friend and Maestro, Peter Gast--also one
+who had been born again--discovered that the phoenix music that hovered
+over us, wore lighter and brighter plumes than it had done theretofore."
+
+During the month of August 1881 my brother resolved to reveal the teaching
+of the Eternal Recurrence, in dithyrambic and psalmodic form, through the
+mouth of Zarathustra.  Among the notes of this period, we found a page on
+which is written the first definite plan of "Thus Spake Zarathustra":--
+
+"MIDDAY AND ETERNITY."
+
+"GUIDE-POSTS TO A NEW WAY OF LIVING."
+
+Beneath this is written:--
+
+"Zarathustra born on lake Urmi; left his home in his thirtieth year,
+went into the province of Aria, and, during ten years of solitude in
+the mountains, composed the Zend-Avesta."
+
+"The sun of knowledge stands once more at midday; and the serpent of
+eternity lies coiled in its light--:  It is YOUR time, ye midday brethren."
+
+In that summer of 1881, my brother, after many years of steadily declining
+health, began at last to rally, and it is to this first gush of the
+recovery of his once splendid bodily condition that we owe not only "The
+Gay Science", which in its mood may be regarded as a prelude to
+"Zarathustra", but also "Zarathustra" itself.  Just as he was beginning to
+recuperate his health, however, an unkind destiny brought him a number of
+most painful personal experiences.  His friends caused him many
+disappointments, which were the more bitter to him, inasmuch as he regarded
+friendship as such a sacred institution; and for the first time in his life
+he realised the whole horror of that loneliness to which, perhaps, all
+greatness is condemned.  But to be forsaken is something very different
+from deliberately choosing blessed loneliness.  How he longed, in those
+days, for the ideal friend who would thoroughly understand him, to whom he
+would be able to say all, and whom he imagined he had found at various
+periods in his life from his earliest youth onwards.  Now, however, that
+the way he had chosen grew ever more perilous and steep, he found nobody
+who could follow him:  he therefore created a perfect friend for himself in
+the ideal form of a majestic philosopher, and made this creation the
+preacher of his gospel to the world.
+
+Whether my brother would ever have written "Thus Spake Zarathustra"
+according to the first plan sketched in the summer of 1881, if he had not
+had the disappointments already referred to, is now an idle question; but
+perhaps where "Zarathustra" is concerned, we may also say with Master
+Eckhardt:  "The fleetest beast to bear you to perfection is suffering."
+
+My brother writes as follows about the origin of the first part of
+"Zarathustra":--"In the winter of 1882-83, I was living on the charming
+little Gulf of Rapallo, not far from Genoa, and between Chiavari and Cape
+Porto Fino.  My health was not very good; the winter was cold and
+exceptionally rainy; and the small inn in which I lived was so close to the
+water that at night my sleep would be disturbed if the sea were high.
+These circumstances were surely the very reverse of favourable; and yet in
+spite of it all, and as if in demonstration of my belief that everything
+decisive comes to life in spite of every obstacle, it was precisely during
+this winter and in the midst of these unfavourable circumstances that my
+'Zarathustra' originated.  In the morning I used to start out in a
+southerly direction up the glorious road to Zoagli, which rises aloft
+through a forest of pines and gives one a view far out into the sea.  In
+the afternoon, as often as my health permitted, I walked round the whole
+bay from Santa Margherita to beyond Porto Fino.  This spot was all the more
+interesting to me, inasmuch as it was so dearly loved by the Emperor
+Frederick III.  In the autumn of 1886 I chanced to be there again when he
+was revisiting this small, forgotten world of happiness for the last time.
+It was on these two roads that all 'Zarathustra' came to me, above all
+Zarathustra himself as a type;--I ought rather to say that it was on these
+walks that these ideas waylaid me."
+
+The first part of "Zarathustra" was written in about ten days--that is to
+say, from the beginning to about the middle of February 1883.  "The last
+lines were written precisely in the hallowed hour when Richard Wagner gave
+up the ghost in Venice."
+
+With the exception of the ten days occupied in composing the first part of
+this book, my brother often referred to this winter as the hardest and
+sickliest he had ever experienced.  He did not, however, mean thereby that
+his former disorders were troubling him, but that he was suffering from a
+severe attack of influenza which he had caught in Santa Margherita, and
+which tormented him for several weeks after his arrival in Genoa.  As a
+matter of fact, however, what he complained of most was his spiritual
+condition--that indescribable forsakenness--to which he gives such
+heartrending expression in "Zarathustra".  Even the reception which the
+first part met with at the hands of friends and acquaintances was extremely
+disheartening:  for almost all those to whom he presented copies of the
+work misunderstood it.  "I found no one ripe for many of my thoughts; the
+case of 'Zarathustra' proves that one can speak with the utmost clearness,
+and yet not be heard by any one."  My brother was very much discouraged by
+the feebleness of the response he was given, and as he was striving just
+then to give up the practice of taking hydrate of chloral--a drug he had
+begun to take while ill with influenza,--the following spring, spent in
+Rome, was a somewhat gloomy one for him.  He writes about it as follows:--
+"I spent a melancholy spring in Rome, where I only just managed to live,--
+and this was no easy matter.  This city, which is absolutely unsuited to
+the poet-author of 'Zarathustra', and for the choice of which I was not
+responsible, made me inordinately miserable.  I tried to leave it.  I
+wanted to go to Aquila--the opposite of Rome in every respect, and actually
+founded in a spirit of enmity towards that city (just as I also shall found
+a city some day), as a memento of an atheist and genuine enemy of the
+Church--a person very closely related to me,--the great Hohenstaufen, the
+Emperor Frederick II.  But Fate lay behind it all:  I had to return again
+to Rome.  In the end I was obliged to be satisfied with the Piazza
+Barberini, after I had exerted myself in vain to find an anti-Christian
+quarter.  I fear that on one occasion, to avoid bad smells as much as
+possible, I actually inquired at the Palazzo del Quirinale whether they
+could not provide a quiet room for a philosopher.  In a chamber high above
+the Piazza just mentioned, from which one obtained a general view of Rome
+and could hear the fountains plashing far below, the loneliest of all songs
+was composed--'The Night-Song'.  About this time I was obsessed by an
+unspeakably sad melody, the refrain of which I recognised in the words,
+'dead through immortality.'"
+
+We remained somewhat too long in Rome that spring, and what with the effect
+of the increasing heat and the discouraging circumstances already
+described, my brother resolved not to write any more, or in any case, not
+to proceed with "Zarathustra", although I offered to relieve him of all
+trouble in connection with the proofs and the publisher.  When, however, we
+returned to Switzerland towards the end of June, and he found himself once
+more in the familiar and exhilarating air of the mountains, all his joyous
+creative powers revived, and in a note to me announcing the dispatch of
+some manuscript, he wrote as follows:  "I have engaged a place here for
+three months:  forsooth, I am the greatest fool to allow my courage to be
+sapped from me by the climate of Italy.  Now and again I am troubled by the
+thought:  WHAT NEXT?  My 'future' is the darkest thing in the world to me,
+but as there still remains a great deal for me to do, I suppose I ought
+rather to think of doing this than of my future, and leave the rest to THEE
+and the gods."
+
+The second part of "Zarathustra" was written between the 26th of June and
+the 6th July.  "This summer, finding myself once more in the sacred place
+where the first thought of 'Zarathustra' flashed across my mind, I
+conceived the second part.  Ten days sufficed.  Neither for the second, the
+first, nor the third part, have I required a day longer."
+
+He often used to speak of the ecstatic mood in which he wrote
+"Zarathustra"; how in his walks over hill and dale the ideas would crowd
+into his mind, and how he would note them down hastily in a note-book from
+which he would transcribe them on his return, sometimes working till
+midnight.  He says in a letter to me:  "You can have no idea of the
+vehemence of such composition," and in "Ecce Homo" (autumn 1888) he
+describes as follows with passionate enthusiasm the incomparable mood in
+which he created Zarathustra:--
+
+"--Has any one at the end of the nineteenth century any distinct notion of
+what poets of a stronger age understood by the word inspiration?  If not, I
+will describe it.  If one had the smallest vestige of superstition in one,
+it would hardly be possible to set aside completely the idea that one is
+the mere incarnation, mouthpiece or medium of an almighty power.  The idea
+of revelation in the sense that something becomes suddenly visible and
+audible with indescribable certainty and accuracy, which profoundly
+convulses and upsets one--describes simply the matter of fact.  One hears--
+one does not seek; one takes--one does not ask who gives:  a thought
+suddenly flashes up like lightning, it comes with necessity,
+unhesitatingly--I have never had any choice in the matter.  There is an
+ecstasy such that the immense strain of it is sometimes relaxed by a flood
+of tears, along with which one's steps either rush or involuntarily lag,
+alternately.  There is the feeling that one is completely out of hand, with
+the very distinct consciousness of an endless number of fine thrills and
+quiverings to the very toes;--there is a depth of happiness in which the
+painfullest and gloomiest do not operate as antitheses, but as conditioned,
+as demanded in the sense of necessary shades of colour in such an overflow
+of light.  There is an instinct for rhythmic relations which embraces wide
+areas of forms (length, the need of a wide-embracing rhythm, is almost the
+measure of the force of an inspiration, a sort of counterpart to its
+pressure and tension).  Everything happens quite involuntarily, as if in a
+tempestuous outburst of freedom, of absoluteness, of power and divinity.
+The involuntariness of the figures and similes is the most remarkable
+thing; one loses all perception of what constitutes the figure and what
+constitutes the simile; everything seems to present itself as the readiest,
+the correctest and the simplest means of expression.  It actually seems, to
+use one of Zarathustra's own phrases, as if all things came unto one, and
+would fain be similes:  'Here do all things come caressingly to thy talk
+and flatter thee, for they want to ride upon thy back.  On every simile
+dost thou here ride to every truth.  Here fly open unto thee all being's
+words and word-cabinets; here all being wanteth to become words, here all
+becoming wanteth to learn of thee how to talk.'  This is MY experience of
+inspiration.  I do not doubt but that one would have to go back thousands
+of years in order to find some one who could say to me:  It is mine
+also!--"
+
+In the autumn of 1883 my brother left the Engadine for Germany and stayed
+there a few weeks.  In the following winter, after wandering somewhat
+erratically through Stresa, Genoa, and Spezia, he landed in Nice, where the
+climate so happily promoted his creative powers that he wrote the third
+part of "Zarathustra".  "In the winter, beneath the halcyon sky of Nice,
+which then looked down upon me for the first time in my life, I found the
+third 'Zarathustra'--and came to the end of my task; the whole having
+occupied me scarcely a year.  Many hidden corners and heights in the
+landscapes round about Nice are hallowed to me by unforgettable moments.
+That decisive chapter entitled 'Old and New Tables' was composed in the
+very difficult ascent from the station to Eza--that wonderful Moorish
+village in the rocks.  My most creative moments were always accompanied by
+unusual muscular activity.  The body is inspired:  let us waive the
+question of the 'soul.'  I might often have been seen dancing in those
+days.  Without a suggestion of fatigue I could then walk for seven or eight
+hours on end among the hills.  I slept well and laughed well--I was
+perfectly robust and patient."
+
+As we have seen, each of the three parts of "Zarathustra" was written,
+after a more or less short period of preparation, in about ten days.  The
+composition of the fourth part alone was broken by occasional
+interruptions.  The first notes relating to this part were written while he
+and I were staying together in Zurich in September 1884.  In the following
+November, while staying at Mentone, he began to elaborate these notes, and
+after a long pause, finished the manuscript at Nice between the end of
+January and the middle of February 1885.  My brother then called this part
+the fourth and last; but even before, and shortly after it had been
+privately printed, he wrote to me saying that he still intended writing a
+fifth and sixth part, and notes relating to these parts are now in my
+possession.  This fourth part (the original MS. of which contains this
+note:  "Only for my friends, not for the public") is written in a
+particularly personal spirit, and those few to whom he presented a copy of
+it, he pledged to the strictest secrecy concerning its contents.  He often
+thought of making this fourth part public also, but doubted whether he
+would ever be able to do so without considerably altering certain portions
+of it.  At all events he resolved to distribute this manuscript production,
+of which only forty copies were printed, only among those who had proved
+themselves worthy of it, and it speaks eloquently of his utter loneliness
+and need of sympathy in those days, that he had occasion to present only
+seven copies of his book according to this resolution.
+
+Already at the beginning of this history I hinted at the reasons which led
+my brother to select a Persian as the incarnation of his ideal of the
+majestic philosopher.  His reasons, however, for choosing Zarathustra of
+all others to be his mouthpiece, he gives us in the following words:--
+"People have never asked me, as they should have done, what the name
+Zarathustra precisely means in my mouth, in the mouth of the first
+Immoralist; for what distinguishes that philosopher from all others in the
+past is the very fact that he was exactly the reverse of an immoralist.
+Zarathustra was the first to see in the struggle between good and evil the
+essential wheel in the working of things.  The translation of morality into
+the metaphysical, as force, cause, end in itself, was HIS work.  But the
+very question suggests its own answer.  Zarathustra CREATED the most
+portentous error, MORALITY, consequently he should also be the first to
+PERCEIVE that error, not only because he has had longer and greater
+experience of the subject than any other thinker--all history is the
+experimental refutation of the theory of the so-called moral order of
+things:--the more important point is that Zarathustra was more truthful
+than any other thinker.  In his teaching alone do we meet with truthfulness
+upheld as the highest virtue--i.e.:  the reverse of the COWARDICE of the
+'idealist' who flees from reality.  Zarathustra had more courage in his
+body than any other thinker before or after him.  To tell the truth and TO
+AIM STRAIGHT:  that is the first Persian virtue.  Am I understood?... The
+overcoming of morality through itself--through truthfulness, the overcoming
+of the moralist through his opposite--THROUGH ME--:  that is what the name
+Zarathustra means in my mouth."
+
+ELIZABETH FORSTER-NIETZSCHE.
+
+Nietzsche Archives,
+Weimar, December 1905.
+
+
+
+
+THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA.
+
+FIRST PART.
+
+ZARATHUSTRA'S DISCOURSES.
+
+ZARATHUSTRA'S PROLOGUE.
+
+
+
+1.
+
+When Zarathustra was thirty years old, he left his home and the lake of
+his home, and went into the mountains.  There he enjoyed his spirit and
+solitude, and for ten years did not weary of it.  But at last his heart
+changed,--and rising one morning with the rosy dawn, he went before the
+sun, and spake thus unto it:
+
+Thou great star!  What would be thy happiness if thou hadst not those for
+whom thou shinest!
+
+For ten years hast thou climbed hither unto my cave:  thou wouldst have
+wearied of thy light and of the journey, had it not been for me, mine
+eagle, and my serpent.
+
+But we awaited thee every morning, took from thee thine overflow
+and blessed thee for it.
+
+Lo!  I am weary of my wisdom, like the bee that hath gathered too much
+honey; I need hands outstretched to take it.
+
+I would fain bestow and distribute, until the wise have once more become
+joyous in their folly, and the poor happy in their riches.
+
+Therefore must I descend into the deep:  as thou doest in the evening,
+when thou goest behind the sea, and givest light also to the nether-world,
+thou exuberant star!
+
+Like thee must I GO DOWN, as men say, to whom I shall descend.
+
+Bless me, then, thou tranquil eye, that canst behold even the greatest
+happiness without envy!
+
+Bless the cup that is about to overflow, that the water may flow golden out
+of it, and carry everywhere the reflection of thy bliss!
+
+Lo!  This cup is again going to empty itself, and Zarathustra is again
+going to be a man.
+
+Thus began Zarathustra's down-going.
+
+2.
+
+Zarathustra went down the mountain alone, no one meeting him.  When he
+entered the forest, however, there suddenly stood before him an old man,
+who had left his holy cot to seek roots.  And thus spake the old man to
+Zarathustra:
+
+"No stranger to me is this wanderer:  many years ago passed he by.
+Zarathustra he was called; but he hath altered.
+
+Then thou carriedst thine ashes into the mountains:  wilt thou now carry
+thy fire into the valleys?  Fearest thou not the incendiary's doom?
+
+Yea, I recognise Zarathustra.  Pure is his eye, and no loathing lurketh
+about his mouth.  Goeth he not along like a dancer?
+
+Altered is Zarathustra; a child hath Zarathustra become; an awakened one is
+Zarathustra:  what wilt thou do in the land of the sleepers?
+
+As in the sea hast thou lived in solitude, and it hath borne thee up.
+Alas, wilt thou now go ashore?  Alas, wilt thou again drag thy body
+thyself?"
+
+Zarathustra answered:  "I love mankind."
+
+"Why," said the saint, "did I go into the forest and the desert?  Was it
+not because I loved men far too well?
+
+Now I love God:  men, I do not love.  Man is a thing too imperfect for me.
+Love to man would be fatal to me."
+
+Zarathustra answered:  "What spake I of love!  I am bringing gifts unto
+men."
+
+"Give them nothing," said the saint.  "Take rather part of their load, and
+carry it along with them--that will be most agreeable unto them:  if only
+it be agreeable unto thee!
+
+If, however, thou wilt give unto them, give them no more than an alms, and
+let them also beg for it!"
+
+"No," replied Zarathustra, "I give no alms.  I am not poor enough for
+that."
+
+The saint laughed at Zarathustra, and spake thus:  "Then see to it that
+they accept thy treasures!  They are distrustful of anchorites, and do not
+believe that we come with gifts.
+
+The fall of our footsteps ringeth too hollow through their streets.  And
+just as at night, when they are in bed and hear a man abroad long before
+sunrise, so they ask themselves concerning us:  Where goeth the thief?
+
+Go not to men, but stay in the forest!  Go rather to the animals!  Why not
+be like me--a bear amongst bears, a bird amongst birds?"
+
+"And what doeth the saint in the forest?" asked Zarathustra.
+
+The saint answered:  "I make hymns and sing them; and in making hymns
+I laugh and weep and mumble:  thus do I praise God.
+
+With singing, weeping, laughing, and mumbling do I praise the God who is my
+God.  But what dost thou bring us as a gift?"
+
+When Zarathustra had heard these words, he bowed to the saint and said:
+"What should I have to give thee!  Let me rather hurry hence lest I take
+aught away from thee!"--And thus they parted from one another, the old man
+and Zarathustra, laughing like schoolboys.
+
+When Zarathustra was alone, however, he said to his heart:  "Could it be
+possible!  This old saint in the forest hath not yet heard of it, that GOD
+IS DEAD!"
+
+3.
+
+When Zarathustra arrived at the nearest town which adjoineth the forest, he
+found many people assembled in the market-place; for it had been announced
+that a rope-dancer would give a performance.  And Zarathustra spake thus
+unto the people:
+
+I TEACH YOU THE SUPERMAN.  Man is something that is to be surpassed.  What
+have ye done to surpass man?
+
+All beings hitherto have created something beyond themselves:  and ye want
+to be the ebb of that great tide, and would rather go back to the beast
+than surpass man?
+
+What is the ape to man?  A laughing-stock, a thing of shame.  And just the
+same shall man be to the Superman:  a laughing-stock, a thing of shame.
+
+Ye have made your way from the worm to man, and much within you is still
+worm.  Once were ye apes, and even yet man is more of an ape than any of
+the apes.
+
+Even the wisest among you is only a disharmony and hybrid of plant and
+phantom.  But do I bid you become phantoms or plants?
+
+Lo, I teach you the Superman!
+
+The Superman is the meaning of the earth.  Let your will say:  The Superman
+SHALL BE the meaning of the earth!
+
+I conjure you, my brethren, REMAIN TRUE TO THE EARTH, and believe not those
+who speak unto you of superearthly hopes!  Poisoners are they, whether they
+know it or not.
+
+Despisers of life are they, decaying ones and poisoned ones themselves, of
+whom the earth is weary:  so away with them!
+
+Once blasphemy against God was the greatest blasphemy; but God died, and
+therewith also those blasphemers.  To blaspheme the earth is now the
+dreadfulest sin, and to rate the heart of the unknowable higher than the
+meaning of the earth!
+
+Once the soul looked contemptuously on the body, and then that contempt was
+the supreme thing:--the soul wished the body meagre, ghastly, and famished.
+Thus it thought to escape from the body and the earth.
+
+Oh, that soul was itself meagre, ghastly, and famished; and cruelty was the
+delight of that soul!
+
+But ye, also, my brethren, tell me: What doth your body say about your
+soul? Is your soul not poverty and pollution and wretched self-complacency?
+
+Verily, a polluted stream is man.  One must be a sea, to receive a polluted
+stream without becoming impure.
+
+Lo, I teach you the Superman:  he is that sea; in him can your great
+contempt be submerged.
+
+What is the greatest thing ye can experience?  It is the hour of great
+contempt.  The hour in which even your happiness becometh loathsome unto
+you, and so also your reason and virtue.
+
+The hour when ye say:  "What good is my happiness!  It is poverty and
+pollution and wretched self-complacency.  But my happiness should justify
+existence itself!"
+
+The hour when ye say: "What good is my reason! Doth it long for knowledge as
+the lion for his food? It is poverty and pollution and wretched
+self-complacency!"
+
+The hour when ye say:  "What good is my virtue!  As yet it hath not made me
+passionate.  How weary I am of my good and my bad!  It is all poverty and
+pollution and wretched self-complacency!"
+
+The hour when ye say:  "What good is my justice!  I do not see that I am
+fervour and fuel.  The just, however, are fervour and fuel!"
+
+The hour when ye say:  "What good is my pity!  Is not pity the cross on
+which he is nailed who loveth man?  But my pity is not a crucifixion."
+
+Have ye ever spoken thus?  Have ye ever cried thus?  Ah! would that I had
+heard you crying thus!
+
+It is not your sin--it is your self-satisfaction that crieth unto heaven;
+your very sparingness in sin crieth unto heaven!
+
+Where is the lightning to lick you with its tongue?  Where is the frenzy
+with which ye should be inoculated?
+
+Lo, I teach you the Superman:  he is that lightning, he is that frenzy!--
+
+When Zarathustra had thus spoken, one of the people called out:  "We have
+now heard enough of the rope-dancer; it is time now for us to see him!"
+And all the people laughed at Zarathustra.  But the rope-dancer, who
+thought the words applied to him, began his performance.
+
+4.
+
+Zarathustra, however, looked at the people and wondered.  Then he spake
+thus:
+
+Man is a rope stretched between the animal and the Superman--a rope over an
+abyss.
+
+A dangerous crossing, a dangerous wayfaring, a dangerous looking-back, a
+dangerous trembling and halting.
+
+What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not a goal:  what is
+lovable in man is that he is an OVER-GOING and a DOWN-GOING.
+
+I love those that know not how to live except as down-goers, for they are
+the over-goers.
+
+I love the great despisers, because they are the great adorers, and arrows
+of longing for the other shore.
+
+I love those who do not first seek a reason beyond the stars for going down
+and being sacrifices, but sacrifice themselves to the earth, that the earth
+of the Superman may hereafter arrive.
+
+I love him who liveth in order to know, and seeketh to know in order that
+the Superman may hereafter live.  Thus seeketh he his own down-going.
+
+I love him who laboureth and inventeth, that he may build the house for the
+Superman, and prepare for him earth, animal, and plant:  for thus seeketh
+he his own down-going.
+
+I love him who loveth his virtue:  for virtue is the will to down-going,
+and an arrow of longing.
+
+I love him who reserveth no share of spirit for himself, but wanteth to be
+wholly the spirit of his virtue:  thus walketh he as spirit over the
+bridge.
+
+I love him who maketh his virtue his inclination and destiny:  thus, for
+the sake of his virtue, he is willing to live on, or live no more.
+
+I love him who desireth not too many virtues.  One virtue is more of a
+virtue than two, because it is more of a knot for one's destiny to cling
+to.
+
+I love him whose soul is lavish, who wanteth no thanks and doth not give
+back:  for he always bestoweth, and desireth not to keep for himself.
+
+I love him who is ashamed when the dice fall in his favour, and who then
+asketh:  "Am I a dishonest player?"--for he is willing to succumb.
+
+I love him who scattereth golden words in advance of his deeds, and always
+doeth more than he promiseth:  for he seeketh his own down-going.
+
+I love him who justifieth the future ones, and redeemeth the past ones:
+for he is willing to succumb through the present ones.
+
+I love him who chasteneth his God, because he loveth his God:  for he must
+succumb through the wrath of his God.
+
+I love him whose soul is deep even in the wounding, and may succumb through
+a small matter:  thus goeth he willingly over the bridge.
+
+I love him whose soul is so overfull that he forgetteth himself, and all
+things are in him:  thus all things become his down-going.
+
+I love him who is of a free spirit and a free heart:  thus is his head only
+the bowels of his heart; his heart, however, causeth his down-going.
+
+I love all who are like heavy drops falling one by one out of the dark
+cloud that lowereth over man:  they herald the coming of the lightning, and
+succumb as heralds.
+
+Lo, I am a herald of the lightning, and a heavy drop out of the cloud:  the
+lightning, however, is the SUPERMAN.--
+
+5.
+
+When Zarathustra had spoken these words, he again looked at the people, and
+was silent.  "There they stand," said he to his heart; "there they laugh:
+they understand me not; I am not the mouth for these ears.
+
+Must one first batter their ears, that they may learn to hear with their
+eyes?  Must one clatter like kettledrums and penitential preachers?  Or do
+they only believe the stammerer?
+
+They have something whereof they are proud.  What do they call it, that
+which maketh them proud?  Culture, they call it; it distinguisheth them
+from the goatherds.
+
+They dislike, therefore, to hear of 'contempt' of themselves.  So I will
+appeal to their pride.
+
+I will speak unto them of the most contemptible thing:  that, however, is
+THE LAST MAN!"
+
+And thus spake Zarathustra unto the people:
+
+It is time for man to fix his goal.  It is time for man to plant the germ
+of his highest hope.
+
+Still is his soil rich enough for it.  But that soil will one day be poor
+and exhausted, and no lofty tree will any longer be able to grow thereon.
+
+Alas! there cometh the time when man will no longer launch the arrow of his
+longing beyond man--and the string of his bow will have unlearned to whizz!
+
+I tell you:  one must still have chaos in one, to give birth to a dancing
+star.  I tell you:  ye have still chaos in you.
+
+Alas!  There cometh the time when man will no longer give birth to any
+star.  Alas!  There cometh the time of the most despicable man, who can no
+longer despise himself.
+
+Lo!  I show you THE LAST MAN.
+
+"What is love?  What is creation?  What is longing?  What is a star?"--so
+asketh the last man and blinketh.
+
+The earth hath then become small, and on it there hoppeth the last man who
+maketh everything small.  His species is ineradicable like that of the
+ground-flea; the last man liveth longest.
+
+"We have discovered happiness"--say the last men, and blink thereby.
+
+They have left the regions where it is hard to live; for they need warmth.
+One still loveth one's neighbour and rubbeth against him; for one needeth
+warmth.
+
+Turning ill and being distrustful, they consider sinful:  they walk warily.
+He is a fool who still stumbleth over stones or men!
+
+A little poison now and then:  that maketh pleasant dreams.  And much
+poison at last for a pleasant death.
+
+One still worketh, for work is a pastime.  But one is careful lest the
+pastime should hurt one.
+
+One no longer becometh poor or rich; both are too burdensome.  Who still
+wanteth to rule?  Who still wanteth to obey?  Both are too burdensome.
+
+No shepherd, and one herd!  Every one wanteth the same; every one is equal:
+he who hath other sentiments goeth voluntarily into the madhouse.
+
+"Formerly all the world was insane,"--say the subtlest of them, and blink
+thereby.
+
+They are clever and know all that hath happened:  so there is no end to
+their raillery.  People still fall out, but are soon reconciled--otherwise
+it spoileth their stomachs.
+
+They have their little pleasures for the day, and their little pleasures
+for the night, but they have a regard for health.
+
+"We have discovered happiness,"--say the last men, and blink thereby.--
+
+And here ended the first discourse of Zarathustra, which is also called
+"The Prologue": for at this point the shouting and mirth of the multitude
+interrupted him. "Give us this last man, O Zarathustra,"--they called
+out--"make us into these last men! Then will we make thee a present of the
+Superman!" And all the people exulted and smacked their lips. Zarathustra,
+however, turned sad, and said to his heart:
+
+"They understand me not:  I am not the mouth for these ears.
+
+Too long, perhaps, have I lived in the mountains; too much have I hearkened
+unto the brooks and trees:  now do I speak unto them as unto the goatherds.
+
+Calm is my soul, and clear, like the mountains in the morning.  But they
+think me cold, and a mocker with terrible jests.
+
+And now do they look at me and laugh:  and while they laugh they hate me
+too.  There is ice in their laughter."
+
+6.
+
+Then, however, something happened which made every mouth mute and every eye
+fixed.  In the meantime, of course, the rope-dancer had commenced his
+performance:  he had come out at a little door, and was going along the
+rope which was stretched between two towers, so that it hung above the
+market-place and the people.  When he was just midway across, the little
+door opened once more, and a gaudily-dressed fellow like a buffoon sprang
+out, and went rapidly after the first one.  "Go on, halt-foot," cried his
+frightful voice, "go on, lazy-bones, interloper, sallow-face!--lest I
+tickle thee with my heel!  What dost thou here between the towers?  In the
+tower is the place for thee, thou shouldst be locked up; to one better than
+thyself thou blockest the way!"--And with every word he came nearer and
+nearer the first one.  When, however, he was but a step behind, there
+happened the frightful thing which made every mouth mute and every eye
+fixed--he uttered a yell like a devil, and jumped over the other who was in
+his way.  The latter, however, when he thus saw his rival triumph, lost at
+the same time his head and his footing on the rope; he threw his pole away,
+and shot downwards faster than it, like an eddy of arms and legs, into the
+depth.  The market-place and the people were like the sea when the storm
+cometh on:  they all flew apart and in disorder, especially where the body
+was about to fall.
+
+Zarathustra, however, remained standing, and just beside him fell the body,
+badly injured and disfigured, but not yet dead.  After a while
+consciousness returned to the shattered man, and he saw Zarathustra
+kneeling beside him.  "What art thou doing there?" said he at last, "I knew
+long ago that the devil would trip me up.  Now he draggeth me to hell:
+wilt thou prevent him?"
+
+"On mine honour, my friend," answered Zarathustra, "there is nothing of all
+that whereof thou speakest:  there is no devil and no hell.  Thy soul will
+be dead even sooner than thy body:  fear, therefore, nothing any more!"
+
+The man looked up distrustfully.  "If thou speakest the truth," said he, "I
+lose nothing when I lose my life.  I am not much more than an animal which
+hath been taught to dance by blows and scanty fare."
+
+"Not at all," said Zarathustra, "thou hast made danger thy calling; therein
+there is nothing contemptible.  Now thou perishest by thy calling:
+therefore will I bury thee with mine own hands."
+
+When Zarathustra had said this the dying one did not reply further; but he
+moved his hand as if he sought the hand of Zarathustra in gratitude.
+
+7.
+
+Meanwhile the evening came on, and the market-place veiled itself in gloom.
+Then the people dispersed, for even curiosity and terror become fatigued.
+Zarathustra, however, still sat beside the dead man on the ground, absorbed
+in thought:  so he forgot the time.  But at last it became night, and a
+cold wind blew upon the lonely one.  Then arose Zarathustra and said to his
+heart:
+
+Verily, a fine catch of fish hath Zarathustra made to-day!  It is not a man
+he hath caught, but a corpse.
+
+Sombre is human life, and as yet without meaning:  a buffoon may be fateful
+to it.
+
+I want to teach men the sense of their existence, which is the Superman,
+the lightning out of the dark cloud--man.
+
+But still am I far from them, and my sense speaketh not unto their sense.
+To men I am still something between a fool and a corpse.
+
+Gloomy is the night, gloomy are the ways of Zarathustra.  Come, thou cold
+and stiff companion!  I carry thee to the place where I shall bury thee
+with mine own hands.
+
+8.
+
+When Zarathustra had said this to his heart, he put the corpse upon his
+shoulders and set out on his way.  Yet had he not gone a hundred steps,
+when there stole a man up to him and whispered in his ear--and lo! he that
+spake was the buffoon from the tower.  "Leave this town, O Zarathustra,"
+said he, "there are too many here who hate thee.  The good and just hate
+thee, and call thee their enemy and despiser; the believers in the orthodox
+belief hate thee, and call thee a danger to the multitude.  It was thy good
+fortune to be laughed at:  and verily thou spakest like a buffoon.  It was
+thy good fortune to associate with the dead dog; by so humiliating thyself
+thou hast saved thy life to-day.  Depart, however, from this town,--or
+tomorrow I shall jump over thee, a living man over a dead one."  And when
+he had said this, the buffoon vanished; Zarathustra, however, went on
+through the dark streets.
+
+At the gate of the town the grave-diggers met him:  they shone their torch
+on his face, and, recognising Zarathustra, they sorely derided him.
+"Zarathustra is carrying away the dead dog:  a fine thing that Zarathustra
+hath turned a grave-digger!  For our hands are too cleanly for that roast.
+Will Zarathustra steal the bite from the devil?  Well then, good luck to
+the repast!  If only the devil is not a better thief than Zarathustra!--he
+will steal them both, he will eat them both!"  And they laughed among
+themselves, and put their heads together.
+
+Zarathustra made no answer thereto, but went on his way.  When he had gone
+on for two hours, past forests and swamps, he had heard too much of the
+hungry howling of the wolves, and he himself became a-hungry.  So he halted
+at a lonely house in which a light was burning.
+
+"Hunger attacketh me," said Zarathustra, "like a robber.  Among forests and
+swamps my hunger attacketh me, and late in the night.
+
+"Strange humours hath my hunger.  Often it cometh to me only after a
+repast, and all day it hath failed to come:  where hath it been?"
+
+And thereupon Zarathustra knocked at the door of the house.  An old man
+appeared, who carried a light, and asked:  "Who cometh unto me and my bad
+sleep?"
+
+"A living man and a dead one," said Zarathustra.  "Give me something to eat
+and drink, I forgot it during the day.  He that feedeth the hungry
+refresheth his own soul, saith wisdom."
+
+The old man withdrew, but came back immediately and offered Zarathustra
+bread and wine.  "A bad country for the hungry," said he; "that is why I
+live here.  Animal and man come unto me, the anchorite.  But bid thy
+companion eat and drink also, he is wearier than thou."  Zarathustra
+answered:  "My companion is dead; I shall hardly be able to persuade him to
+eat."  "That doth not concern me," said the old man sullenly; "he that
+knocketh at my door must take what I offer him.  Eat, and fare ye well!"--
+
+Thereafter Zarathustra again went on for two hours, trusting to the path
+and the light of the stars:  for he was an experienced night-walker, and
+liked to look into the face of all that slept.  When the morning dawned,
+however, Zarathustra found himself in a thick forest, and no path was any
+longer visible.  He then put the dead man in a hollow tree at his head--for
+he wanted to protect him from the wolves--and laid himself down on the
+ground and moss.  And immediately he fell asleep, tired in body, but with a
+tranquil soul.
+
+9.
+
+Long slept Zarathustra; and not only the rosy dawn passed over his
+head, but also the morning.  At last, however, his eyes opened, and
+amazedly he gazed into the forest and the stillness, amazedly he gazed
+into himself.  Then he arose quickly, like a seafarer who all at once
+seeth the land; and he shouted for joy:  for he saw a new truth.  And he
+spake thus to his heart:
+
+A light hath dawned upon me:  I need companions--living ones; not
+dead companions and corpses, which I carry with me where I will.
+
+But I need living companions, who will follow me because they want
+to follow themselves--and to the place where I will.
+
+A light hath dawned upon me.  Not to the people is Zarathustra to speak,
+but to companions!  Zarathustra shall not be the herd's herdsman and hound!
+
+To allure many from the herd--for that purpose have I come.  The people and
+the herd must be angry with me:  a robber shall Zarathustra be called by
+the herdsmen.
+
+Herdsmen, I say, but they call themselves the good and just.  Herdsmen, I
+say, but they call themselves the believers in the orthodox belief.
+
+Behold the good and just!  Whom do they hate most?  Him who breaketh up
+their tables of values, the breaker, the lawbreaker:--he, however, is the
+creator.
+
+Behold the believers of all beliefs!  Whom do they hate most?  Him who
+breaketh up their tables of values, the breaker, the law-breaker--he,
+however, is the creator.
+
+Companions, the creator seeketh, not corpses--and not herds or believers
+either.  Fellow-creators the creator seeketh--those who grave new values on
+new tables.
+
+Companions, the creator seeketh, and fellow-reapers:  for everything is
+ripe for the harvest with him.  But he lacketh the hundred sickles:  so he
+plucketh the ears of corn and is vexed.
+
+Companions, the creator seeketh, and such as know how to whet their
+sickles.  Destroyers, will they be called, and despisers of good and evil.
+But they are the reapers and rejoicers.
+
+Fellow-creators, Zarathustra seeketh; fellow-reapers and fellow-rejoicers,
+Zarathustra seeketh:  what hath he to do with herds and herdsmen and
+corpses!
+
+And thou, my first companion, rest in peace!  Well have I buried thee in
+thy hollow tree; well have I hid thee from the wolves.
+
+But I part from thee; the time hath arrived.  'Twixt rosy dawn and rosy
+dawn there came unto me a new truth.
+
+I am not to be a herdsman, I am not to be a grave-digger.  Not any more
+will I discourse unto the people; for the last time have I spoken unto the
+dead.
+
+With the creators, the reapers, and the rejoicers will I associate:  the
+rainbow will I show them, and all the stairs to the Superman.
+
+To the lone-dwellers will I sing my song, and to the twain-dwellers; and
+unto him who hath still ears for the unheard, will I make the heart heavy
+with my happiness.
+
+I make for my goal, I follow my course; over the loitering and tardy will I
+leap.  Thus let my on-going be their down-going!
+
+10.
+
+This had Zarathustra said to his heart when the sun stood at noon-tide.
+Then he looked inquiringly aloft,--for he heard above him the sharp call of
+a bird.  And behold!  An eagle swept through the air in wide circles, and
+on it hung a serpent, not like a prey, but like a friend:  for it kept
+itself coiled round the eagle's neck.
+
+"They are mine animals," said Zarathustra, and rejoiced in his heart.
+
+"The proudest animal under the sun, and the wisest animal under the sun,--
+they have come out to reconnoitre.
+
+They want to know whether Zarathustra still liveth.  Verily, do I still
+live?
+
+More dangerous have I found it among men than among animals; in dangerous
+paths goeth Zarathustra.  Let mine animals lead me!
+
+When Zarathustra had said this, he remembered the words of the saint in the
+forest.  Then he sighed and spake thus to his heart:
+
+"Would that I were wiser!  Would that I were wise from the very heart, like
+my serpent!
+
+But I am asking the impossible.  Therefore do I ask my pride to go always
+with my wisdom!
+
+And if my wisdom should some day forsake me:--alas! it loveth to fly
+away!--may my pride then fly with my folly!"
+
+Thus began Zarathustra's down-going.
+
+
+ZARATHUSTRA' DISCOURSES.
+
+I.  THE THREE METAMORPHOSES.
+
+Three metamorphoses of the spirit do I designate to you:  how the spirit
+becometh a camel, the camel a lion, and the lion at last a child.
+
+Many heavy things are there for the spirit, the strong load-bearing spirit
+in which reverence dwelleth:  for the heavy and the heaviest longeth its
+strength.
+
+What is heavy? so asketh the load-bearing spirit; then kneeleth it down
+like the camel, and wanteth to be well laden.
+
+What is the heaviest thing, ye heroes? asketh the load-bearing spirit, that
+I may take it upon me and rejoice in my strength.
+
+Is it not this:  To humiliate oneself in order to mortify one's pride?  To
+exhibit one's folly in order to mock at one's wisdom?
+
+Or is it this:  To desert our cause when it celebrateth its triumph?  To
+ascend high mountains to tempt the tempter?
+
+Or is it this:  To feed on the acorns and grass of knowledge, and for the
+sake of truth to suffer hunger of soul?
+
+Or is it this:  To be sick and dismiss comforters, and make friends of the
+deaf, who never hear thy requests?
+
+Or is it this:  To go into foul water when it is the water of truth, and
+not disclaim cold frogs and hot toads?
+
+Or is it this:  To love those who despise us, and give one's hand to the
+phantom when it is going to frighten us?
+
+All these heaviest things the load-bearing spirit taketh upon itself:  and
+like the camel, which, when laden, hasteneth into the wilderness, so
+hasteneth the spirit into its wilderness.
+
+But in the loneliest wilderness happeneth the second metamorphosis:  here
+the spirit becometh a lion; freedom will it capture, and lordship in its
+own wilderness.
+
+Its last Lord it here seeketh:  hostile will it be to him, and to its last
+God; for victory will it struggle with the great dragon.
+
+What is the great dragon which the spirit is no longer inclined to call
+Lord and God?  "Thou-shalt," is the great dragon called.  But the spirit of
+the lion saith, "I will."
+
+"Thou-shalt," lieth in its path, sparkling with gold--a scale-covered
+beast; and on every scale glittereth golden, "Thou shalt!"
+
+The values of a thousand years glitter on those scales, and thus speaketh
+the mightiest of all dragons:  "All the values of things--glitter on me.
+
+All values have already been created, and all created values--do I
+represent.  Verily, there shall be no 'I will' any more.  Thus speaketh the
+dragon.
+
+My brethren, wherefore is there need of the lion in the spirit?  Why
+sufficeth not the beast of burden, which renounceth and is reverent?
+
+To create new values--that, even the lion cannot yet accomplish:  but to
+create itself freedom for new creating--that can the might of the lion do.
+
+To create itself freedom, and give a holy Nay even unto duty:  for that, my
+brethren, there is need of the lion.
+
+To assume the right to new values--that is the most formidable assumption
+for a load-bearing and reverent spirit.  Verily, unto such a spirit it is
+preying, and the work of a beast of prey.
+
+As its holiest, it once loved "Thou-shalt":  now is it forced to find
+illusion and arbitrariness even in the holiest things, that it may capture
+freedom from its love:  the lion is needed for this capture.
+
+But tell me, my brethren, what the child can do, which even the lion could
+not do?  Why hath the preying lion still to become a child?
+
+Innocence is the child, and forgetfulness, a new beginning, a game, a
+self-rolling wheel, a first movement, a holy Yea.
+
+Aye, for the game of creating, my brethren, there is needed a holy Yea unto
+life:  ITS OWN will, willeth now the spirit; HIS OWN world winneth the
+world's outcast.
+
+Three metamorphoses of the spirit have I designated to you:  how the spirit
+became a camel, the camel a lion, and the lion at last a child.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.  And at that time he abode in the town which is
+called The Pied Cow.
+
+
+II.  THE ACADEMIC CHAIRS OF VIRTUE.
+
+People commended unto Zarathustra a wise man, as one who could discourse
+well about sleep and virtue:  greatly was he honoured and rewarded for it,
+and all the youths sat before his chair.  To him went Zarathustra, and sat
+among the youths before his chair.  And thus spake the wise man:
+
+Respect and modesty in presence of sleep!  That is the first thing!  And to
+go out of the way of all who sleep badly and keep awake at night!
+
+Modest is even the thief in presence of sleep:  he always stealeth softly
+through the night.  Immodest, however, is the night-watchman; immodestly he
+carrieth his horn.
+
+No small art is it to sleep:  it is necessary for that purpose to keep
+awake all day.
+
+Ten times a day must thou overcome thyself:  that causeth wholesome
+weariness, and is poppy to the soul.
+
+Ten times must thou reconcile again with thyself; for overcoming is
+bitterness, and badly sleep the unreconciled.
+
+Ten truths must thou find during the day; otherwise wilt thou seek truth
+during the night, and thy soul will have been hungry.
+
+Ten times must thou laugh during the day, and be cheerful; otherwise thy
+stomach, the father of affliction, will disturb thee in the night.
+
+Few people know it, but one must have all the virtues in order to sleep
+well.  Shall I bear false witness?  Shall I commit adultery?
+
+Shall I covet my neighbour's maidservant?  All that would ill accord with
+good sleep.
+
+And even if one have all the virtues, there is still one thing needful:  to
+send the virtues themselves to sleep at the right time.
+
+That they may not quarrel with one another, the good females!  And about
+thee, thou unhappy one!
+
+Peace with God and thy neighbour:  so desireth good sleep.  And peace also
+with thy neighbour's devil!  Otherwise it will haunt thee in the night.
+
+Honour to the government, and obedience, and also to the crooked
+government!  So desireth good sleep.  How can I help it, if power like to
+walk on crooked legs?
+
+He who leadeth his sheep to the greenest pasture, shall always be for me
+the best shepherd:  so doth it accord with good sleep.
+
+Many honours I want not, nor great treasures:  they excite the spleen.  But
+it is bad sleeping without a good name and a little treasure.
+
+A small company is more welcome to me than a bad one:  but they must come
+and go at the right time.  So doth it accord with good sleep.
+
+Well, also, do the poor in spirit please me:  they promote sleep.  Blessed
+are they, especially if one always give in to them.
+
+Thus passeth the day unto the virtuous.  When night cometh, then take I
+good care not to summon sleep.  It disliketh to be summoned--sleep, the
+lord of the virtues!
+
+But I think of what I have done and thought during the day.  Thus
+ruminating, patient as a cow, I ask myself:  What were thy ten overcomings?
+
+And what were the ten reconciliations, and the ten truths, and the ten
+laughters with which my heart enjoyed itself?
+
+Thus pondering, and cradled by forty thoughts, it overtaketh me all at
+once--sleep, the unsummoned, the lord of the virtues.
+
+Sleep tappeth on mine eye, and it turneth heavy.  Sleep toucheth my mouth,
+and it remaineth open.
+
+Verily, on soft soles doth it come to me, the dearest of thieves, and
+stealeth from me my thoughts:  stupid do I then stand, like this academic
+chair.
+
+But not much longer do I then stand:  I already lie.--
+
+When Zarathustra heard the wise man thus speak, he laughed in his heart:
+for thereby had a light dawned upon him.  And thus spake he to his heart:
+
+A fool seemeth this wise man with his forty thoughts:  but I believe he
+knoweth well how to sleep.
+
+Happy even is he who liveth near this wise man!  Such sleep is contagious--
+even through a thick wall it is contagious.
+
+A magic resideth even in his academic chair.  And not in vain did the
+youths sit before the preacher of virtue.
+
+His wisdom is to keep awake in order to sleep well.  And verily, if life
+had no sense, and had I to choose nonsense, this would be the desirablest
+nonsense for me also.
+
+Now know I well what people sought formerly above all else when they sought
+teachers of virtue.  Good sleep they sought for themselves, and poppy-head
+virtues to promote it!
+
+To all those belauded sages of the academic chairs, wisdom was sleep
+without dreams:  they knew no higher significance of life.
+
+Even at present, to be sure, there are some like this preacher of virtue,
+and not always so honourable:  but their time is past.  And not much longer
+do they stand:  there they already lie.
+
+Blessed are those drowsy ones:  for they shall soon nod to sleep.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+III.  BACKWORLDSMEN.
+
+Once on a time, Zarathustra also cast his fancy beyond man, like all
+backworldsmen.  The work of a suffering and tortured God, did the world
+then seem to me.
+
+The dream--and diction--of a God, did the world then seem to me; coloured
+vapours before the eyes of a divinely dissatisfied one.
+
+Good and evil, and joy and woe, and I and thou--coloured vapours did they
+seem to me before creative eyes.  The creator wished to look away from
+himself,--thereupon he created the world.
+
+Intoxicating joy is it for the sufferer to look away from his suffering and
+forget himself.  Intoxicating joy and self-forgetting, did the world once
+seem to me.
+
+This world, the eternally imperfect, an eternal contradiction's image and
+imperfect image--an intoxicating joy to its imperfect creator:--thus did
+the world once seem to me.
+
+Thus, once on a time, did I also cast my fancy beyond man, like all
+backworldsmen.  Beyond man, forsooth?
+
+Ah, ye brethren, that God whom I created was human work and human madness,
+like all the Gods!
+
+A man was he, and only a poor fragment of a man and ego.  Out of mine own
+ashes and glow it came unto me, that phantom.  And verily, it came not unto
+me from the beyond!
+
+What happened, my brethren?  I surpassed myself, the suffering one; I
+carried mine own ashes to the mountain; a brighter flame I contrived for
+myself.  And lo!  Thereupon the phantom WITHDREW from me!
+
+To me the convalescent would it now be suffering and torment to believe in
+such phantoms:  suffering would it now be to me, and humiliation.  Thus
+speak I to backworldsmen.
+
+Suffering was it, and impotence--that created all backworlds; and the short
+madness of happiness, which only the greatest sufferer experienceth.
+
+Weariness, which seeketh to get to the ultimate with one leap, with a
+death-leap; a poor ignorant weariness, unwilling even to will any longer:
+that created all Gods and backworlds.
+
+Believe me, my brethren!  It was the body which despaired of the body--it
+groped with the fingers of the infatuated spirit at the ultimate walls.
+
+Believe me, my brethren!  It was the body which despaired of the earth--it
+heard the bowels of existence speaking unto it.
+
+And then it sought to get through the ultimate walls with its head--and not
+with its head only--into "the other world."
+
+But that "other world" is well concealed from man, that dehumanised,
+inhuman world, which is a celestial naught; and the bowels of existence do
+not speak unto man, except as man.
+
+Verily, it is difficult to prove all being, and hard to make it speak.
+Tell me, ye brethren, is not the strangest of all things best proved?
+
+Yea, this ego, with its contradiction and perplexity, speaketh most
+uprightly of its being--this creating, willing, evaluing ego, which is the
+measure and value of things.
+
+And this most upright existence, the ego--it speaketh of the body, and
+still implieth the body, even when it museth and raveth and fluttereth with
+broken wings.
+
+Always more uprightly learneth it to speak, the ego; and the more it
+learneth, the more doth it find titles and honours for the body and the
+earth.
+
+A new pride taught me mine ego, and that teach I unto men:  no longer to
+thrust one's head into the sand of celestial things, but to carry it
+freely, a terrestrial head, which giveth meaning to the earth!
+
+A new will teach I unto men:  to choose that path which man hath followed
+blindly, and to approve of it--and no longer to slink aside from it, like
+the sick and perishing!
+
+The sick and perishing--it was they who despised the body and the earth,
+and invented the heavenly world, and the redeeming blood-drops; but even
+those sweet and sad poisons they borrowed from the body and the earth!
+
+From their misery they sought escape, and the stars were too remote for
+them.  Then they sighed:  "O that there were heavenly paths by which to
+steal into another existence and into happiness!"  Then they contrived for
+themselves their by-paths and bloody draughts!
+
+Beyond the sphere of their body and this earth they now fancied themselves
+transported, these ungrateful ones.  But to what did they owe the
+convulsion and rapture of their transport?  To their body and this earth.
+
+Gentle is Zarathustra to the sickly.  Verily, he is not indignant at their
+modes of consolation and ingratitude.  May they become convalescents and
+overcomers, and create higher bodies for themselves!
+
+Neither is Zarathustra indignant at a convalescent who looketh tenderly on
+his delusions, and at midnight stealeth round the grave of his God; but
+sickness and a sick frame remain even in his tears.
+
+Many sickly ones have there always been among those who muse, and languish
+for God; violently they hate the discerning ones, and the latest of
+virtues, which is uprightness.
+
+Backward they always gaze toward dark ages:  then, indeed, were delusion
+and faith something different.  Raving of the reason was likeness to God,
+and doubt was sin.
+
+Too well do I know those godlike ones:  they insist on being believed in,
+and that doubt is sin.  Too well, also, do I know what they themselves most
+believe in.
+
+Verily, not in backworlds and redeeming blood-drops:  but in the body do
+they also believe most; and their own body is for them the thing-in-itself.
+
+But it is a sickly thing to them, and gladly would they get out of their
+skin.  Therefore hearken they to the preachers of death, and themselves
+preach backworlds.
+
+Hearken rather, my brethren, to the voice of the healthy body; it is a more
+upright and pure voice.
+
+More uprightly and purely speaketh the healthy body, perfect and
+square-built; and it speaketh of the meaning of the earth.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+IV.  THE DESPISERS OF THE BODY.
+
+To the despisers of the body will I speak my word.  I wish them neither to
+learn afresh, nor teach anew, but only to bid farewell to their own
+bodies,--and thus be dumb.
+
+"Body am I, and soul"--so saith the child.  And why should one not speak
+like children?
+
+But the awakened one, the knowing one, saith:  "Body am I entirely, and
+nothing more; and soul is only the name of something in the body."
+
+The body is a big sagacity, a plurality with one sense, a war and a peace,
+a flock and a shepherd.
+
+An instrument of thy body is also thy little sagacity, my brother, which
+thou callest "spirit"--a little instrument and plaything of thy big
+sagacity.
+
+"Ego," sayest thou, and art proud of that word.  But the greater thing--in
+which thou art unwilling to believe--is thy body with its big sagacity; it
+saith not "ego," but doeth it.
+
+What the sense feeleth, what the spirit discerneth, hath never its end in
+itself.  But sense and spirit would fain persuade thee that they are the
+end of all things:  so vain are they.
+
+Instruments and playthings are sense and spirit:  behind them there is
+still the Self.  The Self seeketh with the eyes of the senses, it
+hearkeneth also with the ears of the spirit.
+
+Ever hearkeneth the Self, and seeketh; it compareth, mastereth, conquereth,
+and destroyeth.  It ruleth, and is also the ego's ruler.
+
+Behind thy thoughts and feelings, my brother, there is a mighty lord, an
+unknown sage--it is called Self; it dwelleth in thy body, it is thy body.
+
+There is more sagacity in thy body than in thy best wisdom.  And who then
+knoweth why thy body requireth just thy best wisdom?
+
+Thy Self laugheth at thine ego, and its proud prancings.  "What are these
+prancings and flights of thought unto me?" it saith to itself.  "A by-way
+to my purpose.  I am the leading-string of the ego, and the prompter of its
+notions."
+
+The Self saith unto the ego:  "Feel pain!"  And thereupon it suffereth, and
+thinketh how it may put an end thereto--and for that very purpose it IS
+MEANT to think.
+
+The Self saith unto the ego:  "Feel pleasure!"  Thereupon it rejoiceth, and
+thinketh how it may ofttimes rejoice--and for that very purpose it IS MEANT
+to think.
+
+To the despisers of the body will I speak a word.  That they despise is
+caused by their esteem.  What is it that created esteeming and despising
+and worth and will?
+
+The creating Self created for itself esteeming and despising, it created
+for itself joy and woe.  The creating body created for itself spirit, as a
+hand to its will.
+
+Even in your folly and despising ye each serve your Self, ye despisers of
+the body.  I tell you, your very Self wanteth to die, and turneth away from
+life.
+
+No longer can your Self do that which it desireth most:--create beyond
+itself.  That is what it desireth most; that is all its fervour.
+
+But it is now too late to do so:--so your Self wisheth to succumb, ye
+despisers of the body.
+
+To succumb--so wisheth your Self; and therefore have ye become despisers of
+the body.  For ye can no longer create beyond yourselves.
+
+And therefore are ye now angry with life and with the earth.  And
+unconscious envy is in the sidelong look of your contempt.
+
+I go not your way, ye despisers of the body!  Ye are no bridges for me to
+the Superman!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+V.  JOYS AND PASSIONS.
+
+My brother, when thou hast a virtue, and it is thine own virtue, thou hast
+it in common with no one.
+
+To be sure, thou wouldst call it by name and caress it; thou wouldst pull
+its ears and amuse thyself with it.
+
+And lo!  Then hast thou its name in common with the people, and hast become
+one of the people and the herd with thy virtue!
+
+Better for thee to say:  "Ineffable is it, and nameless, that which is pain
+and sweetness to my soul, and also the hunger of my bowels."
+
+Let thy virtue be too high for the familiarity of names, and if thou must
+speak of it, be not ashamed to stammer about it.
+
+Thus speak and stammer:  "That is MY good, that do I love, thus doth it
+please me entirely, thus only do _I_ desire the good.
+
+Not as the law of a God do I desire it, not as a human law or a human need
+do I desire it; it is not to be a guide-post for me to superearths and
+paradises.
+
+An earthly virtue is it which I love:  little prudence is therein, and the
+least everyday wisdom.
+
+But that bird built its nest beside me:  therefore, I love and cherish it--
+now sitteth it beside me on its golden eggs."
+
+Thus shouldst thou stammer, and praise thy virtue.
+
+Once hadst thou passions and calledst them evil.  But now hast thou only
+thy virtues:  they grew out of thy passions.
+
+Thou implantedst thy highest aim into the heart of those passions:  then
+became they thy virtues and joys.
+
+And though thou wert of the race of the hot-tempered, or of the voluptuous,
+or of the fanatical, or the vindictive;
+
+All thy passions in the end became virtues, and all thy devils angels.
+
+Once hadst thou wild dogs in thy cellar:  but they changed at last into
+birds and charming songstresses.
+
+Out of thy poisons brewedst thou balsam for thyself; thy cow, affliction,
+milkedst thou--now drinketh thou the sweet milk of her udder.
+
+And nothing evil groweth in thee any longer, unless it be the evil that
+groweth out of the conflict of thy virtues.
+
+My brother, if thou be fortunate, then wilt thou have one virtue and no
+more:  thus goest thou easier over the bridge.
+
+Illustrious is it to have many virtues, but a hard lot; and many a one hath
+gone into the wilderness and killed himself, because he was weary of being
+the battle and battlefield of virtues.
+
+My brother, are war and battle evil?  Necessary, however, is the evil;
+necessary are the envy and the distrust and the back-biting among the
+virtues.
+
+Lo! how each of thy virtues is covetous of the highest place; it wanteth
+thy whole spirit to be ITS herald, it wanteth thy whole power, in wrath,
+hatred, and love.
+
+Jealous is every virtue of the others, and a dreadful thing is jealousy.
+Even virtues may succumb by jealousy.
+
+He whom the flame of jealousy encompasseth, turneth at last, like the
+scorpion, the poisoned sting against himself.
+
+Ah! my brother, hast thou never seen a virtue backbite and stab itself?
+
+Man is something that hath to be surpassed:  and therefore shalt thou love
+thy virtues,--for thou wilt succumb by them.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+VI.  THE PALE CRIMINAL.
+
+Ye do not mean to slay, ye judges and sacrificers, until the animal hath
+bowed its head?  Lo! the pale criminal hath bowed his head:  out of his eye
+speaketh the great contempt.
+
+"Mine ego is something which is to be surpassed:  mine ego is to me the
+great contempt of man":  so speaketh it out of that eye.
+
+When he judged himself--that was his supreme moment; let not the exalted
+one relapse again into his low estate!
+
+There is no salvation for him who thus suffereth from himself, unless it be
+speedy death.
+
+Your slaying, ye judges, shall be pity, and not revenge; and in that ye
+slay, see to it that ye yourselves justify life!
+
+It is not enough that ye should reconcile with him whom ye slay.  Let your
+sorrow be love to the Superman:  thus will ye justify your own survival!
+
+"Enemy" shall ye say but not "villain," "invalid" shall ye say but not
+"wretch," "fool" shall ye say but not "sinner."
+
+And thou, red judge, if thou would say audibly all thou hast done in
+thought, then would every one cry:  "Away with the nastiness and the
+virulent reptile!"
+
+But one thing is the thought, another thing is the deed, and another thing
+is the idea of the deed.  The wheel of causality doth not roll between
+them.
+
+An idea made this pale man pale.  Adequate was he for his deed when he did
+it, but the idea of it, he could not endure when it was done.
+
+Evermore did he now see himself as the doer of one deed.  Madness, I call
+this:  the exception reversed itself to the rule in him.
+
+The streak of chalk bewitcheth the hen; the stroke he struck bewitched his
+weak reason.  Madness AFTER the deed, I call this.
+
+Hearken, ye judges!  There is another madness besides, and it is BEFORE the
+deed.  Ah! ye have not gone deep enough into this soul!
+
+Thus speaketh the red judge:  "Why did this criminal commit murder?  He
+meant to rob."  I tell you, however, that his soul wanted blood, not booty:
+he thirsted for the happiness of the knife!
+
+But his weak reason understood not this madness, and it persuaded him.
+"What matter about blood!" it said; "wishest thou not, at least, to make
+booty thereby?  Or take revenge?"
+
+And he hearkened unto his weak reason:  like lead lay its words upon him--
+thereupon he robbed when he murdered.  He did not mean to be ashamed of his
+madness.
+
+And now once more lieth the lead of his guilt upon him, and once more is
+his weak reason so benumbed, so paralysed, and so dull.
+
+Could he only shake his head, then would his burden roll off; but who
+shaketh that head?
+
+What is this man?  A mass of diseases that reach out into the world through
+the spirit; there they want to get their prey.
+
+What is this man?  A coil of wild serpents that are seldom at peace among
+themselves--so they go forth apart and seek prey in the world.
+
+Look at that poor body!  What it suffered and craved, the poor soul
+interpreted to itself--it interpreted it as murderous desire, and eagerness
+for the happiness of the knife.
+
+Him who now turneth sick, the evil overtaketh which is now the evil:  he
+seeketh to cause pain with that which causeth him pain.  But there have
+been other ages, and another evil and good.
+
+Once was doubt evil, and the will to Self.  Then the invalid became a
+heretic or sorcerer; as heretic or sorcerer he suffered, and sought to
+cause suffering.
+
+But this will not enter your ears; it hurteth your good people, ye tell me.
+But what doth it matter to me about your good people!
+
+Many things in your good people cause me disgust, and verily, not their
+evil.  I would that they had a madness by which they succumbed, like this
+pale criminal!
+
+Verily, I would that their madness were called truth, or fidelity, or
+justice:  but they have their virtue in order to live long, and in wretched
+self-complacency.
+
+I am a railing alongside the torrent; whoever is able to grasp me may grasp
+me!  Your crutch, however, I am not.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+VII.  READING AND WRITING.
+
+Of all that is written, I love only what a person hath written with his
+blood.  Write with blood, and thou wilt find that blood is spirit.
+
+It is no easy task to understand unfamiliar blood; I hate the reading
+idlers.
+
+He who knoweth the reader, doeth nothing more for the reader.  Another
+century of readers--and spirit itself will stink.
+
+Every one being allowed to learn to read, ruineth in the long run not only
+writing but also thinking.
+
+Once spirit was God, then it became man, and now it even becometh populace.
+
+He that writeth in blood and proverbs doth not want to be read, but learnt
+by heart.
+
+In the mountains the shortest way is from peak to peak, but for that route
+thou must have long legs.  Proverbs should be peaks, and those spoken to
+should be big and tall.
+
+The atmosphere rare and pure, danger near and the spirit full of a joyful
+wickedness:  thus are things well matched.
+
+I want to have goblins about me, for I am courageous.  The courage which
+scareth away ghosts, createth for itself goblins--it wanteth to laugh.
+
+I no longer feel in common with you; the very cloud which I see beneath me,
+the blackness and heaviness at which I laugh--that is your thunder-cloud.
+
+Ye look aloft when ye long for exaltation; and I look downward because I am
+exalted.
+
+Who among you can at the same time laugh and be exalted?
+
+He who climbeth on the highest mountains, laugheth at all tragic plays and
+tragic realities.
+
+Courageous, unconcerned, scornful, coercive--so wisdom wisheth us; she is a
+woman, and ever loveth only a warrior.
+
+Ye tell me, "Life is hard to bear."  But for what purpose should ye have
+your pride in the morning and your resignation in the evening?
+
+Life is hard to bear:  but do not affect to be so delicate!  We are all of
+us fine sumpter asses and assesses.
+
+What have we in common with the rose-bud, which trembleth because a drop of
+dew hath formed upon it?
+
+It is true we love life; not because we are wont to live, but because we
+are wont to love.
+
+There is always some madness in love.  But there is always, also, some
+method in madness.
+
+And to me also, who appreciate life, the butterflies, and soap-bubbles, and
+whatever is like them amongst us, seem most to enjoy happiness.
+
+To see these light, foolish, pretty, lively little sprites flit about--that
+moveth Zarathustra to tears and songs.
+
+I should only believe in a God that would know how to dance.
+
+And when I saw my devil, I found him serious, thorough, profound, solemn:
+he was the spirit of gravity--through him all things fall.
+
+Not by wrath, but by laughter, do we slay.  Come, let us slay the spirit of
+gravity!
+
+I learned to walk; since then have I let myself run.  I learned to fly;
+since then I do not need pushing in order to move from a spot.
+
+Now am I light, now do I fly; now do I see myself under myself.  Now there
+danceth a God in me.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+VIII.  THE TREE ON THE HILL.
+
+Zarathustra's eye had perceived that a certain youth avoided him.  And as
+he walked alone one evening over the hills surrounding the town called "The
+Pied Cow," behold, there found he the youth sitting leaning against a tree,
+and gazing with wearied look into the valley.  Zarathustra thereupon laid
+hold of the tree beside which the youth sat, and spake thus:
+
+"If I wished to shake this tree with my hands, I should not be able to do
+so.
+
+But the wind, which we see not, troubleth and bendeth it as it listeth.  We
+are sorest bent and troubled by invisible hands."
+
+Thereupon the youth arose disconcerted, and said:  "I hear Zarathustra, and
+just now was I thinking of him!"  Zarathustra answered:
+
+"Why art thou frightened on that account?--But it is the same with man as
+with the tree.
+
+The more he seeketh to rise into the height and light, the more vigorously
+do his roots struggle earthward, downward, into the dark and deep--into the
+evil."
+
+"Yea, into the evil!" cried the youth.  "How is it possible that thou hast
+discovered my soul?"
+
+Zarathustra smiled, and said:  "Many a soul one will never discover, unless
+one first invent it."
+
+"Yea, into the evil!" cried the youth once more.
+
+"Thou saidst the truth, Zarathustra.  I trust myself no longer since I
+sought to rise into the height, and nobody trusteth me any longer; how doth
+that happen?
+
+I change too quickly:  my to-day refuteth my yesterday.  I often overleap
+the steps when I clamber; for so doing, none of the steps pardons me.
+
+When aloft, I find myself always alone.  No one speaketh unto me; the frost
+of solitude maketh me tremble.  What do I seek on the height?
+
+My contempt and my longing increase together; the higher I clamber, the
+more do I despise him who clambereth.  What doth he seek on the height?
+
+How ashamed I am of my clambering and stumbling!  How I mock at my violent
+panting!  How I hate him who flieth!  How tired I am on the height!"
+
+Here the youth was silent.  And Zarathustra contemplated the tree beside
+which they stood, and spake thus:
+
+"This tree standeth lonely here on the hills; it hath grown up high above
+man and beast.
+
+And if it wanted to speak, it would have none who could understand it:  so
+high hath it grown.
+
+Now it waiteth and waiteth,--for what doth it wait?  It dwelleth too close
+to the seat of the clouds; it waiteth perhaps for the first lightning?"
+
+When Zarathustra had said this, the youth called out with violent gestures:
+"Yea, Zarathustra, thou speakest the truth.  My destruction I longed for,
+when I desired to be on the height, and thou art the lightning for which I
+waited!  Lo! what have I been since thou hast appeared amongst us?  It is
+mine envy of thee that hath destroyed me!"--Thus spake the youth, and wept
+bitterly.  Zarathustra, however, put his arm about him, and led the youth
+away with him.
+
+And when they had walked a while together, Zarathustra began to speak thus:
+
+It rendeth my heart.  Better than thy words express it, thine eyes tell me
+all thy danger.
+
+As yet thou art not free; thou still SEEKEST freedom.  Too unslept hath thy
+seeking made thee, and too wakeful.
+
+On the open height wouldst thou be; for the stars thirsteth thy soul.  But
+thy bad impulses also thirst for freedom.
+
+Thy wild dogs want liberty; they bark for joy in their cellar when thy
+spirit endeavoureth to open all prison doors.
+
+Still art thou a prisoner--it seemeth to me--who deviseth liberty for
+himself:  ah! sharp becometh the soul of such prisoners, but also deceitful
+and wicked.
+
+To purify himself, is still necessary for the freedman of the spirit.  Much
+of the prison and the mould still remaineth in him:  pure hath his eye
+still to become.
+
+Yea, I know thy danger.  But by my love and hope I conjure thee:  cast not
+thy love and hope away!
+
+Noble thou feelest thyself still, and noble others also feel thee still,
+though they bear thee a grudge and cast evil looks.  Know this, that to
+everybody a noble one standeth in the way.
+
+Also to the good, a noble one standeth in the way:  and even when they call
+him a good man, they want thereby to put him aside.
+
+The new, would the noble man create, and a new virtue.  The old, wanteth
+the good man, and that the old should be conserved.
+
+But it is not the danger of the noble man to turn a good man, but lest he
+should become a blusterer, a scoffer, or a destroyer.
+
+Ah!  I have known noble ones who lost their highest hope.  And then they
+disparaged all high hopes.
+
+Then lived they shamelessly in temporary pleasures, and beyond the day had
+hardly an aim.
+
+"Spirit is also voluptuousness,"--said they.  Then broke the wings of their
+spirit; and now it creepeth about, and defileth where it gnaweth.
+
+Once they thought of becoming heroes; but sensualists are they now.  A
+trouble and a terror is the hero to them.
+
+But by my love and hope I conjure thee:  cast not away the hero in thy
+soul!  Maintain holy thy highest hope!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+IX.  THE PREACHERS OF DEATH.
+
+There are preachers of death:  and the earth is full of those to whom
+desistance from life must be preached.
+
+Full is the earth of the superfluous; marred is life by the many-too-many.
+May they be decoyed out of this life by the "life eternal"!
+
+"The yellow ones":  so are called the preachers of death, or "the black
+ones."  But I will show them unto you in other colours besides.
+
+There are the terrible ones who carry about in themselves the beast of
+prey, and have no choice except lusts or self-laceration.  And even their
+lusts are self-laceration.
+
+They have not yet become men, those terrible ones:  may they preach
+desistance from life, and pass away themselves!
+
+There are the spiritually consumptive ones:  hardly are they born when they
+begin to die, and long for doctrines of lassitude and renunciation.
+
+They would fain be dead, and we should approve of their wish!  Let us
+beware of awakening those dead ones, and of damaging those living coffins!
+
+They meet an invalid, or an old man, or a corpse--and immediately they say:
+"Life is refuted!"
+
+But they only are refuted, and their eye, which seeth only one aspect of
+existence.
+
+Shrouded in thick melancholy, and eager for the little casualties that
+bring death:  thus do they wait, and clench their teeth.
+
+Or else, they grasp at sweetmeats, and mock at their childishness thereby:
+they cling to their straw of life, and mock at their still clinging to it.
+
+Their wisdom speaketh thus:  "A fool, he who remaineth alive; but so far
+are we fools!  And that is the foolishest thing in life!"
+
+"Life is only suffering":  so say others, and lie not.  Then see to it that
+YE cease!  See to it that the life ceaseth which is only suffering!
+
+And let this be the teaching of your virtue:  "Thou shalt slay thyself!
+Thou shalt steal away from thyself!"--
+
+"Lust is sin,"--so say some who preach death--"let us go apart and beget no
+children!"
+
+"Giving birth is troublesome,"--say others--"why still give birth?  One
+beareth only the unfortunate!"  And they also are preachers of death.
+
+"Pity is necessary,"--so saith a third party.  "Take what I have!  Take
+what I am!  So much less doth life bind me!"
+
+Were they consistently pitiful, then would they make their neighbours sick
+of life.  To be wicked--that would be their true goodness.
+
+But they want to be rid of life; what care they if they bind others still
+faster with their chains and gifts!--
+
+And ye also, to whom life is rough labour and disquiet, are ye not very
+tired of life?  Are ye not very ripe for the sermon of death?
+
+All ye to whom rough labour is dear, and the rapid, new, and strange--ye
+put up with yourselves badly; your diligence is flight, and the will to
+self-forgetfulness.
+
+If ye believed more in life, then would ye devote yourselves less to the
+momentary.  But for waiting, ye have not enough of capacity in you--nor
+even for idling!
+
+Everywhere resoundeth the voices of those who preach death; and the earth
+is full of those to whom death hath to be preached.
+
+Or "life eternal"; it is all the same to me--if only they pass away
+quickly!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+X.  WAR AND WARRIORS.
+
+By our best enemies we do not want to be spared, nor by those either whom
+we love from the very heart.  So let me tell you the truth!
+
+My brethren in war!  I love you from the very heart.  I am, and was ever,
+your counterpart.  And I am also your best enemy.  So let me tell you the
+truth!
+
+I know the hatred and envy of your hearts.  Ye are not great enough not to
+know of hatred and envy.  Then be great enough not to be ashamed of them!
+
+And if ye cannot be saints of knowledge, then, I pray you, be at least its
+warriors.  They are the companions and forerunners of such saintship.
+
+I see many soldiers; could I but see many warriors!  "Uniform" one calleth
+what they wear; may it not be uniform what they therewith hide!
+
+Ye shall be those whose eyes ever seek for an enemy--for YOUR enemy.  And
+with some of you there is hatred at first sight.
+
+Your enemy shall ye seek; your war shall ye wage, and for the sake of your
+thoughts!  And if your thoughts succumb, your uprightness shall still shout
+triumph thereby!
+
+Ye shall love peace as a means to new wars--and the short peace more than
+the long.
+
+You I advise not to work, but to fight.  You I advise not to peace, but to
+victory.  Let your work be a fight, let your peace be a victory!
+
+One can only be silent and sit peacefully when one hath arrow and bow;
+otherwise one prateth and quarrelleth.  Let your peace be a victory!
+
+Ye say it is the good cause which halloweth even war?  I say unto you:  it
+is the good war which halloweth every cause.
+
+War and courage have done more great things than charity.  Not your
+sympathy, but your bravery hath hitherto saved the victims.
+
+"What is good?" ye ask.  To be brave is good.  Let the little girls say:
+"To be good is what is pretty, and at the same time touching."
+
+They call you heartless:  but your heart is true, and I love the
+bashfulness of your goodwill.  Ye are ashamed of your flow, and others are
+ashamed of their ebb.
+
+Ye are ugly?  Well then, my brethren, take the sublime about you, the
+mantle of the ugly!
+
+And when your soul becometh great, then doth it become haughty, and in your
+sublimity there is wickedness.  I know you.
+
+In wickedness the haughty man and the weakling meet.  But they
+misunderstand one another.  I know you.
+
+Ye shall only have enemies to be hated, but not enemies to be despised.  Ye
+must be proud of your enemies; then, the successes of your enemies are also
+your successes.
+
+Resistance--that is the distinction of the slave.  Let your distinction be
+obedience.  Let your commanding itself be obeying!
+
+To the good warrior soundeth "thou shalt" pleasanter than "I will."  And
+all that is dear unto you, ye shall first have it commanded unto you.
+
+Let your love to life be love to your highest hope; and let your highest
+hope be the highest thought of life!
+
+Your highest thought, however, ye shall have it commanded unto you by me--
+and it is this:  man is something that is to be surpassed.
+
+So live your life of obedience and of war!  What matter about long life!
+What warrior wisheth to be spared!
+
+I spare you not, I love you from my very heart, my brethren in war!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XI.  THE NEW IDOL.
+
+Somewhere there are still peoples and herds, but not with us, my brethren:
+here there are states.
+
+A state?  What is that?  Well! open now your ears unto me, for now will I
+say unto you my word concerning the death of peoples.
+
+A state, is called the coldest of all cold monsters.  Coldly lieth it also;
+and this lie creepeth from its mouth:  "I, the state, am the people."
+
+It is a lie!  Creators were they who created peoples, and hung a faith and
+a love over them:  thus they served life.
+
+Destroyers, are they who lay snares for many, and call it the state:  they
+hang a sword and a hundred cravings over them.
+
+Where there is still a people, there the state is not understood, but hated
+as the evil eye, and as sin against laws and customs.
+
+This sign I give unto you:  every people speaketh its language of good and
+evil:  this its neighbour understandeth not.  Its language hath it devised
+for itself in laws and customs.
+
+But the state lieth in all languages of good and evil; and whatever it
+saith it lieth; and whatever it hath it hath stolen.
+
+False is everything in it; with stolen teeth it biteth, the biting one.
+False are even its bowels.
+
+Confusion of language of good and evil; this sign I give unto you as the
+sign of the state.  Verily, the will to death, indicateth this sign!
+Verily, it beckoneth unto the preachers of death!
+
+Many too many are born:  for the superfluous ones was the state devised!
+
+See just how it enticeth them to it, the many-too-many!  How it swalloweth
+and cheweth and recheweth them!
+
+"On earth there is nothing greater than I:  it is I who am the regulating
+finger of God"--thus roareth the monster.  And not only the long-eared and
+short-sighted fall upon their knees!
+
+Ah! even in your ears, ye great souls, it whispereth its gloomy lies!  Ah!
+it findeth out the rich hearts which willingly lavish themselves!
+
+Yea, it findeth you out too, ye conquerors of the old God!  Weary ye became
+of the conflict, and now your weariness serveth the new idol!
+
+Heroes and honourable ones, it would fain set up around it, the new idol!
+Gladly it basketh in the sunshine of good consciences,--the cold monster!
+
+Everything will it give YOU, if YE worship it, the new idol:  thus it
+purchaseth the lustre of your virtue, and the glance of your proud eyes.
+
+It seeketh to allure by means of you, the many-too-many!  Yea, a hellish
+artifice hath here been devised, a death-horse jingling with the trappings
+of divine honours!
+
+Yea, a dying for many hath here been devised, which glorifieth itself as
+life:  verily, a hearty service unto all preachers of death!
+
+The state, I call it, where all are poison-drinkers, the good and the bad:
+the state, where all lose themselves, the good and the bad:  the state,
+where the slow suicide of all--is called "life."
+
+Just see these superfluous ones!  They steal the works of the inventors and
+the treasures of the wise.  Culture, they call their theft--and everything
+becometh sickness and trouble unto them!
+
+Just see these superfluous ones!  Sick are they always; they vomit their
+bile and call it a newspaper.  They devour one another, and cannot even
+digest themselves.
+
+Just see these superfluous ones!  Wealth they acquire and become poorer
+thereby.  Power they seek for, and above all, the lever of power, much
+money--these impotent ones!
+
+See them clamber, these nimble apes!  They clamber over one another, and
+thus scuffle into the mud and the abyss.
+
+Towards the throne they all strive:  it is their madness--as if happiness
+sat on the throne!  Ofttimes sitteth filth on the throne.--and ofttimes
+also the throne on filth.
+
+Madmen they all seem to me, and clambering apes, and too eager.  Badly
+smelleth their idol to me, the cold monster:  badly they all smell to me,
+these idolaters.
+
+My brethren, will ye suffocate in the fumes of their maws and appetites!
+Better break the windows and jump into the open air!
+
+Do go out of the way of the bad odour!  Withdraw from the idolatry of the
+superfluous!
+
+Do go out of the way of the bad odour!  Withdraw from the steam of these
+human sacrifices!
+
+Open still remaineth the earth for great souls.  Empty are still many sites
+for lone ones and twain ones, around which floateth the odour of tranquil
+seas.
+
+Open still remaineth a free life for great souls.  Verily, he who
+possesseth little is so much the less possessed:  blessed be moderate
+poverty!
+
+There, where the state ceaseth--there only commenceth the man who is not
+superfluous:  there commenceth the song of the necessary ones, the single
+and irreplaceable melody.
+
+There, where the state CEASETH--pray look thither, my brethren!  Do ye not
+see it, the rainbow and the bridges of the Superman?--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XII.  THE FLIES IN THE MARKET-PLACE.
+
+Flee, my friend, into thy solitude!  I see thee deafened with the noise of
+the great men, and stung all over with the stings of the little ones.
+
+Admirably do forest and rock know how to be silent with thee.  Resemble
+again the tree which thou lovest, the broad-branched one--silently and
+attentively it o'erhangeth the sea.
+
+Where solitude endeth, there beginneth the market-place; and where the
+market-place beginneth, there beginneth also the noise of the great actors,
+and the buzzing of the poison-flies.
+
+In the world even the best things are worthless without those who represent
+them:  those representers, the people call great men.
+
+Little do the people understand what is great--that is to say, the creating
+agency.  But they have a taste for all representers and actors of great
+things.
+
+Around the devisers of new values revolveth the world:--invisibly it
+revolveth.  But around the actors revolve the people and the glory:  such
+is the course of things.
+
+Spirit, hath the actor, but little conscience of the spirit.  He believeth
+always in that wherewith he maketh believe most strongly--in HIMSELF!
+
+Tomorrow he hath a new belief, and the day after, one still newer.  Sharp
+perceptions hath he, like the people, and changeable humours.
+
+To upset--that meaneth with him to prove.  To drive mad--that meaneth with
+him to convince.  And blood is counted by him as the best of all arguments.
+
+A truth which only glideth into fine ears, he calleth falsehood and
+trumpery.  Verily, he believeth only in Gods that make a great noise in the
+world!
+
+Full of clattering buffoons is the market-place,--and the people glory in
+their great men!  These are for them the masters of the hour.
+
+But the hour presseth them; so they press thee.  And also from thee they
+want Yea or Nay.  Alas! thou wouldst set thy chair betwixt For and Against?
+
+On account of those absolute and impatient ones, be not jealous, thou lover
+of truth!  Never yet did truth cling to the arm of an absolute one.
+
+On account of those abrupt ones, return into thy security:  only in the
+market-place is one assailed by Yea? or Nay?
+
+Slow is the experience of all deep fountains:  long have they to wait until
+they know WHAT hath fallen into their depths.
+
+Away from the market-place and from fame taketh place all that is great:
+away from the market-Place and from fame have ever dwelt the devisers of
+new values.
+
+Flee, my friend, into thy solitude:  I see thee stung all over by the
+poisonous flies.  Flee thither, where a rough, strong breeze bloweth!
+
+Flee into thy solitude!  Thou hast lived too closely to the small and the
+pitiable.  Flee from their invisible vengeance!  Towards thee they have
+nothing but vengeance.
+
+Raise no longer an arm against them!  Innumerable are they, and it is not
+thy lot to be a fly-flap.
+
+Innumerable are the small and pitiable ones; and of many a proud structure,
+rain-drops and weeds have been the ruin.
+
+Thou art not stone; but already hast thou become hollow by the numerous
+drops.  Thou wilt yet break and burst by the numerous drops.
+
+Exhausted I see thee, by poisonous flies; bleeding I see thee, and torn at
+a hundred spots; and thy pride will not even upbraid.
+
+Blood they would have from thee in all innocence; blood their bloodless
+souls crave for--and they sting, therefore, in all innocence.
+
+But thou, profound one, thou sufferest too profoundly even from small
+wounds; and ere thou hadst recovered, the same poison-worm crawled over thy
+hand.
+
+Too proud art thou to kill these sweet-tooths.  But take care lest it be
+thy fate to suffer all their poisonous injustice!
+
+They buzz around thee also with their praise:  obtrusiveness, is their
+praise.  They want to be close to thy skin and thy blood.
+
+They flatter thee, as one flattereth a God or devil; they whimper before
+thee, as before a God or devil.  What doth it come to!  Flatterers are
+they, and whimperers, and nothing more.
+
+Often, also, do they show themselves to thee as amiable ones.  But that
+hath ever been the prudence of the cowardly.  Yea! the cowardly are wise!
+
+They think much about thee with their circumscribed souls--thou art always
+suspected by them!  Whatever is much thought about is at last thought
+suspicious.
+
+They punish thee for all thy virtues.  They pardon thee in their inmost
+hearts only--for thine errors.
+
+Because thou art gentle and of upright character, thou sayest:  "Blameless
+are they for their small existence."  But their circumscribed souls think:
+"Blamable is all great existence."
+
+Even when thou art gentle towards them, they still feel themselves despised
+by thee; and they repay thy beneficence with secret maleficence.
+
+Thy silent pride is always counter to their taste; they rejoice if once
+thou be humble enough to be frivolous.
+
+What we recognise in a man, we also irritate in him.  Therefore be on your
+guard against the small ones!
+
+In thy presence they feel themselves small, and their baseness gleameth and
+gloweth against thee in invisible vengeance.
+
+Sawest thou not how often they became dumb when thou approachedst them, and
+how their energy left them like the smoke of an extinguishing fire?
+
+Yea, my friend, the bad conscience art thou of thy neighbours; for they are
+unworthy of thee.  Therefore they hate thee, and would fain suck thy blood.
+
+Thy neighbours will always be poisonous flies; what is great in thee--that
+itself must make them more poisonous, and always more fly-like.
+
+Flee, my friend, into thy solitude--and thither, where a rough strong
+breeze bloweth.  It is not thy lot to be a fly-flap.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XIII.  CHASTITY.
+
+I love the forest.  It is bad to live in cities:  there, there are too many
+of the lustful.
+
+Is it not better to fall into the hands of a murderer, than into the dreams
+of a lustful woman?
+
+And just look at these men:  their eye saith it--they know nothing better
+on earth than to lie with a woman.
+
+Filth is at the bottom of their souls; and alas! if their filth hath still
+spirit in it!
+
+Would that ye were perfect--at least as animals!  But to animals belongeth
+innocence.
+
+Do I counsel you to slay your instincts?  I counsel you to innocence in
+your instincts.
+
+Do I counsel you to chastity?  Chastity is a virtue with some, but with
+many almost a vice.
+
+These are continent, to be sure:  but doggish lust looketh enviously out of
+all that they do.
+
+Even into the heights of their virtue and into their cold spirit doth this
+creature follow them, with its discord.
+
+And how nicely can doggish lust beg for a piece of spirit, when a piece of
+flesh is denied it!
+
+Ye love tragedies and all that breaketh the heart?  But I am distrustful of
+your doggish lust.
+
+Ye have too cruel eyes, and ye look wantonly towards the sufferers.  Hath
+not your lust just disguised itself and taken the name of fellow-suffering?
+
+And also this parable give I unto you:  Not a few who meant to cast out
+their devil, went thereby into the swine themselves.
+
+To whom chastity is difficult, it is to be dissuaded:  lest it become the
+road to hell--to filth and lust of soul.
+
+Do I speak of filthy things?  That is not the worst thing for me to do.
+
+Not when the truth is filthy, but when it is shallow, doth the discerning
+one go unwillingly into its waters.
+
+Verily, there are chaste ones from their very nature; they are gentler of
+heart, and laugh better and oftener than you.
+
+They laugh also at chastity, and ask:  "What is chastity?
+
+Is chastity not folly?  But the folly came unto us, and not we unto it.
+
+We offered that guest harbour and heart:  now it dwelleth with us--let it
+stay as long as it will!"--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XIV.  THE FRIEND.
+
+"One, is always too many about me"--thinketh the anchorite.  "Always once
+one--that maketh two in the long run!"
+
+I and me are always too earnestly in conversation:  how could it be
+endured, if there were not a friend?
+
+The friend of the anchorite is always the third one:  the third one is the
+cork which preventeth the conversation of the two sinking into the depth.
+
+Ah! there are too many depths for all anchorites.  Therefore, do they long
+so much for a friend, and for his elevation.
+
+Our faith in others betrayeth wherein we would fain have faith in
+ourselves.  Our longing for a friend is our betrayer.
+
+And often with our love we want merely to overleap envy.  And often we
+attack and make ourselves enemies, to conceal that we are vulnerable.
+
+"Be at least mine enemy!"--thus speaketh the true reverence, which doth not
+venture to solicit friendship.
+
+If one would have a friend, then must one also be willing to wage war for
+him:  and in order to wage war, one must be CAPABLE of being an enemy.
+
+One ought still to honour the enemy in one's friend.  Canst thou go nigh
+unto thy friend, and not go over to him?
+
+In one's friend one shall have one's best enemy.  Thou shalt be closest
+unto him with thy heart when thou withstandest him.
+
+Thou wouldst wear no raiment before thy friend?  It is in honour of thy
+friend that thou showest thyself to him as thou art?  But he wisheth thee
+to the devil on that account!
+
+He who maketh no secret of himself shocketh:  so much reason have ye to
+fear nakedness!  Aye, if ye were Gods, ye could then be ashamed of
+clothing!
+
+Thou canst not adorn thyself fine enough for thy friend; for thou shalt be
+unto him an arrow and a longing for the Superman.
+
+Sawest thou ever thy friend asleep--to know how he looketh?  What is
+usually the countenance of thy friend?  It is thine own countenance, in a
+coarse and imperfect mirror.
+
+Sawest thou ever thy friend asleep?  Wert thou not dismayed at thy friend
+looking so?  O my friend, man is something that hath to be surpassed.
+
+In divining and keeping silence shall the friend be a master:  not
+everything must thou wish to see.  Thy dream shall disclose unto thee what
+thy friend doeth when awake.
+
+Let thy pity be a divining:  to know first if thy friend wanteth pity.
+Perhaps he loveth in thee the unmoved eye, and the look of eternity.
+
+Let thy pity for thy friend be hid under a hard shell; thou shalt bite out
+a tooth upon it.  Thus will it have delicacy and sweetness.
+
+Art thou pure air and solitude and bread and medicine to thy friend?  Many
+a one cannot loosen his own fetters, but is nevertheless his friend's
+emancipator.
+
+Art thou a slave?  Then thou canst not be a friend.  Art thou a tyrant?
+Then thou canst not have friends.
+
+Far too long hath there been a slave and a tyrant concealed in woman.  On
+that account woman is not yet capable of friendship:  she knoweth only
+love.
+
+In woman's love there is injustice and blindness to all she doth not love.
+And even in woman's conscious love, there is still always surprise and
+lightning and night, along with the light.
+
+As yet woman is not capable of friendship:  women are still cats, and
+birds.  Or at the best, cows.
+
+As yet woman is not capable of friendship.  But tell me, ye men, who of you
+are capable of friendship?
+
+Oh! your poverty, ye men, and your sordidness of soul!  As much as ye give
+to your friend, will I give even to my foe, and will not have become poorer
+thereby.
+
+There is comradeship:  may there be friendship!
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XV.  THE THOUSAND AND ONE GOALS.
+
+Many lands saw Zarathustra, and many peoples:  thus he discovered the good
+and bad of many peoples.  No greater power did Zarathustra find on earth
+than good and bad.
+
+No people could live without first valuing; if a people will maintain
+itself, however, it must not value as its neighbour valueth.
+
+Much that passed for good with one people was regarded with scorn and
+contempt by another:  thus I found it.  Much found I here called bad, which
+was there decked with purple honours.
+
+Never did the one neighbour understand the other:  ever did his soul marvel
+at his neighbour's delusion and wickedness.
+
+A table of excellencies hangeth over every people.  Lo! it is the table of
+their triumphs; lo! it is the voice of their Will to Power.
+
+It is laudable, what they think hard; what is indispensable and hard they
+call good; and what relieveth in the direst distress, the unique and
+hardest of all,--they extol as holy.
+
+Whatever maketh them rule and conquer and shine, to the dismay and envy of
+their neighbours, they regard as the high and foremost thing, the test and
+the meaning of all else.
+
+Verily, my brother, if thou knewest but a people's need, its land, its sky,
+and its neighbour, then wouldst thou divine the law of its surmountings,
+and why it climbeth up that ladder to its hope.
+
+"Always shalt thou be the foremost and prominent above others:  no one
+shall thy jealous soul love, except a friend"--that made the soul of a
+Greek thrill:  thereby went he his way to greatness.
+
+"To speak truth, and be skilful with bow and arrow"--so seemed it alike
+pleasing and hard to the people from whom cometh my name--the name which is
+alike pleasing and hard to me.
+
+"To honour father and mother, and from the root of the soul to do their
+will"--this table of surmounting hung another people over them, and became
+powerful and permanent thereby.
+
+"To have fidelity, and for the sake of fidelity to risk honour and blood,
+even in evil and dangerous courses"--teaching itself so, another people
+mastered itself, and thus mastering itself, became pregnant and heavy with
+great hopes.
+
+Verily, men have given unto themselves all their good and bad.  Verily,
+they took it not, they found it not, it came not unto them as a voice from
+heaven.
+
+Values did man only assign to things in order to maintain himself--he
+created only the significance of things, a human significance!  Therefore,
+calleth he himself "man," that is, the valuator.
+
+Valuing is creating:  hear it, ye creating ones!  Valuation itself is the
+treasure and jewel of the valued things.
+
+Through valuation only is there value; and without valuation the nut of
+existence would be hollow.  Hear it, ye creating ones!
+
+Change of values--that is, change of the creating ones.  Always doth he
+destroy who hath to be a creator.
+
+Creating ones were first of all peoples, and only in late times
+individuals; verily, the individual himself is still the latest creation.
+
+Peoples once hung over them tables of the good.  Love which would rule and
+love which would obey, created for themselves such tables.
+
+Older is the pleasure in the herd than the pleasure in the ego:  and as
+long as the good conscience is for the herd, the bad conscience only saith:
+ego.
+
+Verily, the crafty ego, the loveless one, that seeketh its advantage in the
+advantage of many--it is not the origin of the herd, but its ruin.
+
+Loving ones, was it always, and creating ones, that created good and bad.
+Fire of love gloweth in the names of all the virtues, and fire of wrath.
+
+Many lands saw Zarathustra, and many peoples:  no greater power did
+Zarathustra find on earth than the creations of the loving ones--"good" and
+"bad" are they called.
+
+Verily, a prodigy is this power of praising and blaming.  Tell me, ye
+brethren, who will master it for me?  Who will put a fetter upon the
+thousand necks of this animal?
+
+A thousand goals have there been hitherto, for a thousand peoples have
+there been.  Only the fetter for the thousand necks is still lacking; there
+is lacking the one goal.  As yet humanity hath not a goal.
+
+But pray tell me, my brethren, if the goal of humanity be still lacking, is
+there not also still lacking--humanity itself?--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XVI.  NEIGHBOUR-LOVE.
+
+Ye crowd around your neighbour, and have fine words for it.  But I say unto
+you:  your neighbour-love is your bad love of yourselves.
+
+Ye flee unto your neighbour from yourselves, and would fain make a virtue
+thereof:  but I fathom your "unselfishness."
+
+The THOU is older than the _I_; the THOU hath been consecrated, but not yet
+the _I_:  so man presseth nigh unto his neighbour.
+
+Do I advise you to neighbour-love? Rather do I advise you to
+neighbour-flight and to furthest love!
+
+Higher than love to your neighbour is love to the furthest and future ones;
+higher still than love to men, is love to things and phantoms.
+
+The phantom that runneth on before thee, my brother, is fairer than thou;
+why dost thou not give unto it thy flesh and thy bones?  But thou fearest,
+and runnest unto thy neighbour.
+
+Ye cannot endure it with yourselves, and do not love yourselves
+sufficiently:  so ye seek to mislead your neighbour into love, and would
+fain gild yourselves with his error.
+
+Would that ye could not endure it with any kind of near ones, or their
+neighbours; then would ye have to create your friend and his overflowing
+heart out of yourselves.
+
+Ye call in a witness when ye want to speak well of yourselves; and when ye
+have misled him to think well of you, ye also think well of yourselves.
+
+Not only doth he lie, who speaketh contrary to his knowledge, but more so,
+he who speaketh contrary to his ignorance.  And thus speak ye of yourselves
+in your intercourse, and belie your neighbour with yourselves.
+
+Thus saith the fool:  "Association with men spoileth the character,
+especially when one hath none."
+
+The one goeth to his neighbour because he seeketh himself, and the other
+because he would fain lose himself.  Your bad love to yourselves maketh
+solitude a prison to you.
+
+The furthest ones are they who pay for your love to the near ones; and when
+there are but five of you together, a sixth must always die.
+
+I love not your festivals either:  too many actors found I there, and even
+the spectators often behaved like actors.
+
+Not the neighbour do I teach you, but the friend.  Let the friend be the
+festival of the earth to you, and a foretaste of the Superman.
+
+I teach you the friend and his overflowing heart.  But one must know how to
+be a sponge, if one would be loved by overflowing hearts.
+
+I teach you the friend in whom the world standeth complete, a capsule of
+the good,--the creating friend, who hath always a complete world to bestow.
+
+And as the world unrolled itself for him, so rolleth it together again for
+him in rings, as the growth of good through evil, as the growth of purpose
+out of chance.
+
+Let the future and the furthest be the motive of thy to-day; in thy friend
+shalt thou love the Superman as thy motive.
+
+My brethren, I advise you not to neighbour-love--I advise you to furthest
+love!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XVII.  THE WAY OF THE CREATING ONE.
+
+Wouldst thou go into isolation, my brother?  Wouldst thou seek the way unto
+thyself?  Tarry yet a little and hearken unto me.
+
+"He who seeketh may easily get lost himself.  All isolation is wrong":  so
+say the herd.  And long didst thou belong to the herd.
+
+The voice of the herd will still echo in thee.  And when thou sayest, "I
+have no longer a conscience in common with you," then will it be a plaint
+and a pain.
+
+Lo, that pain itself did the same conscience produce; and the last gleam of
+that conscience still gloweth on thine affliction.
+
+But thou wouldst go the way of thine affliction, which is the way unto
+thyself?  Then show me thine authority and thy strength to do so!
+
+Art thou a new strength and a new authority? A first motion? A self-rolling
+wheel? Canst thou also compel stars to revolve around thee?
+
+Alas! there is so much lusting for loftiness!  There are so many
+convulsions of the ambitions!  Show me that thou art not a lusting and
+ambitious one!
+
+Alas! there are so many great thoughts that do nothing more than the
+bellows:  they inflate, and make emptier than ever.
+
+Free, dost thou call thyself?  Thy ruling thought would I hear of, and not
+that thou hast escaped from a yoke.
+
+Art thou one ENTITLED to escape from a yoke?  Many a one hath cast away his
+final worth when he hath cast away his servitude.
+
+Free from what?  What doth that matter to Zarathustra!  Clearly, however,
+shall thine eye show unto me:  free FOR WHAT?
+
+Canst thou give unto thyself thy bad and thy good, and set up thy will as a
+law over thee?  Canst thou be judge for thyself, and avenger of thy law?
+
+Terrible is aloneness with the judge and avenger of one's own law.  Thus is
+a star projected into desert space, and into the icy breath of aloneness.
+
+To-day sufferest thou still from the multitude, thou individual; to-day
+hast thou still thy courage unabated, and thy hopes.
+
+But one day will the solitude weary thee; one day will thy pride yield, and
+thy courage quail.  Thou wilt one day cry:  "I am alone!"
+
+One day wilt thou see no longer thy loftiness, and see too closely thy
+lowliness; thy sublimity itself will frighten thee as a phantom.  Thou wilt
+one day cry:  "All is false!"
+
+There are feelings which seek to slay the lonesome one; if they do not
+succeed, then must they themselves die!  But art thou capable of it--to be
+a murderer?
+
+Hast thou ever known, my brother, the word "disdain"?  And the anguish of
+thy justice in being just to those that disdain thee?
+
+Thou forcest many to think differently about thee; that, charge they
+heavily to thine account.  Thou camest nigh unto them, and yet wentest
+past:  for that they never forgive thee.
+
+Thou goest beyond them:  but the higher thou risest, the smaller doth the
+eye of envy see thee.  Most of all, however, is the flying one hated.
+
+"How could ye be just unto me!"--must thou say--"I choose your injustice as
+my allotted portion."
+
+Injustice and filth cast they at the lonesome one:  but, my brother, if
+thou wouldst be a star, thou must shine for them none the less on that
+account!
+
+And be on thy guard against the good and just!  They would fain crucify
+those who devise their own virtue--they hate the lonesome ones.
+
+Be on thy guard, also, against holy simplicity!  All is unholy to it that
+is not simple; fain, likewise, would it play with the fire--of the fagot
+and stake.
+
+And be on thy guard, also, against the assaults of thy love!  Too readily
+doth the recluse reach his hand to any one who meeteth him.
+
+To many a one mayest thou not give thy hand, but only thy paw; and I wish
+thy paw also to have claws.
+
+But the worst enemy thou canst meet, wilt thou thyself always be; thou
+waylayest thyself in caverns and forests.
+
+Thou lonesome one, thou goest the way to thyself!  And past thyself and thy
+seven devils leadeth thy way!
+
+A heretic wilt thou be to thyself, and a wizard and a sooth-sayer, and a
+fool, and a doubter, and a reprobate, and a villain.
+
+Ready must thou be to burn thyself in thine own flame; how couldst thou
+become new if thou have not first become ashes!
+
+Thou lonesome one, thou goest the way of the creating one:  a God wilt thou
+create for thyself out of thy seven devils!
+
+Thou lonesome one, thou goest the way of the loving one:  thou lovest
+thyself, and on that account despisest thou thyself, as only the loving
+ones despise.
+
+To create, desireth the loving one, because he despiseth!  What knoweth he
+of love who hath not been obliged to despise just what he loved!
+
+With thy love, go into thine isolation, my brother, and with thy creating;
+and late only will justice limp after thee.
+
+With my tears, go into thine isolation, my brother.  I love him who seeketh
+to create beyond himself, and thus succumbeth.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XVIII.  OLD AND YOUNG WOMEN.
+
+"Why stealest thou along so furtively in the twilight, Zarathustra?  And
+what hidest thou so carefully under thy mantle?
+
+Is it a treasure that hath been given thee?  Or a child that hath been born
+thee?  Or goest thou thyself on a thief's errand, thou friend of the
+evil?"--
+
+Verily, my brother, said Zarathustra, it is a treasure that hath been given
+me:  it is a little truth which I carry.
+
+But it is naughty, like a young child; and if I hold not its mouth, it
+screameth too loudly.
+
+As I went on my way alone to-day, at the hour when the sun declineth, there
+met me an old woman, and she spake thus unto my soul:
+
+"Much hath Zarathustra spoken also to us women, but never spake he unto us
+concerning woman."
+
+And I answered her:  "Concerning woman, one should only talk unto men."
+
+"Talk also unto me of woman," said she; "I am old enough to forget it
+presently."
+
+And I obliged the old woman and spake thus unto her:
+
+Everything in woman is a riddle, and everything in woman hath one solution
+--it is called pregnancy.
+
+Man is for woman a means:  the purpose is always the child.  But what is
+woman for man?
+
+Two different things wanteth the true man:  danger and diversion.
+Therefore wanteth he woman, as the most dangerous plaything.
+
+Man shall be trained for war, and woman for the recreation of the warrior:
+all else is folly.
+
+Too sweet fruits--these the warrior liketh not.  Therefore liketh he
+woman;--bitter is even the sweetest woman.
+
+Better than man doth woman understand children, but man is more childish
+than woman.
+
+In the true man there is a child hidden:  it wanteth to play.  Up then, ye
+women, and discover the child in man!
+
+A plaything let woman be, pure and fine like the precious stone, illumined
+with the virtues of a world not yet come.
+
+Let the beam of a star shine in your love!  Let your hope say:  "May I bear
+the Superman!"
+
+In your love let there be valour!  With your love shall ye assail him who
+inspireth you with fear!
+
+In your love be your honour!  Little doth woman understand otherwise about
+honour.  But let this be your honour:  always to love more than ye are
+loved, and never be the second.
+
+Let man fear woman when she loveth:  then maketh she every sacrifice, and
+everything else she regardeth as worthless.
+
+Let man fear woman when she hateth:  for man in his innermost soul is
+merely evil; woman, however, is mean.
+
+Whom hateth woman most?--Thus spake the iron to the loadstone:  "I hate
+thee most, because thou attractest, but art too weak to draw unto thee."
+
+The happiness of man is, "I will."  The happiness of woman is, "He will."
+
+"Lo! now hath the world become perfect!"--thus thinketh every woman when
+she obeyeth with all her love.
+
+Obey, must the woman, and find a depth for her surface.  Surface, is
+woman's soul, a mobile, stormy film on shallow water.
+
+Man's soul, however, is deep, its current gusheth in subterranean caverns:
+woman surmiseth its force, but comprehendeth it not.--
+
+Then answered me the old woman:  "Many fine things hath Zarathustra said,
+especially for those who are young enough for them.
+
+Strange!  Zarathustra knoweth little about woman, and yet he is right about
+them!  Doth this happen, because with women nothing is impossible?
+
+And now accept a little truth by way of thanks!  I am old enough for it!
+
+Swaddle it up and hold its mouth:  otherwise it will scream too loudly, the
+little truth."
+
+"Give me, woman, thy little truth!" said I.  And thus spake the old woman:
+
+"Thou goest to women?  Do not forget thy whip!"--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XIX.  THE BITE OF THE ADDER.
+
+One day had Zarathustra fallen asleep under a fig-tree, owing to the heat,
+with his arms over his face.  And there came an adder and bit him in the
+neck, so that Zarathustra screamed with pain.  When he had taken his arm
+from his face he looked at the serpent; and then did it recognise the eyes
+of Zarathustra, wriggled awkwardly, and tried to get away.  "Not at all,"
+said Zarathustra, "as yet hast thou not received my thanks!  Thou hast
+awakened me in time; my journey is yet long."  "Thy journey is short," said
+the adder sadly; "my poison is fatal."  Zarathustra smiled.  "When did ever
+a dragon die of a serpent's poison?"--said he.  "But take thy poison back!
+Thou art not rich enough to present it to me."  Then fell the adder again
+on his neck, and licked his wound.
+
+When Zarathustra once told this to his disciples they asked him:  "And
+what, O Zarathustra, is the moral of thy story?" And Zarathustra answered
+them thus:
+
+The destroyer of morality, the good and just call me:  my story is immoral.
+
+When, however, ye have an enemy, then return him not good for evil:  for
+that would abash him.  But prove that he hath done something good to you.
+
+And rather be angry than abash any one!  And when ye are cursed, it
+pleaseth me not that ye should then desire to bless.  Rather curse a little
+also!
+
+And should a great injustice befall you, then do quickly five small ones
+besides.  Hideous to behold is he on whom injustice presseth alone.
+
+Did ye ever know this?  Shared injustice is half justice.  And he who can
+bear it, shall take the injustice upon himself!
+
+A small revenge is humaner than no revenge at all.  And if the punishment
+be not also a right and an honour to the transgressor, I do not like your
+punishing.
+
+Nobler is it to own oneself in the wrong than to establish one's right,
+especially if one be in the right.  Only, one must be rich enough to do so.
+
+I do not like your cold justice; out of the eye of your judges there always
+glanceth the executioner and his cold steel.
+
+Tell me:  where find we justice, which is love with seeing eyes?
+
+Devise me, then, the love which not only beareth all punishment, but also
+all guilt!
+
+Devise me, then, the justice which acquitteth every one except the judge!
+
+And would ye hear this likewise?  To him who seeketh to be just from the
+heart, even the lie becometh philanthropy.
+
+But how could I be just from the heart!  How can I give every one his own!
+Let this be enough for me:  I give unto every one mine own.
+
+Finally, my brethren, guard against doing wrong to any anchorite.  How
+could an anchorite forget!  How could he requite!
+
+Like a deep well is an anchorite.  Easy is it to throw in a stone:  if it
+should sink to the bottom, however, tell me, who will bring it out again?
+
+Guard against injuring the anchorite!  If ye have done so, however, well
+then, kill him also!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XX.  CHILD AND MARRIAGE.
+
+I have a question for thee alone, my brother:  like a sounding-lead, cast I
+this question into thy soul, that I may know its depth.
+
+Thou art young, and desirest child and marriage.  But I ask thee:  Art thou
+a man ENTITLED to desire a child?
+
+Art thou the victorious one, the self-conqueror, the ruler of thy passions,
+the master of thy virtues?  Thus do I ask thee.
+
+Or doth the animal speak in thy wish, and necessity?  Or isolation?  Or
+discord in thee?
+
+I would have thy victory and freedom long for a child.  Living monuments
+shalt thou build to thy victory and emancipation.
+
+Beyond thyself shalt thou build.  But first of all must thou be built
+thyself, rectangular in body and soul.
+
+Not only onward shalt thou propagate thyself, but upward!  For that purpose
+may the garden of marriage help thee!
+
+A higher body shalt thou create, a first movement, a spontaneously rolling
+wheel--a creating one shalt thou create.
+
+Marriage:  so call I the will of the twain to create the one that is more
+than those who created it.  The reverence for one another, as those
+exercising such a will, call I marriage.
+
+Let this be the significance and the truth of thy marriage.  But that which
+the many-too-many call marriage, those superfluous ones--ah, what shall I
+call it?
+
+Ah, the poverty of soul in the twain!  Ah, the filth of soul in the twain!
+Ah, the pitiable self-complacency in the twain!
+
+Marriage they call it all; and they say their marriages are made in heaven.
+
+Well, I do not like it, that heaven of the superfluous!  No, I do not like
+them, those animals tangled in the heavenly toils!
+
+Far from me also be the God who limpeth thither to bless what he hath not
+matched!
+
+Laugh not at such marriages!  What child hath not had reason to weep over
+its parents?
+
+Worthy did this man seem, and ripe for the meaning of the earth:  but when
+I saw his wife, the earth seemed to me a home for madcaps.
+
+Yea, I would that the earth shook with convulsions when a saint and a goose
+mate with one another.
+
+This one went forth in quest of truth as a hero, and at last got for
+himself a small decked-up lie:  his marriage he calleth it.
+
+That one was reserved in intercourse and chose choicely.  But one time he
+spoilt his company for all time:  his marriage he calleth it.
+
+Another sought a handmaid with the virtues of an angel.  But all at once he
+became the handmaid of a woman, and now would he need also to become an
+angel.
+
+Careful, have I found all buyers, and all of them have astute eyes.  But
+even the astutest of them buyeth his wife in a sack.
+
+Many short follies--that is called love by you.  And your marriage putteth
+an end to many short follies, with one long stupidity.
+
+Your love to woman, and woman's love to man--ah, would that it were
+sympathy for suffering and veiled deities!  But generally two animals
+alight on one another.
+
+But even your best love is only an enraptured simile and a painful ardour.
+It is a torch to light you to loftier paths.
+
+Beyond yourselves shall ye love some day!  Then LEARN first of all to love.
+And on that account ye had to drink the bitter cup of your love.
+
+Bitterness is in the cup even of the best love:  thus doth it cause longing
+for the Superman; thus doth it cause thirst in thee, the creating one!
+
+Thirst in the creating one, arrow and longing for the Superman:  tell me,
+my brother, is this thy will to marriage?
+
+Holy call I such a will, and such a marriage.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XXI.  VOLUNTARY DEATH.
+
+Many die too late, and some die too early.  Yet strange soundeth the
+precept:  "Die at the right time!
+
+Die at the right time:  so teacheth Zarathustra.
+
+To be sure, he who never liveth at the right time, how could he ever die at
+the right time?  Would that he might never be born!--Thus do I advise the
+superfluous ones.
+
+But even the superfluous ones make much ado about their death, and even the
+hollowest nut wanteth to be cracked.
+
+Every one regardeth dying as a great matter:  but as yet death is not a
+festival.  Not yet have people learned to inaugurate the finest festivals.
+
+The consummating death I show unto you, which becometh a stimulus and
+promise to the living.
+
+His death, dieth the consummating one triumphantly, surrounded by hoping
+and promising ones.
+
+Thus should one learn to die; and there should be no festival at which such
+a dying one doth not consecrate the oaths of the living!
+
+Thus to die is best; the next best, however, is to die in battle, and
+sacrifice a great soul.
+
+But to the fighter equally hateful as to the victor, is your grinning death
+which stealeth nigh like a thief,--and yet cometh as master.
+
+My death, praise I unto you, the voluntary death, which cometh unto me
+because _I_ want it.
+
+And when shall I want it?--He that hath a goal and an heir, wanteth death
+at the right time for the goal and the heir.
+
+And out of reverence for the goal and the heir, he will hang up no more
+withered wreaths in the sanctuary of life.
+
+Verily, not the rope-makers will I resemble:  they lengthen out their cord,
+and thereby go ever backward.
+
+Many a one, also, waxeth too old for his truths and triumphs; a toothless
+mouth hath no longer the right to every truth.
+
+And whoever wanteth to have fame, must take leave of honour betimes, and
+practise the difficult art of--going at the right time.
+
+One must discontinue being feasted upon when one tasteth best:  that is
+known by those who want to be long loved.
+
+Sour apples are there, no doubt, whose lot is to wait until the last day of
+autumn:  and at the same time they become ripe, yellow, and shrivelled.
+
+In some ageth the heart first, and in others the spirit.  And some are
+hoary in youth, but the late young keep long young.
+
+To many men life is a failure; a poison-worm gnaweth at their heart.  Then
+let them see to it that their dying is all the more a success.
+
+Many never become sweet; they rot even in the summer.  It is cowardice that
+holdeth them fast to their branches.
+
+Far too many live, and far too long hang they on their branches.  Would
+that a storm came and shook all this rottenness and worm-eatenness from the
+tree!
+
+Would that there came preachers of SPEEDY death!  Those would be the
+appropriate storms and agitators of the trees of life!  But I hear only
+slow death preached, and patience with all that is "earthly."
+
+Ah! ye preach patience with what is earthly?  This earthly is it that hath
+too much patience with you, ye blasphemers!
+
+Verily, too early died that Hebrew whom the preachers of slow death honour:
+and to many hath it proved a calamity that he died too early.
+
+As yet had he known only tears, and the melancholy of the Hebrews, together
+with the hatred of the good and just--the Hebrew Jesus:  then was he seized
+with the longing for death.
+
+Had he but remained in the wilderness, and far from the good and just!
+Then, perhaps, would he have learned to live, and love the earth--and
+laughter also!
+
+Believe it, my brethren!  He died too early; he himself would have
+disavowed his doctrine had he attained to my age!  Noble enough was he to
+disavow!
+
+But he was still immature.  Immaturely loveth the youth, and immaturely
+also hateth he man and earth.  Confined and awkward are still his soul and
+the wings of his spirit.
+
+But in man there is more of the child than in the youth, and less of
+melancholy:  better understandeth he about life and death.
+
+Free for death, and free in death; a holy Naysayer, when there is no longer
+time for Yea:  thus understandeth he about death and life.
+
+That your dying may not be a reproach to man and the earth, my friends:
+that do I solicit from the honey of your soul.
+
+In your dying shall your spirit and your virtue still shine like an evening
+after-glow around the earth:  otherwise your dying hath been
+unsatisfactory.
+
+Thus will I die myself, that ye friends may love the earth more for my
+sake; and earth will I again become, to have rest in her that bore me.
+
+Verily, a goal had Zarathustra; he threw his ball.  Now be ye friends the
+heirs of my goal; to you throw I the golden ball.
+
+Best of all, do I see you, my friends, throw the golden ball!  And so tarry
+I still a little while on the earth--pardon me for it!
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XXII.  THE BESTOWING VIRTUE.
+
+1.
+
+When Zarathustra had taken leave of the town to which his heart was
+attached, the name of which is "The Pied Cow," there followed him many
+people who called themselves his disciples, and kept him company.  Thus
+came they to a crossroad.  Then Zarathustra told them that he now wanted to
+go alone; for he was fond of going alone.  His disciples, however,
+presented him at his departure with a staff, on the golden handle of which
+a serpent twined round the sun.  Zarathustra rejoiced on account of the
+staff, and supported himself thereon; then spake he thus to his disciples:
+
+Tell me, pray:  how came gold to the highest value?  Because it is
+uncommon, and unprofiting, and beaming, and soft in lustre; it always
+bestoweth itself.
+
+Only as image of the highest virtue came gold to the highest value.
+Goldlike, beameth the glance of the bestower.  Gold-lustre maketh peace
+between moon and sun.
+
+Uncommon is the highest virtue, and unprofiting, beaming is it, and soft of
+lustre:  a bestowing virtue is the highest virtue.
+
+Verily, I divine you well, my disciples:  ye strive like me for the
+bestowing virtue.  What should ye have in common with cats and wolves?
+
+It is your thirst to become sacrifices and gifts yourselves:  and therefore
+have ye the thirst to accumulate all riches in your soul.
+
+Insatiably striveth your soul for treasures and jewels, because your virtue
+is insatiable in desiring to bestow.
+
+Ye constrain all things to flow towards you and into you, so that they
+shall flow back again out of your fountain as the gifts of your love.
+
+Verily, an appropriator of all values must such bestowing love become; but
+healthy and holy, call I this selfishness.--
+
+Another selfishness is there, an all-too-poor and hungry kind, which would
+always steal--the selfishness of the sick, the sickly selfishness.
+
+With the eye of the thief it looketh upon all that is lustrous; with the
+craving of hunger it measureth him who hath abundance; and ever doth it
+prowl round the tables of bestowers.
+
+Sickness speaketh in such craving, and invisible degeneration; of a sickly
+body, speaketh the larcenous craving of this selfishness.
+
+Tell me, my brother, what do we think bad, and worst of all?  Is it not
+DEGENERATION?--And we always suspect degeneration when the bestowing soul
+is lacking.
+
+Upward goeth our course from genera on to super-genera.  But a horror to us
+is the degenerating sense, which saith:  "All for myself."
+
+Upward soareth our sense:  thus is it a simile of our body, a simile of an
+elevation.  Such similes of elevations are the names of the virtues.
+
+Thus goeth the body through history, a becomer and fighter.  And the
+spirit--what is it to the body?  Its fights' and victories' herald, its
+companion and echo.
+
+Similes, are all names of good and evil; they do not speak out, they only
+hint.  A fool who seeketh knowledge from them!
+
+Give heed, my brethren, to every hour when your spirit would speak in
+similes:  there is the origin of your virtue.
+
+Elevated is then your body, and raised up; with its delight, enraptureth it
+the spirit; so that it becometh creator, and valuer, and lover, and
+everything's benefactor.
+
+When your heart overfloweth broad and full like the river, a blessing and a
+danger to the lowlanders:  there is the origin of your virtue.
+
+When ye are exalted above praise and blame, and your will would command all
+things, as a loving one's will:  there is the origin of your virtue.
+
+When ye despise pleasant things, and the effeminate couch, and cannot couch
+far enough from the effeminate:  there is the origin of your virtue.
+
+When ye are willers of one will, and when that change of every need is
+needful to you:  there is the origin of your virtue.
+
+Verily, a new good and evil is it!  Verily, a new deep murmuring, and the
+voice of a new fountain!
+
+Power is it, this new virtue; a ruling thought is it, and around it a
+subtle soul:  a golden sun, with the serpent of knowledge around it.
+
+2.
+
+Here paused Zarathustra awhile, and looked lovingly on his disciples.  Then
+he continued to speak thus--and his voice had changed:
+
+Remain true to the earth, my brethren, with the power of your virtue!  Let
+your bestowing love and your knowledge be devoted to be the meaning of the
+earth!  Thus do I pray and conjure you.
+
+Let it not fly away from the earthly and beat against eternal walls with
+its wings!  Ah, there hath always been so much flown-away virtue!
+
+Lead, like me, the flown-away virtue back to the earth--yea, back to body
+and life:  that it may give to the earth its meaning, a human meaning!
+
+A hundred times hitherto hath spirit as well as virtue flown away and
+blundered.  Alas! in our body dwelleth still all this delusion and
+blundering:  body and will hath it there become.
+
+A hundred times hitherto hath spirit as well as virtue attempted and erred.
+Yea, an attempt hath man been.  Alas, much ignorance and error hath become
+embodied in us!
+
+Not only the rationality of millenniums--also their madness, breaketh out
+in us.  Dangerous is it to be an heir.
+
+Still fight we step by step with the giant Chance, and over all mankind
+hath hitherto ruled nonsense, the lack-of-sense.
+
+Let your spirit and your virtue be devoted to the sense of the earth, my
+brethren:  let the value of everything be determined anew by you!
+Therefore shall ye be fighters!  Therefore shall ye be creators!
+
+Intelligently doth the body purify itself; attempting with intelligence it
+exalteth itself; to the discerners all impulses sanctify themselves; to the
+exalted the soul becometh joyful.
+
+Physician, heal thyself:  then wilt thou also heal thy patient.  Let it be
+his best cure to see with his eyes him who maketh himself whole.
+
+A thousand paths are there which have never yet been trodden; a thousand
+salubrities and hidden islands of life.  Unexhausted and undiscovered is
+still man and man's world.
+
+Awake and hearken, ye lonesome ones!  From the future come winds with
+stealthy pinions, and to fine ears good tidings are proclaimed.
+
+Ye lonesome ones of to-day, ye seceding ones, ye shall one day be a people:
+out of you who have chosen yourselves, shall a chosen people arise:--and
+out of it the Superman.
+
+Verily, a place of healing shall the earth become!  And already is a new
+odour diffused around it, a salvation-bringing odour--and a new hope!
+
+3.
+
+When Zarathustra had spoken these words, he paused, like one who had not
+said his last word; and long did he balance the staff doubtfully in his
+hand.  At last he spake thus--and his voice had changed:
+
+I now go alone, my disciples!  Ye also now go away, and alone!  So will I
+have it.
+
+Verily, I advise you:  depart from me, and guard yourselves against
+Zarathustra!  And better still:  be ashamed of him!  Perhaps he hath
+deceived you.
+
+The man of knowledge must be able not only to love his enemies, but also to
+hate his friends.
+
+One requiteth a teacher badly if one remain merely a scholar.  And why will
+ye not pluck at my wreath?
+
+Ye venerate me; but what if your veneration should some day collapse?  Take
+heed lest a statue crush you!
+
+Ye say, ye believe in Zarathustra?  But of what account is Zarathustra!  Ye
+are my believers:  but of what account are all believers!
+
+Ye had not yet sought yourselves:  then did ye find me.  So do all
+believers; therefore all belief is of so little account.
+
+Now do I bid you lose me and find yourselves; and only when ye have all
+denied me, will I return unto you.
+
+Verily, with other eyes, my brethren, shall I then seek my lost ones; with
+another love shall I then love you.
+
+And once again shall ye have become friends unto me, and children of one
+hope:  then will I be with you for the third time, to celebrate the great
+noontide with you.
+
+And it is the great noontide, when man is in the middle of his course
+between animal and Superman, and celebrateth his advance to the evening as
+his highest hope:  for it is the advance to a new morning.
+
+At such time will the down-goer bless himself, that he should be an over-
+goer; and the sun of his knowledge will be at noontide.
+
+"DEAD ARE ALL THE GODS:  NOW DO WE DESIRE THE SUPERMAN TO LIVE."--Let this
+be our final will at the great noontide!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA.
+
+SECOND PART.
+
+"--and only when ye have all denied me, will I return unto you.
+
+Verily, with other eyes, my brethren, shall I then seek my lost ones; with
+another love shall I then love you."--ZARATHUSTRA, I., "The Bestowing
+Virtue."
+
+
+XXIII.  THE CHILD WITH THE MIRROR.
+
+After this Zarathustra returned again into the mountains to the solitude of
+his cave, and withdrew himself from men, waiting like a sower who hath
+scattered his seed.  His soul, however, became impatient and full of
+longing for those whom he loved:  because he had still much to give them.
+For this is hardest of all:  to close the open hand out of love, and keep
+modest as a giver.
+
+Thus passed with the lonesome one months and years; his wisdom meanwhile
+increased, and caused him pain by its abundance.
+
+One morning, however, he awoke ere the rosy dawn, and having meditated long
+on his couch, at last spake thus to his heart:
+
+Why did I startle in my dream, so that I awoke?  Did not a child come to
+me, carrying a mirror?
+
+"O Zarathustra"--said the child unto me--"look at thyself in the mirror!"
+
+But when I looked into the mirror, I shrieked, and my heart throbbed:  for
+not myself did I see therein, but a devil's grimace and derision.
+
+Verily, all too well do I understand the dream's portent and monition:  my
+DOCTRINE is in danger; tares want to be called wheat!
+
+Mine enemies have grown powerful and have disfigured the likeness of my
+doctrine, so that my dearest ones have to blush for the gifts that I gave
+them.
+
+Lost are my friends; the hour hath come for me to seek my lost ones!--
+
+With these words Zarathustra started up, not however like a person in
+anguish seeking relief, but rather like a seer and a singer whom the spirit
+inspireth.  With amazement did his eagle and serpent gaze upon him:  for a
+coming bliss overspread his countenance like the rosy dawn.
+
+What hath happened unto me, mine animals?--said Zarathustra.  Am I not
+transformed?  Hath not bliss come unto me like a whirlwind?
+
+Foolish is my happiness, and foolish things will it speak:  it is still too
+young--so have patience with it!
+
+Wounded am I by my happiness:  all sufferers shall be physicians unto me!
+
+To my friends can I again go down, and also to mine enemies!  Zarathustra
+can again speak and bestow, and show his best love to his loved ones!
+
+My impatient love overfloweth in streams,--down towards sunrise and sunset.
+Out of silent mountains and storms of affliction, rusheth my soul into the
+valleys.
+
+Too long have I longed and looked into the distance.  Too long hath
+solitude possessed me:  thus have I unlearned to keep silence.
+
+Utterance have I become altogether, and the brawling of a brook from high
+rocks:  downward into the valleys will I hurl my speech.
+
+And let the stream of my love sweep into unfrequented channels!  How should
+a stream not finally find its way to the sea!
+
+Forsooth, there is a lake in me, sequestered and self-sufficing; but the
+stream of my love beareth this along with it, down--to the sea!
+
+New paths do I tread, a new speech cometh unto me; tired have I become--
+like all creators--of the old tongues.  No longer will my spirit walk on
+worn-out soles.
+
+Too slowly runneth all speaking for me:--into thy chariot, O storm, do I
+leap!  And even thee will I whip with my spite!
+
+Like a cry and an huzza will I traverse wide seas, till I find the Happy
+Isles where my friends sojourn;--
+
+And mine enemies amongst them!  How I now love every one unto whom I may
+but speak!  Even mine enemies pertain to my bliss.
+
+And when I want to mount my wildest horse, then doth my spear always help
+me up best:  it is my foot's ever ready servant:--
+
+The spear which I hurl at mine enemies!  How grateful am I to mine enemies
+that I may at last hurl it!
+
+Too great hath been the tension of my cloud:  'twixt laughters of
+lightnings will I cast hail-showers into the depths.
+
+Violently will my breast then heave; violently will it blow its storm over
+the mountains:  thus cometh its assuagement.
+
+Verily, like a storm cometh my happiness, and my freedom!  But mine enemies
+shall think that THE EVIL ONE roareth over their heads.
+
+Yea, ye also, my friends, will be alarmed by my wild wisdom; and perhaps ye
+will flee therefrom, along with mine enemies.
+
+Ah, that I knew how to lure you back with shepherds' flutes!  Ah, that my
+lioness wisdom would learn to roar softly!  And much have we already
+learned with one another!
+
+My wild wisdom became pregnant on the lonesome mountains; on the rough
+stones did she bear the youngest of her young.
+
+Now runneth she foolishly in the arid wilderness, and seeketh and seeketh
+the soft sward--mine old, wild wisdom!
+
+On the soft sward of your hearts, my friends!--on your love, would she fain
+couch her dearest one!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XXIV.  IN THE HAPPY ISLES.
+
+The figs fall from the trees, they are good and sweet; and in falling the
+red skins of them break.  A north wind am I to ripe figs.
+
+Thus, like figs, do these doctrines fall for you, my friends:  imbibe now
+their juice and their sweet substance!  It is autumn all around, and clear
+sky, and afternoon.
+
+Lo, what fullness is around us!  And out of the midst of superabundance, it
+is delightful to look out upon distant seas.
+
+Once did people say God, when they looked out upon distant seas; now,
+however, have I taught you to say, Superman.
+
+God is a conjecture:  but I do not wish your conjecturing to reach beyond
+your creating will.
+
+Could ye CREATE a God?--Then, I pray you, be silent about all Gods!  But ye
+could well create the Superman.
+
+Not perhaps ye yourselves, my brethren!  But into fathers and forefathers
+of the Superman could ye transform yourselves:  and let that be your best
+creating!--
+
+God is a conjecture:  but I should like your conjecturing restricted to the
+conceivable.
+
+Could ye CONCEIVE a God?--But let this mean Will to Truth unto you, that
+everything be transformed into the humanly conceivable, the humanly
+visible, the humanly sensible!  Your own discernment shall ye follow out to
+the end!
+
+And what ye have called the world shall but be created by you:  your
+reason, your likeness, your will, your love, shall it itself become!  And
+verily, for your bliss, ye discerning ones!
+
+And how would ye endure life without that hope, ye discerning ones?
+Neither in the inconceivable could ye have been born, nor in the
+irrational.
+
+But that I may reveal my heart entirely unto you, my friends:  IF there
+were gods, how could I endure it to be no God!  THEREFORE there are no
+Gods.
+
+Yea, I have drawn the conclusion; now, however, doth it draw me.--
+
+God is a conjecture:  but who could drink all the bitterness of this
+conjecture without dying?  Shall his faith be taken from the creating one,
+and from the eagle his flights into eagle-heights?
+
+God is a thought--it maketh all the straight crooked, and all that standeth
+reel.  What?  Time would be gone, and all the perishable would be but a
+lie?
+
+To think this is giddiness and vertigo to human limbs, and even vomiting to
+the stomach:  verily, the reeling sickness do I call it, to conjecture such
+a thing.
+
+Evil do I call it and misanthropic:  all that teaching about the one, and
+the plenum, and the unmoved, and the sufficient, and the imperishable!
+
+All the imperishable--that's but a simile, and the poets lie too much.--
+
+But of time and of becoming shall the best similes speak:  a praise shall
+they be, and a justification of all perishableness!
+
+Creating--that is the great salvation from suffering, and life's
+alleviation.  But for the creator to appear, suffering itself is needed,
+and much transformation.
+
+Yea, much bitter dying must there be in your life, ye creators!  Thus are
+ye advocates and justifiers of all perishableness.
+
+For the creator himself to be the new-born child, he must also be willing
+to be the child-bearer, and endure the pangs of the child-bearer.
+
+Verily, through a hundred souls went I my way, and through a hundred
+cradles and birth-throes. Many a farewell have I taken; I know the
+heart-breaking last hours.
+
+But so willeth it my creating Will, my fate.  Or, to tell you it more
+candidly:  just such a fate--willeth my Will.
+
+All FEELING suffereth in me, and is in prison:  but my WILLING ever cometh
+to me as mine emancipator and comforter.
+
+Willing emancipateth:  that is the true doctrine of will and emancipation--
+so teacheth you Zarathustra.
+
+No longer willing, and no longer valuing, and no longer creating!  Ah, that
+that great debility may ever be far from me!
+
+And also in discerning do I feel only my will's procreating and evolving
+delight; and if there be innocence in my knowledge, it is because there is
+will to procreation in it.
+
+Away from God and Gods did this will allure me; what would there be to
+create if there were--Gods!
+
+But to man doth it ever impel me anew, my fervent creative will; thus
+impelleth it the hammer to the stone.
+
+Ah, ye men, within the stone slumbereth an image for me, the image of my
+visions!  Ah, that it should slumber in the hardest, ugliest stone!
+
+Now rageth my hammer ruthlessly against its prison.  From the stone fly the
+fragments:  what's that to me?
+
+I will complete it:  for a shadow came unto me--the stillest and lightest
+of all things once came unto me!
+
+The beauty of the Superman came unto me as a shadow.  Ah, my brethren!  Of
+what account now are--the Gods to me!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XXV.  THE PITIFUL.
+
+My friends, there hath arisen a satire on your friend:  "Behold
+Zarathustra!  Walketh he not amongst us as if amongst animals?"
+
+But it is better said in this wise:  "The discerning one walketh amongst
+men AS amongst animals."
+
+Man himself is to the discerning one:  the animal with red cheeks.
+
+How hath that happened unto him?  Is it not because he hath had to be
+ashamed too oft?
+
+O my friends!  Thus speaketh the discerning one:  shame, shame, shame--that
+is the history of man!
+
+And on that account doth the noble one enjoin upon himself not to abash:
+bashfulness doth he enjoin on himself in presence of all sufferers.
+
+Verily, I like them not, the merciful ones, whose bliss is in their pity:
+too destitute are they of bashfulness.
+
+If I must be pitiful, I dislike to be called so; and if I be so, it is
+preferably at a distance.
+
+Preferably also do I shroud my head, and flee, before being recognised:
+and thus do I bid you do, my friends!
+
+May my destiny ever lead unafflicted ones like you across my path, and
+those with whom I MAY have hope and repast and honey in common!
+
+Verily, I have done this and that for the afflicted:  but something better
+did I always seem to do when I had learned to enjoy myself better.
+
+Since humanity came into being, man hath enjoyed himself too little:  that
+alone, my brethren, is our original sin!
+
+And when we learn better to enjoy ourselves, then do we unlearn best to
+give pain unto others, and to contrive pain.
+
+Therefore do I wash the hand that hath helped the sufferer; therefore do I
+wipe also my soul.
+
+For in seeing the sufferer suffering--thereof was I ashamed on account of
+his shame; and in helping him, sorely did I wound his pride.
+
+Great obligations do not make grateful, but revengeful; and when a small
+kindness is not forgotten, it becometh a gnawing worm.
+
+"Be shy in accepting!  Distinguish by accepting!"--thus do I advise those
+who have naught to bestow.
+
+I, however, am a bestower:  willingly do I bestow as friend to friends.
+Strangers, however, and the poor, may pluck for themselves the fruit from
+my tree:  thus doth it cause less shame.
+
+Beggars, however, one should entirely do away with!  Verily, it annoyeth
+one to give unto them, and it annoyeth one not to give unto them.
+
+And likewise sinners and bad consciences!  Believe me, my friends:  the
+sting of conscience teacheth one to sting.
+
+The worst things, however, are the petty thoughts.  Verily, better to have
+done evilly than to have thought pettily!
+
+To be sure, ye say:  "The delight in petty evils spareth one many a great
+evil deed."  But here one should not wish to be sparing.
+
+Like a boil is the evil deed:  it itcheth and irritateth and breaketh
+forth--it speaketh honourably.
+
+"Behold, I am disease," saith the evil deed:  that is its honourableness.
+
+But like infection is the petty thought:  it creepeth and hideth, and
+wanteth to be nowhere--until the whole body is decayed and withered by the
+petty infection.
+
+To him however, who is possessed of a devil, I would whisper this word in
+the ear:  "Better for thee to rear up thy devil!  Even for thee there is
+still a path to greatness!"--
+
+Ah, my brethren!  One knoweth a little too much about every one!  And many
+a one becometh transparent to us, but still we can by no means penetrate
+him.
+
+It is difficult to live among men because silence is so difficult.
+
+And not to him who is offensive to us are we most unfair, but to him who
+doth not concern us at all.
+
+If, however, thou hast a suffering friend, then be a resting-place for his
+suffering; like a hard bed, however, a camp-bed:  thus wilt thou serve him
+best.
+
+And if a friend doeth thee wrong, then say:  "I forgive thee what thou hast
+done unto me; that thou hast done it unto THYSELF, however--how could I
+forgive that!"
+
+Thus speaketh all great love:  it surpasseth even forgiveness and pity.
+
+One should hold fast one's heart; for when one letteth it go, how quickly
+doth one's head run away!
+
+Ah, where in the world have there been greater follies than with the
+pitiful?  And what in the world hath caused more suffering than the follies
+of the pitiful?
+
+Woe unto all loving ones who have not an elevation which is above their
+pity!
+
+Thus spake the devil unto me, once on a time:  "Even God hath his hell:  it
+is his love for man."
+
+And lately, did I hear him say these words:  "God is dead:  of his pity for
+man hath God died."--
+
+So be ye warned against pity:  FROM THENCE there yet cometh unto men a
+heavy cloud!  Verily, I understand weather-signs!
+
+But attend also to this word:  All great love is above all its pity:  for
+it seeketh--to create what is loved!
+
+"Myself do I offer unto my love, AND MY NEIGHBOUR AS MYSELF"--such is the
+language of all creators.
+
+All creators, however, are hard.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XXVI.  THE PRIESTS.
+
+And one day Zarathustra made a sign to his disciples, and spake these words
+unto them:
+
+"Here are priests:  but although they are mine enemies, pass them quietly
+and with sleeping swords!
+
+Even among them there are heroes; many of them have suffered too much--:
+so they want to make others suffer.
+
+Bad enemies are they:  nothing is more revengeful than their meekness.  And
+readily doth he soil himself who toucheth them.
+
+But my blood is related to theirs; and I want withal to see my blood
+honoured in theirs."--
+
+And when they had passed, a pain attacked Zarathustra; but not long had he
+struggled with the pain, when he began to speak thus:
+
+It moveth my heart for those priests.  They also go against my taste; but
+that is the smallest matter unto me, since I am among men.
+
+But I suffer and have suffered with them:  prisoners are they unto me, and
+stigmatised ones.  He whom they call Saviour put them in fetters:--
+
+In fetters of false values and fatuous words!  Oh, that some one would save
+them from their Saviour!
+
+On an isle they once thought they had landed, when the sea tossed them
+about; but behold, it was a slumbering monster!
+
+False values and fatuous words:  these are the worst monsters for mortals--
+long slumbereth and waiteth the fate that is in them.
+
+But at last it cometh and awaketh and devoureth and engulfeth whatever hath
+built tabernacles upon it.
+
+Oh, just look at those tabernacles which those priests have built
+themselves!  Churches, they call their sweet-smelling caves!
+
+Oh, that falsified light, that mustified air!  Where the soul--may not fly
+aloft to its height!
+
+But so enjoineth their belief:  "On your knees, up the stair, ye sinners!"
+
+Verily, rather would I see a shameless one than the distorted eyes of their
+shame and devotion!
+
+Who created for themselves such caves and penitence-stairs?  Was it not
+those who sought to conceal themselves, and were ashamed under the clear
+sky?
+
+And only when the clear sky looketh again through ruined roofs, and down
+upon grass and red poppies on ruined walls--will I again turn my heart to
+the seats of this God.
+
+They called God that which opposed and afflicted them:  and verily, there
+was much hero-spirit in their worship!
+
+And they knew not how to love their God otherwise than by nailing men to
+the cross!
+
+As corpses they thought to live; in black draped they their corpses; even
+in their talk do I still feel the evil flavour of charnel-houses.
+
+And he who liveth nigh unto them liveth nigh unto black pools, wherein the
+toad singeth his song with sweet gravity.
+
+Better songs would they have to sing, for me to believe in their Saviour:
+more like saved ones would his disciples have to appear unto me!
+
+Naked, would I like to see them:  for beauty alone should preach penitence.
+But whom would that disguised affliction convince!
+
+Verily, their Saviours themselves came not from freedom and freedom's
+seventh heaven!  Verily, they themselves never trod the carpets of
+knowledge!
+
+Of defects did the spirit of those Saviours consist; but into every defect
+had they put their illusion, their stop-gap, which they called God.
+
+In their pity was their spirit drowned; and when they swelled and
+o'erswelled with pity, there always floated to the surface a great folly.
+
+Eagerly and with shouts drove they their flock over their foot-bridge; as
+if there were but one foot-bridge to the future!  Verily, those shepherds
+also were still of the flock!
+
+Small spirits and spacious souls had those shepherds:  but, my brethren,
+what small domains have even the most spacious souls hitherto been!
+
+Characters of blood did they write on the way they went, and their folly
+taught that truth is proved by blood.
+
+But blood is the very worst witness to truth; blood tainteth the purest
+teaching, and turneth it into delusion and hatred of heart.
+
+And when a person goeth through fire for his teaching--what doth that
+prove!  It is more, verily, when out of one's own burning cometh one's own
+teaching!
+
+Sultry heart and cold head; where these meet, there ariseth the blusterer,
+the "Saviour."
+
+Greater ones, verily, have there been, and higher-born ones, than those
+whom the people call Saviours, those rapturous blusterers!
+
+And by still greater ones than any of the Saviours must ye be saved, my
+brethren, if ye would find the way to freedom!
+
+Never yet hath there been a Superman.  Naked have I seen both of them, the
+greatest man and the smallest man:--
+
+All-too-similar are they still to each other.  Verily, even the greatest
+found I--all-too-human!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XXVII.  THE VIRTUOUS.
+
+With thunder and heavenly fireworks must one speak to indolent and
+somnolent senses.
+
+But beauty's voice speaketh gently:  it appealeth only to the most awakened
+souls.
+
+Gently vibrated and laughed unto me to-day my buckler; it was beauty's holy
+laughing and thrilling.
+
+At you, ye virtuous ones, laughed my beauty to-day.  And thus came its
+voice unto me:  "They want--to be paid besides!"
+
+Ye want to be paid besides, ye virtuous ones!  Ye want reward for virtue,
+and heaven for earth, and eternity for your to-day?
+
+And now ye upbraid me for teaching that there is no reward-giver, nor
+paymaster?  And verily, I do not even teach that virtue is its own reward.
+
+Ah! this is my sorrow:  into the basis of things have reward and punishment
+been insinuated--and now even into the basis of your souls, ye virtuous
+ones!
+
+But like the snout of the boar shall my word grub up the basis of your
+souls; a ploughshare will I be called by you.
+
+All the secrets of your heart shall be brought to light; and when ye lie in
+the sun, grubbed up and broken, then will also your falsehood be separated
+from your truth.
+
+For this is your truth:  ye are TOO PURE for the filth of the words:
+vengeance, punishment, recompense, retribution.
+
+Ye love your virtue as a mother loveth her child; but when did one hear of
+a mother wanting to be paid for her love?
+
+It is your dearest Self, your virtue.  The ring's thirst is in you:  to
+reach itself again struggleth every ring, and turneth itself.
+
+And like the star that goeth out, so is every work of your virtue:  ever is
+its light on its way and travelling--and when will it cease to be on its
+way?
+
+Thus is the light of your virtue still on its way, even when its work is
+done.  Be it forgotten and dead, still its ray of light liveth and
+travelleth.
+
+That your virtue is your Self, and not an outward thing, a skin, or a
+cloak:  that is the truth from the basis of your souls, ye virtuous ones!--
+
+But sure enough there are those to whom virtue meaneth writhing under the
+lash:  and ye have hearkened too much unto their crying!
+
+And others are there who call virtue the slothfulness of their vices; and
+when once their hatred and jealousy relax the limbs, their "justice"
+becometh lively and rubbeth its sleepy eyes.
+
+And others are there who are drawn downwards:  their devils draw them.  But
+the more they sink, the more ardently gloweth their eye, and the longing
+for their God.
+
+Ah! their crying also hath reached your ears, ye virtuous ones:  "What I am
+NOT, that, that is God to me, and virtue!"
+
+And others are there who go along heavily and creakingly, like carts taking
+stones downhill:  they talk much of dignity and virtue--their drag they
+call virtue!
+
+And others are there who are like eight-day clocks when wound up; they
+tick, and want people to call ticking--virtue.
+
+Verily, in those have I mine amusement:  wherever I find such clocks I
+shall wind them up with my mockery, and they shall even whirr thereby!
+
+And others are proud of their modicum of righteousness, and for the sake of
+it do violence to all things:  so that the world is drowned in their
+unrighteousness.
+
+Ah! how ineptly cometh the word "virtue" out of their mouth!  And when they
+say:  "I am just," it always soundeth like:  "I am just--revenged!"
+
+With their virtues they want to scratch out the eyes of their enemies; and
+they elevate themselves only that they may lower others.
+
+And again there are those who sit in their swamp, and speak thus from among
+the bulrushes:  "Virtue--that is to sit quietly in the swamp.
+
+We bite no one, and go out of the way of him who would bite; and in all
+matters we have the opinion that is given us."
+
+And again there are those who love attitudes, and think that virtue is a
+sort of attitude.
+
+Their knees continually adore, and their hands are eulogies of virtue, but
+their heart knoweth naught thereof.
+
+And again there are those who regard it as virtue to say:  "Virtue is
+necessary"; but after all they believe only that policemen are necessary.
+
+And many a one who cannot see men's loftiness, calleth it virtue to see
+their baseness far too well:  thus calleth he his evil eye virtue.--
+
+And some want to be edified and raised up, and call it virtue:  and others
+want to be cast down,--and likewise call it virtue.
+
+And thus do almost all think that they participate in virtue; and at least
+every one claimeth to be an authority on "good" and "evil."
+
+But Zarathustra came not to say unto all those liars and fools:  "What do
+YE know of virtue!  What COULD ye know of virtue!"--
+
+But that ye, my friends, might become weary of the old words which ye have
+learned from the fools and liars:
+
+That ye might become weary of the words "reward," "retribution,"
+"punishment," "righteous vengeance."--
+
+That ye might become weary of saying:  "That an action is good is because
+it is unselfish."
+
+Ah! my friends!  That YOUR very Self be in your action, as the mother is in
+the child:  let that be YOUR formula of virtue!
+
+Verily, I have taken from you a hundred formulae and your virtue's
+favourite playthings; and now ye upbraid me, as children upbraid.
+
+They played by the sea--then came there a wave and swept their playthings
+into the deep:  and now do they cry.
+
+But the same wave shall bring them new playthings, and spread before them
+new speckled shells!
+
+Thus will they be comforted; and like them shall ye also, my friends, have
+your comforting--and new speckled shells!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XXVIII.  THE RABBLE.
+
+Life is a well of delight; but where the rabble also drink, there all
+fountains are poisoned.
+
+To everything cleanly am I well disposed; but I hate to see the grinning
+mouths and the thirst of the unclean.
+
+They cast their eye down into the fountain:  and now glanceth up to me
+their odious smile out of the fountain.
+
+The holy water have they poisoned with their lustfulness; and when they
+called their filthy dreams delight, then poisoned they also the words.
+
+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.
+
+Mawkish and over-mellow becometh the fruit in their hands:  unsteady, and
+withered at the top, doth their look make the fruit-tree.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+And it is not the mouthful which hath most choked me, to know that life
+itself requireth enmity and death and torture-crosses:--
+
+But I asked once, and suffocated almost with my question:  What? is the
+rabble also NECESSARY for life?
+
+Are poisoned fountains necessary, and stinking fires, and filthy dreams,
+and maggots in the bread of life?
+
+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!
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+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!
+
+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!
+
+Almost too violently dost thou flow for me, thou fountain of delight!  And
+often emptiest thou the goblet again, in wanting to fill it!
+
+And yet must I learn to approach thee more modestly:  far too violently
+doth my heart still flow towards thee:--
+
+My heart on which my summer burneth, my short, hot, melancholy, over-happy
+summer:  how my summer heart longeth for thy coolness!
+
+Past, the lingering distress of my spring!  Past, the wickedness of my
+snowflakes in June!  Summer have I become entirely, and summer-noontide!
+
+A summer on the loftiest height, with cold fountains and blissful
+stillness:  oh, come, my friends, that the stillness may become more
+blissful!
+
+For this is OUR height and our home:  too high and steep do we here dwell
+for all uncleanly ones and their thirst.
+
+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.
+
+On the tree of the future build we our nest; eagles shall bring us lone
+ones food in their beaks!
+
+Verily, no food of which the impure could be fellow-partakers!  Fire, would
+they think they devoured, and burn their mouths!
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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!"--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XXIX.  THE TARANTULAS.
+
+Lo, this is the tarantula's den!  Wouldst thou see the tarantula itself?
+Here hangeth its web:  touch this, so that it may tremble.
+
+There cometh the tarantula willingly:  Welcome, tarantula!  Black on thy
+back is thy triangle and symbol; and I know also what is in thy soul.
+
+Revenge is in thy soul:  wherever thou bitest, there ariseth black scab;
+with revenge, thy poison maketh the soul giddy!
+
+Thus do I speak unto you in parable, ye who make the soul giddy, ye
+preachers of EQUALITY!  Tarantulas are ye unto me, and secretly revengeful
+ones!
+
+But I will soon bring your hiding-places to the light:  therefore do I
+laugh in your face my laughter of the height.
+
+Therefore do I tear at your web, that your rage may lure you out of your
+den of lies, and that your revenge may leap forth from behind your word
+"justice."
+
+Because, FOR MAN TO BE REDEEMED FROM REVENGE--that is for me the bridge to
+the highest hope, and a rainbow after long storms.
+
+Otherwise, however, would the tarantulas have it.  "Let it be very justice
+for the world to become full of the storms of our vengeance"--thus do they
+talk to one another.
+
+"Vengeance will we use, and insult, against all who are not like us"--thus
+do the tarantula-hearts pledge themselves.
+
+"And 'Will to Equality'--that itself shall henceforth be the name of
+virtue; and against all that hath power will we raise an outcry!"
+
+Ye preachers of equality, the tyrant-frenzy of impotence crieth thus in you
+for "equality":  your most secret tyrant-longings disguise themselves thus
+in virtue-words!
+
+Fretted conceit and suppressed envy--perhaps your fathers' conceit and
+envy:  in you break they forth as flame and frenzy of vengeance.
+
+What the father hath hid cometh out in the son; and oft have I found in the
+son the father's revealed secret.
+
+Inspired ones they resemble:  but it is not the heart that inspireth them--
+but vengeance.  And when they become subtle and cold, it is not spirit, but
+envy, that maketh them so.
+
+Their jealousy leadeth them also into thinkers' paths; and this is the sign
+of their jealousy--they always go too far:  so that their fatigue hath at
+last to go to sleep on the snow.
+
+In all their lamentations soundeth vengeance, in all their eulogies is
+maleficence; and being judge seemeth to them bliss.
+
+But thus do I counsel you, my friends:  distrust all in whom the impulse to
+punish is powerful!
+
+They are people of bad race and lineage; out of their countenances peer the
+hangman and the sleuth-hound.
+
+Distrust all those who talk much of their justice!  Verily, in their souls
+not only honey is lacking.
+
+And when they call themselves "the good and just," forget not, that for
+them to be Pharisees, nothing is lacking but--power!
+
+My friends, I will not be mixed up and confounded with others.
+
+There are those who preach my doctrine of life, and are at the same time
+preachers of equality, and tarantulas.
+
+That they speak in favour of life, though they sit in their den, these
+poison-spiders, and withdrawn from life--is because they would thereby do
+injury.
+
+To those would they thereby do injury who have power at present:  for with
+those the preaching of death is still most at home.
+
+Were it otherwise, then would the tarantulas teach otherwise:  and they
+themselves were formerly the best world-maligners and heretic-burners.
+
+With these preachers of equality will I not be mixed up and confounded.
+For thus speaketh justice UNTO ME:  "Men are not equal."
+
+And neither shall they become so!  What would be my love to the Superman,
+if I spake otherwise?
+
+On a thousand bridges and piers shall they throng to the future, and always
+shall there be more war and inequality among them:  thus doth my great love
+make me speak!
+
+Inventors of figures and phantoms shall they be in their hostilities; and
+with those figures and phantoms shall they yet fight with each other the
+supreme fight!
+
+Good and evil, and rich and poor, and high and low, and all names of
+values:  weapons shall they be, and sounding signs, that life must again
+and again surpass itself!
+
+Aloft will it build itself with columns and stairs--life itself:  into
+remote distances would it gaze, and out towards blissful beauties--
+THEREFORE doth it require elevation!
+
+And because it requireth elevation, therefore doth it require steps, and
+variance of steps and climbers!  To rise striveth life, and in rising to
+surpass itself.
+
+And just behold, my friends!  Here where the tarantula's den is, riseth
+aloft an ancient temple's ruins--just behold it with enlightened eyes!
+
+Verily, he who here towered aloft his thoughts in stone, knew as well as
+the wisest ones about the secret of life!
+
+That there is struggle and inequality even in beauty, and war for power and
+supremacy:  that doth he here teach us in the plainest parable.
+
+How divinely do vault and arch here contrast in the struggle:  how with
+light and shade they strive against each other, the divinely striving
+ones.--
+
+Thus, steadfast and beautiful, let us also be enemies, my friends!
+Divinely will we strive AGAINST one another!--
+
+Alas!  There hath the tarantula bit me myself, mine old enemy!  Divinely
+steadfast and beautiful, it hath bit me on the finger!
+
+"Punishment must there be, and justice"--so thinketh it:  "not gratuitously
+shall he here sing songs in honour of enmity!"
+
+Yea, it hath revenged itself!  And alas! now will it make my soul also
+dizzy with revenge!
+
+That I may NOT turn dizzy, however, bind me fast, my friends, to this
+pillar!  Rather will I be a pillar-saint than a whirl of vengeance!
+
+Verily, no cyclone or whirlwind is Zarathustra:  and if he be a dancer, he
+is not at all a tarantula-dancer!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XXX.  THE FAMOUS WISE ONES.
+
+The people have ye served and the people's superstition--NOT the truth!--
+all ye famous wise ones!  And just on that account did they pay you
+reverence.
+
+And on that account also did they tolerate your unbelief, because it was a
+pleasantry and a by-path for the people.  Thus doth the master give free
+scope to his slaves, and even enjoyeth their presumptuousness.
+
+But he who is hated by the people, as the wolf by the dogs--is the free
+spirit, the enemy of fetters, the non-adorer, the dweller in the woods.
+
+To hunt him out of his lair--that was always called "sense of right" by the
+people:  on him do they still hound their sharpest-toothed dogs.
+
+"For there the truth is, where the people are!  Woe, woe to the seeking
+ones!"--thus hath it echoed through all time.
+
+Your people would ye justify in their reverence:  that called ye "Will to
+Truth," ye famous wise ones!
+
+And your heart hath always said to itself:  "From the people have I come:
+from thence came to me also the voice of God."
+
+Stiff-necked and artful, like the ass, have ye always been, as the
+advocates of the people.
+
+And many a powerful one who wanted to run well with the people, hath
+harnessed in front of his horses--a donkey, a famous wise man.
+
+And now, ye famous wise ones, I would have you finally throw off entirely
+the skin of the lion!
+
+The skin of the beast of prey, the speckled skin, and the dishevelled locks
+of the investigator, the searcher, and the conqueror!
+
+Ah! for me to learn to believe in your "conscientiousness," ye would first
+have to break your venerating will.
+
+Conscientious--so call I him who goeth into God-forsaken wildernesses, and
+hath broken his venerating heart.
+
+In the yellow sands and burnt by the sun, he doubtless peereth thirstily at
+the isles rich in fountains, where life reposeth under shady trees.
+
+But his thirst doth not persuade him to become like those comfortable ones:
+for where there are oases, there are also idols.
+
+Hungry, fierce, lonesome, God-forsaken:  so doth the lion-will wish itself.
+
+Free from the happiness of slaves, redeemed from Deities and adorations,
+fearless and fear-inspiring, grand and lonesome:  so is the will of the
+conscientious.
+
+In the wilderness have ever dwelt the conscientious, the free spirits, as
+lords of the wilderness; but in the cities dwell the well-foddered, famous
+wise ones--the draught-beasts.
+
+For, always, do they draw, as asses--the PEOPLE'S carts!
+
+Not that I on that account upbraid them:  but serving ones do they remain,
+and harnessed ones, even though they glitter in golden harness.
+
+And often have they been good servants and worthy of their hire.  For thus
+saith virtue:  "If thou must be a servant, seek him unto whom thy service
+is most useful!
+
+The spirit and virtue of thy master shall advance by thou being his
+servant:  thus wilt thou thyself advance with his spirit and virtue!"
+
+And verily, ye famous wise ones, ye servants of the people!  Ye yourselves
+have advanced with the people's spirit and virtue--and the people by you!
+To your honour do I say it!
+
+But the people ye remain for me, even with your virtues, the people with
+purblind eyes--the people who know not what SPIRIT is!
+
+Spirit is life which itself cutteth into life:  by its own torture doth it
+increase its own knowledge,--did ye know that before?
+
+And the spirit's happiness is this:  to be anointed and consecrated with
+tears as a sacrificial victim,--did ye know that before?
+
+And the blindness of the blind one, and his seeking and groping, shall yet
+testify to the power of the sun into which he hath gazed,--did ye know that
+before?
+
+And with mountains shall the discerning one learn to BUILD!  It is a small
+thing for the spirit to remove mountains,--did ye know that before?
+
+Ye know only the sparks of the spirit:  but ye do not see the anvil which
+it is, and the cruelty of its hammer!
+
+Verily, ye know not the spirit's pride!  But still less could ye endure the
+spirit's humility, should it ever want to speak!
+
+And never yet could ye cast your spirit into a pit of snow:  ye are not hot
+enough for that!  Thus are ye unaware, also, of the delight of its
+coldness.
+
+In all respects, however, ye make too familiar with the spirit; and out of
+wisdom have ye often made an almshouse and a hospital for bad poets.
+
+Ye are not eagles:  thus have ye never experienced the happiness of the
+alarm of the spirit.  And he who is not a bird should not camp above
+abysses.
+
+Ye seem to me lukewarm ones: but coldly floweth all deep knowledge.
+Ice-cold are the innermost wells of the spirit: a refreshment to hot hands
+and handlers.
+
+Respectable do ye there stand, and stiff, and with straight backs, ye
+famous wise ones!--no strong wind or will impelleth you.
+
+Have ye ne'er seen a sail crossing the sea, rounded and inflated, and
+trembling with the violence of the wind?
+
+Like the sail trembling with the violence of the spirit, doth my wisdom
+cross the sea--my wild wisdom!
+
+But ye servants of the people, ye famous wise ones--how COULD ye go with
+me!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XXXI.  THE NIGHT-SONG.
+
+'Tis night:  now do all gushing fountains speak louder.  And my soul also
+is a gushing fountain.
+
+'Tis night:  now only do all songs of the loving ones awake.  And my soul
+also is the song of a loving one.
+
+Something unappeased, unappeasable, is within me; it longeth to find
+expression.  A craving for love is within me, which speaketh itself the
+language of love.
+
+Light am I:  ah, that I were night!  But it is my lonesomeness to be begirt
+with light!
+
+Ah, that I were dark and nightly!  How would I suck at the breasts of
+light!
+
+And you yourselves would I bless, ye twinkling starlets and glow-worms
+aloft!--and would rejoice in the gifts of your light.
+
+But I live in mine own light, I drink again into myself the flames that
+break forth from me.
+
+I know not the happiness of the receiver; and oft have I dreamt that
+stealing must be more blessed than receiving.
+
+It is my poverty that my hand never ceaseth bestowing; it is mine envy that
+I see waiting eyes and the brightened nights of longing.
+
+Oh, the misery of all bestowers!  Oh, the darkening of my sun!  Oh, the
+craving to crave!  Oh, the violent hunger in satiety!
+
+They take from me:  but do I yet touch their soul?  There is a gap 'twixt
+giving and receiving; and the smallest gap hath finally to be bridged over.
+
+A hunger ariseth out of my beauty:  I should like to injure those I
+illumine; I should like to rob those I have gifted:--thus do I hunger for
+wickedness.
+
+Withdrawing my hand when another hand already stretcheth out to it;
+hesitating like the cascade, which hesitateth even in its leap:--thus do I
+hunger for wickedness!
+
+Such revenge doth mine abundance think of:  such mischief welleth out of my
+lonesomeness.
+
+My happiness in bestowing died in bestowing; my virtue became weary of
+itself by its abundance!
+
+He who ever bestoweth is in danger of losing his shame; to him who ever
+dispenseth, the hand and heart become callous by very dispensing.
+
+Mine eye no longer overfloweth for the shame of suppliants; my hand hath
+become too hard for the trembling of filled hands.
+
+Whence have gone the tears of mine eye, and the down of my heart?  Oh, the
+lonesomeness of all bestowers!  Oh, the silence of all shining ones!
+
+Many suns circle in desert space:  to all that is dark do they speak with
+their light--but to me they are silent.
+
+Oh, this is the hostility of light to the shining one:  unpityingly doth it
+pursue its course.
+
+Unfair to the shining one in its innermost heart, cold to the suns:--thus
+travelleth every sun.
+
+Like a storm do the suns pursue their courses:  that is their travelling.
+Their inexorable will do they follow:  that is their coldness.
+
+Oh, ye only is it, ye dark, nightly ones, that extract warmth from the
+shining ones!  Oh, ye only drink milk and refreshment from the light's
+udders!
+
+Ah, there is ice around me; my hand burneth with the iciness!  Ah, there is
+thirst in me; it panteth after your thirst!
+
+'Tis night:  alas, that I have to be light!  And thirst for the nightly!
+And lonesomeness!
+
+'Tis night:  now doth my longing break forth in me as a fountain,--for
+speech do I long.
+
+'Tis night:  now do all gushing fountains speak louder.  And my soul also
+is a gushing fountain.
+
+'Tis night:  now do all songs of loving ones awake.  And my soul also is
+the song of a loving one.--
+
+Thus sang Zarathustra.
+
+
+XXXII.  THE DANCE-SONG.
+
+One evening went Zarathustra and his disciples through the forest; and when
+he sought for a well, lo, he lighted upon a green meadow peacefully
+surrounded with trees and bushes, where maidens were dancing together.  As
+soon as the maidens recognised Zarathustra, they ceased dancing;
+Zarathustra, however, approached them with friendly mien and spake these
+words:
+
+Cease not your dancing, ye lovely maidens!  No game-spoiler hath come to
+you with evil eye, no enemy of maidens.
+
+God's advocate am I with the devil:  he, however, is the spirit of gravity.
+How could I, ye light-footed ones, be hostile to divine dances?  Or to
+maidens' feet with fine ankles?
+
+To be sure, I am a forest, and a night of dark trees:  but he who is not
+afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses.
+
+And even the little God may he find, who is dearest to maidens:  beside the
+well lieth he quietly, with closed eyes.
+
+Verily, in broad daylight did he fall asleep, the sluggard!  Had he perhaps
+chased butterflies too much?
+
+Upbraid me not, ye beautiful dancers, when I chasten the little God
+somewhat!  He will cry, certainly, and weep--but he is laughable even when
+weeping!
+
+And with tears in his eyes shall he ask you for a dance; and I myself will
+sing a song to his dance:
+
+A dance-song and satire on the spirit of gravity my supremest, powerfulest
+devil, who is said to be "lord of the world."--
+
+And this is the song that Zarathustra sang when Cupid and the maidens
+danced together:
+
+Of late did I gaze into thine eye, O Life!  And into the unfathomable did I
+there seem to sink.
+
+But thou pulledst me out with a golden angle; derisively didst thou laugh
+when I called thee unfathomable.
+
+"Such is the language of all fish," saidst thou; "what THEY do not fathom
+is unfathomable.
+
+But changeable am I only, and wild, and altogether a woman, and no virtuous
+one:
+
+Though I be called by you men the 'profound one,' or the 'faithful one,'
+'the eternal one,' 'the mysterious one.'
+
+But ye men endow us always with your own virtues--alas, ye virtuous ones!"
+
+Thus did she laugh, the unbelievable one; but never do I believe her and
+her laughter, when she speaketh evil of herself.
+
+And when I talked face to face with my wild Wisdom, she said to me angrily:
+"Thou willest, thou cravest, thou lovest; on that account alone dost thou
+PRAISE Life!"
+
+Then had I almost answered indignantly and told the truth to the angry one;
+and one cannot answer more indignantly than when one "telleth the truth" to
+one's Wisdom.
+
+For thus do things stand with us three.  In my heart do I love only Life--
+and verily, most when I hate her!
+
+But that I am fond of Wisdom, and often too fond, is because she remindeth
+me very strongly of Life!
+
+She hath her eye, her laugh, and even her golden angle-rod:  am I
+responsible for it that both are so alike?
+
+And when once Life asked me:  "Who is she then, this Wisdom?"--then said I
+eagerly:  "Ah, yes!  Wisdom!
+
+One thirsteth for her and is not satisfied, one looketh through veils, one
+graspeth through nets.
+
+Is she beautiful?  What do I know!  But the oldest carps are still lured by
+her.
+
+Changeable is she, and wayward; often have I seen her bite her lip, and
+pass the comb against the grain of her hair.
+
+Perhaps she is wicked and false, and altogether a woman; but when she
+speaketh ill of herself, just then doth she seduce most."
+
+When I had said this unto Life, then laughed she maliciously, and shut her
+eyes.  "Of whom dost thou speak?" said she.  "Perhaps of me?
+
+And if thou wert right--is it proper to say THAT in such wise to my face!
+But now, pray, speak also of thy Wisdom!"
+
+Ah, and now hast thou again opened thine eyes, O beloved Life!  And into
+the unfathomable have I again seemed to sink.--
+
+Thus sang Zarathustra.  But when the dance was over and the maidens had
+departed, he became sad.
+
+"The sun hath been long set," said he at last, "the meadow is damp, and
+from the forest cometh coolness.
+
+An unknown presence is about me, and gazeth thoughtfully.  What!  Thou
+livest still, Zarathustra?
+
+Why?  Wherefore?  Whereby?  Whither?  Where?  How?  Is it not folly still
+to live?--
+
+Ah, my friends; the evening is it which thus interrogateth in me.  Forgive
+me my sadness!
+
+Evening hath come on:  forgive me that evening hath come on!"
+
+Thus sang Zarathustra.
+
+
+XXXIII.  THE GRAVE-SONG.
+
+"Yonder is the grave-island, the silent isle; yonder also are the graves of
+my youth.  Thither will I carry an evergreen wreath of life."
+
+Resolving thus in my heart, did I sail o'er the sea.--
+
+Oh, ye sights and scenes of my youth! Oh, all ye gleams of love, ye divine
+fleeting gleams! How could ye perish so soon for me! I think of you to-day
+as my dead ones.
+
+From you, my dearest dead ones, cometh unto me a sweet savour,
+heart-opening and melting. Verily, it convulseth and openeth the heart of
+the lone seafarer.
+
+Still am I the richest and most to be envied--I, the lonesomest one!  For I
+HAVE POSSESSED you, and ye possess me still.  Tell me:  to whom hath there
+ever fallen such rosy apples from the tree as have fallen unto me?
+
+Still am I your love's heir and heritage, blooming to your memory with
+many-hued, wild-growing virtues, O ye dearest ones!
+
+Ah, we were made to remain nigh unto each other, ye kindly strange marvels;
+and not like timid birds did ye come to me and my longing--nay, but as
+trusting ones to a trusting one!
+
+Yea, made for faithfulness, like me, and for fond eternities, must I now
+name you by your faithlessness, ye divine glances and fleeting gleams:  no
+other name have I yet learnt.
+
+Verily, too early did ye die for me, ye fugitives.  Yet did ye not flee
+from me, nor did I flee from you:  innocent are we to each other in our
+faithlessness.
+
+To kill ME, did they strangle you, ye singing birds of my hopes!  Yea, at
+you, ye dearest ones, did malice ever shoot its arrows--to hit my heart!
+
+And they hit it!  Because ye were always my dearest, my possession and my
+possessedness:  ON THAT ACCOUNT had ye to die young, and far too early!
+
+At my most vulnerable point did they shoot the arrow--namely, at you, whose
+skin is like down--or more like the smile that dieth at a glance!
+
+But this word will I say unto mine enemies:  What is all manslaughter in
+comparison with what ye have done unto me!
+
+Worse evil did ye do unto me than all manslaughter; the irretrievable did
+ye take from me:--thus do I speak unto you, mine enemies!
+
+Slew ye not my youth's visions and dearest marvels!  My playmates took ye
+from me, the blessed spirits!  To their memory do I deposit this wreath and
+this curse.
+
+This curse upon you, mine enemies!  Have ye not made mine eternal short, as
+a tone dieth away in a cold night!  Scarcely, as the twinkle of divine
+eyes, did it come to me--as a fleeting gleam!
+
+Thus spake once in a happy hour my purity:  "Divine shall everything be
+unto me."
+
+Then did ye haunt me with foul phantoms; ah, whither hath that happy hour
+now fled!
+
+"All days shall be holy unto me"--so spake once the wisdom of my youth:
+verily, the language of a joyous wisdom!
+
+But then did ye enemies steal my nights, and sold them to sleepless
+torture:  ah, whither hath that joyous wisdom now fled?
+
+Once did I long for happy auspices:  then did ye lead an owl-monster across
+my path, an adverse sign.  Ah, whither did my tender longing then flee?
+
+All loathing did I once vow to renounce:  then did ye change my nigh ones
+and nearest ones into ulcerations.  Ah, whither did my noblest vow then
+flee?
+
+As a blind one did I once walk in blessed ways:  then did ye cast filth on
+the blind one's course:  and now is he disgusted with the old footpath.
+
+And when I performed my hardest task, and celebrated the triumph of my
+victories, then did ye make those who loved me call out that I then grieved
+them most.
+
+Verily, it was always your doing:  ye embittered to me my best honey, and
+the diligence of my best bees.
+
+To my charity have ye ever sent the most impudent beggars; around my
+sympathy have ye ever crowded the incurably shameless.  Thus have ye
+wounded the faith of my virtue.
+
+And when I offered my holiest as a sacrifice, immediately did your "piety"
+put its fatter gifts beside it:  so that my holiest suffocated in the fumes
+of your fat.
+
+And once did I want to dance as I had never yet danced:  beyond all heavens
+did I want to dance.  Then did ye seduce my favourite minstrel.
+
+And now hath he struck up an awful, melancholy air; alas, he tooted as a
+mournful horn to mine ear!
+
+Murderous minstrel, instrument of evil, most innocent instrument!  Already
+did I stand prepared for the best dance:  then didst thou slay my rapture
+with thy tones!
+
+Only in the dance do I know how to speak the parable of the highest
+things:--and now hath my grandest parable remained unspoken in my limbs!
+
+Unspoken and unrealised hath my highest hope remained!  And there have
+perished for me all the visions and consolations of my youth!
+
+How did I ever bear it?  How did I survive and surmount such wounds?  How
+did my soul rise again out of those sepulchres?
+
+Yea, something invulnerable, unburiable is with me, something that would
+rend rocks asunder:  it is called MY WILL.  Silently doth it proceed, and
+unchanged throughout the years.
+
+Its course will it go upon my feet, mine old Will; hard of heart is its
+nature and invulnerable.
+
+Invulnerable am I only in my heel.  Ever livest thou there, and art like
+thyself, thou most patient one!  Ever hast thou burst all shackles of the
+tomb!
+
+In thee still liveth also the unrealisedness of my youth; and as life and
+youth sittest thou here hopeful on the yellow ruins of graves.
+
+Yea, thou art still for me the demolisher of all graves:  Hail to thee, my
+Will!  And only where there are graves are there resurrections.--
+
+Thus sang Zarathustra.
+
+
+XXXIV.  SELF-SURPASSING.
+
+"Will to Truth" do ye call it, ye wisest ones, that which impelleth you and
+maketh you ardent?
+
+Will for the thinkableness of all being:  thus do _I_ call your will!
+
+All being would ye MAKE thinkable:  for ye doubt with good reason whether
+it be already thinkable.
+
+But it shall accommodate and bend itself to you!  So willeth your will.
+Smooth shall it become and subject to the spirit, as its mirror and
+reflection.
+
+That is your entire will, ye wisest ones, as a Will to Power; and even when
+ye speak of good and evil, and of estimates of value.
+
+Ye would still create a world before which ye can bow the knee:  such is
+your ultimate hope and ecstasy.
+
+The ignorant, to be sure, the people--they are like a river on which a boat
+floateth along:  and in the boat sit the estimates of value, solemn and
+disguised.
+
+Your will and your valuations have ye put on the river of becoming; it
+betrayeth unto me an old Will to Power, what is believed by the people as
+good and evil.
+
+It was ye, ye wisest ones, who put such guests in this boat, and gave them
+pomp and proud names--ye and your ruling Will!
+
+Onward the river now carrieth your boat:  it MUST carry it.  A small matter
+if the rough wave foameth and angrily resisteth its keel!
+
+It is not the river that is your danger and the end of your good and evil,
+ye wisest ones:  but that Will itself, the Will to Power--the unexhausted,
+procreating life-will.
+
+But that ye may understand my gospel of good and evil, for that purpose
+will I tell you my gospel of life, and of the nature of all living things.
+
+The living thing did I follow; I walked in the broadest and narrowest paths
+to learn its nature.
+
+With a hundred-faced mirror did I catch its glance when its mouth was shut,
+so that its eye might speak unto me.  And its eye spake unto me.
+
+But wherever I found living things, there heard I also the language of
+obedience.  All living things are obeying things.
+
+And this heard I secondly:  Whatever cannot obey itself, is commanded.
+Such is the nature of living things.
+
+This, however, is the third thing which I heard--namely, that commanding is
+more difficult than obeying.  And not only because the commander beareth
+the burden of all obeyers, and because this burden readily crusheth him:--
+
+An attempt and a risk seemed all commanding unto me; and whenever it
+commandeth, the living thing risketh itself thereby.
+
+Yea, even when it commandeth itself, then also must it atone for its
+commanding.  Of its own law must it become the judge and avenger and
+victim.
+
+How doth this happen! so did I ask myself.  What persuadeth the living
+thing to obey, and command, and even be obedient in commanding?
+
+Hearken now unto my word, ye wisest ones!  Test it seriously, whether I
+have crept into the heart of life itself, and into the roots of its heart!
+
+Wherever I found a living thing, there found I Will to Power; and even in
+the will of the servant found I the will to be master.
+
+That to the stronger the weaker shall serve--thereto persuadeth he his will
+who would be master over a still weaker one.  That delight alone he is
+unwilling to forego.
+
+And as the lesser surrendereth himself to the greater that he may have
+delight and power over the least of all, so doth even the greatest
+surrender himself, and staketh--life, for the sake of power.
+
+It is the surrender of the greatest to run risk and danger, and play dice
+for death.
+
+And where there is sacrifice and service and love-glances, there also is
+the will to be master.  By by-ways doth the weaker then slink into the
+fortress, and into the heart of the mightier one--and there stealeth power.
+
+And this secret spake Life herself unto me.  "Behold," said she, "I am that
+WHICH MUST EVER SURPASS ITSELF.
+
+To be sure, ye call it will to procreation, or impulse towards a goal,
+towards the higher, remoter, more manifold:  but all that is one and the
+same secret.
+
+Rather would I succumb than disown this one thing; and verily, where there
+is succumbing and leaf-falling, lo, there doth Life sacrifice itself--for
+power!
+
+That I have to be struggle, and becoming, and purpose, and cross-purpose--
+ah, he who divineth my will, divineth well also on what CROOKED paths it
+hath to tread!
+
+Whatever I create, and however much I love it,--soon must I be adverse to
+it, and to my love:  so willeth my will.
+
+And even thou, discerning one, art only a path and footstep of my will:
+verily, my Will to Power walketh even on the feet of thy Will to Truth!
+
+He certainly did not hit the truth who shot at it the formula:  'Will to
+existence':  that will--doth not exist!
+
+For what is not, cannot will; that, however, which is in existence--how
+could it still strive for existence!
+
+Only where there is life, is there also will:  not, however, Will to Life,
+but--so teach I thee--Will to Power!
+
+Much is reckoned higher than life itself by the living one; but out of the
+very reckoning speaketh--the Will to Power!"--
+
+Thus did Life once teach me:  and thereby, ye wisest ones, do I solve you
+the riddle of your hearts.
+
+Verily, I say unto you:  good and evil which would be everlasting--it doth
+not exist!  Of its own accord must it ever surpass itself anew.
+
+With your values and formulae of good and evil, ye exercise power, ye
+valuing ones:  and that is your secret love, and the sparkling, trembling,
+and overflowing of your souls.
+
+But a stronger power groweth out of your values, and a new surpassing:  by
+it breaketh egg and egg-shell.
+
+And he who hath to be a creator in good and evil--verily, he hath first to
+be a destroyer, and break values in pieces.
+
+Thus doth the greatest evil pertain to the greatest good:  that, however,
+is the creating good.--
+
+Let us SPEAK thereof, ye wisest ones, even though it be bad.  To be silent
+is worse; all suppressed truths become poisonous.
+
+And let everything break up which--can break up by our truths!  Many a
+house is still to be built!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XXXV.  THE SUBLIME ONES.
+
+Calm is the bottom of my sea:  who would guess that it hideth droll
+monsters!
+
+Unmoved is my depth:  but it sparkleth with swimming enigmas and laughters.
+
+A sublime one saw I to-day, a solemn one, a penitent of the spirit:  Oh,
+how my soul laughed at his ugliness!
+
+With upraised breast, and like those who draw in their breath:  thus did he
+stand, the sublime one, and in silence:
+
+O'erhung with ugly truths, the spoil of his hunting, and rich in torn
+raiment; many thorns also hung on him--but I saw no rose.
+
+Not yet had he learned laughing and beauty.  Gloomy did this hunter return
+from the forest of knowledge.
+
+From the fight with wild beasts returned he home:  but even yet a wild
+beast gazeth out of his seriousness--an unconquered wild beast!
+
+As a tiger doth he ever stand, on the point of springing; but I do not like
+those strained souls; ungracious is my taste towards all those
+self-engrossed ones.
+
+And ye tell me, friends, that there is to be no dispute about taste and
+tasting?  But all life is a dispute about taste and tasting!
+
+Taste:  that is weight at the same time, and scales and weigher; and alas
+for every living thing that would live without dispute about weight and
+scales and weigher!
+
+Should he become weary of his sublimeness, this sublime one, then only will
+his beauty begin--and then only will I taste him and find him savoury.
+
+And only when he turneth away from himself will he o'erleap his own shadow
+--and verily! into HIS sun.
+
+Far too long did he sit in the shade; the cheeks of the penitent of the
+spirit became pale; he almost starved on his expectations.
+
+Contempt is still in his eye, and loathing hideth in his mouth.  To be
+sure, he now resteth, but he hath not yet taken rest in the sunshine.
+
+As the ox ought he to do; and his happiness should smell of the earth, and
+not of contempt for the earth.
+
+As a white ox would I like to see him, which, snorting and lowing, walketh
+before the plough-share:  and his lowing should also laud all that is
+earthly!
+
+Dark is still his countenance; the shadow of his hand danceth upon it.
+O'ershadowed is still the sense of his eye.
+
+His deed itself is still the shadow upon him:  his doing obscureth the
+doer.  Not yet hath he overcome his deed.
+
+To be sure, I love in him the shoulders of the ox:  but now do I want to
+see also the eye of the angel.
+
+Also his hero-will hath he still to unlearn: an exalted one shall he be,
+and not only a sublime one:--the ether itself should raise him, the
+will-less one!
+
+He hath subdued monsters, he hath solved enigmas.  But he should also
+redeem his monsters and enigmas; into heavenly children should he transform
+them.
+
+As yet hath his knowledge not learned to smile, and to be without jealousy;
+as yet hath his gushing passion not become calm in beauty.
+
+Verily, not in satiety shall his longing cease and disappear, but in
+beauty!  Gracefulness belongeth to the munificence of the magnanimous.
+
+His arm across his head:  thus should the hero repose; thus should he also
+surmount his repose.
+
+But precisely to the hero is BEAUTY the hardest thing of all.  Unattainable
+is beauty by all ardent wills.
+
+A little more, a little less:  precisely this is much here, it is the most
+here.
+
+To stand with relaxed muscles and with unharnessed will:  that is the
+hardest for all of you, ye sublime ones!
+
+When power becometh gracious and descendeth into the visible--I call such
+condescension, beauty.
+
+And from no one do I want beauty so much as from thee, thou powerful one:
+let thy goodness be thy last self-conquest.
+
+All evil do I accredit to thee:  therefore do I desire of thee the good.
+
+Verily, I have often laughed at the weaklings, who think themselves good
+because they have crippled paws!
+
+The virtue of the pillar shalt thou strive after:  more beautiful doth it
+ever become, and more graceful--but internally harder and more sustaining--
+the higher it riseth.
+
+Yea, thou sublime one, one day shalt thou also be beautiful, and hold up
+the mirror to thine own beauty.
+
+Then will thy soul thrill with divine desires; and there will be adoration
+even in thy vanity!
+
+For this is the secret of the soul:  when the hero hath abandoned it, then
+only approacheth it in dreams--the superhero.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XXXVI.  THE LAND OF CULTURE.
+
+Too far did I fly into the future:  a horror seized upon me.
+
+And when I looked around me, lo! there time was my sole contemporary.
+
+Then did I fly backwards, homewards--and always faster.  Thus did I come
+unto you, ye present-day men, and into the land of culture.
+
+For the first time brought I an eye to see you, and good desire:  verily,
+with longing in my heart did I come.
+
+But how did it turn out with me?  Although so alarmed--I had yet to laugh!
+Never did mine eye see anything so motley-coloured!
+
+I laughed and laughed, while my foot still trembled, and my heart as well.
+"Here forsooth, is the home of all the paintpots,"--said I.
+
+With fifty patches painted on faces and limbs--so sat ye there to mine
+astonishment, ye present-day men!
+
+And with fifty mirrors around you, which flattered your play of colours,
+and repeated it!
+
+Verily, ye could wear no better masks, ye present-day men, than your own
+faces!  Who could--RECOGNISE you!
+
+Written all over with the characters of the past, and these characters also
+pencilled over with new characters--thus have ye concealed yourselves well
+from all decipherers!
+
+And though one be a trier of the reins, who still believeth that ye have
+reins!  Out of colours ye seem to be baked, and out of glued scraps.
+
+All times and peoples gaze divers-coloured out of your veils; all customs
+and beliefs speak divers-coloured out of your gestures.
+
+He who would strip you of veils and wrappers, and paints and gestures,
+would just have enough left to scare the crows.
+
+Verily, I myself am the scared crow that once saw you naked, and without
+paint; and I flew away when the skeleton ogled at me.
+
+Rather would I be a day-labourer in the nether-world, and among the shades
+of the by-gone!--Fatter and fuller than ye, are forsooth the
+nether-worldlings!
+
+This, yea this, is bitterness to my bowels, that I can neither endure you
+naked nor clothed, ye present-day men!
+
+All that is unhomelike in the future, and whatever maketh strayed birds
+shiver, is verily more homelike and familiar than your "reality."
+
+For thus speak ye:  "Real are we wholly, and without faith and
+superstition":  thus do ye plume yourselves--alas! even without plumes!
+
+Indeed, how would ye be ABLE to believe, ye divers-coloured ones!--ye who
+are pictures of all that hath ever been believed!
+
+Perambulating refutations are ye, of belief itself, and a dislocation of
+all thought.  UNTRUSTWORTHY ONES:  thus do _I_ call you, ye real ones!
+
+All periods prate against one another in your spirits; and the dreams and
+pratings of all periods were even realer than your awakeness!
+
+Unfruitful are ye:  THEREFORE do ye lack belief.  But he who had to create,
+had always his presaging dreams and astral premonitions--and believed in
+believing!--
+
+Half-open doors are ye, at which grave-diggers wait.  And this is YOUR
+reality:  "Everything deserveth to perish."
+
+Alas, how ye stand there before me, ye unfruitful ones; how lean your ribs!
+And many of you surely have had knowledge thereof.
+
+Many a one hath said:  "There hath surely a God filched something from me
+secretly whilst I slept?  Verily, enough to make a girl for himself
+therefrom!
+
+"Amazing is the poverty of my ribs!" thus hath spoken many a present-day
+man.
+
+Yea, ye are laughable unto me, ye present-day men!  And especially when ye
+marvel at yourselves!
+
+And woe unto me if I could not laugh at your marvelling, and had to swallow
+all that is repugnant in your platters!
+
+As it is, however, I will make lighter of you, since I have to carry what
+is heavy; and what matter if beetles and May-bugs also alight on my load!
+
+Verily, it shall not on that account become heavier to me!  And not from
+you, ye present-day men, shall my great weariness arise.--
+
+Ah, whither shall I now ascend with my longing!  From all mountains do I
+look out for fatherlands and motherlands.
+
+But a home have I found nowhere:  unsettled am I in all cities, and
+decamping at all gates.
+
+Alien to me, and a mockery, are the present-day men, to whom of late my
+heart impelled me; and exiled am I from fatherlands and motherlands.
+
+Thus do I love only my CHILDREN'S LAND, the undiscovered in the remotest
+sea:  for it do I bid my sails search and search.
+
+Unto my children will I make amends for being the child of my fathers:  and
+unto all the future--for THIS present-day!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XXXVII.  IMMACULATE PERCEPTION.
+
+When yester-eve the moon arose, then did I fancy it about to bear a sun:
+so broad and teeming did it lie on the horizon.
+
+But it was a liar with its pregnancy; and sooner will I believe in the man
+in the moon than in the woman.
+
+To be sure, little of a man is he also, that timid night-reveller.  Verily,
+with a bad conscience doth he stalk over the roofs.
+
+For he is covetous and jealous, the monk in the moon; covetous of the
+earth, and all the joys of lovers.
+
+Nay, I like him not, that tom-cat on the roofs!  Hateful unto me are all
+that slink around half-closed windows!
+
+Piously and silently doth he stalk along on the star-carpets:--but I like
+no light-treading human feet, on which not even a spur jingleth.
+
+Every honest one's step speaketh; the cat however, stealeth along over the
+ground.  Lo! cat-like doth the moon come along, and dishonestly.--
+
+This parable speak I unto you sentimental dissemblers, unto you, the "pure
+discerners!"  You do _I_ call--covetous ones!
+
+Also ye love the earth, and the earthly:  I have divined you well!--but
+shame is in your love, and a bad conscience--ye are like the moon!
+
+To despise the earthly hath your spirit been persuaded, but not your
+bowels:  these, however, are the strongest in you!
+
+And now is your spirit ashamed to be at the service of your bowels, and
+goeth by-ways and lying ways to escape its own shame.
+
+"That would be the highest thing for me"--so saith your lying spirit unto
+itself--"to gaze upon life without desire, and not like the dog, with
+hanging-out tongue:
+
+To be happy in gazing:  with dead will, free from the grip and greed of
+selfishness--cold and ashy-grey all over, but with intoxicated moon-eyes!
+
+That would be the dearest thing to me"--thus doth the seduced one seduce
+himself,--"to love the earth as the moon loveth it, and with the eye only
+to feel its beauty.
+
+And this do I call IMMACULATE perception of all things:  to want nothing
+else from them, but to be allowed to lie before them as a mirror with a
+hundred facets."--
+
+Oh, ye sentimental dissemblers, ye covetous ones!  Ye lack innocence in
+your desire:  and now do ye defame desiring on that account!
+
+Verily, not as creators, as procreators, or as jubilators do ye love the
+earth!
+
+Where is innocence?  Where there is will to procreation.  And he who
+seeketh to create beyond himself, hath for me the purest will.
+
+Where is beauty?  Where I MUST WILL with my whole Will; where I will love
+and perish, that an image may not remain merely an image.
+
+Loving and perishing:  these have rhymed from eternity.  Will to love:
+that is to be ready also for death.  Thus do I speak unto you cowards!
+
+But now doth your emasculated ogling profess to be "contemplation!"  And
+that which can be examined with cowardly eyes is to be christened
+"beautiful!"  Oh, ye violators of noble names!
+
+But it shall be your curse, ye immaculate ones, ye pure discerners, that ye
+shall never bring forth, even though ye lie broad and teeming on the
+horizon!
+
+Verily, ye fill your mouth with noble words:  and we are to believe that
+your heart overfloweth, ye cozeners?
+
+But MY words are poor, contemptible, stammering words:  gladly do I pick up
+what falleth from the table at your repasts.
+
+Yet still can I say therewith the truth--to dissemblers! Yea, my
+fish-bones, shells, and prickly leaves shall--tickle the noses of
+dissemblers!
+
+Bad air is always about you and your repasts:  your lascivious thoughts,
+your lies, and secrets are indeed in the air!
+
+Dare only to believe in yourselves--in yourselves and in your inward parts!
+He who doth not believe in himself always lieth.
+
+A God's mask have ye hung in front of you, ye "pure ones":  into a God's
+mask hath your execrable coiling snake crawled.
+
+Verily ye deceive, ye "contemplative ones!"  Even Zarathustra was once the
+dupe of your godlike exterior; he did not divine the serpent's coil with
+which it was stuffed.
+
+A God's soul, I once thought I saw playing in your games, ye pure
+discerners!  No better arts did I once dream of than your arts!
+
+Serpents' filth and evil odour, the distance concealed from me:  and that a
+lizard's craft prowled thereabouts lasciviously.
+
+But I came NIGH unto you:  then came to me the day,--and now cometh it to
+you,--at an end is the moon's love affair!
+
+See there!  Surprised and pale doth it stand--before the rosy dawn!
+
+For already she cometh, the glowing one,--HER love to the earth cometh!
+Innocence and creative desire, is all solar love!
+
+See there, how she cometh impatiently over the sea!  Do ye not feel the
+thirst and the hot breath of her love?
+
+At the sea would she suck, and drink its depths to her height:  now riseth
+the desire of the sea with its thousand breasts.
+
+Kissed and sucked WOULD it be by the thirst of the sun; vapour WOULD it
+become, and height, and path of light, and light itself!
+
+Verily, like the sun do I love life, and all deep seas.
+
+And this meaneth TO ME knowledge:  all that is deep shall ascend--to my
+height!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XXXVIII.  SCHOLARS.
+
+When I lay asleep, then did a sheep eat at the ivy-wreath on my head,--it
+ate, and said thereby:  "Zarathustra is no longer a scholar."
+
+It said this, and went away clumsily and proudly.  A child told it to me.
+
+I like to lie here where the children play, beside the ruined wall, among
+thistles and red poppies.
+
+A scholar am I still to the children, and also to the thistles and red
+poppies.  Innocent are they, even in their wickedness.
+
+But to the sheep I am no longer a scholar:  so willeth my lot--blessings
+upon it!
+
+For this is the truth:  I have departed from the house of the scholars, and
+the door have I also slammed behind me.
+
+Too long did my soul sit hungry at their table:  not like them have I got
+the knack of investigating, as the knack of nut-cracking.
+
+Freedom do I love, and the air over fresh soil; rather would I sleep on
+ox-skins than on their honours and dignities.
+
+I am too hot and scorched with mine own thought:  often is it ready to take
+away my breath.  Then have I to go into the open air, and away from all
+dusty rooms.
+
+But they sit cool in the cool shade:  they want in everything to be merely
+spectators, and they avoid sitting where the sun burneth on the steps.
+
+Like those who stand in the street and gape at the passers-by:  thus do
+they also wait, and gape at the thoughts which others have thought.
+
+Should one lay hold of them, then do they raise a dust like flour-sacks,
+and involuntarily:  but who would divine that their dust came from corn,
+and from the yellow delight of the summer fields?
+
+When they give themselves out as wise, then do their petty sayings and
+truths chill me:  in their wisdom there is often an odour as if it came
+from the swamp; and verily, I have even heard the frog croak in it!
+
+Clever are they--they have dexterous fingers:  what doth MY simplicity
+pretend to beside their multiplicity!  All threading and knitting and
+weaving do their fingers understand:  thus do they make the hose of the
+spirit!
+
+Good clockworks are they:  only be careful to wind them up properly!  Then
+do they indicate the hour without mistake, and make a modest noise thereby.
+
+Like millstones do they work, and like pestles:  throw only seed-corn unto
+them!--they know well how to grind corn small, and make white dust out of
+it.
+
+They keep a sharp eye on one another, and do not trust each other the best.
+Ingenious in little artifices, they wait for those whose knowledge walketh
+on lame feet,--like spiders do they wait.
+
+I saw them always prepare their poison with precaution; and always did they
+put glass gloves on their fingers in doing so.
+
+They also know how to play with false dice; and so eagerly did I find them
+playing, that they perspired thereby.
+
+We are alien to each other, and their virtues are even more repugnant to my
+taste than their falsehoods and false dice.
+
+And when I lived with them, then did I live above them.  Therefore did they
+take a dislike to me.
+
+They want to hear nothing of any one walking above their heads; and so they
+put wood and earth and rubbish betwixt me and their heads.
+
+Thus did they deafen the sound of my tread:  and least have I hitherto been
+heard by the most learned.
+
+All mankind's faults and weaknesses did they put betwixt themselves and
+me:--they call it "false ceiling" in their houses.
+
+But nevertheless I walk with my thoughts ABOVE their heads; and even should
+I walk on mine own errors, still would I be above them and their heads.
+
+For men are NOT equal:  so speaketh justice.  And what I will, THEY may not
+will!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XXXIX.  POETS.
+
+"Since I have known the body better"--said Zarathustra to one of his
+disciples--"the spirit hath only been to me symbolically spirit; and all
+the 'imperishable'--that is also but a simile."
+
+"So have I heard thee say once before," answered the disciple, "and then
+thou addedst:  'But the poets lie too much.'  Why didst thou say that the
+poets lie too much?"
+
+"Why?" said Zarathustra.  "Thou askest why?  I do not belong to those who
+may be asked after their Why.
+
+Is my experience but of yesterday?  It is long ago that I experienced the
+reasons for mine opinions.
+
+Should I not have to be a cask of memory, if I also wanted to have my
+reasons with me?
+
+It is already too much for me even to retain mine opinions; and many a bird
+flieth away.
+
+And sometimes, also, do I find a fugitive creature in my dovecote, which is
+alien to me, and trembleth when I lay my hand upon it.
+
+But what did Zarathustra once say unto thee?  That the poets lie too much?
+--But Zarathustra also is a poet.
+
+Believest thou that he there spake the truth?  Why dost thou believe it?"
+
+The disciple answered:  "I believe in Zarathustra."  But Zarathustra shook
+his head and smiled.--
+
+Belief doth not sanctify me, said he, least of all the belief in myself.
+
+But granting that some one did say in all seriousness that the poets lie
+too much:  he was right--WE do lie too much.
+
+We also know too little, and are bad learners:  so we are obliged to lie.
+
+And which of us poets hath not adulterated his wine?  Many a poisonous
+hotchpotch hath evolved in our cellars:  many an indescribable thing hath
+there been done.
+
+And because we know little, therefore are we pleased from the heart with
+the poor in spirit, especially when they are young women!
+
+And even of those things are we desirous, which old women tell one another
+in the evening.  This do we call the eternally feminine in us.
+
+And as if there were a special secret access to knowledge, which CHOKETH UP
+for those who learn anything, so do we believe in the people and in their
+"wisdom."
+
+This, however, do all poets believe:  that whoever pricketh up his ears
+when lying in the grass or on lonely slopes, learneth something of the
+things that are betwixt heaven and earth.
+
+And if there come unto them tender emotions, then do the poets always think
+that nature herself is in love with them:
+
+And that she stealeth to their ear to whisper secrets into it, and amorous
+flatteries:  of this do they plume and pride themselves, before all
+mortals!
+
+Ah, there are so many things betwixt heaven and earth of which only the
+poets have dreamed!
+
+And especially ABOVE the heavens:  for all Gods are poet-symbolisations,
+poet-sophistications!
+
+Verily, ever are we drawn aloft--that is, to the realm of the clouds:  on
+these do we set our gaudy puppets, and then call them Gods and Supermen:--
+
+Are not they light enough for those chairs!--all these Gods and Supermen?--
+
+Ah, how I am weary of all the inadequate that is insisted on as actual!
+Ah, how I am weary of the poets!
+
+When Zarathustra so spake, his disciple resented it, but was silent.  And
+Zarathustra also was silent; and his eye directed itself inwardly, as if it
+gazed into the far distance.  At last he sighed and drew breath.--
+
+I am of to-day and heretofore, said he thereupon; but something is in me
+that is of the morrow, and the day following, and the hereafter.
+
+I became weary of the poets, of the old and of the new:  superficial are
+they all unto me, and shallow seas.
+
+They did not think sufficiently into the depth; therefore their feeling did
+not reach to the bottom.
+
+Some sensation of voluptuousness and some sensation of tedium:  these have
+as yet been their best contemplation.
+
+Ghost-breathing and ghost-whisking, seemeth to me all the jingle-jangling
+of their harps; what have they known hitherto of the fervour of tones!--
+
+They are also not pure enough for me:  they all muddle their water that it
+may seem deep.
+
+And fain would they thereby prove themselves reconcilers:  but mediaries
+and mixers are they unto me, and half-and-half, and impure!--
+
+Ah, I cast indeed my net into their sea, and meant to catch good fish; but
+always did I draw up the head of some ancient God.
+
+Thus did the sea give a stone to the hungry one.  And they themselves may
+well originate from the sea.
+
+Certainly, one findeth pearls in them:  thereby they are the more like hard
+molluscs.  And instead of a soul, I have often found in them salt slime.
+
+They have learned from the sea also its vanity:  is not the sea the peacock
+of peacocks?
+
+Even before the ugliest of all buffaloes doth it spread out its tail; never
+doth it tire of its lace-fan of silver and silk.
+
+Disdainfully doth the buffalo glance thereat, nigh to the sand with its
+soul, nigher still to the thicket, nighest, however, to the swamp.
+
+What is beauty and sea and peacock-splendour to it!  This parable I speak
+unto the poets.
+
+Verily, their spirit itself is the peacock of peacocks, and a sea of
+vanity!
+
+Spectators, seeketh the spirit of the poet--should they even be
+buffaloes!--
+
+But of this spirit became I weary; and I see the time coming when it will
+become weary of itself.
+
+Yea, changed have I seen the poets, and their glance turned towards
+themselves.
+
+Penitents of the spirit have I seen appearing; they grew out of the
+poets.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XL.  GREAT EVENTS.
+
+There is an isle in the sea--not far from the Happy Isles of Zarathustra--
+on which a volcano ever smoketh; of which isle the people, and especially
+the old women amongst them, say that it is placed as a rock before the gate
+of the nether-world; but that through the volcano itself the narrow way
+leadeth downwards which conducteth to this gate.
+
+Now about the time that Zarathustra sojourned on the Happy Isles, it
+happened that a ship anchored at the isle on which standeth the smoking
+mountain, and the crew went ashore to shoot rabbits.  About the noontide
+hour, however, when the captain and his men were together again, they saw
+suddenly a man coming towards them through the air, and a voice said
+distinctly:  "It is time!  It is the highest time!"  But when the figure
+was nearest to them (it flew past quickly, however, like a shadow, in the
+direction of the volcano), then did they recognise with the greatest
+surprise that it was Zarathustra; for they had all seen him before except
+the captain himself, and they loved him as the people love:  in such wise
+that love and awe were combined in equal degree.
+
+"Behold!" said the old helmsman, "there goeth Zarathustra to hell!"
+
+About the same time that these sailors landed on the fire-isle, there was a
+rumour that Zarathustra had disappeared; and when his friends were asked
+about it, they said that he had gone on board a ship by night, without
+saying whither he was going.
+
+Thus there arose some uneasiness.  After three days, however, there came
+the story of the ship's crew in addition to this uneasiness--and then did
+all the people say that the devil had taken Zarathustra.  His disciples
+laughed, sure enough, at this talk; and one of them said even:  "Sooner
+would I believe that Zarathustra hath taken the devil."  But at the bottom
+of their hearts they were all full of anxiety and longing:  so their joy
+was great when on the fifth day Zarathustra appeared amongst them.
+
+And this is the account of Zarathustra's interview with the fire-dog:
+
+The earth, said he, hath a skin; and this skin hath diseases.  One of these
+diseases, for example, is called "man."
+
+And another of these diseases is called "the fire-dog":  concerning HIM men
+have greatly deceived themselves, and let themselves be deceived.
+
+To fathom this mystery did I go o'er the sea; and I have seen the truth
+naked, verily! barefooted up to the neck.
+
+Now do I know how it is concerning the fire-dog; and likewise concerning
+all the spouting and subversive devils, of which not only old women are
+afraid.
+
+"Up with thee, fire-dog, out of thy depth!" cried I, "and confess how deep
+that depth is!  Whence cometh that which thou snortest up?
+
+Thou drinkest copiously at the sea:  that doth thine embittered eloquence
+betray!  In sooth, for a dog of the depth, thou takest thy nourishment too
+much from the surface!
+
+At the most, I regard thee as the ventriloquist of the earth:  and ever,
+when I have heard subversive and spouting devils speak, I have found them
+like thee:  embittered, mendacious, and shallow.
+
+Ye understand how to roar and obscure with ashes!  Ye are the best
+braggarts, and have sufficiently learned the art of making dregs boil.
+
+Where ye are, there must always be dregs at hand, and much that is spongy,
+hollow, and compressed:  it wanteth to have freedom.
+
+'Freedom' ye all roar most eagerly:  but I have unlearned the belief in
+'great events,' when there is much roaring and smoke about them.
+
+And believe me, friend Hullabaloo!  The greatest events--are not our
+noisiest, but our stillest hours.
+
+Not around the inventors of new noise, but around the inventors of new
+values, doth the world revolve; INAUDIBLY it revolveth.
+
+And just own to it!  Little had ever taken place when thy noise and smoke
+passed away.  What, if a city did become a mummy, and a statue lay in the
+mud!
+
+And this do I say also to the o'erthrowers of statues:  It is certainly the
+greatest folly to throw salt into the sea, and statues into the mud.
+
+In the mud of your contempt lay the statue:  but it is just its law, that
+out of contempt, its life and living beauty grow again!
+
+With diviner features doth it now arise, seducing by its suffering; and
+verily! it will yet thank you for o'erthrowing it, ye subverters!
+
+This counsel, however, do I counsel to kings and churches, and to all that
+is weak with age or virtue--let yourselves be o'erthrown!  That ye may
+again come to life, and that virtue--may come to you!--"
+
+Thus spake I before the fire-dog:  then did he interrupt me sullenly, and
+asked:  "Church?  What is that?"
+
+"Church?" answered I, "that is a kind of state, and indeed the most
+mendacious.  But remain quiet, thou dissembling dog!  Thou surely knowest
+thine own species best!
+
+Like thyself the state is a dissembling dog; like thee doth it like to
+speak with smoke and roaring--to make believe, like thee, that it speaketh
+out of the heart of things.
+
+For it seeketh by all means to be the most important creature on earth, the
+state; and people think it so."
+
+When I had said this, the fire-dog acted as if mad with envy.  "What!"
+cried he, "the most important creature on earth?  And people think it so?"
+And so much vapour and terrible voices came out of his throat, that I
+thought he would choke with vexation and envy.
+
+At last he became calmer and his panting subsided; as soon, however, as he
+was quiet, I said laughingly:
+
+"Thou art angry, fire-dog:  so I am in the right about thee!
+
+And that I may also maintain the right, hear the story of another fire-dog;
+he speaketh actually out of the heart of the earth.
+
+Gold doth his breath exhale, and golden rain:  so doth his heart desire.
+What are ashes and smoke and hot dregs to him!
+
+Laughter flitteth from him like a variegated cloud; adverse is he to thy
+gargling and spewing and grips in the bowels!
+
+The gold, however, and the laughter--these doth he take out of the heart of
+the earth:  for, that thou mayst know it,--THE HEART OF THE EARTH IS OF
+GOLD."
+
+When the fire-dog heard this, he could no longer endure to listen to me.
+Abashed did he draw in his tail, said "bow-wow!" in a cowed voice, and
+crept down into his cave.--
+
+Thus told Zarathustra.  His disciples, however, hardly listened to him:  so
+great was their eagerness to tell him about the sailors, the rabbits, and
+the flying man.
+
+"What am I to think of it!" said Zarathustra.  "Am I indeed a ghost?
+
+But it may have been my shadow.  Ye have surely heard something of the
+Wanderer and his Shadow?
+
+One thing, however, is certain:  I must keep a tighter hold of it;
+otherwise it will spoil my reputation."
+
+And once more Zarathustra shook his head and wondered.  "What am I to think
+of it!" said he once more.
+
+"Why did the ghost cry:  'It is time!  It is the highest time!'
+
+For WHAT is it then--the highest time?"--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XLI.  THE SOOTHSAYER.
+
+"-And I saw a great sadness come over mankind.  The best turned weary of
+their works.
+
+A doctrine appeared, a faith ran beside it:  'All is empty, all is alike,
+all hath been!'
+
+And from all hills there re-echoed:  'All is empty, all is alike, all hath
+been!'
+
+To be sure we have harvested:  but why have all our fruits become rotten
+and brown?  What was it fell last night from the evil moon?
+
+In vain was all our labour, poison hath our wine become, the evil eye hath
+singed yellow our fields and hearts.
+
+Arid have we all become; and fire falling upon us, then do we turn dust
+like ashes:--yea, the fire itself have we made aweary.
+
+All our fountains have dried up, even the sea hath receded.  All the ground
+trieth to gape, but the depth will not swallow!
+
+'Alas! where is there still a sea in which one could be drowned?' so
+soundeth our plaint--across shallow swamps.
+
+Verily, even for dying have we become too weary; now do we keep awake and
+live on--in sepulchres."
+
+Thus did Zarathustra hear a soothsayer speak; and the foreboding touched
+his heart and transformed him.  Sorrowfully did he go about and wearily;
+and he became like unto those of whom the soothsayer had spoken.--
+
+Verily, said he unto his disciples, a little while, and there cometh the
+long twilight.  Alas, how shall I preserve my light through it!
+
+That it may not smother in this sorrowfulness!  To remoter worlds shall it
+be a light, and also to remotest nights!
+
+Thus did Zarathustra go about grieved in his heart, and for three days he
+did not take any meat or drink:  he had no rest, and lost his speech.  At
+last it came to pass that he fell into a deep sleep.  His disciples,
+however, sat around him in long night-watches, and waited anxiously to see
+if he would awake, and speak again, and recover from his affliction.
+
+And this is the discourse that Zarathustra spake when he awoke; his voice,
+however, came unto his disciples as from afar:
+
+Hear, I pray you, the dream that I dreamed, my friends, and help me to
+divine its meaning!
+
+A riddle is it still unto me, this dream; the meaning is hidden in it and
+encaged, and doth not yet fly above it on free pinions.
+
+All life had I renounced, so I dreamed.  Night-watchman and grave-guardian
+had I become, aloft, in the lone mountain-fortress of Death.
+
+There did I guard his coffins:  full stood the musty vaults of those
+trophies of victory.  Out of glass coffins did vanquished life gaze upon
+me.
+
+The odour of dust-covered eternities did I breathe: sultry and dust-covered
+lay my soul. And who could have aired his soul there!
+
+Brightness of midnight was ever around me; lonesomeness cowered beside her;
+and as a third, death-rattle stillness, the worst of my female friends.
+
+Keys did I carry, the rustiest of all keys; and I knew how to open with
+them the most creaking of all gates.
+
+Like a bitterly angry croaking ran the sound through the long corridors
+when the leaves of the gate opened:  ungraciously did this bird cry,
+unwillingly was it awakened.
+
+But more frightful even, and more heart-strangling was it, when it again
+became silent and still all around, and I alone sat in that malignant
+silence.
+
+Thus did time pass with me, and slip by, if time there still was:  what do
+I know thereof!  But at last there happened that which awoke me.
+
+Thrice did there peal peals at the gate like thunders, thrice did the
+vaults resound and howl again:  then did I go to the gate.
+
+Alpa! cried I, who carrieth his ashes unto the mountain?  Alpa!  Alpa! who
+carrieth his ashes unto the mountain?
+
+And I pressed the key, and pulled at the gate, and exerted myself.  But not
+a finger's-breadth was it yet open:
+
+Then did a roaring wind tear the folds apart:  whistling, whizzing, and
+piercing, it threw unto me a black coffin.
+
+And in the roaring, and whistling, and whizzing the coffin burst up, and
+spouted out a thousand peals of laughter.
+
+And a thousand caricatures of children, angels, owls, fools, and
+child-sized butterflies laughed and mocked, and roared at me.
+
+Fearfully was I terrified thereby:  it prostrated me.  And I cried with
+horror as I ne'er cried before.
+
+But mine own crying awoke me:--and I came to myself.--
+
+Thus did Zarathustra relate his dream, and then was silent:  for as yet he
+knew not the interpretation thereof.  But the disciple whom he loved most
+arose quickly, seized Zarathustra's hand, and said:
+
+"Thy life itself interpreteth unto us this dream, O Zarathustra!
+
+Art thou not thyself the wind with shrill whistling, which bursteth open
+the gates of the fortress of Death?
+
+Art thou not thyself the coffin full of many-hued malices and
+angel-caricatures of life?
+
+Verily, like a thousand peals of children's laughter cometh Zarathustra
+into all sepulchres, laughing at those night-watchmen and grave-guardians,
+and whoever else rattleth with sinister keys.
+
+With thy laughter wilt thou frighten and prostrate them:  fainting and
+recovering will demonstrate thy power over them.
+
+And when the long twilight cometh and the mortal weariness, even then wilt
+thou not disappear from our firmament, thou advocate of life!
+
+New stars hast thou made us see, and new nocturnal glories:  verily,
+laughter itself hast thou spread out over us like a many-hued canopy.
+
+Now will children's laughter ever from coffins flow; now will a strong wind
+ever come victoriously unto all mortal weariness:  of this thou art thyself
+the pledge and the prophet!
+
+Verily, THEY THEMSELVES DIDST THOU DREAM, thine enemies:  that was thy
+sorest dream.
+
+But as thou awokest from them and camest to thyself, so shall they awaken
+from themselves--and come unto thee!"
+
+Thus spake the disciple; and all the others then thronged around
+Zarathustra, grasped him by the hands, and tried to persuade him to leave
+his bed and his sadness, and return unto them.  Zarathustra, however, sat
+upright on his couch, with an absent look.  Like one returning from long
+foreign sojourn did he look on his disciples, and examined their features;
+but still he knew them not.  When, however, they raised him, and set him
+upon his feet, behold, all on a sudden his eye changed; he understood
+everything that had happened, stroked his beard, and said with a strong
+voice:
+
+"Well! this hath just its time; but see to it, my disciples, that we have a
+good repast; and without delay!  Thus do I mean to make amends for bad
+dreams!
+
+The soothsayer, however, shall eat and drink at my side:  and verily, I
+will yet show him a sea in which he can drown himself!"--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.  Then did he gaze long into the face of the
+disciple who had been the dream-interpreter, and shook his head.--
+
+
+XLII.  REDEMPTION.
+
+When Zarathustra went one day over the great bridge, then did the cripples
+and beggars surround him, and a hunchback spake thus unto him:
+
+"Behold, Zarathustra!  Even the people learn from thee, and acquire faith
+in thy teaching:  but for them to believe fully in thee, one thing is still
+needful--thou must first of all convince us cripples!  Here hast thou now a
+fine selection, and verily, an opportunity with more than one forelock!
+The blind canst thou heal, and make the lame run; and from him who hath too
+much behind, couldst thou well, also, take away a little;--that, I think,
+would be the right method to make the cripples believe in Zarathustra!"
+
+Zarathustra, however, answered thus unto him who so spake:  When one taketh
+his hump from the hunchback, then doth one take from him his spirit--so do
+the people teach.  And when one giveth the blind man eyes, then doth he see
+too many bad things on the earth:  so that he curseth him who healed him.
+He, however, who maketh the lame man run, inflicteth upon him the greatest
+injury; for hardly can he run, when his vices run away with him--so do the
+people teach concerning cripples.  And why should not Zarathustra also
+learn from the people, when the people learn from Zarathustra?
+
+It is, however, the smallest thing unto me since I have been amongst men,
+to see one person lacking an eye, another an ear, and a third a leg, and
+that others have lost the tongue, or the nose, or the head.
+
+I see and have seen worse things, and divers things so hideous, that I
+should neither like to speak of all matters, nor even keep silent about
+some of them:  namely, men who lack everything, except that they have too
+much of one thing--men who are nothing more than a big eye, or a big mouth,
+or a big belly, or something else big,--reversed cripples, I call such men.
+
+And when I came out of my solitude, and for the first time passed over this
+bridge, then I could not trust mine eyes, but looked again and again, and
+said at last:  "That is an ear!  An ear as big as a man!"  I looked still
+more attentively--and actually there did move under the ear something that
+was pitiably small and poor and slim.  And in truth this immense ear was
+perched on a small thin stalk--the stalk, however, was a man!  A person
+putting a glass to his eyes, could even recognise further a small envious
+countenance, and also that a bloated soullet dangled at the stalk.  The
+people told me, however, that the big ear was not only a man, but a great
+man, a genius.  But I never believed in the people when they spake of great
+men--and I hold to my belief that it was a reversed cripple, who had too
+little of everything, and too much of one thing.
+
+When Zarathustra had spoken thus unto the hunchback, and unto those of whom
+the hunchback was the mouthpiece and advocate, then did he turn to his
+disciples in profound dejection, and said:
+
+Verily, my friends, I walk amongst men as amongst the fragments and limbs
+of human beings!
+
+This is the terrible thing to mine eye, that I find man broken up, and
+scattered about, as on a battle- and butcher-ground.
+
+And when mine eye fleeth from the present to the bygone, it findeth ever
+the same:  fragments and limbs and fearful chances--but no men!
+
+The present and the bygone upon earth--ah! my friends--that is MY most
+unbearable trouble; and I should not know how to live, if I were not a seer
+of what is to come.
+
+A seer, a purposer, a creator, a future itself, and a bridge to the future
+--and alas! also as it were a cripple on this bridge:  all that is
+Zarathustra.
+
+And ye also asked yourselves often:  "Who is Zarathustra to us?  What shall
+he be called by us?"  And like me, did ye give yourselves questions for
+answers.
+
+Is he a promiser?  Or a fulfiller?  A conqueror?  Or an inheritor?  A
+harvest?  Or a ploughshare?  A physician?  Or a healed one?
+
+Is he a poet?  Or a genuine one?  An emancipator?  Or a subjugator?  A good
+one?  Or an evil one?
+
+I walk amongst men as the fragments of the future:  that future which I
+contemplate.
+
+And it is all my poetisation and aspiration to compose and collect into
+unity what is fragment and riddle and fearful chance.
+
+And how could I endure to be a man, if man were not also the composer, and
+riddle-reader, and redeemer of chance!
+
+To redeem what is past, and to transform every "It was" into "Thus would I
+have it!"--that only do I call redemption!
+
+Will--so is the emancipator and joy-bringer called:  thus have I taught
+you, my friends!  But now learn this likewise:  the Will itself is still a
+prisoner.
+
+Willing emancipateth:  but what is that called which still putteth the
+emancipator in chains?
+
+"It was":  thus is the Will's teeth-gnashing and lonesomest tribulation
+called.  Impotent towards what hath been done--it is a malicious spectator
+of all that is past.
+
+Not backward can the Will will; that it cannot break time and time's
+desire--that is the Will's lonesomest tribulation.
+
+Willing emancipateth:  what doth Willing itself devise in order to get free
+from its tribulation and mock at its prison?
+
+Ah, a fool becometh every prisoner!  Foolishly delivereth itself also the
+imprisoned Will.
+
+That time doth not run backward--that is its animosity:  "That which was":
+so is the stone which it cannot roll called.
+
+And thus doth it roll stones out of animosity and ill-humour, and taketh
+revenge on whatever doth not, like it, feel rage and ill-humour.
+
+Thus did the Will, the emancipator, become a torturer; and on all that is
+capable of suffering it taketh revenge, because it cannot go backward.
+
+This, yea, this alone is REVENGE itself:  the Will's antipathy to time, and
+its "It was."
+
+Verily, a great folly dwelleth in our Will; and it became a curse unto all
+humanity, that this folly acquired spirit!
+
+THE SPIRIT OF REVENGE:  my friends, that hath hitherto been man's best
+contemplation; and where there was suffering, it was claimed there was
+always penalty.
+
+"Penalty," so calleth itself revenge.  With a lying word it feigneth a good
+conscience.
+
+And because in the willer himself there is suffering, because he cannot
+will backwards--thus was Willing itself, and all life, claimed--to be
+penalty!
+
+And then did cloud after cloud roll over the spirit, until at last madness
+preached:  "Everything perisheth, therefore everything deserveth to
+perish!"
+
+"And this itself is justice, the law of time--that he must devour his
+children:"  thus did madness preach.
+
+"Morally are things ordered according to justice and penalty.  Oh, where is
+there deliverance from the flux of things and from the 'existence' of
+penalty?"  Thus did madness preach.
+
+"Can there be deliverance when there is eternal justice?  Alas, unrollable
+is the stone, 'It was':  eternal must also be all penalties!"  Thus did
+madness preach.
+
+"No deed can be annihilated:  how could it be undone by the penalty!  This,
+this is what is eternal in the 'existence' of penalty, that existence also
+must be eternally recurring deed and guilt!
+
+Unless the Will should at last deliver itself, and Willing become
+non-Willing--:" but ye know, my brethren, this fabulous song of madness!
+
+Away from those fabulous songs did I lead you when I taught you:  "The Will
+is a creator."
+
+All "It was" is a fragment, a riddle, a fearful chance--until the creating
+Will saith thereto:  "But thus would I have it."--
+
+Until the creating Will saith thereto:  "But thus do I will it!  Thus shall
+I will it!"
+
+But did it ever speak thus?  And when doth this take place?  Hath the Will
+been unharnessed from its own folly?
+
+Hath the Will become its own deliverer and joy-bringer?  Hath it unlearned
+the spirit of revenge and all teeth-gnashing?
+
+And who hath taught it reconciliation with time, and something higher than
+all reconciliation?
+
+Something higher than all reconciliation must the Will will which is the
+Will to Power--:  but how doth that take place?  Who hath taught it also to
+will backwards?
+
+--But at this point in his discourse it chanced that Zarathustra suddenly
+paused, and looked like a person in the greatest alarm.  With terror in his
+eyes did he gaze on his disciples; his glances pierced as with arrows their
+thoughts and arrear-thoughts.  But after a brief space he again laughed,
+and said soothedly:
+
+"It is difficult to live amongst men, because silence is so difficult--
+especially for a babbler."--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.  The hunchback, however, had listened to the
+conversation and had covered his face during the time; but when he heard
+Zarathustra laugh, he looked up with curiosity, and said slowly:
+
+"But why doth Zarathustra speak otherwise unto us than unto his disciples?"
+
+Zarathustra answered:  "What is there to be wondered at!  With hunchbacks
+one may well speak in a hunchbacked way!"
+
+"Very good," said the hunchback; "and with pupils one may well tell tales
+out of school.
+
+But why doth Zarathustra speak otherwise unto his pupils--than unto
+himself?"--
+
+
+XLIII.  MANLY PRUDENCE.
+
+Not the height, it is the declivity that is terrible!
+
+The declivity, where the gaze shooteth DOWNWARDS, and the hand graspeth
+UPWARDS.  There doth the heart become giddy through its double will.
+
+Ah, friends, do ye divine also my heart's double will?
+
+This, this is MY declivity and my danger, that my gaze shooteth towards the
+summit, and my hand would fain clutch and lean--on the depth!
+
+To man clingeth my will; with chains do I bind myself to man, because I am
+pulled upwards to the Superman:  for thither doth mine other will tend.
+
+And THEREFORE do I live blindly among men, as if I knew them not:  that my
+hand may not entirely lose belief in firmness.
+
+I know not you men:  this gloom and consolation is often spread around me.
+
+I sit at the gateway for every rogue, and ask:  Who wisheth to deceive me?
+
+This is my first manly prudence, that I allow myself to be deceived, so as
+not to be on my guard against deceivers.
+
+Ah, if I were on my guard against man, how could man be an anchor to my
+ball!  Too easily would I be pulled upwards and away!
+
+This providence is over my fate, that I have to be without foresight.
+
+And he who would not languish amongst men, must learn to drink out of all
+glasses; and he who would keep clean amongst men, must know how to wash
+himself even with dirty water.
+
+And thus spake I often to myself for consolation:  "Courage!  Cheer up! old
+heart!  An unhappiness hath failed to befall thee:  enjoy that as thy--
+happiness!"
+
+This, however, is mine other manly prudence:  I am more forbearing to the
+VAIN than to the proud.
+
+Is not wounded vanity the mother of all tragedies?  Where, however, pride
+is wounded, there there groweth up something better than pride.
+
+That life may be fair to behold, its game must be well played; for that
+purpose, however, it needeth good actors.
+
+Good actors have I found all the vain ones:  they play, and wish people to
+be fond of beholding them--all their spirit is in this wish.
+
+They represent themselves, they invent themselves; in their neighbourhood I
+like to look upon life--it cureth of melancholy.
+
+Therefore am I forbearing to the vain, because they are the physicians of
+my melancholy, and keep me attached to man as to a drama.
+
+And further, who conceiveth the full depth of the modesty of the vain man!
+I am favourable to him, and sympathetic on account of his modesty.
+
+From you would he learn his belief in himself; he feedeth upon your
+glances, he eateth praise out of your hands.
+
+Your lies doth he even believe when you lie favourably about him:  for in
+its depths sigheth his heart:  "What am _I_?"
+
+And if that be the true virtue which is unconscious of itself--well, the
+vain man is unconscious of his modesty!--
+
+This is, however, my third manly prudence:  I am not put out of conceit
+with the WICKED by your timorousness.
+
+I am happy to see the marvels the warm sun hatcheth:  tigers and palms and
+rattle-snakes.
+
+Also amongst men there is a beautiful brood of the warm sun, and much that
+is marvellous in the wicked.
+
+In truth, as your wisest did not seem to me so very wise, so found I also
+human wickedness below the fame of it.
+
+And oft did I ask with a shake of the head: Why still rattle, ye
+rattle-snakes?
+
+Verily, there is still a future even for evil!  And the warmest south is
+still undiscovered by man.
+
+How many things are now called the worst wickedness, which are only twelve
+feet broad and three months long!  Some day, however, will greater dragons
+come into the world.
+
+For that the Superman may not lack his dragon, the superdragon that is
+worthy of him, there must still much warm sun glow on moist virgin forests!
+
+Out of your wild cats must tigers have evolved, and out of your
+poison-toads, crocodiles: for the good hunter shall have a good hunt!
+
+And verily, ye good and just!  In you there is much to be laughed at, and
+especially your fear of what hath hitherto been called "the devil!"
+
+So alien are ye in your souls to what is great, that to you the Superman
+would be FRIGHTFUL in his goodness!
+
+And ye wise and knowing ones, ye would flee from the solar-glow of the
+wisdom in which the Superman joyfully batheth his nakedness!
+
+Ye highest men who have come within my ken! this is my doubt of you, and my
+secret laughter:  I suspect ye would call my Superman--a devil!
+
+Ah, I became tired of those highest and best ones:  from their "height" did
+I long to be up, out, and away to the Superman!
+
+A horror came over me when I saw those best ones naked:  then there grew
+for me the pinions to soar away into distant futures.
+
+Into more distant futures, into more southern souths than ever artist
+dreamed of:  thither, where Gods are ashamed of all clothes!
+
+But disguised do I want to see YOU, ye neighbours and fellowmen, and
+well-attired and vain and estimable, as "the good and just;"--
+
+And disguised will I myself sit amongst you--that I may MISTAKE you and
+myself:  for that is my last manly prudence.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XLIV.  THE STILLEST HOUR.
+
+What hath happened unto me, my friends?  Ye see me troubled, driven forth,
+unwillingly obedient, ready to go--alas, to go away from YOU!
+
+Yea, once more must Zarathustra retire to his solitude:  but unjoyously
+this time doth the bear go back to his cave!
+
+What hath happened unto me?  Who ordereth this?--Ah, mine angry mistress
+wisheth it so; she spake unto me.  Have I ever named her name to you?
+
+Yesterday towards evening there spake unto me MY STILLEST HOUR:  that is
+the name of my terrible mistress.
+
+And thus did it happen--for everything must I tell you, that your heart may
+not harden against the suddenly departing one!
+
+Do ye know the terror of him who falleth asleep?--
+
+To the very toes he is terrified, because the ground giveth way under him,
+and the dream beginneth.
+
+This do I speak unto you in parable.  Yesterday at the stillest hour did
+the ground give way under me:  the dream began.
+
+The hour-hand moved on, the timepiece of my life drew breath--never did I
+hear such stillness around me, so that my heart was terrified.
+
+Then was there spoken unto me without voice:  "THOU KNOWEST IT,
+ZARATHUSTRA?"--
+
+And I cried in terror at this whispering, and the blood left my face:  but
+I was silent.
+
+Then was there once more spoken unto me without voice:  "Thou knowest it,
+Zarathustra, but thou dost not speak it!"--
+
+And at last I answered, like one defiant:  "Yea, I know it, but I will not
+speak it!"
+
+Then was there again spoken unto me without voice:  "Thou WILT not,
+Zarathustra?  Is this true?  Conceal thyself not behind thy defiance!"--
+
+And I wept and trembled like a child, and said:  "Ah, I would indeed, but
+how can I do it!  Exempt me only from this!  It is beyond my power!"
+
+Then was there again spoken unto me without voice:  "What matter about
+thyself, Zarathustra!  Speak thy word, and succumb!"
+
+And I answered:  "Ah, is it MY word?  Who am _I_?  I await the worthier
+one; I am not worthy even to succumb by it."
+
+Then was there again spoken unto me without voice:  "What matter about
+thyself?  Thou art not yet humble enough for me.  Humility hath the hardest
+skin."--
+
+And I answered:  "What hath not the skin of my humility endured!  At the
+foot of my height do I dwell:  how high are my summits, no one hath yet
+told me.  But well do I know my valleys."
+
+Then was there again spoken unto me without voice:  "O Zarathustra, he who
+hath to remove mountains removeth also valleys and plains."--
+
+And I answered:  "As yet hath my word not removed mountains, and what I
+have spoken hath not reached man.  I went, indeed, unto men, but not yet
+have I attained unto them."
+
+Then was there again spoken unto me without voice:  "What knowest thou
+THEREOF!  The dew falleth on the grass when the night is most silent."--
+
+And I answered:  "They mocked me when I found and walked in mine own path;
+and certainly did my feet then tremble.
+
+And thus did they speak unto me:  Thou forgottest the path before, now dost
+thou also forget how to walk!"
+
+Then was there again spoken unto me without voice:  "What matter about
+their mockery!  Thou art one who hast unlearned to obey:  now shalt thou
+command!
+
+Knowest thou not who is most needed by all?  He who commandeth great
+things.
+
+To execute great things is difficult:  but the more difficult task is to
+command great things.
+
+This is thy most unpardonable obstinacy:  thou hast the power, and thou
+wilt not rule."--
+
+And I answered:  "I lack the lion's voice for all commanding."
+
+Then was there again spoken unto me as a whispering:  "It is the stillest
+words which bring the storm.  Thoughts that come with doves' footsteps
+guide the world.
+
+O Zarathustra, thou shalt go as a shadow of that which is to come:  thus
+wilt thou command, and in commanding go foremost."--
+
+And I answered:  "I am ashamed."
+
+Then was there again spoken unto me without voice:  "Thou must yet become a
+child, and be without shame.
+
+The pride of youth is still upon thee; late hast thou become young:  but he
+who would become a child must surmount even his youth."--
+
+And I considered a long while, and trembled.  At last, however, did I say
+what I had said at first.  "I will not."
+
+Then did a laughing take place all around me.  Alas, how that laughing
+lacerated my bowels and cut into my heart!
+
+And there was spoken unto me for the last time:  "O Zarathustra, thy fruits
+are ripe, but thou art not ripe for thy fruits!
+
+So must thou go again into solitude:  for thou shalt yet become mellow."--
+
+And again was there a laughing, and it fled:  then did it become still
+around me, as with a double stillness.  I lay, however, on the ground, and
+the sweat flowed from my limbs.
+
+--Now have ye heard all, and why I have to return into my solitude.
+Nothing have I kept hidden from you, my friends.
+
+But even this have ye heard from me, WHO is still the most reserved of men
+--and will be so!
+
+Ah, my friends!  I should have something more to say unto you!  I should
+have something more to give unto you!  Why do I not give it?  Am I then a
+niggard?--
+
+When, however, Zarathustra had spoken these words, the violence of his
+pain, and a sense of the nearness of his departure from his friends came
+over him, so that he wept aloud; and no one knew how to console him.  In
+the night, however, he went away alone and left his friends.
+
+
+
+THIRD PART.
+
+"Ye look aloft when ye long for exaltation, and I look downward because I
+am exalted.
+
+"Who among you can at the same time laugh and be exalted?
+
+"He who climbeth on the highest mountains, laugheth at all tragic plays and
+tragic realities."--ZARATHUSTRA, I., "Reading and Writing."
+
+
+XLV.  THE WANDERER.
+
+Then, when it was about midnight, Zarathustra went his way over the ridge
+of the isle, that he might arrive early in the morning at the other coast;
+because there he meant to embark.  For there was a good roadstead there, in
+which foreign ships also liked to anchor:  those ships took many people
+with them, who wished to cross over from the Happy Isles.  So when
+Zarathustra thus ascended the mountain, he thought on the way of his many
+solitary wanderings from youth onwards, and how many mountains and ridges
+and summits he had already climbed.
+
+I am a wanderer and mountain-climber, said he to his heart, I love not the
+plains, and it seemeth I cannot long sit still.
+
+And whatever may still overtake me as fate and experience--a wandering will
+be therein, and a mountain-climbing:  in the end one experienceth only
+oneself.
+
+The time is now past when accidents could befall me; and what COULD now
+fall to my lot which would not already be mine own!
+
+It returneth only, it cometh home to me at last--mine own Self, and such of
+it as hath been long abroad, and scattered among things and accidents.
+
+And one thing more do I know:  I stand now before my last summit, and
+before that which hath been longest reserved for me.  Ah, my hardest path
+must I ascend!  Ah, I have begun my lonesomest wandering!
+
+He, however, who is of my nature doth not avoid such an hour:  the hour
+that saith unto him:  Now only dost thou go the way to thy greatness!
+Summit and abyss--these are now comprised together!
+
+Thou goest the way to thy greatness:  now hath it become thy last refuge,
+what was hitherto thy last danger!
+
+Thou goest the way to thy greatness:  it must now be thy best courage that
+there is no longer any path behind thee!
+
+Thou goest the way to thy greatness:  here shall no one steal after thee!
+Thy foot itself hath effaced the path behind thee, and over it standeth
+written:  Impossibility.
+
+And if all ladders henceforth fail thee, then must thou learn to mount upon
+thine own head:  how couldst thou mount upward otherwise?
+
+Upon thine own head, and beyond thine own heart!  Now must the gentlest in
+thee become the hardest.
+
+He who hath always much-indulged himself, sickeneth at last by his
+much-indulgence. Praises on what maketh hardy! I do not praise the land
+where butter and honey--flow!
+
+To learn TO LOOK AWAY FROM oneself, is necessary in order to see MANY
+THINGS:--this hardiness is needed by every mountain-climber.
+
+He, however, who is obtrusive with his eyes as a discerner, how can he ever
+see more of anything than its foreground!
+
+But thou, O Zarathustra, wouldst view the ground of everything, and its
+background:  thus must thou mount even above thyself--up, upwards, until
+thou hast even thy stars UNDER thee!
+
+Yea!  To look down upon myself, and even upon my stars:  that only would I
+call my SUMMIT, that hath remained for me as my LAST summit!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra to himself while ascending, comforting his heart
+with harsh maxims:  for he was sore at heart as he had never been before.
+And when he had reached the top of the mountain-ridge, behold, there lay
+the other sea spread out before him:  and he stood still and was long
+silent.  The night, however, was cold at this height, and clear and starry.
+
+I recognise my destiny, said he at last, sadly.  Well!  I am ready.  Now
+hath my last lonesomeness begun.
+
+Ah, this sombre, sad sea, below me!  Ah, this sombre nocturnal vexation!
+Ah, fate and sea!  To you must I now GO DOWN!
+
+Before my highest mountain do I stand, and before my longest wandering:
+therefore must I first go deeper down than I ever ascended:
+
+--Deeper down into pain than I ever ascended, even into its darkest flood!
+So willeth my fate.  Well!  I am ready.
+
+Whence come the highest mountains?  so did I once ask.  Then did I learn
+that they come out of the sea.
+
+That testimony is inscribed on their stones, and on the walls of their
+summits.  Out of the deepest must the highest come to its height.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra on the ridge of the mountain where it was cold:
+when, however, he came into the vicinity of the sea, and at last stood
+alone amongst the cliffs, then had he become weary on his way, and eagerer
+than ever before.
+
+Everything as yet sleepeth, said he; even the sea sleepeth.  Drowsily and
+strangely doth its eye gaze upon me.
+
+But it breatheth warmly--I feel it.  And I feel also that it dreameth.  It
+tosseth about dreamily on hard pillows.
+
+Hark!  Hark!  How it groaneth with evil recollections!  Or evil
+expectations?
+
+Ah, I am sad along with thee, thou dusky monster, and angry with myself
+even for thy sake.
+
+Ah, that my hand hath not strength enough!  Gladly, indeed, would I free
+thee from evil dreams!--
+
+And while Zarathustra thus spake, he laughed at himself with melancholy and
+bitterness.  What! Zarathustra, said he, wilt thou even sing consolation to
+the sea?
+
+Ah, thou amiable fool, Zarathustra, thou too-blindly confiding one!  But
+thus hast thou ever been:  ever hast thou approached confidently all that
+is terrible.
+
+Every monster wouldst thou caress.  A whiff of warm breath, a little soft
+tuft on its paw--:  and immediately wert thou ready to love and lure it.
+
+LOVE is the danger of the lonesomest one, love to anything, IF IT ONLY
+LIVE!  Laughable, verily, is my folly and my modesty in love!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, and laughed thereby a second time.  Then, however,
+he thought of his abandoned friends--and as if he had done them a wrong
+with his thoughts, he upbraided himself because of his thoughts.  And
+forthwith it came to pass that the laugher wept--with anger and longing
+wept Zarathustra bitterly.
+
+
+XLVI.  THE VISION AND THE ENIGMA.
+
+1.
+
+When it got abroad among the sailors that Zarathustra was on board the
+ship--for a man who came from the Happy Isles had gone on board along with
+him,--there was great curiosity and expectation.  But Zarathustra kept
+silent for two days, and was cold and deaf with sadness; so that he neither
+answered looks nor questions.  On the evening of the second day, however,
+he again opened his ears, though he still kept silent:  for there were many
+curious and dangerous things to be heard on board the ship, which came from
+afar, and was to go still further.  Zarathustra, however, was fond of all
+those who make distant voyages, and dislike to live without danger.  And
+behold! when listening, his own tongue was at last loosened, and the ice of
+his heart broke.  Then did he begin to speak thus:
+
+To you, the daring venturers and adventurers, and whoever hath embarked
+with cunning sails upon frightful seas,--
+
+To you the enigma-intoxicated, the twilight-enjoyers, whose souls are
+allured by flutes to every treacherous gulf:
+
+--For ye dislike to grope at a thread with cowardly hand; and where ye can
+DIVINE, there do ye hate to CALCULATE--
+
+To you only do I tell the enigma that I SAW--the vision of the lonesomest
+one.--
+
+Gloomily walked I lately in corpse-coloured twilight--gloomily and sternly,
+with compressed lips.  Not only one sun had set for me.
+
+A path which ascended daringly among boulders, an evil, lonesome path,
+which neither herb nor shrub any longer cheered, a mountain-path, crunched
+under the daring of my foot.
+
+Mutely marching over the scornful clinking of pebbles, trampling the stone
+that let it slip:  thus did my foot force its way upwards.
+
+Upwards:--in spite of the spirit that drew it downwards, towards the abyss,
+the spirit of gravity, my devil and arch-enemy.
+
+Upwards:--although it sat upon me, half-dwarf, half-mole; paralysed,
+paralysing; dripping lead in mine ear, and thoughts like drops of lead into
+my brain.
+
+"O Zarathustra," it whispered scornfully, syllable by syllable, "thou stone
+of wisdom!  Thou threwest thyself high, but every thrown stone must--fall!
+
+O Zarathustra, thou stone of wisdom, thou sling-stone, thou star-destroyer!
+Thyself threwest thou so high,--but every thrown stone--must fall!
+
+Condemned of thyself, and to thine own stoning:  O Zarathustra, far indeed
+threwest thou thy stone--but upon THYSELF will it recoil!"
+
+Then was the dwarf silent; and it lasted long.  The silence, however,
+oppressed me; and to be thus in pairs, one is verily lonesomer than when
+alone!
+
+I ascended, I ascended, I dreamt, I thought,--but everything oppressed me.
+A sick one did I resemble, whom bad torture wearieth, and a worse dream
+reawakeneth out of his first sleep.--
+
+But there is something in me which I call courage:  it hath hitherto slain
+for me every dejection.  This courage at last bade me stand still and say:
+"Dwarf!  Thou!  Or I!"--
+
+For courage is the best slayer,--courage which ATTACKETH:  for in every
+attack there is sound of triumph.
+
+Man, however, is the most courageous animal:  thereby hath he overcome
+every animal.  With sound of triumph hath he overcome every pain; human
+pain, however, is the sorest pain.
+
+Courage slayeth also giddiness at abysses:  and where doth man not stand at
+abysses!  Is not seeing itself--seeing abysses?
+
+Courage is the best slayer:  courage slayeth also fellow-suffering.
+Fellow-suffering, however, is the deepest abyss:  as deeply as man looketh
+into life, so deeply also doth he look into suffering.
+
+Courage, however, is the best slayer, courage which attacketh:  it slayeth
+even death itself; for it saith:  "WAS THAT life?  Well!  Once more!"
+
+In such speech, however, there is much sound of triumph.  He who hath ears
+to hear, let him hear.--
+
+2.
+
+"Halt, dwarf!" said I.  "Either I--or thou!  I, however, am the stronger of
+the two:--thou knowest not mine abysmal thought!  IT--couldst thou not
+endure!"
+
+Then happened that which made me lighter:  for the dwarf sprang from my
+shoulder, the prying sprite!  And it squatted on a stone in front of me.
+There was however a gateway just where we halted.
+
+"Look at this gateway!  Dwarf!" I continued, "it hath two faces.  Two roads
+come together here:  these hath no one yet gone to the end of.
+
+This long lane backwards:  it continueth for an eternity.  And that long
+lane forward--that is another eternity.
+
+They are antithetical to one another, these roads; they directly abut on
+one another:--and it is here, at this gateway, that they come together.
+The name of the gateway is inscribed above:  'This Moment.'
+
+But should one follow them further--and ever further and further on,
+thinkest thou, dwarf, that these roads would be eternally antithetical?"--
+
+"Everything straight lieth," murmured the dwarf, contemptuously.  "All
+truth is crooked; time itself is a circle."
+
+"Thou spirit of gravity!" said I wrathfully, "do not take it too lightly!
+Or I shall let thee squat where thou squattest, Haltfoot,--and I carried
+thee HIGH!"
+
+"Observe," continued I, "This Moment!  From the gateway, This Moment, there
+runneth a long eternal lane BACKWARDS:  behind us lieth an eternity.
+
+Must not whatever CAN run its course of all things, have already run along
+that lane?  Must not whatever CAN happen of all things have already
+happened, resulted, and gone by?
+
+And if everything have already existed, what thinkest thou, dwarf, of This
+Moment?  Must not this gateway also--have already existed?
+
+And are not all things closely bound together in such wise that This Moment
+draweth all coming things after it?  CONSEQUENTLY--itself also?
+
+For whatever CAN run its course of all things, also in this long lane
+OUTWARD--MUST it once more run!--
+
+And this slow spider which creepeth in the moonlight, and this moonlight
+itself, and thou and I in this gateway whispering together, whispering of
+eternal things--must we not all have already existed?
+
+--And must we not return and run in that other lane out before us, that
+long weird lane--must we not eternally return?"--
+
+Thus did I speak, and always more softly:  for I was afraid of mine own
+thoughts, and arrear-thoughts.  Then, suddenly did I hear a dog HOWL near
+me.
+
+Had I ever heard a dog howl thus?  My thoughts ran back.  Yes!  When I was
+a child, in my most distant childhood:
+
+--Then did I hear a dog howl thus.  And saw it also, with hair bristling,
+its head upwards, trembling in the stillest midnight, when even dogs
+believe in ghosts:
+
+--So that it excited my commiseration.  For just then went the full moon,
+silent as death, over the house; just then did it stand still, a glowing
+globe--at rest on the flat roof, as if on some one's property:--
+
+Thereby had the dog been terrified:  for dogs believe in thieves and
+ghosts.  And when I again heard such howling, then did it excite my
+commiseration once more.
+
+Where was now the dwarf?  And the gateway?  And the spider?  And all the
+whispering?  Had I dreamt?  Had I awakened?  'Twixt rugged rocks did I
+suddenly stand alone, dreary in the dreariest moonlight.
+
+BUT THERE LAY A MAN!  And there!  The dog leaping, bristling, whining--now
+did it see me coming--then did it howl again, then did it CRY:--had I ever
+heard a dog cry so for help?
+
+And verily, what I saw, the like had I never seen.  A young shepherd did I
+see, writhing, choking, quivering, with distorted countenance, and with a
+heavy black serpent hanging out of his mouth.
+
+Had I ever seen so much loathing and pale horror on one countenance?  He
+had perhaps gone to sleep?  Then had the serpent crawled into his throat--
+there had it bitten itself fast.
+
+My hand pulled at the serpent, and pulled:--in vain!  I failed to pull the
+serpent out of his throat.  Then there cried out of me:  "Bite!  Bite!
+
+Its head off!  Bite!"--so cried it out of me; my horror, my hatred, my
+loathing, my pity, all my good and my bad cried with one voice out of me.--
+
+Ye daring ones around me!  Ye venturers and adventurers, and whoever of you
+have embarked with cunning sails on unexplored seas!  Ye enigma-enjoyers!
+
+Solve unto me the enigma that I then beheld, interpret unto me the vision
+of the lonesomest one!
+
+For it was a vision and a foresight:--WHAT did I then behold in parable?
+And WHO is it that must come some day?
+
+WHO is the shepherd into whose throat the serpent thus crawled?  WHO is the
+man into whose throat all the heaviest and blackest will thus crawl?
+
+--The shepherd however bit as my cry had admonished him; he bit with a
+strong bite!  Far away did he spit the head of the serpent--:  and sprang
+up.--
+
+No longer shepherd, no longer man--a transfigured being, a light-surrounded
+being, that LAUGHED!  Never on earth laughed a man as HE laughed!
+
+O my brethren, I heard a laughter which was no human laughter,--and now
+gnaweth a thirst at me, a longing that is never allayed.
+
+My longing for that laughter gnaweth at me:  oh, how can I still endure to
+live!  And how could I endure to die at present!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XLVII.  INVOLUNTARY BLISS.
+
+With such enigmas and bitterness in his heart did Zarathustra sail o'er the
+sea.  When, however, he was four day-journeys from the Happy Isles and from
+his friends, then had he surmounted all his pain--:  triumphantly and with
+firm foot did he again accept his fate.  And then talked Zarathustra in
+this wise to his exulting conscience:
+
+Alone am I again, and like to be so, alone with the pure heaven, and the
+open sea; and again is the afternoon around me.
+
+On an afternoon did I find my friends for the first time; on an afternoon,
+also, did I find them a second time:--at the hour when all light becometh
+stiller.
+
+For whatever happiness is still on its way 'twixt heaven and earth, now
+seeketh for lodging a luminous soul:  WITH HAPPINESS hath all light now
+become stiller.
+
+O afternoon of my life!  Once did my happiness also descend to the valley
+that it might seek a lodging:  then did it find those open hospitable
+souls.
+
+O afternoon of my life!  What did I not surrender that I might have one
+thing:  this living plantation of my thoughts, and this dawn of my highest
+hope!
+
+Companions did the creating one once seek, and children of HIS hope:  and
+lo, it turned out that he could not find them, except he himself should
+first create them.
+
+Thus am I in the midst of my work, to my children going, and from them
+returning:  for the sake of his children must Zarathustra perfect himself.
+
+For in one's heart one loveth only one's child and one's work; and where
+there is great love to oneself, then is it the sign of pregnancy:  so have
+I found it.
+
+Still are my children verdant in their first spring, standing nigh one
+another, and shaken in common by the winds, the trees of my garden and of
+my best soil.
+
+And verily, where such trees stand beside one another, there ARE Happy
+Isles!
+
+But one day will I take them up, and put each by itself alone:  that it may
+learn lonesomeness and defiance and prudence.
+
+Gnarled and crooked and with flexible hardness shall it then stand by the
+sea, a living lighthouse of unconquerable life.
+
+Yonder where the storms rush down into the sea, and the snout of the
+mountain drinketh water, shall each on a time have his day and night
+watches, for HIS testing and recognition.
+
+Recognised and tested shall each be, to see if he be of my type and
+lineage:--if he be master of a long will, silent even when he speaketh, and
+giving in such wise that he TAKETH in giving:--
+
+--So that he may one day become my companion, a fellow-creator and
+fellow-enjoyer with Zarathustra:--such a one as writeth my will on my
+tables, for the fuller perfection of all things.
+
+And for his sake and for those like him, must I perfect MYSELF:  therefore
+do I now avoid my happiness, and present myself to every misfortune--for MY
+final testing and recognition.
+
+And verily, it were time that I went away; and the wanderer's shadow and
+the longest tedium and the stillest hour--have all said unto me:  "It is
+the highest time!"
+
+The word blew to me through the keyhole and said "Come!"  The door sprang
+subtlely open unto me, and said "Go!"
+
+But I lay enchained to my love for my children:  desire spread this snare
+for me--the desire for love--that I should become the prey of my children,
+and lose myself in them.
+
+Desiring--that is now for me to have lost myself.  I POSSESS YOU, MY
+CHILDREN!  In this possessing shall everything be assurance and nothing
+desire.
+
+But brooding lay the sun of my love upon me, in his own juice stewed
+Zarathustra,--then did shadows and doubts fly past me.
+
+For frost and winter I now longed:  "Oh, that frost and winter would again
+make me crack and crunch!" sighed I:--then arose icy mist out of me.
+
+My past burst its tomb, many pains buried alive woke up--:  fully slept had
+they merely, concealed in corpse-clothes.
+
+So called everything unto me in signs:  "It is time!"  But I--heard not,
+until at last mine abyss moved, and my thought bit me.
+
+Ah, abysmal thought, which art MY thought!  When shall I find strength to
+hear thee burrowing, and no longer tremble?
+
+To my very throat throbbeth my heart when I hear thee burrowing!  Thy
+muteness even is like to strangle me, thou abysmal mute one!
+
+As yet have I never ventured to call thee UP; it hath been enough that I--
+have carried thee about with me!  As yet have I not been strong enough for
+my final lion-wantonness and playfulness.
+
+Sufficiently formidable unto me hath thy weight ever been:  but one day
+shall I yet find the strength and the lion's voice which will call thee up!
+
+When I shall have surmounted myself therein, then will I surmount myself
+also in that which is greater; and a VICTORY shall be the seal of my
+perfection!--
+
+Meanwhile do I sail along on uncertain seas; chance flattereth me,
+smooth-tongued chance; forward and backward do I gaze--, still see I no
+end.
+
+As yet hath the hour of my final struggle not come to me--or doth it come
+to me perhaps just now?  Verily, with insidious beauty do sea and life gaze
+upon me round about:
+
+O afternoon of my life!  O happiness before eventide!  O haven upon high
+seas!  O peace in uncertainty!  How I distrust all of you!
+
+Verily, distrustful am I of your insidious beauty!  Like the lover am I,
+who distrusteth too sleek smiling.
+
+As he pusheth the best-beloved before him--tender even in severity, the
+jealous one--, so do I push this blissful hour before me.
+
+Away with thee, thou blissful hour!  With thee hath there come to me an
+involuntary bliss!  Ready for my severest pain do I here stand:--at the
+wrong time hast thou come!
+
+Away with thee, thou blissful hour!  Rather harbour there--with my
+children!  Hasten! and bless them before eventide with MY happiness!
+
+There, already approacheth eventide:  the sun sinketh.  Away--my
+happiness!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.  And he waited for his misfortune the whole night;
+but he waited in vain.  The night remained clear and calm, and happiness
+itself came nigher and nigher unto him.  Towards morning, however,
+Zarathustra laughed to his heart, and said mockingly:  "Happiness runneth
+after me.  That is because I do not run after women.  Happiness, however,
+is a woman."
+
+
+XLVIII.  BEFORE SUNRISE.
+
+O heaven above me, thou pure, thou deep heaven!  Thou abyss of light!
+Gazing on thee, I tremble with divine desires.
+
+Up to thy height to toss myself--that is MY depth!  In thy purity to hide
+myself--that is MINE innocence!
+
+The God veileth his beauty:  thus hidest thou thy stars.  Thou speakest
+not:  THUS proclaimest thou thy wisdom unto me.
+
+Mute o'er the raging sea hast thou risen for me to-day; thy love and thy
+modesty make a revelation unto my raging soul.
+
+In that thou camest unto me beautiful, veiled in thy beauty, in that thou
+spakest unto me mutely, obvious in thy wisdom:
+
+Oh, how could I fail to divine all the modesty of thy soul!  BEFORE the sun
+didst thou come unto me--the lonesomest one.
+
+We have been friends from the beginning:  to us are grief, gruesomeness,
+and ground common; even the sun is common to us.
+
+We do not speak to each other, because we know too much--:  we keep silent
+to each other, we smile our knowledge to each other.
+
+Art thou not the light of my fire?  Hast thou not the sister-soul of mine
+insight?
+
+Together did we learn everything; together did we learn to ascend beyond
+ourselves to ourselves, and to smile uncloudedly:--
+
+--Uncloudedly to smile down out of luminous eyes and out of miles of
+distance, when under us constraint and purpose and guilt steam like rain.
+
+And wandered I alone, for WHAT did my soul hunger by night and in
+labyrinthine paths?  And climbed I mountains, WHOM did I ever seek, if not
+thee, upon mountains?
+
+And all my wandering and mountain-climbing:  a necessity was it merely, and
+a makeshift of the unhandy one:--to FLY only, wanteth mine entire will, to
+fly into THEE!
+
+And what have I hated more than passing clouds, and whatever tainteth thee?
+And mine own hatred have I even hated, because it tainted thee!
+
+The passing clouds I detest--those stealthy cats of prey:  they take from
+thee and me what is common to us--the vast unbounded Yea- and Amen-saying.
+
+These mediators and mixers we detest--the passing clouds: those
+half-and-half ones, that have neither learned to bless nor to curse from
+the heart.
+
+Rather will I sit in a tub under a closed heaven, rather will I sit in the
+abyss without heaven, than see thee, thou luminous heaven, tainted with
+passing clouds!
+
+And oft have I longed to pin them fast with the jagged gold-wires of
+lightning, that I might, like the thunder, beat the drum upon their
+kettle-bellies:--
+
+--An angry drummer, because they rob me of thy Yea and Amen!--thou heaven
+above me, thou pure, thou luminous heaven!  Thou abyss of light!--because
+they rob thee of MY Yea and Amen.
+
+For rather will I have noise and thunders and tempest-blasts, than this
+discreet, doubting cat-repose; and also amongst men do I hate most of all
+the soft-treaders, and half-and-half ones, and the doubting, hesitating,
+passing clouds.
+
+And "he who cannot bless shall LEARN to curse!"--this clear teaching dropt
+unto me from the clear heaven; this star standeth in my heaven even in dark
+nights.
+
+I, however, am a blesser and a Yea-sayer, if thou be but around me, thou
+pure, thou luminous heaven!  Thou abyss of light!--into all abysses do I
+then carry my beneficent Yea-saying.
+
+A blesser have I become and a Yea-sayer:  and therefore strove I long and
+was a striver, that I might one day get my hands free for blessing.
+
+This, however, is my blessing:  to stand above everything as its own
+heaven, its round roof, its azure bell and eternal security:  and blessed
+is he who thus blesseth!
+
+For all things are baptized at the font of eternity, and beyond good and
+evil; good and evil themselves, however, are but fugitive shadows and damp
+afflictions and passing clouds.
+
+Verily, it is a blessing and not a blasphemy when I teach that "above all
+things there standeth the heaven of chance, the heaven of innocence, the
+heaven of hazard, the heaven of wantonness."
+
+"Of Hazard"--that is the oldest nobility in the world; that gave I back to
+all things; I emancipated them from bondage under purpose.
+
+This freedom and celestial serenity did I put like an azure bell above all
+things, when I taught that over them and through them, no "eternal Will"--
+willeth.
+
+This wantonness and folly did I put in place of that Will, when I taught
+that "In everything there is one thing impossible--rationality!"
+
+A LITTLE reason, to be sure, a germ of wisdom scattered from star to star--
+this leaven is mixed in all things:  for the sake of folly, wisdom is mixed
+in all things!
+
+A little wisdom is indeed possible; but this blessed security have I found
+in all things, that they prefer--to DANCE on the feet of chance.
+
+O heaven above me! thou pure, thou lofty heaven!  This is now thy purity
+unto me, that there is no eternal reason-spider and reason-cobweb:--
+
+--That thou art to me a dancing-floor for divine chances, that thou art to
+me a table of the Gods, for divine dice and dice-players!--
+
+But thou blushest?  Have I spoken unspeakable things?  Have I abused, when
+I meant to bless thee?
+
+Or is it the shame of being two of us that maketh thee blush!--Dost thou
+bid me go and be silent, because now--DAY cometh?
+
+The world is deep:--and deeper than e'er the day could read.  Not
+everything may be uttered in presence of day.  But day cometh:  so let us
+part!
+
+O heaven above me, thou modest one! thou glowing one!  O thou, my happiness
+before sunrise!  The day cometh:  so let us part!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+XLIX.  THE BEDWARFING VIRTUE.
+
+1.
+
+When Zarathustra was again on the continent, he did not go straightway to
+his mountains and his cave, but made many wanderings and questionings, and
+ascertained this and that; so that he said of himself jestingly:  "Lo, a
+river that floweth back unto its source in many windings!"  For he wanted
+to learn what had taken place AMONG MEN during the interval:  whether they
+had become greater or smaller.  And once, when he saw a row of new houses,
+he marvelled, and said:
+
+"What do these houses mean?  Verily, no great soul put them up as its
+simile!
+
+Did perhaps a silly child take them out of its toy-box?  Would that another
+child put them again into the box!
+
+And these rooms and chambers--can MEN go out and in there?  They seem to be
+made for silk dolls; or for dainty-eaters, who perhaps let others eat with
+them."
+
+And Zarathustra stood still and meditated.  At last he said sorrowfully:
+"There hath EVERYTHING become smaller!
+
+Everywhere do I see lower doorways:  he who is of MY type can still go
+therethrough, but--he must stoop!
+
+Oh, when shall I arrive again at my home, where I shall no longer have to
+stoop--shall no longer have to stoop BEFORE THE SMALL ONES!"--And
+Zarathustra sighed, and gazed into the distance.--
+
+The same day, however, he gave his discourse on the bedwarfing virtue.
+
+2.
+
+I pass through this people and keep mine eyes open:  they do not forgive me
+for not envying their virtues.
+
+They bite at me, because I say unto them that for small people, small
+virtues are necessary--and because it is hard for me to understand that
+small people are NECESSARY!
+
+Here am I still like a cock in a strange farm-yard, at which even the hens
+peck:  but on that account I am not unfriendly to the hens.
+
+I am courteous towards them, as towards all small annoyances; to be prickly
+towards what is small, seemeth to me wisdom for hedgehogs.
+
+They all speak of me when they sit around their fire in the evening--they
+speak of me, but no one thinketh--of me!
+
+This is the new stillness which I have experienced:  their noise around me
+spreadeth a mantle over my thoughts.
+
+They shout to one another:  "What is this gloomy cloud about to do to us?
+Let us see that it doth not bring a plague upon us!"
+
+And recently did a woman seize upon her child that was coming unto me:
+"Take the children away," cried she, "such eyes scorch children's souls."
+
+They cough when I speak:  they think coughing an objection to strong winds
+--they divine nothing of the boisterousness of my happiness!
+
+"We have not yet time for Zarathustra"--so they object; but what matter
+about a time that "hath no time" for Zarathustra?
+
+And if they should altogether praise me, how could I go to sleep on THEIR
+praise?  A girdle of spines is their praise unto me:  it scratcheth me even
+when I take it off.
+
+And this also did I learn among them:  the praiser doeth as if he gave
+back; in truth, however, he wanteth more to be given him!
+
+Ask my foot if their lauding and luring strains please it!  Verily, to such
+measure and ticktack, it liketh neither to dance nor to stand still.
+
+To small virtues would they fain lure and laud me; to the ticktack of small
+happiness would they fain persuade my foot.
+
+I pass through this people and keep mine eyes open; they have become
+SMALLER, and ever become smaller:--THE REASON THEREOF IS THEIR DOCTRINE OF
+HAPPINESS AND VIRTUE.
+
+For they are moderate also in virtue,--because they want comfort.  With
+comfort, however, moderate virtue only is compatible.
+
+To be sure, they also learn in their way to stride on and stride forward:
+that, I call their HOBBLING.--Thereby they become a hindrance to all who
+are in haste.
+
+And many of them go forward, and look backwards thereby, with stiffened
+necks:  those do I like to run up against.
+
+Foot and eye shall not lie, nor give the lie to each other.  But there is
+much lying among small people.
+
+Some of them WILL, but most of them are WILLED.  Some of them are genuine,
+but most of them are bad actors.
+
+There are actors without knowing it amongst them, and actors without
+intending it--, the genuine ones are always rare, especially the genuine
+actors.
+
+Of man there is little here:  therefore do their women masculinise
+themselves.  For only he who is man enough, will--SAVE THE WOMAN in woman.
+
+And this hypocrisy found I worst amongst them, that even those who command
+feign the virtues of those who serve.
+
+"I serve, thou servest, we serve"--so chanteth here even the hypocrisy of
+the rulers--and alas! if the first lord be ONLY the first servant!
+
+Ah, even upon their hypocrisy did mine eyes' curiosity alight; and well did
+I divine all their fly-happiness, and their buzzing around sunny
+window-panes.
+
+So much kindness, so much weakness do I see.  So much justice and pity, so
+much weakness.
+
+Round, fair, and considerate are they to one another, as grains of sand are
+round, fair, and considerate to grains of sand.
+
+Modestly to embrace a small happiness--that do they call "submission"! and
+at the same time they peer modestly after a new small happiness.
+
+In their hearts they want simply one thing most of all:  that no one hurt
+them.  Thus do they anticipate every one's wishes and do well unto every
+one.
+
+That, however, is COWARDICE, though it be called "virtue."--
+
+And when they chance to speak harshly, those small people, then do _I_ hear
+therein only their hoarseness--every draught of air maketh them hoarse.
+
+Shrewd indeed are they, their virtues have shrewd fingers.  But they lack
+fists:  their fingers do not know how to creep behind fists.
+
+Virtue for them is what maketh modest and tame:  therewith have they made
+the wolf a dog, and man himself man's best domestic animal.
+
+"We set our chair in the MIDST"--so saith their smirking unto me--"and as
+far from dying gladiators as from satisfied swine."
+
+That, however, is--MEDIOCRITY, though it be called moderation.--
+
+3.
+
+I pass through this people and let fall many words:  but they know neither
+how to take nor how to retain them.
+
+They wonder why I came not to revile venery and vice; and verily, I came
+not to warn against pickpockets either!
+
+They wonder why I am not ready to abet and whet their wisdom: as if they
+had not yet enough of wiseacres, whose voices grate on mine ear like
+slate-pencils!
+
+And when I call out:  "Curse all the cowardly devils in you, that would
+fain whimper and fold the hands and adore"--then do they shout:
+"Zarathustra is godless."
+
+And especially do their teachers of submission shout this;--but precisely
+in their ears do I love to cry:  "Yea!  I AM Zarathustra, the godless!"
+
+Those teachers of submission!  Wherever there is aught puny, or sickly, or
+scabby, there do they creep like lice; and only my disgust preventeth me
+from cracking them.
+
+Well!  This is my sermon for THEIR ears:  I am Zarathustra the godless, who
+saith:  "Who is more godless than I, that I may enjoy his teaching?"
+
+I am Zarathustra the godless:  where do I find mine equal?  And all those
+are mine equals who give unto themselves their Will, and divest themselves
+of all submission.
+
+I am Zarathustra the godless!  I cook every chance in MY pot.  And only
+when it hath been quite cooked do I welcome it as MY food.
+
+And verily, many a chance came imperiously unto me:  but still more
+imperiously did my WILL speak unto it,--then did it lie imploringly upon
+its knees--
+
+--Imploring that it might find home and heart with me, and saying
+flatteringly:  "See, O Zarathustra, how friend only cometh unto friend!"--
+
+But why talk I, when no one hath MINE ears!  And so will I shout it out
+unto all the winds:
+
+Ye ever become smaller, ye small people!  Ye crumble away, ye comfortable
+ones!  Ye will yet perish--
+
+--By your many small virtues, by your many small omissions, and by your
+many small submissions!
+
+Too tender, too yielding:  so is your soil!  But for a tree to become
+GREAT, it seeketh to twine hard roots around hard rocks!
+
+Also what ye omit weaveth at the web of all the human future; even your
+naught is a cobweb, and a spider that liveth on the blood of the future.
+
+And when ye take, then is it like stealing, ye small virtuous ones; but
+even among knaves HONOUR saith that "one shall only steal when one cannot
+rob."
+
+"It giveth itself"--that is also a doctrine of submission.  But I say unto
+you, ye comfortable ones, that IT TAKETH TO ITSELF, and will ever take more
+and more from you!
+
+Ah, that ye would renounce all HALF-willing, and would decide for idleness
+as ye decide for action!
+
+Ah, that ye understood my word:  "Do ever what ye will--but first be such
+as CAN WILL.
+
+Love ever your neighbour as yourselves--but first be such as LOVE
+THEMSELVES--
+
+--Such as love with great love, such as love with great contempt!"  Thus
+speaketh Zarathustra the godless.--
+
+But why talk I, when no one hath MINE ears!  It is still an hour too early
+for me here.
+
+Mine own forerunner am I among this people, mine own cockcrow in dark
+lanes.
+
+But THEIR hour cometh!  And there cometh also mine!  Hourly do they become
+smaller, poorer, unfruitfuller,--poor herbs! poor earth!
+
+And SOON shall they stand before me like dry grass and prairie, and verily,
+weary of themselves--and panting for FIRE, more than for water!
+
+O blessed hour of the lightning!  O mystery before noontide!--Running fires
+will I one day make of them, and heralds with flaming tongues:--
+
+--Herald shall they one day with flaming tongues:  It cometh, it is nigh,
+THE GREAT NOONTIDE!
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+L.  ON THE OLIVE-MOUNT.
+
+Winter, a bad guest, sitteth with me at home; blue are my hands with his
+friendly hand-shaking.
+
+I honour him, that bad guest, but gladly leave him alone.  Gladly do I run
+away from him; and when one runneth WELL, then one escapeth him!
+
+With warm feet and warm thoughts do I run where the wind is calm--to the
+sunny corner of mine olive-mount.
+
+There do I laugh at my stern guest, and am still fond of him; because he
+cleareth my house of flies, and quieteth many little noises.
+
+For he suffereth it not if a gnat wanteth to buzz, or even two of them;
+also the lanes maketh he lonesome, so that the moonlight is afraid there at
+night.
+
+A hard guest is he,--but I honour him, and do not worship, like the
+tenderlings, the pot-bellied fire-idol.
+
+Better even a little teeth-chattering than idol-adoration!--so willeth my
+nature.  And especially have I a grudge against all ardent, steaming,
+steamy fire-idols.
+
+Him whom I love, I love better in winter than in summer; better do I now
+mock at mine enemies, and more heartily, when winter sitteth in my house.
+
+Heartily, verily, even when I CREEP into bed--:  there, still laugheth and
+wantoneth my hidden happiness; even my deceptive dream laugheth.
+
+I, a--creeper?  Never in my life did I creep before the powerful; and if
+ever I lied, then did I lie out of love.  Therefore am I glad even in my
+winter-bed.
+
+A poor bed warmeth me more than a rich one, for I am jealous of my poverty.
+And in winter she is most faithful unto me.
+
+With a wickedness do I begin every day:  I mock at the winter with a cold
+bath:  on that account grumbleth my stern house-mate.
+
+Also do I like to tickle him with a wax-taper, that he may finally let the
+heavens emerge from ashy-grey twilight.
+
+For especially wicked am I in the morning:  at the early hour when the pail
+rattleth at the well, and horses neigh warmly in grey lanes:--
+
+Impatiently do I then wait, that the clear sky may finally dawn for me, the
+snow-bearded winter-sky, the hoary one, the white-head,--
+
+--The winter-sky, the silent winter-sky, which often stifleth even its sun!
+
+Did I perhaps learn from it the long clear silence?  Or did it learn it
+from me?  Or hath each of us devised it himself?
+
+Of all good things the origin is a thousandfold,--all good roguish things
+spring into existence for joy:  how could they always do so--for once only!
+
+A good roguish thing is also the long silence, and to look, like the
+winter-sky, out of a clear, round-eyed countenance:--
+
+--Like it to stifle one's sun, and one's inflexible solar will:  verily,
+this art and this winter-roguishness have I learnt WELL!
+
+My best-loved wickedness and art is it, that my silence hath learned not to
+betray itself by silence.
+
+Clattering with diction and dice, I outwit the solemn assistants:  all
+those stern watchers, shall my will and purpose elude.
+
+That no one might see down into my depth and into mine ultimate will--for
+that purpose did I devise the long clear silence.
+
+Many a shrewd one did I find:  he veiled his countenance and made his water
+muddy, that no one might see therethrough and thereunder.
+
+But precisely unto him came the shrewder distrusters and nut-crackers:
+precisely from him did they fish his best-concealed fish!
+
+But the clear, the honest, the transparent--these are for me the wisest
+silent ones:  in them, so PROFOUND is the depth that even the clearest
+water doth not--betray it.--
+
+Thou snow-bearded, silent, winter-sky, thou round-eyed whitehead above me!
+Oh, thou heavenly simile of my soul and its wantonness!
+
+And MUST I not conceal myself like one who hath swallowed gold--lest my
+soul should be ripped up?
+
+MUST I not wear stilts, that they may OVERLOOK my long legs--all those
+enviers and injurers around me?
+
+Those dingy, fire-warmed, used-up, green-tinted, ill-natured souls--how
+COULD their envy endure my happiness!
+
+Thus do I show them only the ice and winter of my peaks--and NOT that my
+mountain windeth all the solar girdles around it!
+
+They hear only the whistling of my winter-storms:  and know NOT that I also
+travel over warm seas, like longing, heavy, hot south-winds.
+
+They commiserate also my accidents and chances:--but MY word saith:
+"Suffer the chance to come unto me:  innocent is it as a little child!"
+
+How COULD they endure my happiness, if I did not put around it accidents,
+and winter-privations, and bear-skin caps, and enmantling snowflakes!
+
+--If I did not myself commiserate their PITY, the pity of those enviers and
+injurers!
+
+--If I did not myself sigh before them, and chatter with cold, and
+patiently LET myself be swathed in their pity!
+
+This is the wise waggish-will and good-will of my soul, that it CONCEALETH
+NOT its winters and glacial storms; it concealeth not its chilblains
+either.
+
+To one man, lonesomeness is the flight of the sick one; to another, it is
+the flight FROM the sick ones.
+
+Let them HEAR me chattering and sighing with winter-cold, all those poor
+squinting knaves around me!  With such sighing and chattering do I flee
+from their heated rooms.
+
+Let them sympathise with me and sigh with me on account of my chilblains:
+"At the ice of knowledge will he yet FREEZE TO DEATH!"--so they mourn.
+
+Meanwhile do I run with warm feet hither and thither on mine olive-mount:
+in the sunny corner of mine olive-mount do I sing, and mock at all pity.--
+
+Thus sang Zarathustra.
+
+
+LI.  ON 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:
+
+O Zarathustra, here is the great city:  here hast thou nothing to seek 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!
+
+Here is the hell for anchorites' thoughts:  here are great thoughts seethed
+alive and boiled small.
+
+Here do all great sentiments decay:  here may only rattle-boned sensations
+rattle!
+
+Smellest thou not already the shambles and cookshops of the spirit?
+Steameth not this city 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!
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+All lusts and vices are here at home; but here there are also the virtuous;
+there is much appointable appointed virtue:--
+
+Much appointable virtue with scribe-fingers, and hardy sitting-flesh and
+waiting-flesh, blessed with small breast-stars, and padded, haunchless
+daughters.
+
+There is here also much piety, and much faithful spittle-licking and
+spittle-backing, before the God of Hosts.
+
+"From on high," drippeth the star, and the gracious spittle; for the high,
+longeth every starless bosom.
+
+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.
+
+"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!
+
+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.
+
+The God of the Hosts of war is not the God of the golden bar; the prince
+proposeth, but the shopman--disposeth!
+
+By all that is luminous and strong and good in thee, O Zarathustra!  Spit
+on this city of shopmen and return 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!
+
+Spit on the city of compressed souls and slender breasts, of pointed eyes
+and sticky fingers--
+
+--On the city of the obtrusive, the brazen-faced, the pen-demagogues and
+tongue-demagogues, the overheated ambitious:--
+
+Where everything maimed, ill-famed, lustful, untrustful, over-mellow,
+sickly-yellow and seditious, festereth pernicious:--
+
+--Spit on the great city and turn back!--
+
+Here, however, did Zarathustra interrupt the foaming fool, and shut his
+mouth.--
+
+Stop this at once! called out Zarathustra, long have thy speech and thy
+species disgusted me!
+
+Why didst thou live so long by the swamp, that thou thyself hadst to become
+a frog and a toad?
+
+Floweth there not a tainted, frothy, swamp-blood in thine own veins, when
+thou hast thus learned to croak and revile?
+
+Why wentest thou not into the forest?  Or why didst thou not till the
+ground?  Is the sea not full of green islands?
+
+I despise thy contempt; and when thou warnedst me--why didst thou not warn
+thyself?
+
+Out of love alone shall my contempt and my warning bird take wing; but not
+out of 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.
+
+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,--
+
+--That thou mightest have cause for much VENGEANCE!  For vengeance, thou
+vain fool, is all thy foaming; I have divined thee well!
+
+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!
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.  Then did he look on the great city and sighed, and
+was long silent.  At last he spake thus:
+
+I loathe also this great city, and not only this fool.  Here and there--
+there is nothing to better, nothing to worsen.
+
+Woe to this great city!--And I would that I already saw the pillar of fire
+in which it will be consumed!
+
+For such pillars of fire must precede the great noontide.  But this hath
+its 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!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, and passed by the fool and the great city.
+
+
+LII.  THE APOSTATES.
+
+1.
+
+Ah, lieth everything already withered and grey which but lately stood green
+and many-hued on this meadow!  And how much honey of hope did I carry hence
+into my beehives!
+
+Those young hearts have already all become old--and not old even! only
+weary, ordinary, comfortable:--they declare it:  "We have again become
+pious."
+
+Of late did I see them run forth at early morn with valorous steps:  but
+the feet of their knowledge became weary, and now do they malign even their
+morning valour!
+
+Verily, many of them once lifted their legs like the dancer; to them winked
+the laughter of my wisdom:--then did they bethink themselves.  Just now
+have I seen them bent down--to creep to the cross.
+
+Around light and liberty did they once flutter like gnats and young poets.
+A little older, a little colder:  and already are they mystifiers, and
+mumblers and mollycoddles.
+
+Did perhaps their hearts despond, because lonesomeness had swallowed me
+like a whale?  Did their ear perhaps hearken yearningly-long for me IN
+VAIN, and for my trumpet-notes and herald-calls?
+
+--Ah!  Ever are there but few of those whose hearts have persistent courage
+and exuberance; and in such remaineth also the spirit patient.  The rest,
+however, are COWARDLY.
+
+The rest:  these are always the great majority, the common-place, the
+superfluous, the far-too many--those all are cowardly!--
+
+Him who is of my type, will also the experiences of my type meet on the
+way:  so that his first companions must be corpses and buffoons.
+
+His second companions, however--they will call themselves his BELIEVERS,--
+will be a living host, with much love, much folly, much unbearded
+veneration.
+
+To those believers shall he who is of my type among men not bind his heart;
+in those spring-times and many-hued meadows shall he not believe, who
+knoweth the fickly faint-hearted human species!
+
+COULD they do otherwise, then would they also WILL otherwise. The
+half-and-half spoil every whole. That leaves become withered,--what is
+there to lament about that!
+
+Let them go and fall away, O Zarathustra, and do not lament!  Better even
+to blow amongst them with rustling winds,--
+
+--Blow amongst those leaves, O Zarathustra, that everything WITHERED may
+run away from thee the faster!--
+
+2.
+
+"We have again become pious"--so do those apostates confess; and some of
+them are still too pusillanimous thus to confess.
+
+Unto them I look into the eye,--before them I say it unto their face and
+unto the blush on their cheeks:  Ye are those who again PRAY!
+
+It is however a shame to pray!  Not for all, but for thee, and me, and
+whoever hath his conscience in his head.  For THEE it is a shame to pray!
+
+Thou knowest it well:  the faint-hearted devil in thee, which would fain
+fold its arms, and place its hands in its bosom, and take it easier:--this
+faint-hearted devil persuadeth thee that "there IS a God!"
+
+THEREBY, however, dost thou belong to the light-dreading type, to whom
+light never permitteth repose:  now must thou daily thrust thy head deeper
+into obscurity and vapour!
+
+And verily, thou choosest the hour well:  for just now do the nocturnal
+birds again fly abroad.  The hour hath come for all light-dreading people,
+the vesper hour and leisure hour, when they do not--"take leisure."
+
+I hear it and smell it: it hath come--their hour for hunt and procession,
+not indeed for a wild hunt, but for a tame, lame, snuffling,
+soft-treaders', soft-prayers' hunt,--
+
+--For a hunt after susceptible simpletons:  all mouse-traps for the heart
+have again been set!  And whenever I lift a curtain, a night-moth rusheth
+out of it.
+
+Did it perhaps squat there along with another night-moth?  For everywhere
+do I smell small concealed communities; and wherever there are closets
+there are new devotees therein, and the atmosphere of devotees.
+
+They sit for long evenings beside one another, and say:  "Let us again
+become like little children and say, 'good God!'"--ruined in mouths and
+stomachs by the pious confectioners.
+
+Or they look for long evenings at a crafty, lurking cross-spider, that
+preacheth prudence to the spiders themselves, and teacheth that "under
+crosses it is good for cobweb-spinning!"
+
+Or they sit all day at swamps with angle-rods, and on that account think
+themselves PROFOUND; but whoever fisheth where there are no fish, I do not
+even call him superficial!
+
+Or they learn in godly-gay style to play the harp with a hymn-poet, who
+would fain harp himself into the heart of young girls:--for he hath tired
+of old girls and their praises.
+
+Or they learn to shudder with a learned semi-madcap, who waiteth in
+darkened rooms for spirits to come to him--and the spirit runneth away
+entirely!
+
+Or they listen to an old roving howl- and growl-piper, who hath learnt from
+the sad winds the sadness of sounds; now pipeth he as the wind, and
+preacheth sadness in sad strains.
+
+And some of them have even become night-watchmen:  they know now how to
+blow horns, and go about at night and awaken old things which have long
+fallen asleep.
+
+Five words about old things did I hear yester-night at the garden-wall:
+they came from such old, sorrowful, arid night-watchmen.
+
+"For a father he careth not sufficiently for his children:  human fathers
+do this better!"--
+
+"He is too old!  He now careth no more for his children,"--answered the
+other night-watchman.
+
+"HATH he then children?  No one can prove it unless he himself prove it!  I
+have long wished that he would for once prove it thoroughly."
+
+"Prove?  As if HE had ever proved anything!  Proving is difficult to him;
+he layeth great stress on one's BELIEVING him."
+
+"Ay!  Ay!  Belief saveth him; belief in him.  That is the way with old
+people!  So it is with us also!"--
+
+--Thus spake to each other the two old night-watchmen and light-scarers, and
+tooted thereupon sorrowfully on their horns: so did it happen yester-night
+at the garden-wall.
+
+To me, however, did the heart writhe with laughter, and was like to break;
+it knew not where to go, and sunk into the midriff.
+
+Verily, it will be my death yet--to choke with laughter when I see asses
+drunken, and hear night-watchmen thus doubt about God.
+
+Hath the time not LONG since passed for all such doubts?  Who may nowadays
+awaken such old slumbering, light-shunning things!
+
+With the old Deities hath it long since come to an end:--and verily, a good
+joyful Deity-end had they!
+
+They did not "begloom" themselves to death--that do people fabricate!  On
+the contrary, they--LAUGHED themselves to death once on a time!
+
+That took place when the unGodliest utterance came from a God himself--the
+utterance:  "There is but one God!  Thou shalt have no other Gods before
+me!"--
+
+--An old grim-beard of a God, a jealous one, forgot himself in such wise:--
+
+And all the Gods then laughed, and shook upon their thrones, and exclaimed:
+"Is it not just divinity that there are Gods, but no God?"
+
+He that hath an ear let him hear.--
+
+Thus talked Zarathustra in the city he loved, which is surnamed "The Pied
+Cow."  For from here he had but two days to travel to reach once more his
+cave and his animals; his soul, however, rejoiced unceasingly on account of
+the nighness of his return home.
+
+
+LIII.  THE RETURN HOME.
+
+O lonesomeness!  My HOME, lonesomeness!  Too long have I lived wildly in
+wild remoteness, to return to thee without tears!
+
+Now threaten me with the finger as mothers threaten; now smile upon me as
+mothers smile; now say just:  "Who was it that like a whirlwind once rushed
+away from me?--
+
+--Who when departing called out:  'Too long have I sat with lonesomeness;
+there have I unlearned silence!'  THAT hast thou learned now--surely?
+
+O Zarathustra, everything do I know; and that thou wert MORE FORSAKEN
+amongst the many, thou unique one, than thou ever wert with me!
+
+One thing is forsakenness, another matter is lonesomeness:  THAT hast thou
+now learned!  And that amongst men thou wilt ever be wild and strange:
+
+--Wild and strange even when they love thee:  for above all they want to be
+TREATED INDULGENTLY!
+
+Here, however, art thou at home and house with thyself; here canst thou
+utter everything, and unbosom all motives; nothing is here ashamed of
+concealed, congealed feelings.
+
+Here do all things come caressingly to thy talk and flatter thee:  for they
+want to ride upon thy back.  On every simile dost thou here ride to every
+truth.
+
+Uprightly and openly mayest thou here talk to all things:  and verily, it
+soundeth as praise in their ears, for one to talk to all things--directly!
+
+Another matter, however, is forsakenness.  For, dost thou remember, O
+Zarathustra?  When thy bird screamed overhead, when thou stoodest in the
+forest, irresolute, ignorant where to go, beside a corpse:--
+
+--When thou spakest:  'Let mine animals lead me!  More dangerous have I
+found it among men than among animals:'--THAT was forsakenness!
+
+And dost thou remember, O Zarathustra?  When thou sattest in thine isle, a
+well of wine giving and granting amongst empty buckets, bestowing and
+distributing amongst the thirsty:
+
+--Until at last thou alone sattest thirsty amongst the drunken ones, and
+wailedst nightly:  'Is taking not more blessed than giving?  And stealing
+yet more blessed than taking?'--THAT was forsakenness!
+
+And dost thou remember, O Zarathustra?  When thy stillest hour came and
+drove thee forth from thyself, when with wicked whispering it said:  'Speak
+and succumb!'--
+
+--When it disgusted thee with all thy waiting and silence, and discouraged
+thy humble courage:  THAT was forsakenness!"--
+
+O lonesomeness!  My home, lonesomeness!  How blessedly and tenderly
+speaketh thy voice unto me!
+
+We do not question each other, we do not complain to each other; we go
+together openly through open doors.
+
+For all is open with thee and clear; and even the hours run here on lighter
+feet.  For in the dark, time weigheth heavier upon one than in the light.
+
+Here fly open unto me all being's words and word-cabinets:  here all being
+wanteth to become words, here all becoming wanteth to learn of me how to
+talk.
+
+Down there, however--all talking is in vain!  There, forgetting and
+passing-by are the best wisdom:  THAT have I learned now!
+
+He who would understand everything in man must handle everything.  But for
+that I have too clean hands.
+
+I do not like even to inhale their breath; alas! that I have lived so long
+among their noise and bad breaths!
+
+O blessed stillness around me!  O pure odours around me!  How from a deep
+breast this stillness fetcheth pure breath!  How it hearkeneth, this
+blessed stillness!
+
+But down there--there speaketh everything, there is everything misheard.
+If one announce one's wisdom with bells, the shopmen in the market-place
+will out-jingle it with pennies!
+
+Everything among them talketh; no one knoweth any longer how to understand.
+Everything falleth into the water; nothing falleth any longer into deep
+wells.
+
+Everything among them talketh, nothing succeedeth any longer and
+accomplisheth itself.  Everything cackleth, but who will still sit quietly
+on the nest and hatch eggs?
+
+Everything among them talketh, everything is out-talked.  And that which
+yesterday was still too hard for time itself and its tooth, hangeth to-day,
+outchamped and outchewed, from the mouths of the men of to-day.
+
+Everything among them talketh, everything is betrayed.  And what was once
+called the secret and secrecy of profound souls, belongeth to-day to the
+street-trumpeters and other butterflies.
+
+O human hubbub, thou wonderful thing!  Thou noise in dark streets!  Now art
+thou again behind me:--my greatest danger lieth behind me!
+
+In indulging and pitying lay ever my greatest danger; and all human hubbub
+wisheth to be indulged and tolerated.
+
+With suppressed truths, with fool's hand and befooled heart, and rich in
+petty lies of pity:--thus have I ever lived among men.
+
+Disguised did I sit amongst them, ready to misjudge MYSELF that I might
+endure THEM, and willingly saying to myself:  "Thou fool, thou dost not
+know men!"
+
+One unlearneth men when one liveth amongst them:  there is too much
+foreground in all men--what can far-seeing, far-longing eyes do THERE!
+
+And, fool that I was, when they misjudged me, I indulged them on that
+account more than myself, being habitually hard on myself, and often even
+taking revenge on myself for the indulgence.
+
+Stung all over by poisonous flies, and hollowed like the stone by many
+drops of wickedness:  thus did I sit among them, and still said to myself:
+"Innocent is everything petty of its pettiness!"
+
+Especially did I find those who call themselves "the good," the most
+poisonous flies; they sting in all innocence, they lie in all innocence;
+how COULD they--be just towards me!
+
+He who liveth amongst the good--pity teacheth him to lie.  Pity maketh
+stifling air for all free souls.  For the stupidity of the good is
+unfathomable.
+
+To conceal myself and my riches--THAT did I learn down there:  for every
+one did I still find poor in spirit.  It was the lie of my pity, that I
+knew in every one,
+
+--That I saw and scented in every one, what was ENOUGH of spirit for him,
+and what was TOO MUCH!
+
+Their stiff wise men:  I call them wise, not stiff--thus did I learn to
+slur over words.
+
+The grave-diggers dig for themselves diseases.  Under old rubbish rest bad
+vapours.  One should not stir up the marsh.  One should live on mountains.
+
+With blessed nostrils do I again breathe mountain-freedom.  Freed at last
+is my nose from the smell of all human hubbub!
+
+With sharp breezes tickled, as with sparkling wine, SNEEZETH my soul--
+sneezeth, and shouteth self-congratulatingly:  "Health to thee!"
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+LIV.  THE THREE EVIL THINGS.
+
+1.
+
+In my dream, in my last morning-dream, I stood to-day on a promontory--
+beyond the world; I held a pair of scales, and WEIGHED the world.
+
+Alas, that the rosy dawn came too early to me:  she glowed me awake, the
+jealous one!  Jealous is she always of the glows of my morning-dream.
+
+Measurable by him who hath time, weighable by a good weigher, attainable by
+strong pinions, divinable by divine nut-crackers:  thus did my dream find
+the world:--
+
+My dream, a bold sailor, half-ship, half-hurricane, silent as the
+butterfly, impatient as the falcon:  how had it the patience and leisure
+to-day for world-weighing!
+
+Did my wisdom perhaps speak secretly to it, my laughing, wide-awake
+day-wisdom, which mocketh at all "infinite worlds"? For it saith: "Where
+force is, there becometh NUMBER the master: it hath more force."
+
+How confidently did my dream contemplate this finite world, not
+new-fangledly, not old-fangledly, not timidly, not entreatingly:--
+
+--As if a big round apple presented itself to my hand, a ripe golden apple,
+with a coolly-soft, velvety skin:--thus did the world present itself unto
+me:--
+
+--As if a tree nodded unto me, a broad-branched, strong-willed tree, curved
+as a recline and a foot-stool for weary travellers:  thus did the world
+stand on my promontory:--
+
+--As if delicate hands carried a casket towards me--a casket open for the
+delectation of modest adoring eyes:  thus did the world present itself
+before me to-day:--
+
+--Not riddle enough to scare human love from it, not solution enough to put
+to sleep human wisdom:--a humanly good thing was the world to me to-day, of
+which such bad things are said!
+
+How I thank my morning-dream that I thus at to-day's dawn, weighed the
+world! As a humanly good thing did it come unto me, this dream and
+heart-comforter!
+
+And that I may do the like by day, and imitate and copy its best, now will
+I put the three worst things on the scales, and weigh them humanly well.--
+
+He who taught to bless taught also to curse: what are the three best cursed
+things in the world? These will I put on the scales.
+
+VOLUPTUOUSNESS, PASSION FOR POWER, and SELFISHNESS: these three things have
+hitherto been best cursed, and have been in worst and falsest repute--these
+three things will I weigh humanly well.
+
+Well! Here is my promontory, and there is the sea--IT rolleth hither unto
+me, shaggily and fawningly, the old, faithful, hundred-headed dog-monster
+that I love!--
+
+Well! Here will I hold the scales over the weltering sea: and also a
+witness do I choose to look on--thee, the anchorite-tree, thee, the
+strong-odoured, broad-arched tree that I love!--
+
+On what bridge goeth the now to the hereafter? By what constraint doth the
+high stoop to the low? And what enjoineth even the highest still--to grow
+upwards?--
+
+Now stand the scales poised and at rest: three heavy questions have I
+thrown in; three heavy answers carrieth the other scale.
+
+2.
+
+Voluptuousness: unto all hair-shirted despisers of the body, a sting and
+stake; and, cursed as "the world," by all backworldsmen: for it mocketh and
+befooleth all erring, misinferring teachers.
+
+Voluptuousness: to the rabble, the slow fire at which it is burnt; to all
+wormy wood, to all stinking rags, the prepared heat and stew furnace.
+
+Voluptuousness: to free hearts, a thing innocent and free, the
+garden-happiness of the earth, all the future's thanks-overflow to the
+present.
+
+Voluptuousness: only to the withered a sweet poison; to the lion-willed,
+however, the great cordial, and the reverently saved wine of wines.
+
+Voluptuousness: the great symbolic happiness of a higher happiness and
+highest hope. For to many is marriage promised, and more than marriage,--
+
+--To many that are more unknown to each other than man and woman:--and who
+hath fully understood HOW UNKNOWN to each other are man and woman!
+
+Voluptuousness:--but I will have hedges around my thoughts, and even around
+my words, lest swine and libertine should break into my gardens!--
+
+Passion for power:  the glowing scourge of the hardest of the heart-hard;
+the cruel torture reserved for the cruellest themselves; the gloomy flame
+of living pyres.
+
+Passion for power:  the wicked gadfly which is mounted on the vainest
+peoples; the scorner of all uncertain virtue; which rideth on every horse
+and on every pride.
+
+Passion for power:  the earthquake which breaketh and upbreaketh all that
+is rotten and hollow; the rolling, rumbling, punitive demolisher of whited
+sepulchres; the flashing interrogative-sign beside premature answers.
+
+Passion for power:  before whose glance man creepeth and croucheth and
+drudgeth, and becometh lower than the serpent and the swine:--until at last
+great contempt crieth out of him--,
+
+Passion for power:  the terrible teacher of great contempt, which preacheth
+to their face to cities and empires:  "Away with thee!"--until a voice
+crieth out of themselves:  "Away with ME!"
+
+Passion for power:  which, however, mounteth alluringly even to the pure
+and lonesome, and up to self-satisfied elevations, glowing like a love that
+painteth purple felicities alluringly on earthly heavens.
+
+Passion for power:  but who would call it PASSION, when the height longeth
+to stoop for power!  Verily, nothing sick or diseased is there in such
+longing and descending!
+
+That the lonesome height may not for ever remain lonesome and
+self-sufficing; that the mountains may come to the valleys and the winds of
+the heights to the plains:--
+
+Oh, who could find the right prenomen and honouring name for such longing!
+"Bestowing virtue"--thus did Zarathustra once name the unnamable.
+
+And then it happened also,--and verily, it happened for the first
+time!--that his word blessed SELFISHNESS, the wholesome, healthy
+selfishness, that springeth from the powerful soul:--
+
+--From the powerful soul, to which the high body appertaineth, the
+handsome, triumphing, refreshing body, around which everything becometh a
+mirror:
+
+--The pliant, persuasive body, the dancer, whose symbol and epitome is the
+self-enjoying soul. Of such bodies and souls the self-enjoyment calleth
+itself "virtue."
+
+With its words of good and bad doth such self-enjoyment shelter itself as
+with sacred groves; with the names of its happiness doth it banish from
+itself everything contemptible.
+
+Away from itself doth it banish everything cowardly; it saith: "Bad--THAT
+IS cowardly!" Contemptible seem to it the ever-solicitous, the sighing, the
+complaining, and whoever pick up the most trifling advantage.
+
+It despiseth also all bitter-sweet wisdom: for verily, there is also wisdom
+that bloometh in the dark, a night-shade wisdom, which ever sigheth: "All
+is vain!"
+
+Shy distrust is regarded by it as base, and every one who wanteth oaths
+instead of looks and hands: also all over-distrustful wisdom,--for such is
+the mode of cowardly souls.
+
+Baser still it regardeth the obsequious, doggish one, who immediately lieth
+on his back, the submissive one; and there is also wisdom that is
+submissive, and doggish, and pious, and obsequious.
+
+Hateful to it altogether, and a loathing, is he who will never defend
+himself, he who swalloweth down poisonous spittle and bad looks, the
+all-too-patient one, the all-endurer, the all-satisfied one: for that is
+the mode of slaves.
+
+Whether they be servile before Gods and divine spurnings, or before men and
+stupid human opinions: at ALL kinds of slaves doth it spit, this blessed
+selfishness!
+
+Bad: thus doth it call all that is spirit-broken, and
+sordidly-servile--constrained, blinking eyes, depressed hearts, and the
+false submissive style, which kisseth with broad cowardly lips.
+
+And spurious wisdom: so doth it call all the wit that slaves, and
+hoary-headed and weary ones affect; and especially all the cunning,
+spurious-witted, curious-witted foolishness of priests!
+
+The spurious wise, however, all the priests, the world-weary, and those
+whose souls are of feminine and servile nature--oh, how hath their game all
+along abused selfishness!
+
+And precisely THAT was to be virtue and was to be called virtue--to abuse
+selfishness! And "selfless"--so did they wish themselves with good reason,
+all those world-weary cowards and cross-spiders!
+
+But to all those cometh now the day, the change, the sword of judgment, THE
+GREAT NOONTIDE: then shall many things be revealed!
+
+And he who proclaimeth the EGO wholesome and holy, and selfishness blessed,
+verily, he, the prognosticator, speaketh also what he knoweth: "BEHOLD, IT
+COMETH, IT IS NIGH, THE GREAT NOONTIDE!"
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+LV.  THE SPIRIT OF GRAVITY.
+
+1.
+
+My mouthpiece--is of the people:  too coarsely and cordially do I talk for
+Angora rabbits.  And still stranger soundeth my word unto all ink-fish and
+pen-foxes.
+
+My hand--is a fool's hand:  woe unto all tables and walls, and whatever
+hath room for fool's sketching, fool's scrawling!
+
+My foot--is a horse-foot; therewith do I trample and trot over stick and
+stone, in the fields up and down, and am bedevilled with delight in all
+fast racing.
+
+My stomach--is surely an eagle's stomach?  For it preferreth lamb's flesh.
+Certainly it is a bird's stomach.
+
+Nourished with innocent things, and with few, ready and impatient to fly,
+to fly away--that is now my nature:  why should there not be something of
+bird-nature therein!
+
+And especially that I am hostile to the spirit of gravity, that is
+bird-nature:--verily, deadly hostile, supremely hostile, originally
+hostile! Oh, whither hath my hostility not flown and misflown!
+
+Thereof could I sing a song--and WILL sing it: though I be alone in an
+empty house, and must sing it to mine own ears.
+
+Other singers are there, to be sure, to whom only the full house maketh the
+voice soft, the hand eloquent, the eye expressive, the heart
+wakeful:--those do I not resemble.--
+
+2.
+
+He who one day teacheth men to fly will have shifted all landmarks; to him
+will all landmarks themselves fly into the air; the earth will he christen
+anew--as "the light body."
+
+The ostrich runneth faster than the fastest horse, but it also thrusteth
+its head heavily into the heavy earth: thus is it with the man who cannot
+yet fly.
+
+Heavy unto him are earth and life, and so WILLETH the spirit of gravity!
+But he who would become light, and be a bird, must love himself:--thus do
+_I_ teach.
+
+Not, to be sure, with the love of the sick and infected, for with them
+stinketh even self-love!
+
+One must learn to love oneself--thus do I teach--with a wholesome and
+healthy love: that one may endure to be with oneself, and not go roving
+about.
+
+Such roving about christeneth itself "brotherly love"; with these words
+hath there hitherto been the best lying and dissembling, and especially by
+those who have been burdensome to every one.
+
+And verily, it is no commandment for to-day and to-morrow to LEARN to love
+oneself. Rather is it of all arts the finest, subtlest, last and
+patientest.
+
+For to its possessor is all possession well concealed, and of all
+treasure-pits one's own is last excavated--so causeth the spirit of
+gravity.
+
+Almost in the cradle are we apportioned with heavy words and worths: "good"
+and "evil"--so calleth itself this dowry. For the sake of it we are
+forgiven for living.
+
+And therefore suffereth one little children to come unto one, to forbid
+them betimes to love themselves--so causeth the spirit of gravity.
+
+And we--we bear loyally what is apportioned unto us, on hard shoulders,
+over rugged mountains! And when we sweat, then do people say to us: "Yea,
+life is hard to bear!"
+
+But man himself only is hard to bear! The reason thereof is that he
+carrieth too many extraneous things on his shoulders. Like the camel
+kneeleth he down, and letteth himself be well laden.
+
+Especially the strong load-bearing man in whom reverence resideth. Too many
+EXTRANEOUS heavy words and worths loadeth he upon himself--then seemeth
+life to him a desert!
+
+And verily! Many a thing also that is OUR OWN is hard to bear! And many
+internal things in man are like the oyster--repulsive and slippery and hard
+to grasp;--
+
+So that an elegant shell, with elegant adornment, must plead for them. But
+this art also must one learn: to HAVE a shell, and a fine appearance, and
+sagacious blindness!
+
+Again, it deceiveth about many things in man, that many a shell is poor and
+pitiable, and too much of a shell. Much concealed goodness and power is
+never dreamt of; the choicest dainties find no tasters!
+
+Women know that, the choicest of them:  a little fatter a little leaner--
+oh, how much fate is in so little!
+
+Man is difficult to discover, and unto himself most difficult of all; often
+lieth the spirit concerning the soul.  So causeth the spirit of gravity.
+
+He, however, hath discovered himself who saith:  This is MY good and evil:
+therewith hath he silenced the mole and the dwarf, who say:  "Good for all,
+evil for all."
+
+Verily, neither do I like those who call everything good, and this world
+the best of all.  Those do I call the all-satisfied.
+
+All-satisfiedness, which knoweth how to taste everything,--that is not the
+best taste!  I honour the refractory, fastidious tongues and stomachs,
+which have learned to say "I" and "Yea" and "Nay."
+
+To chew and digest everything, however--that is the genuine swine-nature!
+Ever to say YE-A--that hath only the ass learnt, and those like it!--
+
+Deep yellow and hot red--so wanteth MY taste--it mixeth blood with all
+colours.  He, however, who whitewasheth his house, betrayeth unto me a
+whitewashed soul.
+
+With mummies, some fall in love; others with phantoms:  both alike hostile
+to all flesh and blood--oh, how repugnant are both to my taste!  For I love
+blood.
+
+And there will I not reside and abide where every one spitteth and speweth:
+that is now MY taste,--rather would I live amongst thieves and perjurers.
+Nobody carrieth gold in his mouth.
+
+Still more repugnant unto me, however, are all lickspittles; and the most
+repugnant animal of man that I found, did I christen "parasite":  it would
+not love, and would yet live by love.
+
+Unhappy do I call all those who have only one choice:  either to become
+evil beasts, or evil beast-tamers.  Amongst such would I not build my
+tabernacle.
+
+Unhappy do I also call those who have ever to WAIT,--they are repugnant to
+my taste--all the toll-gatherers and traders, and kings, and other
+landkeepers and shopkeepers.
+
+Verily, I learned waiting also, and thoroughly so,--but only waiting for
+MYSELF.  And above all did I learn standing and walking and running and
+leaping and climbing and dancing.
+
+This however is my teaching:  he who wisheth one day to fly, must first
+learn standing and walking and running and climbing and dancing:--one doth
+not fly into flying!
+
+With rope-ladders learned I to reach many a window, with nimble legs did I
+climb high masts:  to sit on high masts of perception seemed to me no small
+bliss;--
+
+--To flicker like small flames on high masts:  a small light, certainly,
+but a great comfort to cast-away sailors and ship-wrecked ones!
+
+By divers ways and wendings did I arrive at my truth; not by one ladder did
+I mount to the height where mine eye roveth into my remoteness.
+
+And unwillingly only did I ask my way--that was always counter to my taste!
+Rather did I question and test the ways themselves.
+
+A testing and a questioning hath been all my travelling:--and verily, one
+must also LEARN to answer such questioning!  That, however,--is my taste:
+
+--Neither a good nor a bad taste, but MY taste, of which I have no longer
+either shame or secrecy.
+
+"This--is now MY way,--where is yours?"  Thus did I answer those who asked
+me "the way."  For THE way--it doth not exist!
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+LVI.  OLD AND NEW TABLES.
+
+1.
+
+Here do I sit and wait, old broken tables around me and also new
+half-written tables. When cometh mine hour?
+
+--The hour of my descent, of my down-going:  for once more will I go unto
+men.
+
+For that hour do I now wait:  for first must the signs come unto me that it
+is MINE hour--namely, the laughing lion with the flock of doves.
+
+Meanwhile do I talk to myself as one who hath time.  No one telleth me
+anything new, so I tell myself mine own story.
+
+2.
+
+When I came unto men, then found I them resting on an old infatuation:  all
+of them thought they had long known what was good and bad for men.
+
+An old wearisome business seemed to them all discourse about virtue; and he
+who wished to sleep well spake of "good" and "bad" ere retiring to rest.
+
+This somnolence did I disturb when I taught that NO ONE YET KNOWETH what is
+good and bad:--unless it be the creating one!
+
+--It is he, however, who createth man's goal, and giveth to the earth its
+meaning and its future:  he only EFFECTETH it THAT aught is good or bad.
+
+And I bade them upset their old academic chairs, and wherever that old
+infatuation had sat; I bade them laugh at their great moralists, their
+saints, their poets, and their Saviours.
+
+At their gloomy sages did I bid them laugh, and whoever had sat admonishing
+as a black scarecrow on the tree of life.
+
+On their great grave-highway did I seat myself, and even beside the carrion
+and vultures--and I laughed at all their bygone and its mellow decaying
+glory.
+
+Verily, like penitential preachers and fools did I cry wrath and shame on
+all their greatness and smallness.  Oh, that their best is so very small!
+Oh, that their worst is so very small!  Thus did I laugh.
+
+Thus did my wise longing, born in the mountains, cry and laugh in me; a
+wild wisdom, verily!--my great pinion-rustling longing.
+
+And oft did it carry me off and up and away and in the midst of laughter;
+then flew I quivering like an arrow with sun-intoxicated rapture:
+
+--Out into distant futures, which no dream hath yet seen, into warmer
+souths than ever sculptor conceived,--where gods in their dancing are
+ashamed of all clothes:
+
+(That I may speak in parables and halt and stammer like the poets:  and
+verily I am ashamed that I have still to be a poet!)
+
+Where all becoming seemed to me dancing of Gods, and wantoning of Gods, and
+the world unloosed and unbridled and fleeing back to itself:--
+
+--As an eternal self-fleeing and re-seeking of one another of many Gods, as
+the blessed self-contradicting, recommuning, and refraternising with one
+another of many Gods:--
+
+Where all time seemed to me a blessed mockery of moments, where necessity
+was freedom itself, which played happily with the goad of freedom:--
+
+Where I also found again mine old devil and arch-enemy, the spirit of
+gravity, and all that it created:  constraint, law, necessity and
+consequence and purpose and will and good and evil:--
+
+For must there not be that which is danced OVER, danced beyond?  Must there
+not, for the sake of the nimble, the nimblest,--be moles and clumsy
+dwarfs?--
+
+3.
+
+There was it also where I picked up from the path the word "Superman," and
+that man is something that must be surpassed.
+
+--That man is a bridge and not a goal--rejoicing over his noontides and
+evenings, as advances to new rosy dawns:
+
+--The Zarathustra word of the great noontide, and whatever else I have hung
+up over men like purple evening-afterglows.
+
+Verily, also new stars did I make them see, along with new nights; and over
+cloud and day and night, did I spread out laughter like a gay-coloured
+canopy.
+
+I taught them all MY poetisation and aspiration:  to compose and collect
+into unity what is fragment in man, and riddle and fearful chance;--
+
+--As composer, riddle-reader, and redeemer of chance, did I teach them to
+create the future, and all that HATH BEEN--to redeem by creating.
+
+The past of man to redeem, and every "It was" to transform, until the Will
+saith:  "But so did I will it!  So shall I will it--"
+
+--This did I call redemption; this alone taught I them to call
+redemption.--
+
+Now do I await MY redemption--that I may go unto them for the last time.
+
+For once more will I go unto men:  AMONGST them will my sun set; in dying
+will I give them my choicest gift!
+
+From the sun did I learn this, when it goeth down, the exuberant one:  gold
+doth it then pour into the sea, out of inexhaustible riches,--
+
+--So that the poorest fisherman roweth even with GOLDEN oars!  For this did
+I once see, and did not tire of weeping in beholding it.--
+
+Like the sun will also Zarathustra go down:  now sitteth he here and
+waiteth, old broken tables around him, and also new tables--half-written.
+
+4.
+
+Behold, here is a new table; but where are my brethren who will carry it
+with me to the valley and into hearts of flesh?--
+
+Thus demandeth my great love to the remotest ones:  BE NOT CONSIDERATE OF
+THY NEIGHBOUR!  Man is something that must be surpassed.
+
+There are many divers ways and modes of surpassing:  see THOU thereto!  But
+only a buffoon thinketh:  "man can also be OVERLEAPT."
+
+Surpass thyself even in thy neighbour:  and a right which thou canst seize
+upon, shalt thou not allow to be given thee!
+
+What thou doest can no one do to thee again.  Lo, there is no requital.
+
+He who cannot command himself shall obey.  And many a one CAN command
+himself, but still sorely lacketh self-obedience!
+
+5.
+
+Thus wisheth the type of noble souls:  they desire to have nothing
+GRATUITOUSLY, least of all, life.
+
+He who is of the populace wisheth to live gratuitously; we others, however,
+to whom life hath given itself--we are ever considering WHAT we can best
+give IN RETURN!
+
+And verily, it is a noble dictum which saith:  "What life promiseth US,
+that promise will WE keep--to life!"
+
+One should not wish to enjoy where one doth not contribute to the
+enjoyment.  And one should not WISH to enjoy!
+
+For enjoyment and innocence are the most bashful things.  Neither like to
+be sought for.  One should HAVE them,--but one should rather SEEK for guilt
+and pain!--
+
+6.
+
+O my brethren, he who is a firstling is ever sacrificed.  Now, however, are
+we firstlings!
+
+We all bleed on secret sacrificial altars, we all burn and broil in honour
+of ancient idols.
+
+Our best is still young:  this exciteth old palates.  Our flesh is tender,
+our skin is only lambs' skin:--how could we not excite old idol-priests!
+
+IN OURSELVES dwelleth he still, the old idol-priest, who broileth our best
+for his banquet.  Ah, my brethren, how could firstlings fail to be
+sacrifices!
+
+But so wisheth our type; and I love those who do not wish to preserve
+themselves, the down-going ones do I love with mine entire love:  for they
+go beyond.--
+
+7.
+
+To be true--that CAN few be!  And he who can, will not!  Least of all,
+however, can the good be true.
+
+Oh, those good ones!  GOOD MEN NEVER SPEAK THE TRUTH.  For the spirit, thus
+to be good, is a malady.
+
+They yield, those good ones, they submit themselves; their heart repeateth,
+their soul obeyeth:  HE, however, who obeyeth, DOTH NOT LISTEN TO HIMSELF!
+
+All that is called evil by the good, must come together in order that one
+truth may be born.  O my brethren, are ye also evil enough for THIS truth?
+
+The daring venture, the prolonged distrust, the cruel Nay, the tedium, the
+cutting-into-the-quick--how seldom do THESE come together!  Out of such
+seed, however--is truth produced!
+
+BESIDE the bad conscience hath hitherto grown all KNOWLEDGE!  Break up,
+break up, ye discerning ones, the old tables!
+
+8.
+
+When the water hath planks, when gangways and railings o'erspan the stream,
+verily, he is not believed who then saith:  "All is in flux."
+
+But even the simpletons contradict him.  "What?" say the simpletons, "all
+in flux?  Planks and railings are still OVER the stream!
+
+"OVER the stream all is stable, all the values of things, the bridges and
+bearings, all 'good' and 'evil':  these are all STABLE!"--
+
+Cometh, however, the hard winter, the stream-tamer, then learn even the
+wittiest distrust, and verily, not only the simpletons then say:  "Should
+not everything--STAND STILL?"
+
+"Fundamentally standeth everything still"--that is an appropriate winter
+doctrine, good cheer for an unproductive period, a great comfort for
+winter-sleepers and fireside-loungers.
+
+"Fundamentally standeth everything still"--:  but CONTRARY thereto,
+preacheth the thawing wind!
+
+The thawing wind, a bullock, which is no ploughing bullock--a furious
+bullock, a destroyer, which with angry horns breaketh the ice!  The ice
+however--BREAKETH GANGWAYS!
+
+O my brethren, is not everything AT PRESENT IN FLUX?  Have not all railings
+and gangways fallen into the water?  Who would still HOLD ON to "good" and
+"evil"?
+
+"Woe to us!  Hail to us!  The thawing wind bloweth!"--Thus preach, my
+brethren, through all the streets!
+
+9.
+
+There is an old illusion--it is called good and evil.  Around soothsayers
+and astrologers hath hitherto revolved the orbit of this illusion.
+
+Once did one BELIEVE in soothsayers and astrologers; and THEREFORE did one
+believe, "Everything is fate:  thou shalt, for thou must!"
+
+Then again did one distrust all soothsayers and astrologers; and THEREFORE
+did one believe, "Everything is freedom:  thou canst, for thou willest!"
+
+O my brethren, concerning the stars and the future there hath hitherto been
+only illusion, and not knowledge; and THEREFORE concerning good and evil
+there hath hitherto been only illusion and not knowledge!
+
+10.
+
+"Thou shalt not rob!  Thou shalt not slay!"--such precepts were once called
+holy; before them did one bow the knee and the head, and take off one's
+shoes.
+
+But I ask you:  Where have there ever been better robbers and slayers in
+the world than such holy precepts?
+
+Is there not even in all life--robbing and slaying?  And for such precepts
+to be called holy, was not TRUTH itself thereby--slain?
+
+--Or was it a sermon of death that called holy what contradicted and
+dissuaded from life?--O my brethren, break up, break up for me the old
+tables!
+
+11.
+
+It is my sympathy with all the past that I see it is abandoned,--
+
+--Abandoned to the favour, the spirit and the madness of every generation
+that cometh, and reinterpreteth all that hath been as its bridge!
+
+A great potentate might arise, an artful prodigy, who with approval and
+disapproval could strain and constrain all the past, until it became for
+him a bridge, a harbinger, a herald, and a cock-crowing.
+
+This however is the other danger, and mine other sympathy:--he who is of
+the populace, his thoughts go back to his grandfather,--with his
+grandfather, however, doth time cease.
+
+Thus is all the past abandoned:  for it might some day happen for the
+populace to become master, and drown all time in shallow waters.
+
+Therefore, O my brethren, a NEW NOBILITY is needed, which shall be the
+adversary of all populace and potentate rule, and shall inscribe anew the
+word "noble" on new tables.
+
+For many noble ones are needed, and many kinds of noble ones, FOR A NEW
+NOBILITY!  Or, as I once said in parable:  "That is just divinity, that
+there are Gods, but no God!"
+
+12.
+
+O my brethren, I consecrate you and point you to a new nobility:  ye shall
+become procreators and cultivators and sowers of the future;--
+
+--Verily, not to a nobility which ye could purchase like traders with
+traders' gold; for little worth is all that hath its price.
+
+Let it not be your honour henceforth whence ye come, but whither ye go!
+Your Will and your feet which seek to surpass you--let these be your new
+honour!
+
+Verily, not that ye have served a prince--of what account are princes now!
+--nor that ye have become a bulwark to that which standeth, that it may
+stand more firmly.
+
+Not that your family have become courtly at courts, and that ye have
+learned--gay-coloured, like the flamingo--to stand long hours in shallow
+pools:
+
+(For ABILITY-to-stand is a merit in courtiers; and all courtiers believe
+that unto blessedness after death pertaineth--PERMISSION-to-sit!)
+
+Nor even that a Spirit called Holy, led your forefathers into promised
+lands, which I do not praise:  for where the worst of all trees grew--the
+cross,--in that land there is nothing to praise!--
+
+--And verily, wherever this "Holy Spirit" led its knights, always in such
+campaigns did--goats and geese, and wryheads and guyheads run FOREMOST!--
+
+O my brethren, not backward shall your nobility gaze, but OUTWARD!  Exiles
+shall ye be from all fatherlands and forefather-lands!
+
+Your CHILDREN'S LAND shall ye love:  let this love be your new nobility,--
+the undiscovered in the remotest seas!  For it do I bid your sails search
+and search!
+
+Unto your children shall ye MAKE AMENDS for being the children of your
+fathers:  all the past shall ye THUS redeem!  This new table do I place
+over you!
+
+13.
+
+"Why should one live?  All is vain!  To live--that is to thrash straw; to
+live--that is to burn oneself and yet not get warm."--
+
+Such ancient babbling still passeth for "wisdom"; because it is old,
+however, and smelleth mustily, THEREFORE is it the more honoured.  Even
+mould ennobleth.--
+
+Children might thus speak:  they SHUN the fire because it hath burnt them!
+There is much childishness in the old books of wisdom.
+
+And he who ever "thrasheth straw," why should he be allowed to rail at
+thrashing!  Such a fool one would have to muzzle!
+
+Such persons sit down to the table and bring nothing with them, not even
+good hunger:--and then do they rail:  "All is vain!"
+
+But to eat and drink well, my brethren, is verily no vain art!  Break up,
+break up for me the tables of the never-joyous ones!
+
+14.
+
+"To the clean are all things clean"--thus say the people.  I, however, say
+unto you:  To the swine all things become swinish!
+
+Therefore preach the visionaries and bowed-heads (whose hearts are also
+bowed down):  "The world itself is a filthy monster."
+
+For these are all unclean spirits; especially those, however, who have no
+peace or rest, unless they see the world FROM THE BACKSIDE--the
+backworldsmen!
+
+TO THOSE do I say it to the face, although it sound unpleasantly:  the
+world resembleth man, in that it hath a backside,--SO MUCH is true!
+
+There is in the world much filth:  SO MUCH is true!  But the world itself
+is not therefore a filthy monster!
+
+There is wisdom in the fact that much in the world smelleth badly:
+loathing itself createth wings, and fountain-divining powers!
+
+In the best there is still something to loathe; and the best is still
+something that must be surpassed!--
+
+O my brethren, there is much wisdom in the fact that much filth is in the
+world!--
+
+15.
+
+Such sayings did I hear pious backworldsmen speak to their consciences, and
+verily without wickedness or guile,--although there is nothing more
+guileful in the world, or more wicked.
+
+"Let the world be as it is!  Raise not a finger against it!"
+
+"Let whoever will choke and stab and skin and scrape the people:  raise not
+a finger against it!  Thereby will they learn to renounce the world."
+
+"And thine own reason--this shalt thou thyself stifle and choke; for it is
+a reason of this world,--thereby wilt thou learn thyself to renounce the
+world."--
+
+--Shatter, shatter, O my brethren, those old tables of the pious!  Tatter
+the maxims of the world-maligners!--
+
+16.
+
+"He who learneth much unlearneth all violent cravings"--that do people now
+whisper to one another in all the dark lanes.
+
+"Wisdom wearieth, nothing is worth while; thou shalt not crave!"--this new
+table found I hanging even in the public markets.
+
+Break up for me, O my brethren, break up also that NEW table! The
+weary-o'-the-world put it up, and the preachers of death and the jailer:
+for lo, it is also a sermon for slavery:--
+
+Because they learned badly and not the best, and everything too early and
+everything too fast; because they ATE badly: from thence hath resulted
+their ruined stomach;--
+
+--For a ruined stomach, is their spirit: IT persuadeth to death! For
+verily, my brethren, the spirit IS a stomach!
+
+Life is a well of delight, but to him in whom the ruined stomach speaketh,
+the father of affliction, all fountains are poisoned.
+
+To discern: that is DELIGHT to the lion-willed! But he who hath become
+weary, is himself merely "willed"; with him play all the waves.
+
+And such is always the nature of weak men: they lose themselves on their
+way. And at last asketh their weariness: "Why did we ever go on the way?
+All is indifferent!"
+
+TO THEM soundeth it pleasant to have preached in their ears: "Nothing is
+worth while! Ye shall not will!" That, however, is a sermon for slavery.
+
+O my brethren, a fresh blustering wind cometh Zarathustra unto all
+way-weary ones; many noses will he yet make sneeze!
+
+Even through walls bloweth my free breath, and in into prisons and
+imprisoned spirits!
+
+Willing emancipateth:  for willing is creating:  so do I teach.  And ONLY
+for creating shall ye learn!
+
+And also the learning shall ye LEARN only from me, the learning well!--He
+who hath ears let him hear!
+
+17.
+
+There standeth the boat--thither goeth it over, perhaps into vast
+nothingness--but who willeth to enter into this "Perhaps"?
+
+None of you want to enter into the death-boat!  How should ye then be
+WORLD-WEARY ones!
+
+World-weary ones!  And have not even withdrawn from the earth!  Eager did I
+ever find you for the earth, amorous still of your own earth-weariness!
+
+Not in vain doth your lip hang down:--a small worldly wish still sitteth
+thereon!  And in your eye--floateth there not a cloudlet of unforgotten
+earthly bliss?
+
+There are on the earth many good inventions, some useful, some pleasant:
+for their sake is the earth to be loved.
+
+And many such good inventions are there, that they are like woman's
+breasts:  useful at the same time, and pleasant.
+
+Ye world-weary ones, however!  Ye earth-idlers!  You, shall one beat with
+stripes!  With stripes shall one again make you sprightly limbs.
+
+For if ye be not invalids, or decrepit creatures, of whom the earth is
+weary, then are ye sly sloths, or dainty, sneaking pleasure-cats.  And if
+ye will not again RUN gaily, then shall ye--pass away!
+
+To the incurable shall one not seek to be a physician:  thus teacheth
+Zarathustra:--so shall ye pass away!
+
+But more COURAGE is needed to make an end than to make a new verse:  that
+do all physicians and poets know well.--
+
+18.
+
+O my brethren, there are tables which weariness framed, and tables which
+slothfulness framed, corrupt slothfulness:  although they speak similarly,
+they want to be heard differently.--
+
+See this languishing one!  Only a span-breadth is he from his goal; but
+from weariness hath he lain down obstinately in the dust, this brave one!
+
+From weariness yawneth he at the path, at the earth, at the goal, and at
+himself:  not a step further will he go,--this brave one!
+
+Now gloweth the sun upon him, and the dogs lick at his sweat:  but he lieth
+there in his obstinacy and preferreth to languish:--
+
+--A span-breadth from his goal, to languish!  Verily, ye will have to drag
+him into his heaven by the hair of his head--this hero!
+
+Better still that ye let him lie where he hath lain down, that sleep may
+come unto him, the comforter, with cooling patter-rain.
+
+Let him lie, until of his own accord he awakeneth,--until of his own accord
+he repudiateth all weariness, and what weariness hath taught through him!
+
+Only, my brethren, see that ye scare the dogs away from him, the idle
+skulkers, and all the swarming vermin:--
+
+--All the swarming vermin of the "cultured," that--feast on the sweat of
+every hero!--
+
+19.
+
+I form circles around me and holy boundaries; ever fewer ascend with me
+ever higher mountains:  I build a mountain-range out of ever holier
+mountains.--
+
+But wherever ye would ascend with me, O my brethren, take care lest a
+PARASITE ascend with you!
+
+A parasite:  that is a reptile, a creeping, cringing reptile, that trieth
+to fatten on your infirm and sore places.
+
+And THIS is its art:  it divineth where ascending souls are weary, in your
+trouble and dejection, in your sensitive modesty, doth it build its
+loathsome nest.
+
+Where the strong are weak, where the noble are all-too-gentle--there
+buildeth it its loathsome nest; the parasite liveth where the great have
+small sore-places.
+
+What is the highest of all species of being, and what is the lowest?  The
+parasite is the lowest species; he, however, who is of the highest species
+feedeth most parasites.
+
+For the soul which hath the longest ladder, and can go deepest down:  how
+could there fail to be most parasites upon it?--
+
+--The most comprehensive soul, which can run and stray and rove furthest in
+itself; the most necessary soul, which out of joy flingeth itself into
+chance:--
+
+--The soul in Being, which plungeth into Becoming; the possessing soul,
+which SEEKETH to attain desire and longing:--
+
+--The soul fleeing from itself, which overtaketh itself in the widest
+circuit; the wisest soul, unto which folly speaketh most sweetly:--
+
+--The soul most self-loving, in which all things have their current and
+counter-current, their ebb and their flow:--oh, how could THE LOFTIEST SOUL
+fail to have the worst parasites?
+
+20.
+
+O my brethren, am I then cruel?  But I say:  What falleth, that shall one
+also push!
+
+Everything of to-day--it falleth, it decayeth; who would preserve it!  But
+I--I wish also to push it!
+
+Know ye the delight which rolleth stones into precipitous depths?--Those
+men of to-day, see just how they roll into my depths!
+
+A prelude am I to better players, O my brethren!  An example!  DO according
+to mine example!
+
+And him whom ye do not teach to fly, teach I pray you--TO FALL FASTER!--
+
+21.
+
+I love the brave:  but it is not enough to be a swordsman,--one must also
+know WHEREON to use swordsmanship!
+
+And often is it greater bravery to keep quiet and pass by, that THEREBY one
+may reserve oneself for a worthier foe!
+
+Ye shall only have foes to be hated; but not foes to be despised:  ye must
+be proud of your foes.  Thus have I already taught.
+
+For the worthier foe, O my brethren, shall ye reserve yourselves:
+therefore must ye pass by many a one,--
+
+--Especially many of the rabble, who din your ears with noise about people
+and peoples.
+
+Keep your eye clear of their For and Against!  There is there much right,
+much wrong:  he who looketh on becometh wroth.
+
+Therein viewing, therein hewing--they are the same thing:  therefore depart
+into the forests and lay your sword to sleep!
+
+Go YOUR ways! and let the people and peoples go theirs!--gloomy ways,
+verily, on which not a single hope glinteth any more!
+
+Let there the trader rule, where all that still glittereth is--traders'
+gold.  It is the time of kings no longer:  that which now calleth itself
+the people is unworthy of kings.
+
+See how these peoples themselves now do just like the traders:  they pick
+up the smallest advantage out of all kinds of rubbish!
+
+They lay lures for one another, they lure things out of one another,--that
+they call "good neighbourliness."  O blessed remote period when a people
+said to itself:  "I will be--MASTER over peoples!"
+
+For, my brethren, the best shall rule, the best also WILLETH to rule!  And
+where the teaching is different, there--the best is LACKING.
+
+22.
+
+If THEY had--bread for nothing, alas! for what would THEY cry!  Their
+maintainment--that is their true entertainment; and they shall have it
+hard!
+
+Beasts of prey, are they:  in their "working"--there is even plundering, in
+their "earning"--there is even overreaching!  Therefore shall they have it
+hard!
+
+Better beasts of prey shall they thus become, subtler, cleverer, MORE
+MAN-LIKE: for man is the best beast of prey.
+
+All the animals hath man already robbed of their virtues:  that is why of
+all animals it hath been hardest for man.
+
+Only the birds are still beyond him.  And if man should yet learn to fly,
+alas! TO WHAT HEIGHT--would his rapacity fly!
+
+23.
+
+Thus would I have man and woman:  fit for war, the one; fit for maternity,
+the other; both, however, fit for dancing with head and legs.
+
+And lost be the day to us in which a measure hath not been danced.  And
+false be every truth which hath not had laughter along with it!
+
+24.
+
+Your marriage-arranging:  see that it be not a bad ARRANGING!  Ye have
+arranged too hastily:  so there FOLLOWETH therefrom--marriage-breaking!
+
+And better marriage-breaking than marriage-bending, marriage-lying!--Thus
+spake a woman unto me:  "Indeed, I broke the marriage, but first did the
+marriage break--me!
+
+The badly paired found I ever the most revengeful:  they make every one
+suffer for it that they no longer run singly.
+
+On that account want I the honest ones to say to one another:  "We love
+each other:  let us SEE TO IT that we maintain our love!  Or shall our
+pledging be blundering?"
+
+--"Give us a set term and a small marriage, that we may see if we are fit
+for the great marriage!  It is a great matter always to be twain."
+
+Thus do I counsel all honest ones; and what would be my love to the
+Superman, and to all that is to come, if I should counsel and speak
+otherwise!
+
+Not only to propagate yourselves onwards but UPWARDS--thereto, O my
+brethren, may the garden of marriage help you!
+
+25.
+
+He who hath grown wise concerning old origins, lo, he will at last seek
+after the fountains of the future and new origins.--
+
+O my brethren, not long will it be until NEW PEOPLES shall arise and new
+fountains shall rush down into new depths.
+
+For the earthquake--it choketh up many wells, it causeth much languishing:
+but it bringeth also to light inner powers and secrets.
+
+The earthquake discloseth new fountains.  In the earthquake of old peoples
+new fountains burst forth.
+
+And whoever calleth out:  "Lo, here is a well for many thirsty ones, one
+heart for many longing ones, one will for many instruments":--around him
+collecteth a PEOPLE, that is to say, many attempting ones.
+
+Who can command, who must obey--THAT IS THERE ATTEMPTED!  Ah, with what
+long seeking and solving and failing and learning and re-attempting!
+
+Human society:  it is an attempt--so I teach--a long seeking:  it seeketh
+however the ruler!--
+
+--An attempt, my brethren!  And NO "contract"!  Destroy, I pray you,
+destroy that word of the soft-hearted and half-and-half!
+
+26.
+
+O my brethren!  With whom lieth the greatest danger to the whole human
+future?  Is it not with the good and just?--
+
+--As those who say and feel in their hearts:  "We already know what is good
+and just, we possess it also; woe to those who still seek thereafter!
+
+And whatever harm the wicked may do, the harm of the good is the harmfulest
+harm!
+
+And whatever harm the world-maligners may do, the harm of the good is the
+harmfulest harm!
+
+O my brethren, into the hearts of the good and just looked some one once on
+a time, who said:  "They are the Pharisees."  But people did not understand
+him.
+
+The good and just themselves were not free to understand him; their spirit
+was imprisoned in their good conscience.  The stupidity of the good is
+unfathomably wise.
+
+It is the truth, however, that the good MUST be Pharisees--they have no
+choice!
+
+The good MUST crucify him who deviseth his own virtue!  That IS the truth!
+
+The second one, however, who discovered their country--the country, heart
+and soil of the good and just,--it was he who asked:  "Whom do they hate
+most?"
+
+The CREATOR, hate they most, him who breaketh the tables and old values,
+the breaker,--him they call the law-breaker.
+
+For the good--they CANNOT create; they are always the beginning of the
+end:--
+
+--They crucify him who writeth new values on new tables, they sacrifice
+UNTO THEMSELVES the future--they crucify the whole human future!
+
+The good--they have always been the beginning of the end.--
+
+27.
+
+O my brethren, have ye also understood this word?  And what I once said of
+the "last man"?--
+
+With whom lieth the greatest danger to the whole human future?  Is it not
+with the good and just?
+
+BREAK UP, BREAK UP, I PRAY YOU, THE GOOD AND JUST!--O my brethren, have ye
+understood also this word?
+
+28.
+
+Ye flee from me?  Ye are frightened?  Ye tremble at this word?
+
+O my brethren, when I enjoined you to break up the good, and the tables of
+the good, then only did I embark man on his high seas.
+
+And now only cometh unto him the great terror, the great outlook, the great
+sickness, the great nausea, the great sea-sickness.
+
+False shores and false securities did the good teach you; in the lies of
+the good were ye born and bred.  Everything hath been radically contorted
+and distorted by the good.
+
+But he who discovered the country of "man," discovered also the country of
+"man's future."  Now shall ye be sailors for me, brave, patient!
+
+Keep yourselves up betimes, my brethren, learn to keep yourselves up!  The
+sea stormeth:  many seek to raise themselves again by you.
+
+The sea stormeth: all is in the sea. Well! Cheer up! Ye old seaman-hearts!
+
+What of fatherland!  THITHER striveth our helm where our CHILDREN'S LAND
+is!  Thitherwards, stormier than the sea, stormeth our great longing!--
+
+29.
+
+"Why so hard!"--said to the diamond one day the charcoal; "are we then not
+near relatives?"--
+
+Why so soft?  O my brethren; thus do _I_ ask you:  are ye then not--my
+brethren?
+
+Why so soft, so submissive and yielding?  Why is there so much negation and
+abnegation in your hearts?  Why is there so little fate in your looks?
+
+And if ye will not be fates and inexorable ones, how can ye one day--
+conquer with me?
+
+And if your hardness will not glance and cut and chip to pieces, how can ye
+one day--create with me?
+
+For the creators are hard.  And blessedness must it seem to you to press
+your hand upon millenniums as upon wax,--
+
+--Blessedness to write upon the will of millenniums as upon brass,--harder
+than brass, nobler than brass.  Entirely hard is only the noblest.
+
+This new table, O my brethren, put I up over you:  BECOME HARD!--
+
+30.
+
+O thou, my Will!  Thou change of every need, MY needfulness!  Preserve me
+from all small victories!
+
+Thou fatedness of my soul, which I call fate!  Thou In-me!  Over-me!
+Preserve and spare me for one great fate!
+
+And thy last greatness, my Will, spare it for thy last--that thou mayest be
+inexorable IN thy victory!  Ah, who hath not succumbed to his victory!
+
+Ah, whose eye hath not bedimmed in this intoxicated twilight!  Ah, whose
+foot hath not faltered and forgotten in victory--how to stand!--
+
+--That I may one day be ready and ripe in the great noontide:  ready and
+ripe like the glowing ore, the lightning-bearing cloud, and the swelling
+milk-udder:--
+
+--Ready for myself and for my most hidden Will:  a bow eager for its arrow,
+an arrow eager for its star:--
+
+--A star, ready and ripe in its noontide, glowing, pierced, blessed, by
+annihilating sun-arrows:--
+
+--A sun itself, and an inexorable sun-will, ready for annihilation in
+victory!
+
+O Will, thou change of every need, MY needfulness!  Spare me for one great
+victory!---
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+LVII.  THE CONVALESCENT.
+
+1.
+
+One morning, not long after his return to his cave, Zarathustra sprang up
+from his couch like a madman, crying with a frightful voice, and acting as
+if some one still lay on the couch who did not wish to rise.  Zarathustra's
+voice also resounded in such a manner that his animals came to him
+frightened, and out of all the neighbouring caves and lurking-places all
+the creatures slipped away--flying, fluttering, creeping or leaping,
+according to their variety of foot or wing.  Zarathustra, however, spake
+these words:
+
+Up, abysmal thought out of my depth!  I am thy cock and morning dawn, thou
+overslept reptile:  Up!  Up!  My voice shall soon crow thee awake!
+
+Unbind the fetters of thine ears:  listen!  For I wish to hear thee!  Up!
+Up!  There is thunder enough to make the very graves listen!
+
+And rub the sleep and all the dimness and blindness out of thine eyes!
+Hear me also with thine eyes:  my voice is a medicine even for those born
+blind.
+
+And once thou art awake, then shalt thou ever remain awake.  It is not MY
+custom to awake great-grandmothers out of their sleep that I may bid them--
+sleep on!
+
+Thou stirrest, stretchest thyself, wheezest?  Up!  Up!  Not wheeze, shalt
+thou,--but speak unto me!  Zarathustra calleth thee, Zarathustra the
+godless!
+
+I, Zarathustra, the advocate of living, the advocate of suffering, the
+advocate of the circuit--thee do I call, my most abysmal thought!
+
+Joy to me!  Thou comest,--I hear thee!  Mine abyss SPEAKETH, my lowest
+depth have I turned over into the light!
+
+Joy to me!  Come hither!  Give me thy hand--ha! let be! aha!--Disgust,
+disgust, disgust--alas to me!
+
+2.
+
+Hardly, however, had Zarathustra spoken these words, when he fell down as
+one dead, and remained long as one dead.  When however he again came to
+himself, then was he pale and trembling, and remained lying; and for long
+he would neither eat nor drink.  This condition continued for seven days;
+his animals, however, did not leave him day nor night, except that the
+eagle flew forth to fetch food.  And what it fetched and foraged, it laid
+on Zarathustra's couch:  so that Zarathustra at last lay among yellow and
+red berries, grapes, rosy apples, sweet-smelling herbage, and pine-cones.
+At his feet, however, two lambs were stretched, which the eagle had with
+difficulty carried off from their shepherds.
+
+At last, after seven days, Zarathustra raised himself upon his couch, took
+a rosy apple in his hand, smelt it and found its smell pleasant.  Then did
+his animals think the time had come to speak unto him.
+
+"O Zarathustra," said they, "now hast thou lain thus for seven days with
+heavy eyes:  wilt thou not set thyself again upon thy feet?
+
+Step out of thy cave:  the world waiteth for thee as a garden.  The wind
+playeth with heavy fragrance which seeketh for thee; and all brooks would
+like to run after thee.
+
+All things long for thee, since thou hast remained alone for seven days--
+step forth out of thy cave!  All things want to be thy physicians!
+
+Did perhaps a new knowledge come to thee, a bitter, grievous knowledge?
+Like leavened dough layest thou, thy soul arose and swelled beyond all its
+bounds.--"
+
+--O mine animals, answered Zarathustra, talk on thus and let me listen!  It
+refresheth me so to hear your talk:  where there is talk, there is the
+world as a garden unto me.
+
+How charming it is that there are words and tones; are not words and tones
+rainbows and seeming bridges 'twixt the eternally separated?
+
+To each soul belongeth another world; to each soul is every other soul a
+back-world.
+
+Among the most alike doth semblance deceive most delightfully:  for the
+smallest gap is most difficult to bridge over.
+
+For me--how could there be an outside-of-me?  There is no outside!  But
+this we forget on hearing tones; how delightful it is that we forget!
+
+Have not names and tones been given unto things that man may refresh
+himself with them?  It is a beautiful folly, speaking; therewith danceth
+man over everything.
+
+How lovely is all speech and all falsehoods of tones!  With tones danceth
+our love on variegated rainbows.--
+
+--"O Zarathustra," said then his animals, "to those who think like us,
+things all dance themselves:  they come and hold out the hand and laugh and
+flee--and return.
+
+Everything goeth, everything returneth; eternally rolleth the wheel of
+existence.  Everything dieth, everything blossometh forth again; eternally
+runneth on the year of existence.
+
+Everything breaketh, everything is integrated anew; eternally buildeth
+itself the same house of existence.  All things separate, all things again
+greet one another; eternally true to itself remaineth the ring of
+existence.
+
+Every moment beginneth existence, around every 'Here' rolleth the ball
+'There.'  The middle is everywhere.  Crooked is the path of eternity."--
+
+--O ye wags and barrel-organs! answered Zarathustra, and smiled once more,
+how well do ye know what had to be fulfilled in seven days:--
+
+--And how that monster crept into my throat and choked me!  But I bit off
+its head and spat it away from me.
+
+And ye--ye have made a lyre-lay out of it?  Now, however, do I lie here,
+still exhausted with that biting and spitting-away, still sick with mine
+own salvation.
+
+AND YE LOOKED ON AT IT ALL?  O mine animals, are ye also cruel?  Did ye
+like to look at my great pain as men do?  For man is the cruellest animal.
+
+At tragedies, bull-fights, and crucifixions hath he hitherto been happiest
+on earth; and when he invented his hell, behold, that was his heaven on
+earth.
+
+When the great man crieth--:  immediately runneth the little man thither,
+and his tongue hangeth out of his mouth for very lusting.  He, however,
+calleth it his "pity."
+
+The little man, especially the poet--how passionately doth he accuse life
+in words!  Hearken to him, but do not fail to hear the delight which is in
+all accusation!
+
+Such accusers of life--them life overcometh with a glance of the eye.
+"Thou lovest me?" saith the insolent one; "wait a little, as yet have I no
+time for thee."
+
+Towards himself man is the cruellest animal; and in all who call themselves
+"sinners" and "bearers of the cross" and "penitents," do not overlook the
+voluptuousness in their plaints and accusations!
+
+And I myself--do I thereby want to be man's accuser?  Ah, mine animals,
+this only have I learned hitherto, that for man his baddest is necessary
+for his best,--
+
+--That all that is baddest is the best POWER, and the hardest stone for the
+highest creator; and that man must become better AND badder:--
+
+Not to THIS torture-stake was I tied, that I know man is bad,--but I cried,
+as no one hath yet cried:
+
+"Ah, that his baddest is so very small!  Ah, that his best is so very
+small!"
+
+The great disgust at man--IT strangled me and had crept into my throat:
+and what the soothsayer had presaged:  "All is alike, nothing is worth
+while, knowledge strangleth."
+
+A long twilight limped on before me, a fatally weary, fatally intoxicated
+sadness, which spake with yawning mouth.
+
+"Eternally he returneth, the man of whom thou art weary, the small man"--so
+yawned my sadness, and dragged its foot and could not go to sleep.
+
+A cavern, became the human earth to me; its breast caved in; everything
+living became to me human dust and bones and mouldering past.
+
+My sighing sat on all human graves, and could no longer arise:  my sighing
+and questioning croaked and choked, and gnawed and nagged day and night:
+
+--"Ah, man returneth eternally!  The small man returneth eternally!"
+
+Naked had I once seen both of them, the greatest man and the smallest man:
+all too like one another--all too human, even the greatest man!
+
+All too small, even the greatest man!--that was my disgust at man!  And the
+eternal return also of the smallest man!--that was my disgust at all
+existence!
+
+Ah, Disgust!  Disgust!  Disgust!--Thus spake Zarathustra, and sighed and
+shuddered; for he remembered his sickness.  Then did his animals prevent
+him from speaking further.
+
+"Do not speak further, thou convalescent!"--so answered his animals, "but
+go out where the world waiteth for thee like a garden.
+
+Go out unto the roses, the bees, and the flocks of doves!  Especially,
+however, unto the singing-birds, to learn SINGING from them!
+
+For singing is for the convalescent; the sound ones may talk.  And when the
+sound also want songs, then want they other songs than the convalescent."
+
+--"O ye wags and barrel-organs, do be silent!" answered Zarathustra, and
+smiled at his animals.  "How well ye know what consolation I devised for
+myself in seven days!
+
+That I have to sing once more--THAT consolation did I devise for myself,
+and THIS convalescence:  would ye also make another lyre-lay thereof?"
+
+--"Do not talk further," answered his animals once more; "rather, thou
+convalescent, prepare for thyself first a lyre, a new lyre!
+
+For behold, O Zarathustra!  For thy new lays there are needed new lyres.
+
+Sing and bubble over, O Zarathustra, heal thy soul with new lays:  that
+thou mayest bear thy great fate, which hath not yet been any one's fate!
+
+For thine animals know it well, O Zarathustra, who thou art and must
+become:  behold, THOU ART THE TEACHER OF THE ETERNAL RETURN,--that is now
+THY fate!
+
+That thou must be the first to teach this teaching--how could this great
+fate not be thy greatest danger and infirmity!
+
+Behold, we know what thou teachest:  that all things eternally return, and
+ourselves with them, and that we have already existed times without number,
+and all things with us.
+
+Thou teachest that there is a great year of Becoming, a prodigy of a great
+year; it must, like a sand-glass, ever turn up anew, that it may anew run
+down and run out:--
+
+--So that all those years are like one another in the greatest and also in
+the smallest, so that we ourselves, in every great year, are like ourselves
+in the greatest and also in the smallest.
+
+And if thou wouldst now die, O Zarathustra, behold, we know also how thou
+wouldst then speak to thyself:--but thine animals beseech thee not to die
+yet!
+
+Thou wouldst speak, and without trembling, buoyant rather with bliss, for a
+great weight and worry would be taken from thee, thou patientest one!--
+
+'Now do I die and disappear,' wouldst thou say, 'and in a moment I am
+nothing.  Souls are as mortal as bodies.
+
+But the plexus of causes returneth in which I am intertwined,--it will
+again create me!  I myself pertain to the causes of the eternal return.
+
+I come again with this sun, with this earth, with this eagle, with this
+serpent--NOT to a new life, or a better life, or a similar life:
+
+--I come again eternally to this identical and selfsame life, in its
+greatest and its smallest, to teach again the eternal return of all
+things,--
+
+--To speak again the word of the great noontide of earth and man, to
+announce again to man the Superman.
+
+I have spoken my word.  I break down by my word:  so willeth mine eternal
+fate--as announcer do I succumb!
+
+The hour hath now come for the down-goer to bless himself.  Thus--ENDETH
+Zarathustra's down-going.'"--
+
+When the animals had spoken these words they were silent and waited, so
+that Zarathustra might say something to them:  but Zarathustra did not hear
+that they were silent.  On the contrary, he lay quietly with closed eyes
+like a person sleeping, although he did not sleep; for he communed just
+then with his soul.  The serpent, however, and the eagle, when they found
+him silent in such wise, respected the great stillness around him, and
+prudently retired.
+
+
+LVIII.  THE GREAT LONGING.
+
+O my soul, I have taught thee to say "to-day" as "once on a time" and
+"formerly," and to dance thy measure over every Here and There and Yonder.
+
+O my soul, I delivered thee from all by-places, I brushed down from thee
+dust and spiders and twilight.
+
+O my soul, I washed the petty shame and the by-place virtue from thee, and
+persuaded thee to stand naked before the eyes of the sun.
+
+With the storm that is called "spirit" did I blow over thy surging sea; all
+clouds did I blow away from it; I strangled even the strangler called
+"sin."
+
+O my soul, I gave thee the right to say Nay like the storm, and to say Yea
+as the open heaven saith Yea:  calm as the light remainest thou, and now
+walkest through denying storms.
+
+O my soul, I restored to thee liberty over the created and the uncreated;
+and who knoweth, as thou knowest, the voluptuousness of the future?
+
+O my soul, I taught thee the contempt which doth not come like worm-eating,
+the great, the loving contempt, which loveth most where it contemneth most.
+
+O my soul, I taught thee so to persuade that thou persuadest even the
+grounds themselves to thee:  like the sun, which persuadeth even the sea to
+its height.
+
+O my soul, I have taken from thee all obeying and knee-bending and
+homage-paying; I have myself given thee the names, "Change of need" and
+"Fate."
+
+O my soul, I have given thee new names and gay-coloured playthings, I have
+called thee "Fate" and "the Circuit of circuits" and "the Navel-string of
+time" and "the Azure bell."
+
+O my soul, to thy domain gave I all wisdom to drink, all new wines, and
+also all immemorially old strong wines of wisdom.
+
+O my soul, every sun shed I upon thee, and every night and every silence
+and every longing:--then grewest thou up for me as a vine.
+
+O my soul, exuberant and heavy dost thou now stand forth, a vine with
+swelling udders and full clusters of brown golden grapes:--
+
+--Filled and weighted by thy happiness, waiting from superabundance, and
+yet ashamed of thy waiting.
+
+O my soul, there is nowhere a soul which could be more loving and more
+comprehensive and more extensive!  Where could future and past be closer
+together than with thee?
+
+O my soul, I have given thee everything, and all my hands have become empty
+by thee:--and now!  Now sayest thou to me, smiling and full of melancholy:
+"Which of us oweth thanks?--
+
+--Doth the giver not owe thanks because the receiver received?  Is
+bestowing not a necessity?  Is receiving not--pitying?"--
+
+O my soul, I understand the smiling of thy melancholy: thine over-abundance
+itself now stretcheth out longing hands!
+
+Thy fulness looketh forth over raging seas, and seeketh and waiteth:  the
+longing of over-fulness looketh forth from the smiling heaven of thine
+eyes!
+
+And verily, O my soul!  Who could see thy smiling and not melt into tears?
+The angels themselves melt into tears through the over-graciousness of thy
+smiling.
+
+Thy graciousness and over-graciousness, is it which will not complain and
+weep:  and yet, O my soul, longeth thy smiling for tears, and thy trembling
+mouth for sobs.
+
+"Is not all weeping complaining?  And all complaining, accusing?"  Thus
+speakest thou to thyself; and therefore, O my soul, wilt thou rather smile
+than pour forth thy grief--
+
+--Than in gushing tears pour forth all thy grief concerning thy fulness,
+and concerning the craving of the vine for the vintager and vintage-knife!
+
+But wilt thou not weep, wilt thou not weep forth thy purple melancholy,
+then wilt thou have to SING, O my soul!--Behold, I smile myself, who
+foretell thee this:
+
+--Thou wilt have to sing with passionate song, until all seas turn calm to
+hearken unto thy longing,--
+
+--Until over calm longing seas the bark glideth, the golden marvel, around
+the gold of which all good, bad, and marvellous things frisk:--
+
+--Also many large and small animals, and everything that hath light
+marvellous feet, so that it can run on violet-blue paths,--
+
+--Towards the golden marvel, the spontaneous bark, and its master:  he,
+however, is the vintager who waiteth with the diamond vintage-knife,--
+
+--Thy great deliverer, O my soul, the nameless one--for whom future songs
+only will find names!  And verily, already hath thy breath the fragrance of
+future songs,--
+
+--Already glowest thou and dreamest, already drinkest thou thirstily at all
+deep echoing wells of consolation, already reposeth thy melancholy in the
+bliss of future songs!--
+
+O my soul, now have I given thee all, and even my last possession, and all
+my hands have become empty by thee:--THAT I BADE THEE SING, behold, that
+was my last thing to give!
+
+That I bade thee sing,--say now, say:  WHICH of us now--oweth thanks?--
+Better still, however:  sing unto me, sing, O my soul!  And let me thank
+thee!--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+LIX.  THE SECOND DANCE-SONG.
+
+1.
+
+"Into thine eyes gazed I lately, O Life: gold saw I gleam in thy
+night-eyes,--my heart stood still with delight:
+
+--A golden bark saw I gleam on darkened waters, a sinking, drinking,
+reblinking, golden swing-bark!
+
+At my dance-frantic foot, dost thou cast a glance, a laughing, questioning,
+melting, thrown glance:
+
+Twice only movedst thou thy rattle with thy little hands--then did my feet
+swing with dance-fury.--
+
+My heels reared aloft, my toes they hearkened,--thee they would know:  hath
+not the dancer his ear--in his toe!
+
+Unto thee did I spring:  then fledst thou back from my bound; and towards
+me waved thy fleeing, flying tresses round!
+
+Away from thee did I spring, and from thy snaky tresses:  then stoodst thou
+there half-turned, and in thine eye caresses.
+
+With crooked glances--dost thou teach me crooked courses; on crooked
+courses learn my feet--crafty fancies!
+
+I fear thee near, I love thee far; thy flight allureth me, thy seeking
+secureth me:--I suffer, but for thee, what would I not gladly bear!
+
+For thee, whose coldness inflameth, whose hatred misleadeth, whose flight
+enchaineth, whose mockery--pleadeth:
+
+--Who would not hate thee, thou great bindress, inwindress, temptress,
+seekress, findress!  Who would not love thee, thou innocent, impatient,
+wind-swift, child-eyed sinner!
+
+Whither pullest thou me now, thou paragon and tomboy?  And now foolest thou
+me fleeing; thou sweet romp dost annoy!
+
+I dance after thee, I follow even faint traces lonely.  Where art thou?
+Give me thy hand!  Or thy finger only!
+
+Here are caves and thickets:  we shall go astray!--Halt!  Stand still!
+Seest thou not owls and bats in fluttering fray?
+
+Thou bat!  Thou owl!  Thou wouldst play me foul?  Where are we?  From the
+dogs hast thou learned thus to bark and howl.
+
+Thou gnashest on me sweetly with little white teeth; thine evil eyes shoot
+out upon me, thy curly little mane from underneath!
+
+This is a dance over stock and stone:  I am the hunter,--wilt thou be my
+hound, or my chamois anon?
+
+Now beside me!  And quickly, wickedly springing!  Now up!  And over!--Alas!
+I have fallen myself overswinging!
+
+Oh, see me lying, thou arrogant one, and imploring grace!  Gladly would I
+walk with thee--in some lovelier place!
+
+--In the paths of love, through bushes variegated, quiet, trim!  Or there
+along the lake, where gold-fishes dance and swim!
+
+Thou art now a-weary?  There above are sheep and sun-set stripes:  is it
+not sweet to sleep--the shepherd pipes?
+
+Thou art so very weary?  I carry thee thither; let just thine arm sink!
+And art thou thirsty--I should have something; but thy mouth would not like
+it to drink!--
+
+--Oh, that cursed, nimble, supple serpent and lurking-witch!  Where art
+thou gone?  But in my face do I feel through thy hand, two spots and red
+blotches itch!
+
+I am verily weary of it, ever thy sheepish shepherd to be.  Thou witch, if
+I have hitherto sung unto thee, now shalt THOU--cry unto me!
+
+To the rhythm of my whip shalt thou dance and cry!  I forget not my whip?--
+Not I!"--
+
+2.
+
+Then did Life answer me thus, and kept thereby her fine ears closed:
+
+"O Zarathustra!  Crack not so terribly with thy whip!  Thou knowest surely
+that noise killeth thought,--and just now there came to me such delicate
+thoughts.
+
+We are both of us genuine ne'er-do-wells and ne'er-do-ills.  Beyond good
+and evil found we our island and our green meadow--we two alone!  Therefore
+must we be friendly to each other!
+
+And even should we not love each other from the bottom of our hearts,--must
+we then have a grudge against each other if we do not love each other
+perfectly?
+
+And that I am friendly to thee, and often too friendly, that knowest thou:
+and the reason is that I am envious of thy Wisdom.  Ah, this mad old fool,
+Wisdom!
+
+If thy Wisdom should one day run away from thee, ah! then would also my
+love run away from thee quickly."--
+
+Thereupon did Life look thoughtfully behind and around, and said softly:
+"O Zarathustra, thou art not faithful enough to me!
+
+Thou lovest me not nearly so much as thou sayest; I know thou thinkest of
+soon leaving me.
+
+There is an old heavy, heavy, booming-clock:  it boometh by night up to thy
+cave:--
+
+--When thou hearest this clock strike the hours at midnight, then thinkest
+thou between one and twelve thereon--
+
+--Thou thinkest thereon, O Zarathustra, I know it--of soon leaving me!"--
+
+"Yea," answered I, hesitatingly, "but thou knowest it also"--And I said
+something into her ear, in amongst her confused, yellow, foolish tresses.
+
+"Thou KNOWEST that, O Zarathustra?  That knoweth no one--"
+
+And we gazed at each other, and looked at the green meadow o'er which the
+cool evening was just passing, and we wept together.--Then, however, was
+Life dearer unto me than all my Wisdom had ever been.--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+3.
+
+One!
+
+O man!  Take heed!
+
+Two!
+
+What saith deep midnight's voice indeed?
+
+Three!
+
+"I slept my sleep--
+
+Four!
+
+"From deepest dream I've woke and plead:--
+
+Five!
+
+"The world is deep,
+
+Six!
+
+"And deeper than the day could read.
+
+Seven!
+
+"Deep is its woe--
+
+Eight!
+
+"Joy--deeper still than grief can be:
+
+Nine!
+
+"Woe saith:  Hence!  Go!
+
+Ten!
+
+"But joys all want eternity--
+
+Eleven!
+
+"Want deep profound eternity!"
+
+Twelve!
+
+
+LX.  THE SEVEN SEALS.
+
+(OR THE YEA AND AMEN LAY.)
+
+1.
+
+If I be a diviner and full of the divining spirit which wandereth on high
+mountain-ridges, 'twixt two seas,--
+
+Wandereth 'twixt the past and the future as a heavy cloud--hostile to
+sultry plains, and to all that is weary and can neither die nor live:
+
+Ready for lightning in its dark bosom, and for the redeeming flash of
+light, charged with lightnings which say Yea! which laugh Yea! ready for
+divining flashes of lightning:--
+
+--Blessed, however, is he who is thus charged!  And verily, long must he
+hang like a heavy tempest on the mountain, who shall one day kindle the
+light of the future!--
+
+Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity and for the marriage-ring of
+rings--the ring of the return?
+
+Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+unless it be this woman whom I love:  for I love thee, O Eternity!
+
+FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!
+
+2.
+
+If ever my wrath hath burst graves, shifted landmarks, or rolled old
+shattered tables into precipitous depths:
+
+If ever my scorn hath scattered mouldered words to the winds, and if I have
+come like a besom to cross-spiders, and as a cleansing wind to old
+charnel-houses:
+
+If ever I have sat rejoicing where old Gods lie buried, world-blessing,
+world-loving, beside the monuments of old world-maligners:--
+
+--For even churches and Gods'-graves do I love, if only heaven looketh
+through their ruined roofs with pure eyes; gladly do I sit like grass and
+red poppies on ruined churches--
+
+Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of
+rings--the ring of the return?
+
+Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+unless it be this woman whom I love:  for I love thee, O Eternity!
+
+FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!
+
+3.
+
+If ever a breath hath come to me of the creative breath, and of the
+heavenly necessity which compelleth even chances to dance star-dances:
+
+If ever I have laughed with the laughter of the creative lightning, to
+which the long thunder of the deed followeth, grumblingly, but obediently:
+
+If ever I have played dice with the Gods at the divine table of the earth,
+so that the earth quaked and ruptured, and snorted forth fire-streams:--
+
+--For a divine table is the earth, and trembling with new creative dictums
+and dice-casts of the Gods:
+
+Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of
+rings--the ring of the return?
+
+Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+unless it be this woman whom I love:  for I love thee, O Eternity!
+
+FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!
+
+4.
+
+If ever I have drunk a full draught of the foaming spice- and
+confection-bowl in which all things are well mixed:
+
+If ever my hand hath mingled the furthest with the nearest, fire with
+spirit, joy with sorrow, and the harshest with the kindest:
+
+If I myself am a grain of the saving salt which maketh everything in the
+confection-bowl mix well:--
+
+--For there is a salt which uniteth good with evil; and even the evilest is
+worthy, as spicing and as final over-foaming:--
+
+Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of
+rings--the ring of the return?
+
+Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+unless it be this woman whom I love:  for I love thee, O Eternity!
+
+FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!
+
+5.
+
+If I be fond of the sea, and all that is sealike, and fondest of it when it
+angrily contradicteth me:
+
+If the exploring delight be in me, which impelleth sails to the
+undiscovered, if the seafarer's delight be in my delight:
+
+If ever my rejoicing hath called out:  "The shore hath vanished,--now hath
+fallen from me the last chain--
+
+The boundless roareth around me, far away sparkle for me space and time,--
+well! cheer up! old heart!"--
+
+Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of
+rings--the ring of the return?
+
+Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+unless it be this woman whom I love:  for I love thee, O Eternity!
+
+FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!
+
+6.
+
+If my virtue be a dancer's virtue, and if I have often sprung with both
+feet into golden-emerald rapture:
+
+If my wickedness be a laughing wickedness, at home among rose-banks and
+hedges of lilies:
+
+--For in laughter is all evil present, but it is sanctified and absolved by
+its own bliss:--
+
+And if it be my Alpha and Omega that everything heavy shall become light,
+every body a dancer, and every spirit a bird:  and verily, that is my Alpha
+and Omega!--
+
+Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of
+rings--the ring of the return?
+
+Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+unless it be this woman whom I love:  for I love thee, O Eternity!
+
+FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!
+
+7.
+
+If ever I have spread out a tranquil heaven above me, and have flown into
+mine own heaven with mine own pinions:
+
+If I have swum playfully in profound luminous distances, and if my
+freedom's avian wisdom hath come to me:--
+
+--Thus however speaketh avian wisdom:--"Lo, there is no above and no below!
+Throw thyself about,--outward, backward, thou light one!  Sing! speak no
+more!
+
+--Are not all words made for the heavy?  Do not all words lie to the light
+ones?  Sing! speak no more!"--
+
+Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of
+rings--the ring of the return?
+
+Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children,
+unless it be this woman whom I love:  for I love thee, O Eternity!
+
+FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY!
+
+
+FOURTH AND LAST PART.
+
+Ah, where in the world have there been greater follies than with the
+pitiful?  And what in the world hath caused more suffering than the follies
+of the pitiful?
+
+Woe unto all loving ones who have not an elevation which is above their
+pity!
+
+Thus spake the devil unto me, once on a time:  "Even God hath his hell:  it
+is his love for man."
+
+And lately did I hear him say these words:  "God is dead:  of his pity for
+man hath God died."--ZARATHUSTRA, II., "The Pitiful."
+
+
+LXI.  THE HONEY SACRIFICE.
+
+--And again passed moons and years over Zarathustra's soul, and he heeded
+it not; his hair, however, became white.  One day when he sat on a stone in
+front of his cave, and gazed calmly into the distance--one there gazeth out
+on the sea, and away beyond sinuous abysses,--then went his animals
+thoughtfully round about him, and at last set themselves in front of him.
+
+"O Zarathustra," said they, "gazest thou out perhaps for thy happiness?"--
+"Of what account is my happiness!" answered he, "I have long ceased to
+strive any more for happiness, I strive for my work."--"O Zarathustra,"
+said the animals once more, "that sayest thou as one who hath overmuch of
+good things.  Liest thou not in a sky-blue lake of happiness?"--"Ye wags,"
+answered Zarathustra, and smiled, "how well did ye choose the simile!  But
+ye know also that my happiness is heavy, and not like a fluid wave of
+water:  it presseth me and will not leave me, and is like molten pitch."--
+
+Then went his animals again thoughtfully around him, and placed themselves
+once more in front of him.  "O Zarathustra," said they, "it is consequently
+FOR THAT REASON that thou thyself always becometh yellower and darker,
+although thy hair looketh white and flaxen?  Lo, thou sittest in thy
+pitch!"--"What do ye say, mine animals?" said Zarathustra, laughing;
+"verily I reviled when I spake of pitch.  As it happeneth with me, so is it
+with all fruits that turn ripe.  It is the HONEY in my veins that maketh my
+blood thicker, and also my soul stiller."--"So will it be, O Zarathustra,"
+answered his animals, and pressed up to him; "but wilt thou not to-day
+ascend a high mountain?  The air is pure, and to-day one seeth more of the
+world than ever."--"Yea, mine animals," answered he, "ye counsel admirably
+and according to my heart:  I will to-day ascend a high mountain!  But see
+that honey is there ready to hand, yellow, white, good, ice-cool, golden-
+comb-honey.  For know that when aloft I will make the honey-sacrifice."--
+
+When Zarathustra, however, was aloft on the summit, he sent his animals
+home that had accompanied him, and found that he was now alone:--then he
+laughed from the bottom of his heart, looked around him, and spake thus:
+
+That I spake of sacrifices and honey-sacrifices, it was merely a ruse in
+talking and verily, a useful folly!  Here aloft can I now speak freer than
+in front of mountain-caves and anchorites' domestic animals.
+
+What to sacrifice!  I squander what is given me, a squanderer with a
+thousand hands:  how could I call that--sacrificing?
+
+And when I desired honey I only desired bait, and sweet mucus and mucilage,
+for which even the mouths of growling bears, and strange, sulky, evil
+birds, water:
+
+--The best bait, as huntsmen and fishermen require it.  For if the world be
+as a gloomy forest of animals, and a pleasure-ground for all wild huntsmen,
+it seemeth to me rather--and preferably--a fathomless, rich sea;
+
+--A sea full of many-hued fishes and crabs, for which even the Gods might
+long, and might be tempted to become fishers in it, and casters of nets,--
+so rich is the world in wonderful things, great and small!
+
+Especially the human world, the human sea:--towards IT do I now throw out
+my golden angle-rod and say:  Open up, thou human abyss!
+
+Open up, and throw unto me thy fish and shining crabs!  With my best bait
+shall I allure to myself to-day the strangest human fish!
+
+--My happiness itself do I throw out into all places far and wide 'twixt
+orient, noontide, and occident, to see if many human fish will not learn to
+hug and tug at my happiness;--
+
+Until, biting at my sharp hidden hooks, they have to come up unto MY
+height, the motleyest abyss-groundlings, to the wickedest of all fishers of
+men.
+
+For THIS am I from the heart and from the beginning--drawing, hither-
+drawing, upward-drawing, upbringing; a drawer, a trainer, a training-
+master, who not in vain counselled himself once on a time:  "Become what
+thou art!"
+
+Thus may men now come UP to me; for as yet do I await the signs that it is
+time for my down-going; as yet do I not myself go down, as I must do,
+amongst men.
+
+Therefore do I here wait, crafty and scornful upon high mountains, no
+impatient one, no patient one; rather one who hath even unlearnt patience,
+--because he no longer "suffereth."
+
+For my fate giveth me time:  it hath forgotten me perhaps?  Or doth it sit
+behind a big stone and catch flies?
+
+And verily, I am well-disposed to mine eternal fate, because it doth not
+hound and hurry me, but leaveth me time for merriment and mischief; so that
+I have to-day ascended this high mountain to catch fish.
+
+Did ever any one catch fish upon high mountains?  And though it be a folly
+what I here seek and do, it is better so than that down below I should
+become solemn with waiting, and green and yellow--
+
+--A posturing wrath-snorter with waiting, a holy howl-storm from the
+mountains, an impatient one that shouteth down into the valleys:  "Hearken,
+else I will scourge you with the scourge of God!"
+
+Not that I would have a grudge against such wrathful ones on that account:
+they are well enough for laughter to me!  Impatient must they now be, those
+big alarm-drums, which find a voice now or never!
+
+Myself, however, and my fate--we do not talk to the Present, neither do we
+talk to the Never:  for talking we have patience and time and more than
+time.  For one day must it yet come, and may not pass by.
+
+What must one day come and may not pass by?  Our great Hazar, that is to
+say, our great, remote human-kingdom, the Zarathustra-kingdom of a thousand
+years--
+
+How remote may such "remoteness" be?  What doth it concern me?  But on that
+account it is none the less sure unto me--, with both feet stand I secure
+on this ground;
+
+--On an eternal ground, on hard primary rock, on this highest, hardest,
+primary mountain-ridge, unto which all winds come, as unto the storm-
+parting, asking Where? and Whence? and Whither?
+
+Here laugh, laugh, my hearty, healthy wickedness!  From high mountains cast
+down thy glittering scorn-laughter!  Allure for me with thy glittering the
+finest human fish!
+
+And whatever belongeth unto ME in all seas, my in-and-for-me in all things
+--fish THAT out for me, bring THAT up to me:  for that do I wait, the
+wickedest of all fish-catchers.
+
+Out! out! my fishing-hook!  In and down, thou bait of my happiness!  Drip
+thy sweetest dew, thou honey of my heart!  Bite, my fishing-hook, into the
+belly of all black affliction!
+
+Look out, look out, mine eye!  Oh, how many seas round about me, what
+dawning human futures!  And above me--what rosy red stillness!  What
+unclouded silence!
+
+
+LXII.  THE CRY OF DISTRESS.
+
+The next day sat Zarathustra again on the stone in front of his cave,
+whilst his animals roved about in the world outside to bring home new
+food,--also new honey:  for Zarathustra had spent and wasted the old honey
+to the very last particle.  When he thus sat, however, with a stick in his
+hand, tracing the shadow of his figure on the earth, and reflecting--
+verily! not upon himself and his shadow,--all at once he startled and
+shrank back:  for he saw another shadow beside his own.  And when he
+hastily looked around and stood up, behold, there stood the soothsayer
+beside him, the same whom he had once given to eat and drink at his table,
+the proclaimer of the great weariness, who taught:  "All is alike, nothing
+is worth while, the world is without meaning, knowledge strangleth."  But
+his face had changed since then; and when Zarathustra looked into his eyes,
+his heart was startled once more:  so much evil announcement and ashy-grey
+lightnings passed over that countenance.
+
+The soothsayer, who had perceived what went on in Zarathustra's soul, wiped
+his face with his hand, as if he would wipe out the impression; the same
+did also Zarathustra.  And when both of them had thus silently composed and
+strengthened themselves, they gave each other the hand, as a token that
+they wanted once more to recognise each other.
+
+"Welcome hither," said Zarathustra, "thou soothsayer of the great
+weariness, not in vain shalt thou once have been my messmate and guest.
+Eat and drink also with me to-day, and forgive it that a cheerful old man
+sitteth with thee at table!"--"A cheerful old man?" answered the
+soothsayer, shaking his head, "but whoever thou art, or wouldst be, O
+Zarathustra, thou hast been here aloft the longest time,--in a little while
+thy bark shall no longer rest on dry land!"--"Do I then rest on dry land?"
+--asked Zarathustra, laughing.--"The waves around thy mountain," answered
+the soothsayer, "rise and rise, the waves of great distress and affliction:
+they will soon raise thy bark also and carry thee away."--Thereupon was
+Zarathustra silent and wondered.--"Dost thou still hear nothing?" continued
+the soothsayer:  "doth it not rush and roar out of the depth?"--Zarathustra
+was silent once more and listened:  then heard he a long, long cry, which
+the abysses threw to one another and passed on; for none of them wished to
+retain it:  so evil did it sound.
+
+"Thou ill announcer," said Zarathustra at last, "that is a cry of distress,
+and the cry of a man; it may come perhaps out of a black sea.  But what
+doth human distress matter to me!  My last sin which hath been reserved for
+me,--knowest thou what it is called?"
+
+--"PITY!" answered the soothsayer from an overflowing heart, and raised
+both his hands aloft--"O Zarathustra, I have come that I may seduce thee to
+thy last sin!"--
+
+And hardly had those words been uttered when there sounded the cry once
+more, and longer and more alarming than before--also much nearer.  "Hearest
+thou?  Hearest thou, O Zarathustra?" called out the soothsayer, "the cry
+concerneth thee, it calleth thee:  Come, come, come; it is time, it is the
+highest time!"--
+
+Zarathustra was silent thereupon, confused and staggered; at last he asked,
+like one who hesitateth in himself:  "And who is it that there calleth me?"
+
+"But thou knowest it, certainly," answered the soothsayer warmly, "why dost
+thou conceal thyself?  It is THE HIGHER MAN that crieth for thee!"
+
+"The higher man?" cried Zarathustra, horror-stricken:  "what wanteth HE?
+What wanteth HE?  The higher man!  What wanteth he here?"--and his skin
+covered with perspiration.
+
+The soothsayer, however, did not heed Zarathustra's alarm, but listened and
+listened in the downward direction.  When, however, it had been still there
+for a long while, he looked behind, and saw Zarathustra standing trembling.
+
+"O Zarathustra," he began, with sorrowful voice, "thou dost not stand there
+like one whose happiness maketh him giddy:  thou wilt have to dance lest
+thou tumble down!
+
+But although thou shouldst dance before me, and leap all thy side-leaps, no
+one may say unto me:  'Behold, here danceth the last joyous man!'
+
+In vain would any one come to this height who sought HIM here:  caves would
+he find, indeed, and back-caves, hiding-places for hidden ones; but not
+lucky mines, nor treasure-chambers, nor new gold-veins of happiness.
+
+Happiness--how indeed could one find happiness among such buried-alive and
+solitary ones!  Must I yet seek the last happiness on the Happy Isles, and
+far away among forgotten seas?
+
+But all is alike, nothing is worth while, no seeking is of service, there
+are no longer any Happy Isles!"--
+
+Thus sighed the soothsayer; with his last sigh, however, Zarathustra again
+became serene and assured, like one who hath come out of a deep chasm into
+the light.  "Nay!  Nay!  Three times Nay!" exclaimed he with a strong
+voice, and stroked his beard--"THAT do I know better!  There are still
+Happy Isles!  Silence THEREON, thou sighing sorrow-sack!
+
+Cease to splash THEREON, thou rain-cloud of the forenoon!  Do I not already
+stand here wet with thy misery, and drenched like a dog?
+
+Now do I shake myself and run away from thee, that I may again become dry:
+thereat mayest thou not wonder!  Do I seem to thee discourteous?  Here
+however is MY court.
+
+But as regards the higher man:  well!  I shall seek him at once in those
+forests:  FROM THENCE came his cry.  Perhaps he is there hard beset by an
+evil beast.
+
+He is in MY domain:  therein shall he receive no scath!  And verily, there
+are many evil beasts about me."--
+
+With those words Zarathustra turned around to depart.  Then said the
+soothsayer:  "O Zarathustra, thou art a rogue!
+
+I know it well:  thou wouldst fain be rid of me!  Rather wouldst thou run
+into the forest and lay snares for evil beasts!
+
+But what good will it do thee?  In the evening wilt thou have me again:  in
+thine own cave will I sit, patient and heavy like a block--and wait for
+thee!"
+
+"So be it!" shouted back Zarathustra, as he went away:  "and what is mine
+in my cave belongeth also unto thee, my guest!
+
+Shouldst thou however find honey therein, well! just lick it up, thou
+growling bear, and sweeten thy soul!  For in the evening we want both to be
+in good spirits;
+
+--In good spirits and joyful, because this day hath come to an end!  And
+thou thyself shalt dance to my lays, as my dancing-bear.
+
+Thou dost not believe this?  Thou shakest thy head?  Well!  Cheer up, old
+bear!  But I also--am a soothsayer."
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+LXIII.  TALK WITH THE KINGS.
+
+1.
+
+Ere Zarathustra had been an hour on his way in the mountains and forests,
+he saw all at once a strange procession.  Right on the path which he was
+about to descend came two kings walking, bedecked with crowns and purple
+girdles, and variegated like flamingoes:  they drove before them a laden
+ass.  "What do these kings want in my domain?" said Zarathustra in
+astonishment to his heart, and hid himself hastily behind a thicket.  When
+however the kings approached to him, he said half-aloud, like one speaking
+only to himself:  "Strange!  Strange!  How doth this harmonise?  Two kings
+do I see--and only one ass!"
+
+Thereupon the two kings made a halt; they smiled and looked towards the
+spot whence the voice proceeded, and afterwards looked into each other's
+faces.  "Such things do we also think among ourselves," said the king on
+the right, "but we do not utter them."
+
+The king on the left, however, shrugged his shoulders and answered:  "That
+may perhaps be a goat-herd.  Or an anchorite who hath lived too long among
+rocks and trees.  For no society at all spoileth also good manners."
+
+"Good manners?" replied angrily and bitterly the other king:  "what then do
+we run out of the way of?  Is it not 'good manners'?  Our 'good society'?
+
+Better, verily, to live among anchorites and goat-herds, than with our
+gilded, false, over-rouged populace--though it call itself 'good society.'
+
+--Though it call itself 'nobility.' But there all is false and foul, above
+all the blood--thanks to old evil diseases and worse curers.
+
+The best and dearest to me at present is still a sound peasant, coarse,
+artful, obstinate and enduring:  that is at present the noblest type.
+
+The peasant is at present the best; and the peasant type should be master!
+But it is the kingdom of the populace--I no longer allow anything to be
+imposed upon me.  The populace, however--that meaneth, hodgepodge.
+
+Populace-hodgepodge:  therein is everything mixed with everything, saint
+and swindler, gentleman and Jew, and every beast out of Noah's ark.
+
+Good manners!  Everything is false and foul with us.  No one knoweth any
+longer how to reverence:  it is THAT precisely that we run away from.  They
+are fulsome obtrusive dogs; they gild palm-leaves.
+
+This loathing choketh me, that we kings ourselves have become false, draped
+and disguised with the old faded pomp of our ancestors, show-pieces for the
+stupidest, the craftiest, and whosoever at present trafficketh for power.
+
+We ARE NOT the first men--and have nevertheless to STAND FOR them:  of this
+imposture have we at last become weary and disgusted.
+
+From the rabble have we gone out of the way, from all those bawlers and
+scribe-blowflies, from the trader-stench, the ambition-fidgeting, the bad
+breath--:  fie, to live among the rabble;
+
+--Fie, to stand for the first men among the rabble!  Ah, loathing!
+Loathing!  Loathing!  What doth it now matter about us kings!"--
+
+"Thine old sickness seizeth thee," said here the king on the left, "thy
+loathing seizeth thee, my poor brother.  Thou knowest, however, that some
+one heareth us."
+
+Immediately thereupon, Zarathustra, who had opened ears and eyes to this
+talk, rose from his hiding-place, advanced towards the kings, and thus
+began:
+
+"He who hearkeneth unto you, he who gladly hearkeneth unto you, is called
+Zarathustra.
+
+I am Zarathustra who once said:  'What doth it now matter about kings!'
+Forgive me; I rejoiced when ye said to each other:  'What doth it matter
+about us kings!'
+
+Here, however, is MY domain and jurisdiction:  what may ye be seeking in my
+domain?  Perhaps, however, ye have FOUND on your way what _I_ seek:
+namely, the higher man."
+
+When the kings heard this, they beat upon their breasts and said with one
+voice:  "We are recognised!
+
+With the sword of thine utterance severest thou the thickest darkness of
+our hearts.  Thou hast discovered our distress; for lo! we are on our way
+to find the higher man--
+
+--The man that is higher than we, although we are kings.  To him do we
+convey this ass.  For the highest man shall also be the highest lord on
+earth.
+
+There is no sorer misfortune in all human destiny, than when the mighty of
+the earth are not also the first men.  Then everything becometh false and
+distorted and monstrous.
+
+And when they are even the last men, and more beast than man, then riseth
+and riseth the populace in honour, and at last saith even the
+populace-virtue: 'Lo, I alone am virtue!'"--
+
+What have I just heard? answered Zarathustra.  What wisdom in kings!  I am
+enchanted, and verily, I have already promptings to make a rhyme thereon:--
+
+--Even if it should happen to be a rhyme not suited for every one's ears.
+I unlearned long ago to have consideration for long ears.  Well then!  Well
+now!
+
+(Here, however, it happened that the ass also found utterance:  it said
+distinctly and with malevolence, Y-E-A.)
+
+'Twas once--methinks year one of our blessed Lord,--
+Drunk without wine, the Sybil thus deplored:--
+"How ill things go!
+Decline!  Decline!  Ne'er sank the world so low!
+Rome now hath turned harlot and harlot-stew,
+Rome's Caesar a beast, and God--hath turned Jew!
+
+2.
+
+With those rhymes of Zarathustra the kings were delighted; the king on the
+right, however, said:  "O Zarathustra, how well it was that we set out to
+see thee!
+
+For thine enemies showed us thy likeness in their mirror:  there lookedst
+thou with the grimace of a devil, and sneeringly:  so that we were afraid
+of thee.
+
+But what good did it do!  Always didst thou prick us anew in heart and ear
+with thy sayings.  Then did we say at last:  What doth it matter how he
+look!
+
+We must HEAR him; him who teacheth:  'Ye shall love peace as a means to new
+wars, and the short peace more than the long!'
+
+No one ever spake such warlike words:  'What is good?  To be brave is good.
+It is the good war that halloweth every cause.'
+
+O Zarathustra, our fathers' blood stirred in our veins at such words:  it
+was like the voice of spring to old wine-casks.
+
+When the swords ran among one another like red-spotted serpents, then did
+our fathers become fond of life; the sun of every peace seemed to them
+languid and lukewarm, the long peace, however, made them ashamed.
+
+How they sighed, our fathers, when they saw on the wall brightly furbished,
+dried-up swords!  Like those they thirsted for war.  For a sword thirsteth
+to drink blood, and sparkleth with desire."--
+
+--When the kings thus discoursed and talked eagerly of the happiness of
+their fathers, there came upon Zarathustra no little desire to mock at
+their eagerness:  for evidently they were very peaceable kings whom he saw
+before him, kings with old and refined features.  But he restrained
+himself.  "Well!" said he, "thither leadeth the way, there lieth the cave
+of Zarathustra; and this day is to have a long evening!  At present,
+however, a cry of distress calleth me hastily away from you.
+
+It will honour my cave if kings want to sit and wait in it:  but, to be
+sure, ye will have to wait long!
+
+Well!  What of that!  Where doth one at present learn better to wait than
+at courts?  And the whole virtue of kings that hath remained unto them--is
+it not called to-day:  ABILITY to wait?"
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+LXIV.  THE LEECH.
+
+And Zarathustra went thoughtfully on, further and lower down, through
+forests and past moory bottoms; as it happeneth, however, to every one who
+meditateth upon hard matters, he trod thereby unawares upon a man.  And lo,
+there spurted into his face all at once a cry of pain, and two curses and
+twenty bad invectives, so that in his fright he raised his stick and also
+struck the trodden one.  Immediately afterwards, however, he regained his
+composure, and his heart laughed at the folly he had just committed.
+
+"Pardon me," said he to the trodden one, who had got up enraged, and had
+seated himself, "pardon me, and hear first of all a parable.
+
+As a wanderer who dreameth of remote things on a lonesome highway, runneth
+unawares against a sleeping dog, a dog which lieth in the sun:
+
+--As both of them then start up and snap at each other, like deadly
+enemies, those two beings mortally frightened--so did it happen unto us.
+
+And yet!  And yet--how little was lacking for them to caress each other,
+that dog and that lonesome one!  Are they not both--lonesome ones!"
+
+--"Whoever thou art," said the trodden one, still enraged, "thou treadest
+also too nigh me with thy parable, and not only with thy foot!
+
+Lo! am I then a dog?"--And thereupon the sitting one got up, and pulled his
+naked arm out of the swamp. For at first he had lain outstretched on the
+ground, hidden and indiscernible, like those who lie in wait for
+swamp-game.
+
+"But whatever art thou about!" called out Zarathustra in alarm, for he saw
+a deal of blood streaming over the naked arm,--"what hath hurt thee?  Hath
+an evil beast bit thee, thou unfortunate one?"
+
+The bleeding one laughed, still angry, "What matter is it to thee!" said
+he, and was about to go on.  "Here am I at home and in my province.  Let
+him question me whoever will:  to a dolt, however, I shall hardly answer."
+
+"Thou art mistaken," said Zarathustra sympathetically, and held him fast;
+"thou art mistaken.  Here thou art not at home, but in my domain, and
+therein shall no one receive any hurt.
+
+Call me however what thou wilt--I am who I must be.  I call myself
+Zarathustra.
+
+Well!  Up thither is the way to Zarathustra's cave:  it is not far,--wilt
+thou not attend to thy wounds at my home?
+
+It hath gone badly with thee, thou unfortunate one, in this life:  first a
+beast bit thee, and then--a man trod upon thee!"--
+
+When however the trodden one had heard the name of Zarathustra he was
+transformed.  "What happeneth unto me!" he exclaimed, "WHO preoccupieth me
+so much in this life as this one man, namely Zarathustra, and that one
+animal that liveth on blood, the leech?
+
+For the sake of the leech did I lie here by this swamp, like a fisher, and
+already had mine outstretched arm been bitten ten times, when there biteth
+a still finer leech at my blood, Zarathustra himself!
+
+O happiness!  O miracle!  Praised be this day which enticed me into the
+swamp!  Praised be the best, the livest cupping-glass, that at present
+liveth; praised be the great conscience-leech Zarathustra!"--
+
+Thus spake the trodden one, and Zarathustra rejoiced at his words and their
+refined reverential style.  "Who art thou?" asked he, and gave him his
+hand, "there is much to clear up and elucidate between us, but already
+methinketh pure clear day is dawning."
+
+"I am THE SPIRITUALLY CONSCIENTIOUS ONE," answered he who was asked, "and
+in matters of the spirit it is difficult for any one to take it more
+rigorously, more restrictedly, and more severely than I, except him from
+whom I learnt it, Zarathustra himself.
+
+Better know nothing than half-know many things!  Better be a fool on one's
+own account, than a sage on other people's approbation!  I--go to the
+basis:
+
+--What matter if it be great or small?  If it be called swamp or sky?  A
+handbreadth of basis is enough for me, if it be actually basis and ground!
+
+--A handbreadth of basis: thereon can one stand. In the true
+knowing-knowledge there is nothing great and nothing small."
+
+"Then thou art perhaps an expert on the leech?" asked Zarathustra; "and
+thou investigatest the leech to its ultimate basis, thou conscientious
+one?"
+
+"O Zarathustra," answered the trodden one, "that would be something
+immense; how could I presume to do so!
+
+That, however, of which I am master and knower, is the BRAIN of the leech:
+--that is MY world!
+
+And it is also a world!  Forgive it, however, that my pride here findeth
+expression, for here I have not mine equal.  Therefore said I:  'here am I
+at home.'
+
+How long have I investigated this one thing, the brain of the leech, so
+that here the slippery truth might no longer slip from me!  Here is MY
+domain!
+
+--For the sake of this did I cast everything else aside, for the sake of
+this did everything else become indifferent to me; and close beside my
+knowledge lieth my black ignorance.
+
+My spiritual conscience requireth from me that it should be so--that I
+should know one thing, and not know all else:  they are a loathing unto me,
+all the semi-spiritual, all the hazy, hovering, and visionary.
+
+Where mine honesty ceaseth, there am I blind, and want also to be blind.
+Where I want to know, however, there want I also to be honest--namely,
+severe, rigorous, restricted, cruel and inexorable.
+
+Because THOU once saidest, O Zarathustra:  'Spirit is life which itself
+cutteth into life';--that led and allured me to thy doctrine.  And verily,
+with mine own blood have I increased mine own knowledge!"
+
+--"As the evidence indicateth," broke in Zarathustra; for still was the
+blood flowing down on the naked arm of the conscientious one.  For there
+had ten leeches bitten into it.
+
+"O thou strange fellow, how much doth this very evidence teach me--namely,
+thou thyself!  And not all, perhaps, might I pour into thy rigorous ear!
+
+Well then!  We part here!  But I would fain find thee again.  Up thither is
+the way to my cave:  to-night shalt thou there be my welcome guest!
+
+Fain would I also make amends to thy body for Zarathustra treading upon
+thee with his feet:  I think about that.  Just now, however, a cry of
+distress calleth me hastily away from thee."
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+LXV.  THE MAGICIAN.
+
+1.
+
+When however Zarathustra had gone round a rock, then saw he on the same
+path, not far below him, a man who threw his limbs about like a maniac, and
+at last tumbled to the ground on his belly.  "Halt!" said then Zarathustra
+to his heart, "he there must surely be the higher man, from him came that
+dreadful cry of distress,--I will see if I can help him."  When, however,
+he ran to the spot where the man lay on the ground, he found a trembling
+old man, with fixed eyes; and in spite of all Zarathustra's efforts to lift
+him and set him again on his feet, it was all in vain.  The unfortunate
+one, also, did not seem to notice that some one was beside him; on the
+contrary, he continually looked around with moving gestures, like one
+forsaken and isolated from all the world.  At last, however, after much
+trembling, and convulsion, and curling-himself-up, he began to lament thus:
+
+Who warm'th me, who lov'th me still?
+Give ardent fingers!
+Give heartening charcoal-warmers!
+Prone, outstretched, trembling,
+Like him, half dead and cold, whose feet one warm'th--
+And shaken, ah! by unfamiliar fevers,
+Shivering with sharpened, icy-cold frost-arrows,
+By thee pursued, my fancy!
+Ineffable!  Recondite!  Sore-frightening!
+Thou huntsman 'hind the cloud-banks!
+Now lightning-struck by thee,
+Thou mocking eye that me in darkness watcheth:
+--Thus do I lie,
+Bend myself, twist myself, convulsed
+With all eternal torture,
+And smitten
+By thee, cruellest huntsman,
+Thou unfamiliar--GOD...
+
+Smite deeper!
+Smite yet once more!
+Pierce through and rend my heart!
+What mean'th this torture
+With dull, indented arrows?
+Why look'st thou hither,
+Of human pain not weary,
+With mischief-loving, godly flash-glances?
+Not murder wilt thou,
+But torture, torture?
+For why--ME torture,
+Thou mischief-loving, unfamiliar God?--
+
+Ha!  Ha!
+Thou stealest nigh
+In midnight's gloomy hour?...
+What wilt thou?
+Speak!
+Thou crowdst me, pressest--
+Ha! now far too closely!
+Thou hearst me breathing,
+Thou o'erhearst my heart,
+Thou ever jealous one!
+--Of what, pray, ever jealous?
+Off!  Off!
+For why the ladder?
+Wouldst thou GET IN?
+To heart in-clamber?
+To mine own secretest
+Conceptions in-clamber?
+Shameless one!  Thou unknown one!--Thief!
+What seekst thou by thy stealing?
+What seekst thou by thy hearkening?
+What seekst thou by thy torturing?
+Thou torturer!
+Thou--hangman-God!
+Or shall I, as the mastiffs do,
+Roll me before thee?
+And cringing, enraptured, frantical,
+My tail friendly--waggle!
+
+In vain!
+Goad further!
+Cruellest goader!
+No dog--thy game just am I,
+Cruellest huntsman!
+Thy proudest of captives,
+Thou robber 'hind the cloud-banks...
+Speak finally!
+Thou lightning-veiled one!  Thou unknown one!  Speak!
+What wilt thou, highway-ambusher, from--ME?
+What WILT thou, unfamiliar--God?
+What?
+Ransom-gold?
+How much of ransom-gold?
+Solicit much--that bid'th my pride!
+And be concise--that bid'th mine other pride!
+
+Ha!  Ha!
+ME--wantst thou?  me?
+--Entire?...
+
+Ha!  Ha!
+And torturest me, fool that thou art,
+Dead-torturest quite my pride?
+Give LOVE to me--who warm'th me still?
+Who lov'th me still?--
+Give ardent fingers
+Give heartening charcoal-warmers,
+Give me, the lonesomest,
+The ice (ah! seven-fold frozen ice
+For very enemies,
+For foes, doth make one thirst).
+Give, yield to me,
+Cruellest foe,
+--THYSELF!--
+
+Away!
+There fled he surely,
+My final, only comrade,
+My greatest foe,
+Mine unfamiliar--
+My hangman-God!...
+
+--Nay!
+Come thou back!
+WITH all of thy great tortures!
+To me the last of lonesome ones,
+Oh, come thou back!
+All my hot tears in streamlets trickle
+Their course to thee!
+And all my final hearty fervour--
+Up-glow'th to THEE!
+Oh, come thou back,
+Mine unfamiliar God! my PAIN!
+My final bliss!
+
+2.
+
+--Here, however, Zarathustra could no longer restrain himself; he took his
+staff and struck the wailer with all his might.  "Stop this," cried he to
+him with wrathful laughter, "stop this, thou stage-player!  Thou false
+coiner!  Thou liar from the very heart!  I know thee well!
+
+I will soon make warm legs to thee, thou evil magician:  I know well how--
+to make it hot for such as thou!"
+
+--"Leave off," said the old man, and sprang up from the ground, "strike me
+no more, O Zarathustra!  I did it only for amusement!
+
+That kind of thing belongeth to mine art.  Thee thyself, I wanted to put to
+the proof when I gave this performance.  And verily, thou hast well
+detected me!
+
+But thou thyself--hast given me no small proof of thyself:  thou art HARD,
+thou wise Zarathustra!  Hard strikest thou with thy 'truths,' thy cudgel
+forceth from me--THIS truth!"
+
+--"Flatter not," answered Zarathustra, still excited and frowning, "thou
+stage-player from the heart!  Thou art false:  why speakest thou--of truth!
+
+Thou peacock of peacocks, thou sea of vanity; WHAT didst thou represent
+before me, thou evil magician; WHOM was I meant to believe in when thou
+wailedst in such wise?"
+
+"THE PENITENT IN SPIRIT," said the old man, "it was him--I represented;
+thou thyself once devisedst this expression--
+
+--The poet and magician who at last turneth his spirit against himself, the
+transformed one who freezeth to death by his bad science and conscience.
+
+And just acknowledge it:  it was long, O Zarathustra, before thou
+discoveredst my trick and lie!  Thou BELIEVEDST in my distress when thou
+heldest my head with both thy hands,--
+
+--I heard thee lament 'we have loved him too little, loved him too little!'
+Because I so far deceived thee, my wickedness rejoiced in me."
+
+"Thou mayest have deceived subtler ones than I," said Zarathustra sternly.
+"I am not on my guard against deceivers; I HAVE TO BE without precaution:
+so willeth my lot.
+
+Thou, however,--MUST deceive:  so far do I know thee!  Thou must ever be
+equivocal, trivocal, quadrivocal, and quinquivocal!  Even what thou hast
+now confessed, is not nearly true enough nor false enough for me!
+
+Thou bad false coiner, how couldst thou do otherwise!  Thy very malady
+wouldst thou whitewash if thou showed thyself naked to thy physician.
+
+Thus didst thou whitewash thy lie before me when thou saidst:  'I did so
+ONLY for amusement!'  There was also SERIOUSNESS therein, thou ART
+something of a penitent-in-spirit!
+
+I divine thee well:  thou hast become the enchanter of all the world; but
+for thyself thou hast no lie or artifice left,--thou art disenchanted to
+thyself!
+
+Thou hast reaped disgust as thy one truth.  No word in thee is any longer
+genuine, but thy mouth is so:  that is to say, the disgust that cleaveth
+unto thy mouth."--
+
+--"Who art thou at all!" cried here the old magician with defiant voice,
+"who dareth to speak thus unto ME, the greatest man now living?"--and a
+green flash shot from his eye at Zarathustra.  But immediately after he
+changed, and said sadly:
+
+"O Zarathustra, I am weary of it, I am disgusted with mine arts, I am not
+GREAT, why do I dissemble!  But thou knowest it well--I sought for
+greatness!
+
+A great man I wanted to appear, and persuaded many; but the lie hath been
+beyond my power.  On it do I collapse.
+
+O Zarathustra, everything is a lie in me; but that I collapse--this my
+collapsing is GENUINE!"--
+
+"It honoureth thee," said Zarathustra gloomily, looking down with sidelong
+glance, "it honoureth thee that thou soughtest for greatness, but it
+betrayeth thee also.  Thou art not great.
+
+Thou bad old magician, THAT is the best and the honestest thing I honour in
+thee, that thou hast become weary of thyself, and hast expressed it:  'I am
+not great.'
+
+THEREIN do I honour thee as a penitent-in-spirit, and although only for the
+twinkling of an eye, in that one moment wast thou--genuine.
+
+But tell me, what seekest thou here in MY forests and rocks?  And if thou
+hast put thyself in MY way, what proof of me wouldst thou have?--
+
+--Wherein didst thou put ME to the test?"
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, and his eyes sparkled.  But the old magician kept
+silence for a while; then said he:  "Did I put thee to the test?  I--seek
+only.
+
+O Zarathustra, I seek a genuine one, a right one, a simple one, an
+unequivocal one, a man of perfect honesty, a vessel of wisdom, a saint of
+knowledge, a great man!
+
+Knowest thou it not, O Zarathustra?  I SEEK ZARATHUSTRA."
+
+--And here there arose a long silence between them:  Zarathustra, however,
+became profoundly absorbed in thought, so that he shut his eyes.  But
+afterwards coming back to the situation, he grasped the hand of the
+magician, and said, full of politeness and policy:
+
+"Well!  Up thither leadeth the way, there is the cave of Zarathustra.  In
+it mayest thou seek him whom thou wouldst fain find.
+
+And ask counsel of mine animals, mine eagle and my serpent:  they shall
+help thee to seek.  My cave however is large.
+
+I myself, to be sure--I have as yet seen no great man.  That which is
+great, the acutest eye is at present insensible to it.  It is the kingdom
+of the populace.
+
+Many a one have I found who stretched and inflated himself, and the people
+cried:  'Behold; a great man!'  But what good do all bellows do!  The wind
+cometh out at last.
+
+At last bursteth the frog which hath inflated itself too long:  then cometh
+out the wind.  To prick a swollen one in the belly, I call good pastime.
+Hear that, ye boys!
+
+Our to-day is of the populace:  who still KNOWETH what is great and what is
+small!  Who could there seek successfully for greatness!  A fool only:  it
+succeedeth with fools.
+
+Thou seekest for great men, thou strange fool?  Who TAUGHT that to thee?
+Is to-day the time for it?  Oh, thou bad seeker, why dost thou--tempt
+me?"--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, comforted in his heart, and went laughing on his
+way.
+
+
+LXVI.  OUT OF SERVICE.
+
+Not long, however, after Zarathustra had freed himself from the magician,
+he again saw a person sitting beside the path which he followed, namely a
+tall, black man, with a haggard, pale countenance:  THIS MAN grieved him
+exceedingly.  "Alas," said he to his heart, "there sitteth disguised
+affliction; methinketh he is of the type of the priests:  what do THEY want
+in my domain?
+
+What!  Hardly have I escaped from that magician, and must another
+necromancer again run across my path,--
+
+--Some sorcerer with laying-on-of-hands, some sombre wonder-worker by the
+grace of God, some anointed world-maligner, whom, may the devil take!
+
+But the devil is never at the place which would be his right place:  he
+always cometh too late, that cursed dwarf and club-foot!"--
+
+Thus cursed Zarathustra impatiently in his heart, and considered how with
+averted look he might slip past the black man.  But behold, it came about
+otherwise.  For at the same moment had the sitting one already perceived
+him; and not unlike one whom an unexpected happiness overtaketh, he sprang
+to his feet, and went straight towards Zarathustra.
+
+"Whoever thou art, thou traveller," said he, "help a strayed one, a seeker,
+an old man, who may here easily come to grief!
+
+The world here is strange to me, and remote; wild beasts also did I hear
+howling; and he who could have given me protection--he is himself no more.
+
+I was seeking the pious man, a saint and an anchorite, who, alone in his
+forest, had not yet heard of what all the world knoweth at present."
+
+"WHAT doth all the world know at present?" asked Zarathustra.  "Perhaps
+that the old God no longer liveth, in whom all the world once believed?"
+
+"Thou sayest it," answered the old man sorrowfully.  "And I served that old
+God until his last hour.
+
+Now, however, am I out of service, without master, and yet not free;
+likewise am I no longer merry even for an hour, except it be in
+recollections.
+
+Therefore did I ascend into these mountains, that I might finally have a
+festival for myself once more, as becometh an old pope and church-father:
+for know it, that I am the last pope!--a festival of pious recollections
+and divine services.
+
+Now, however, is he himself dead, the most pious of men, the saint in the
+forest, who praised his God constantly with singing and mumbling.
+
+He himself found I no longer when I found his cot--but two wolves found I
+therein, which howled on account of his death,--for all animals loved him.
+Then did I haste away.
+
+Had I thus come in vain into these forests and mountains?  Then did my
+heart determine that I should seek another, the most pious of all those who
+believe not in God--, my heart determined that I should seek Zarathustra!"
+
+Thus spake the hoary man, and gazed with keen eyes at him who stood before
+him.  Zarathustra however seized the hand of the old pope and regarded it a
+long while with admiration.
+
+"Lo! thou venerable one," said he then, "what a fine and long hand!  That
+is the hand of one who hath ever dispensed blessings.  Now, however, doth
+it hold fast him whom thou seekest, me, Zarathustra.
+
+It is I, the ungodly Zarathustra, who saith:  'Who is ungodlier than I,
+that I may enjoy his teaching?'"--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, and penetrated with his glances the thoughts and
+arrear-thoughts of the old pope.  At last the latter began:
+
+"He who most loved and possessed him hath now also lost him most--:
+
+--Lo, I myself am surely the most godless of us at present?  But who could
+rejoice at that!"--
+
+--"Thou servedst him to the last?" asked Zarathustra thoughtfully, after a
+deep silence, "thou knowest HOW he died?  Is it true what they say, that
+sympathy choked him;
+
+--That he saw how MAN hung on the cross, and could not endure it;--that his
+love to man became his hell, and at last his death?"--
+
+The old pope however did not answer, but looked aside timidly, with a
+painful and gloomy expression.
+
+"Let him go," said Zarathustra, after prolonged meditation, still looking
+the old man straight in the eye.
+
+"Let him go, he is gone.  And though it honoureth thee that thou speakest
+only in praise of this dead one, yet thou knowest as well as I WHO he was,
+and that he went curious ways."
+
+"To speak before three eyes," said the old pope cheerfully (he was blind of
+one eye), "in divine matters I am more enlightened than Zarathustra
+himself--and may well be so.
+
+My love served him long years, my will followed all his will.  A good
+servant, however, knoweth everything, and many a thing even which a master
+hideth from himself.
+
+He was a hidden God, full of secrecy.  Verily, he did not come by his son
+otherwise than by secret ways.  At the door of his faith standeth adultery.
+
+Whoever extolleth him as a God of love, doth not think highly enough of
+love itself.  Did not that God want also to be judge?  But the loving one
+loveth irrespective of reward and requital.
+
+When he was young, that God out of the Orient, then was he harsh and
+revengeful, and built himself a hell for the delight of his favourites.
+
+At last, however, he became old and soft and mellow and pitiful, more like
+a grandfather than a father, but most like a tottering old grandmother.
+
+There did he sit shrivelled in his chimney-corner, fretting on account of
+his weak legs, world-weary, will-weary, and one day he suffocated of his
+all-too-great pity."--
+
+"Thou old pope," said here Zarathustra interposing, "hast thou seen THAT
+with thine eyes?  It could well have happened in that way:  in that way,
+AND also otherwise.  When Gods die they always die many kinds of death.
+
+Well!  At all events, one way or other--he is gone!  He was counter to the
+taste of mine ears and eyes; worse than that I should not like to say
+against him.
+
+I love everything that looketh bright and speaketh honestly.  But he--thou
+knowest it, forsooth, thou old priest, there was something of thy type in
+him, the priest-type--he was equivocal.
+
+He was also indistinct.  How he raged at us, this wrath-snorter, because we
+understood him badly!  But why did he not speak more clearly?
+
+And if the fault lay in our ears, why did he give us ears that heard him
+badly?  If there was dirt in our ears, well! who put it in them?
+
+Too much miscarried with him, this potter who had not learned thoroughly!
+That he took revenge on his pots and creations, however, because they
+turned out badly--that was a sin against GOOD TASTE.
+
+There is also good taste in piety:  THIS at last said:  'Away with SUCH a
+God!  Better to have no God, better to set up destiny on one's own account,
+better to be a fool, better to be God oneself!'"
+
+--"What do I hear!" said then the old pope, with intent ears; "O
+Zarathustra, thou art more pious than thou believest, with such an
+unbelief!  Some God in thee hath converted thee to thine ungodliness.
+
+Is it not thy piety itself which no longer letteth thee believe in a God?
+And thine over-great honesty will yet lead thee even beyond good and evil!
+
+Behold, what hath been reserved for thee?  Thou hast eyes and hands and
+mouth, which have been predestined for blessing from eternity.  One doth
+not bless with the hand alone.
+
+Nigh unto thee, though thou professest to be the ungodliest one, I feel a
+hale and holy odour of long benedictions:  I feel glad and grieved thereby.
+
+Let me be thy guest, O Zarathustra, for a single night!  Nowhere on earth
+shall I now feel better than with thee!"--
+
+"Amen!  So shall it be!" said Zarathustra, with great astonishment; "up
+thither leadeth the way, there lieth the cave of Zarathustra.
+
+Gladly, forsooth, would I conduct thee thither myself, thou venerable one;
+for I love all pious men.  But now a cry of distress calleth me hastily
+away from thee.
+
+In my domain shall no one come to grief; my cave is a good haven.  And best
+of all would I like to put every sorrowful one again on firm land and firm
+legs.
+
+Who, however, could take THY melancholy off thy shoulders?  For that I am
+too weak.  Long, verily, should we have to wait until some one re-awoke thy
+God for thee.
+
+For that old God liveth no more:  he is indeed dead."--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+LXVII.  THE UGLIEST MAN.
+
+--And again did Zarathustra's feet run through mountains and forests, and
+his eyes sought and sought, but nowhere was he to be seen whom they wanted
+to see--the sorely distressed sufferer and crier.  On the whole way,
+however, he rejoiced in his heart and was full of gratitude.  "What good
+things," said he, "hath this day given me, as amends for its bad beginning!
+What strange interlocutors have I found!
+
+At their words will I now chew a long while as at good corn; small shall my
+teeth grind and crush them, until they flow like milk into my soul!"--
+
+When, however, the path again curved round a rock, all at once the
+landscape changed, and Zarathustra entered into a realm of death.  Here
+bristled aloft black and red cliffs, without any grass, tree, or bird's
+voice.  For it was a valley which all animals avoided, even the beasts of
+prey, except that a species of ugly, thick, green serpent came here to die
+when they became old.  Therefore the shepherds called this valley:
+"Serpent-death."
+
+Zarathustra, however, became absorbed in dark recollections, for it seemed
+to him as if he had once before stood in this valley. And much heaviness
+settled on his mind, so that he walked slowly and always more slowly, and
+at last stood still. Then, however, when he opened his eyes, he saw
+something sitting by the wayside shaped like a man, and hardly like a man,
+something nondescript. And all at once there came over Zarathustra a great
+shame, because he had gazed on such a thing. Blushing up to the very roots
+of his white hair, he turned aside his glance, and raised his foot that he
+might leave this ill-starred place. Then, however, became the dead
+wilderness vocal: for from the ground a noise welled up, gurgling and
+rattling, as water gurgleth and rattleth at night through stopped-up
+water-pipes; and at last it turned into human voice and human speech:--it
+sounded thus:
+
+"Zarathustra!  Zarathustra!  Read my riddle!  Say, say!  WHAT IS THE
+REVENGE ON THE WITNESS?
+
+I entice thee back; here is smooth ice!  See to it, see to it, that thy
+pride doth not here break its legs!
+
+Thou thinkest thyself wise, thou proud Zarathustra!  Read then the riddle,
+thou hard nut-cracker,--the riddle that I am!  Say then:  who am _I_!"
+
+--When however Zarathustra had heard these words,--what think ye then took
+place in his soul?  PITY OVERCAME HIM; and he sank down all at once, like
+an oak that hath long withstood many tree-fellers,--heavily, suddenly, to
+the terror even of those who meant to fell it.  But immediately he got up
+again from the ground, and his countenance became stern.
+
+"I know thee well," said he, with a brazen voice, "THOU ART THE MURDERER OF
+GOD!  Let me go.
+
+Thou couldst not ENDURE him who beheld THEE,--who ever beheld thee through
+and through, thou ugliest man.  Thou tookest revenge on this witness!"
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra and was about to go; but the nondescript grasped at
+a corner of his garment and began anew to gurgle and seek for words.
+"Stay," said he at last--
+
+--"Stay!  Do not pass by!  I have divined what axe it was that struck thee
+to the ground:  hail to thee, O Zarathustra, that thou art again upon thy
+feet!
+
+Thou hast divined, I know it well, how the man feeleth who killed him,--the
+murderer of God.  Stay!  Sit down here beside me; it is not to no purpose.
+
+To whom would I go but unto thee?  Stay, sit down!  Do not however look at
+me!  Honour thus--mine ugliness!
+
+They persecute me:  now art THOU my last refuge.  NOT with their hatred,
+NOT with their bailiffs;--Oh, such persecution would I mock at, and be
+proud and cheerful!
+
+Hath not all success hitherto been with the well-persecuted ones?  And he
+who persecuteth well learneth readily to be OBSEQUENT--when once he is--put
+behind!  But it is their PITY--
+
+--Their pity is it from which I flee away and flee to thee.  O Zarathustra,
+protect me, thou, my last refuge, thou sole one who divinedst me:
+
+--Thou hast divined how the man feeleth who killed HIM.  Stay!  And if thou
+wilt go, thou impatient one, go not the way that I came.  THAT way is bad.
+
+Art thou angry with me because I have already racked language too long?
+Because I have already counselled thee?  But know that it is I, the ugliest
+man,
+
+--Who have also the largest, heaviest feet.  Where _I_ have gone, the way
+is bad.  I tread all paths to death and destruction.
+
+But that thou passedst me by in silence, that thou blushedst--I saw it
+well:  thereby did I know thee as Zarathustra.
+
+Every one else would have thrown to me his alms, his pity, in look and
+speech.  But for that--I am not beggar enough:  that didst thou divine.
+
+For that I am too RICH, rich in what is great, frightful, ugliest, most
+unutterable!  Thy shame, O Zarathustra, HONOURED me!
+
+With difficulty did I get out of the crowd of the pitiful,--that I might
+find the only one who at present teacheth that 'pity is obtrusive'--
+thyself, O Zarathustra!
+
+--Whether it be the pity of a God, or whether it be human pity, it is
+offensive to modesty.  And unwillingness to help may be nobler than the
+virtue that rusheth to do so.
+
+THAT however--namely, pity--is called virtue itself at present by all petty
+people:--they have no reverence for great misfortune, great ugliness, great
+failure.
+
+Beyond all these do I look, as a dog looketh over the backs of thronging
+flocks of sheep.  They are petty, good-wooled, good-willed, grey people.
+
+As the heron looketh contemptuously at shallow pools, with backward-bent
+head, so do I look at the throng of grey little waves and wills and souls.
+
+Too long have we acknowledged them to be right, those petty people:  SO we
+have at last given them power as well;--and now do they teach that 'good is
+only what petty people call good.'
+
+And 'truth' is at present what the preacher spake who himself sprang from
+them, that singular saint and advocate of the petty people, who testified
+of himself:  'I--am the truth.'
+
+That immodest one hath long made the petty people greatly puffed up,--he
+who taught no small error when he taught:  'I--am the truth.'
+
+Hath an immodest one ever been answered more courteously?--Thou, however, O
+Zarathustra, passedst him by, and saidst:  'Nay!  Nay!  Three times Nay!'
+
+Thou warnedst against his error; thou warnedst--the first to do so--against
+pity:--not every one, not none, but thyself and thy type.
+
+Thou art ashamed of the shame of the great sufferer; and verily when thou
+sayest:  'From pity there cometh a heavy cloud; take heed, ye men!'
+
+--When thou teachest:  'All creators are hard, all great love is beyond
+their pity:'  O Zarathustra, how well versed dost thou seem to me in
+weather-signs!
+
+Thou thyself, however,--warn thyself also against THY pity!  For many are
+on their way to thee, many suffering, doubting, despairing, drowning,
+freezing ones--
+
+I warn thee also against myself.  Thou hast read my best, my worst riddle,
+myself, and what I have done.  I know the axe that felleth thee.
+
+But he--HAD TO die:  he looked with eyes which beheld EVERYTHING,--he
+beheld men's depths and dregs, all his hidden ignominy and ugliness.
+
+His pity knew no modesty:  he crept into my dirtiest corners.  This most
+prying, over-intrusive, over-pitiful one had to die.
+
+He ever beheld ME:  on such a witness I would have revenge--or not live
+myself.
+
+The God who beheld everything, AND ALSO MAN:  that God had to die!  Man
+cannot ENDURE it that such a witness should live."
+
+Thus spake the ugliest man.  Zarathustra however got up, and prepared to go
+on:  for he felt frozen to the very bowels.
+
+"Thou nondescript," said he, "thou warnedst me against thy path.  As thanks
+for it I praise mine to thee.  Behold, up thither is the cave of
+Zarathustra.
+
+My cave is large and deep and hath many corners; there findeth he that is
+most hidden his hiding-place.  And close beside it, there are a hundred
+lurking-places and by-places for creeping, fluttering, and hopping
+creatures.
+
+Thou outcast, who hast cast thyself out, thou wilt not live amongst men and
+men's pity?  Well then, do like me!  Thus wilt thou learn also from me;
+only the doer learneth.
+
+And talk first and foremost to mine animals!  The proudest animal and the
+wisest animal--they might well be the right counsellors for us both!"--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra and went his way, more thoughtfully and slowly even
+than before:  for he asked himself many things, and hardly knew what to
+answer.
+
+"How poor indeed is man," thought he in his heart, "how ugly, how wheezy,
+how full of hidden shame!
+
+They tell me that man loveth himself.  Ah, how great must that self-love
+be!  How much contempt is opposed to it!
+
+Even this man hath loved himself, as he hath despised himself,--a great
+lover methinketh he is, and a great despiser.
+
+No one have I yet found who more thoroughly despised himself:  even THAT is
+elevation.  Alas, was THIS perhaps the higher man whose cry I heard?
+
+I love the great despisers.  Man is something that hath to be surpassed."--
+
+
+LXVIII.  THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR.
+
+When Zarathustra had left the ugliest man, he was chilled and felt
+lonesome:  for much coldness and lonesomeness came over his spirit, so that
+even his limbs became colder thereby.  When, however, he wandered on and
+on, uphill and down, at times past green meadows, though also sometimes
+over wild stony couches where formerly perhaps an impatient brook had made
+its bed, then he turned all at once warmer and heartier again.
+
+"What hath happened unto me?" he asked himself, "something warm and living
+quickeneth me; it must be in the neighbourhood.
+
+Already am I less alone; unconscious companions and brethren rove around
+me; their warm breath toucheth my soul."
+
+When, however, he spied about and sought for the comforters of his
+lonesomeness, behold, there were kine there standing together on an
+eminence, whose proximity and smell had warmed his heart.  The kine,
+however, seemed to listen eagerly to a speaker, and took no heed of him who
+approached.  When, however, Zarathustra was quite nigh unto them, then did
+he hear plainly that a human voice spake in the midst of the kine, and
+apparently all of them had turned their heads towards the speaker.
+
+Then ran Zarathustra up speedily and drove the animals aside; for he feared
+that some one had here met with harm, which the pity of the kine would
+hardly be able to relieve.  But in this he was deceived; for behold, there
+sat a man on the ground who seemed to be persuading the animals to have no
+fear of him, a peaceable man and Preacher-on-the-Mount, out of whose eyes
+kindness itself preached.  "What dost thou seek here?" called out
+Zarathustra in astonishment.
+
+"What do I here seek?" answered he:  "the same that thou seekest, thou
+mischief-maker; that is to say, happiness upon earth.
+
+To that end, however, I would fain learn of these kine.  For I tell thee
+that I have already talked half a morning unto them, and just now were they
+about to give me their answer.  Why dost thou disturb them?
+
+Except we be converted and become as kine, we shall in no wise enter into
+the kingdom of heaven.  For we ought to learn from them one thing:
+ruminating.
+
+And verily, although a man should gain the whole world, and yet not learn
+one thing, ruminating, what would it profit him!  He would not be rid of
+his affliction,
+
+--His great affliction:  that, however, is at present called DISGUST.  Who
+hath not at present his heart, his mouth and his eyes full of disgust?
+Thou also!  Thou also!  But behold these kine!"--
+
+Thus spake the Preacher-on-the-Mount, and turned then his own look towards
+Zarathustra--for hitherto it had rested lovingly on the kine--:  then,
+however, he put on a different expression.  "Who is this with whom I talk?"
+he exclaimed frightened, and sprang up from the ground.
+
+"This is the man without disgust, this is Zarathustra himself, the
+surmounter of the great disgust, this is the eye, this is the mouth, this
+is the heart of Zarathustra himself."
+
+And whilst he thus spake he kissed with o'erflowing eyes the hands of him
+with whom he spake, and behaved altogether like one to whom a precious gift
+and jewel hath fallen unawares from heaven.  The kine, however, gazed at it
+all and wondered.
+
+"Speak not of me, thou strange one; thou amiable one!" said Zarathustra,
+and restrained his affection, "speak to me firstly of thyself!  Art thou
+not the voluntary beggar who once cast away great riches,--
+
+--Who was ashamed of his riches and of the rich, and fled to the poorest to
+bestow upon them his abundance and his heart?  But they received him not."
+
+"But they received me not," said the voluntary beggar, "thou knowest it,
+forsooth.  So I went at last to the animals and to those kine."
+
+"Then learnedst thou," interrupted Zarathustra, "how much harder it is to
+give properly than to take properly, and that bestowing well is an ART--the
+last, subtlest master-art of kindness."
+
+"Especially nowadays," answered the voluntary beggar:  "at present, that is
+to say, when everything low hath become rebellious and exclusive and
+haughty in its manner--in the manner of the populace.
+
+For the hour hath come, thou knowest it forsooth, for the great, evil,
+long, slow mob-and-slave-insurrection:  it extendeth and extendeth!
+
+Now doth it provoke the lower classes, all benevolence and petty giving;
+and the overrich may be on their guard!
+
+Whoever at present drip, like bulgy bottles out of all-too-small necks:--of
+such bottles at present one willingly breaketh the necks.
+
+Wanton avidity, bilious envy, careworn revenge, populace-pride:  all these
+struck mine eye.  It is no longer true that the poor are blessed.  The
+kingdom of heaven, however, is with the kine."
+
+"And why is it not with the rich?" asked Zarathustra temptingly, while he
+kept back the kine which sniffed familiarly at the peaceful one.
+
+"Why dost thou tempt me?" answered the other.  "Thou knowest it thyself
+better even than I.  What was it drove me to the poorest, O Zarathustra?
+Was it not my disgust at the richest?
+
+--At the culprits of riches, with cold eyes and rank thoughts, who pick up
+profit out of all kinds of rubbish--at this rabble that stinketh to heaven,
+
+--At this gilded, falsified populace, whose fathers were pickpockets, or
+carrion-crows, or rag-pickers, with wives compliant, lewd and forgetful:--
+for they are all of them not far different from harlots--
+
+Populace above, populace below!  What are 'poor' and 'rich' at present!
+That distinction did I unlearn,--then did I flee away further and ever
+further, until I came to those kine."
+
+Thus spake the peaceful one, and puffed himself and perspired with his
+words:  so that the kine wondered anew.  Zarathustra, however, kept looking
+into his face with a smile, all the time the man talked so severely--and
+shook silently his head.
+
+"Thou doest violence to thyself, thou Preacher-on-the-Mount, when thou
+usest such severe words.  For such severity neither thy mouth nor thine eye
+have been given thee.
+
+Nor, methinketh, hath thy stomach either:  unto IT all such rage and hatred
+and foaming-over is repugnant.  Thy stomach wanteth softer things:  thou
+art not a butcher.
+
+Rather seemest thou to me a plant-eater and a root-man.  Perhaps thou
+grindest corn.  Certainly, however, thou art averse to fleshly joys, and
+thou lovest honey."
+
+"Thou hast divined me well," answered the voluntary beggar, with lightened
+heart.  "I love honey, I also grind corn; for I have sought out what
+tasteth sweetly and maketh pure breath:
+
+--Also what requireth a long time, a day's-work and a mouth's-work for
+gentle idlers and sluggards.
+
+Furthest, to be sure, have those kine carried it:  they have devised
+ruminating and lying in the sun.  They also abstain from all heavy thoughts
+which inflate the heart."
+
+--"Well!" said Zarathustra, "thou shouldst also see MINE animals, mine
+eagle and my serpent,--their like do not at present exist on earth.
+
+Behold, thither leadeth the way to my cave:  be to-night its guest.  And
+talk to mine animals of the happiness of animals,--
+
+--Until I myself come home.  For now a cry of distress calleth me hastily
+away from thee.  Also, shouldst thou find new honey with me, ice-cold,
+golden-comb-honey, eat it!
+
+Now, however, take leave at once of thy kine, thou strange one! thou
+amiable one! though it be hard for thee.  For they are thy warmest friends
+and preceptors!"--
+
+--"One excepted, whom I hold still dearer," answered the voluntary beggar.
+"Thou thyself art good, O Zarathustra, and better even than a cow!"
+
+"Away, away with thee! thou evil flatterer!" cried Zarathustra
+mischievously, "why dost thou spoil me with such praise and flattery-honey?
+
+"Away, away from me!" cried he once more, and heaved his stick at the fond
+beggar, who, however, ran nimbly away.
+
+
+LXIX.  THE SHADOW.
+
+Scarcely however was the voluntary beggar gone in haste, and Zarathustra
+again alone, when he heard behind him a new voice which called out:  "Stay!
+Zarathustra!  Do wait!  It is myself, forsooth, O Zarathustra, myself, thy
+shadow!"  But Zarathustra did not wait; for a sudden irritation came over
+him on account of the crowd and the crowding in his mountains.  "Whither
+hath my lonesomeness gone?" spake he.
+
+"It is verily becoming too much for me; these mountains swarm; my kingdom
+is no longer of THIS world; I require new mountains.
+
+My shadow calleth me?  What matter about my shadow!  Let it run after me!
+I--run away from it."
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra to his heart and ran away.  But the one behind
+followed after him, so that immediately there were three runners, one after
+the other--namely, foremost the voluntary beggar, then Zarathustra, and
+thirdly, and hindmost, his shadow.  But not long had they run thus when
+Zarathustra became conscious of his folly, and shook off with one jerk all
+his irritation and detestation.
+
+"What!" said he, "have not the most ludicrous things always happened to us
+old anchorites and saints?
+
+Verily, my folly hath grown big in the mountains!  Now do I hear six old
+fools' legs rattling behind one another!
+
+But doth Zarathustra need to be frightened by his shadow?  Also, methinketh
+that after all it hath longer legs than mine."
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, and, laughing with eyes and entrails, he stood
+still and turned round quickly--and behold, he almost thereby threw his
+shadow and follower to the ground, so closely had the latter followed at
+his heels, and so weak was he.  For when Zarathustra scrutinised him with
+his glance he was frightened as by a sudden apparition, so slender,
+swarthy, hollow and worn-out did this follower appear.
+
+"Who art thou?" asked Zarathustra vehemently, "what doest thou here?  And
+why callest thou thyself my shadow?  Thou art not pleasing unto me."
+
+"Forgive me," answered the shadow, "that it is I; and if I please thee not
+--well, O Zarathustra! therein do I admire thee and thy good taste.
+
+A wanderer am I, who have walked long at thy heels; always on the way, but
+without a goal, also without a home:  so that verily, I lack little of
+being the eternally Wandering Jew, except that I am not eternal and not a
+Jew.
+
+What?  Must I ever be on the way?  Whirled by every wind, unsettled, driven
+about?  O earth, thou hast become too round for me!
+
+On every surface have I already sat, like tired dust have I fallen asleep
+on mirrors and window-panes:  everything taketh from me, nothing giveth; I
+become thin--I am almost equal to a shadow.
+
+After thee, however, O Zarathustra, did I fly and hie longest; and though I
+hid myself from thee, I was nevertheless thy best shadow:  wherever thou
+hast sat, there sat I also.
+
+With thee have I wandered about in the remotest, coldest worlds, like a
+phantom that voluntarily haunteth winter roofs and snows.
+
+With thee have I pushed into all the forbidden, all the worst and the
+furthest:  and if there be anything of virtue in me, it is that I have had
+no fear of any prohibition.
+
+With thee have I broken up whatever my heart revered; all boundary-stones
+and statues have I o'erthrown; the most dangerous wishes did I pursue,--
+verily, beyond every crime did I once go.
+
+With thee did I unlearn the belief in words and worths and in great names.
+When the devil casteth his skin, doth not his name also fall away?  It is
+also skin.  The devil himself is perhaps--skin.
+
+'Nothing is true, all is permitted':  so said I to myself.  Into the
+coldest water did I plunge with head and heart.  Ah, how oft did I stand
+there naked on that account, like a red crab!
+
+Ah, where have gone all my goodness and all my shame and all my belief in
+the good!  Ah, where is the lying innocence which I once possessed, the
+innocence of the good and of their noble lies!
+
+Too oft, verily, did I follow close to the heels of truth:  then did it
+kick me on the face.  Sometimes I meant to lie, and behold! then only did I
+hit--the truth.
+
+Too much hath become clear unto me:  now it doth not concern me any more.
+Nothing liveth any longer that I love,--how should I still love myself?
+
+'To live as I incline, or not to live at all':  so do I wish; so wisheth
+also the holiest.  But alas! how have _I_ still--inclination?
+
+Have _I_--still a goal?  A haven towards which MY sail is set?
+
+A good wind?  Ah, he only who knoweth WHITHER he saileth, knoweth what wind
+is good, and a fair wind for him.
+
+What still remaineth to me?  A heart weary and flippant; an unstable will;
+fluttering wings; a broken backbone.
+
+This seeking for MY home:  O Zarathustra, dost thou know that this seeking
+hath been MY home-sickening; it eateth me up.
+
+'WHERE is--MY home?' For it do I ask and seek, and have sought, but have
+not found it. O eternal everywhere, O eternal nowhere, O eternal--in-vain!"
+
+Thus spake the shadow, and Zarathustra's countenance lengthened at his
+words.  "Thou art my shadow!" said he at last sadly.
+
+"Thy danger is not small, thou free spirit and wanderer!  Thou hast had a
+bad day:  see that a still worse evening doth not overtake thee!
+
+To such unsettled ones as thou, seemeth at last even a prisoner blessed.
+Didst thou ever see how captured criminals sleep?  They sleep quietly, they
+enjoy their new security.
+
+Beware lest in the end a narrow faith capture thee, a hard, rigorous
+delusion!  For now everything that is narrow and fixed seduceth and
+tempteth thee.
+
+Thou hast lost thy goal.  Alas, how wilt thou forego and forget that loss?
+Thereby--hast thou also lost thy way!
+
+Thou poor rover and rambler, thou tired butterfly! wilt thou have a rest
+and a home this evening?  Then go up to my cave!
+
+Thither leadeth the way to my cave.  And now will I run quickly away from
+thee again.  Already lieth as it were a shadow upon me.
+
+I will run alone, so that it may again become bright around me.  Therefore
+must I still be a long time merrily upon my legs.  In the evening, however,
+there will be--dancing with me!"--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+LXX.  NOONTIDE.
+
+--And Zarathustra ran and ran, but he found no one else, and was alone and
+ever found himself again; he enjoyed and quaffed his solitude, and thought
+of good things--for hours.  About the hour of noontide, however, when the
+sun stood exactly over Zarathustra's head, he passed an old, bent and
+gnarled tree, which was encircled round by the ardent love of a vine, and
+hidden from itself; from this there hung yellow grapes in abundance,
+confronting the wanderer.  Then he felt inclined to quench a little thirst,
+and to break off for himself a cluster of grapes.  When, however, he had
+already his arm out-stretched for that purpose, he felt still more inclined
+for something else--namely, to lie down beside the tree at the hour of
+perfect noontide and sleep.
+
+This Zarathustra did; and no sooner had he laid himself on the ground in
+the stillness and secrecy of the variegated grass, than he had forgotten
+his little thirst, and fell asleep.  For as the proverb of Zarathustra
+saith:  "One thing is more necessary than the other."  Only that his eyes
+remained open:--for they never grew weary of viewing and admiring the tree
+and the love of the vine.  In falling asleep, however, Zarathustra spake
+thus to his heart:
+
+"Hush!  Hush!  Hath not the world now become perfect?  What hath happened
+unto me?
+
+As a delicate wind danceth invisibly upon parqueted seas, light,
+feather-light, so--danceth sleep upon me.
+
+No eye doth it close to me, it leaveth my soul awake.  Light is it, verily,
+feather-light.
+
+It persuadeth me, I know not how, it toucheth me inwardly with a caressing
+hand, it constraineth me.  Yea, it constraineth me, so that my soul
+stretcheth itself out:--
+
+--How long and weary it becometh, my strange soul!  Hath a seventh-day
+evening come to it precisely at noontide?  Hath it already wandered too
+long, blissfully, among good and ripe things?
+
+It stretcheth itself out, long--longer! it lieth still, my strange soul.
+Too many good things hath it already tasted; this golden sadness oppresseth
+it, it distorteth its mouth.
+
+--As a ship that putteth into the calmest cove:--it now draweth up to the
+land, weary of long voyages and uncertain seas.  Is not the land more
+faithful?
+
+As such a ship huggeth the shore, tuggeth the shore:--then it sufficeth for
+a spider to spin its thread from the ship to the land.  No stronger ropes
+are required there.
+
+As such a weary ship in the calmest cove, so do I also now repose, nigh to
+the earth, faithful, trusting, waiting, bound to it with the lightest
+threads.
+
+O happiness!  O happiness!  Wilt thou perhaps sing, O my soul?  Thou liest
+in the grass.  But this is the secret, solemn hour, when no shepherd
+playeth his pipe.
+
+Take care!  Hot noontide sleepeth on the fields.  Do not sing!  Hush!  The
+world is perfect.
+
+Do not sing, thou prairie-bird, my soul!  Do not even whisper!  Lo--hush!
+The old noontide sleepeth, it moveth its mouth:  doth it not just now drink
+a drop of happiness--
+
+--An old brown drop of golden happiness, golden wine?  Something whisketh
+over it, its happiness laugheth.  Thus--laugheth a God.  Hush!--
+
+--'For happiness, how little sufficeth for happiness!'  Thus spake I once
+and thought myself wise.  But it was a blasphemy:  THAT have I now learned.
+Wise fools speak better.
+
+The least thing precisely, the gentlest thing, the lightest thing, a
+lizard's rustling, a breath, a whisk, an eye-glance--LITTLE maketh up the
+BEST happiness.  Hush!
+
+--What hath befallen me:  Hark!  Hath time flown away?  Do I not fall?
+Have I not fallen--hark! into the well of eternity?
+
+--What happeneth to me?  Hush!  It stingeth me--alas--to the heart?  To the
+heart!  Oh, break up, break up, my heart, after such happiness, after such
+a sting!
+
+--What?  Hath not the world just now become perfect?  Round and ripe?  Oh,
+for the golden round ring--whither doth it fly?  Let me run after it!
+Quick!
+
+Hush--" (and here Zarathustra stretched himself, and felt that he was
+asleep.)
+
+"Up!" said he to himself, "thou sleeper!  Thou noontide sleeper!  Well
+then, up, ye old legs!  It is time and more than time; many a good stretch
+of road is still awaiting you--
+
+Now have ye slept your fill; for how long a time?  A half-eternity!  Well
+then, up now, mine old heart!  For how long after such a sleep mayest thou
+--remain awake?"
+
+(But then did he fall asleep anew, and his soul spake against him and
+defended itself, and lay down again)--"Leave me alone!  Hush!  Hath not the
+world just now become perfect?  Oh, for the golden round ball!--
+
+"Get up," said Zarathustra, "thou little thief, thou sluggard!  What!
+Still stretching thyself, yawning, sighing, falling into deep wells?
+
+Who art thou then, O my soul!" (and here he became frightened, for a
+sunbeam shot down from heaven upon his face.)
+
+"O heaven above me," said he sighing, and sat upright, "thou gazest at me?
+Thou hearkenest unto my strange soul?
+
+When wilt thou drink this drop of dew that fell down upon all earthly
+things,--when wilt thou drink this strange soul--
+
+--When, thou well of eternity! thou joyous, awful, noontide abyss! when
+wilt thou drink my soul back into thee?"
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, and rose from his couch beside the tree, as if
+awakening from a strange drunkenness:  and behold! there stood the sun
+still exactly above his head.  One might, however, rightly infer therefrom
+that Zarathustra had not then slept long.
+
+
+LXXI.  THE GREETING.
+
+It was late in the afternoon only when Zarathustra, after long useless
+searching and strolling about, again came home to his cave.  When, however,
+he stood over against it, not more than twenty paces therefrom, the thing
+happened which he now least of all expected:  he heard anew the great CRY
+OF DISTRESS.  And extraordinary! this time the cry came out of his own
+cave.  It was a long, manifold, peculiar cry, and Zarathustra plainly
+distinguished that it was composed of many voices:  although heard at a
+distance it might sound like the cry out of a single mouth.
+
+Thereupon Zarathustra rushed forward to his cave, and behold! what a
+spectacle awaited him after that concert!  For there did they all sit
+together whom he had passed during the day:  the king on the right and the
+king on the left, the old magician, the pope, the voluntary beggar, the
+shadow, the intellectually conscientious one, the sorrowful soothsayer, and
+the ass; the ugliest man, however, had set a crown on his head, and had put
+round him two purple girdles,--for he liked, like all ugly ones, to
+disguise himself and play the handsome person.  In the midst, however, of
+that sorrowful company stood Zarathustra's eagle, ruffled and disquieted,
+for it had been called upon to answer too much for which its pride had not
+any answer; the wise serpent however hung round its neck.
+
+All this did Zarathustra behold with great astonishment; then however he
+scrutinised each individual guest with courteous curiosity, read their
+souls and wondered anew.  In the meantime the assembled ones had risen from
+their seats, and waited with reverence for Zarathustra to speak.
+Zarathustra however spake thus:
+
+"Ye despairing ones!  Ye strange ones!  So it was YOUR cry of distress that
+I heard?  And now do I know also where he is to be sought, whom I have
+sought for in vain to-day:  THE HIGHER MAN--:
+
+--In mine own cave sitteth he, the higher man!  But why do I wonder!  Have
+not I myself allured him to me by honey-offerings and artful lure-calls of
+my happiness?
+
+But it seemeth to me that ye are badly adapted for company:  ye make one
+another's hearts fretful, ye that cry for help, when ye sit here together?
+There is one that must first come,
+
+--One who will make you laugh once more, a good jovial buffoon, a dancer, a
+wind, a wild romp, some old fool:--what think ye?
+
+Forgive me, however, ye despairing ones, for speaking such trivial words
+before you, unworthy, verily, of such guests!  But ye do not divine WHAT
+maketh my heart wanton:--
+
+--Ye yourselves do it, and your aspect, forgive it me!  For every one
+becometh courageous who beholdeth a despairing one.  To encourage a
+despairing one--every one thinketh himself strong enough to do so.
+
+To myself have ye given this power,--a good gift, mine honourable guests!
+An excellent guest's-present!  Well, do not then upbraid when I also offer
+you something of mine.
+
+This is mine empire and my dominion:  that which is mine, however, shall
+this evening and tonight be yours.  Mine animals shall serve you:  let my
+cave be your resting-place!
+
+At house and home with me shall no one despair:  in my purlieus do I
+protect every one from his wild beasts.  And that is the first thing which
+I offer you:  security!
+
+The second thing, however, is my little finger.  And when ye have THAT,
+then take the whole hand also, yea, and the heart with it!  Welcome here,
+welcome to you, my guests!"
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, and laughed with love and mischief.  After this
+greeting his guests bowed once more and were reverentially silent; the king
+on the right, however, answered him in their name.
+
+"O Zarathustra, by the way in which thou hast given us thy hand and thy
+greeting, we recognise thee as Zarathustra.  Thou hast humbled thyself
+before us; almost hast thou hurt our reverence--:
+
+--Who however could have humbled himself as thou hast done, with such
+pride?  THAT uplifteth us ourselves; a refreshment is it, to our eyes and
+hearts.
+
+To behold this, merely, gladly would we ascend higher mountains than this.
+For as eager beholders have we come; we wanted to see what brighteneth dim
+eyes.
+
+And lo! now is it all over with our cries of distress.  Now are our minds
+and hearts open and enraptured.  Little is lacking for our spirits to
+become wanton.
+
+There is nothing, O Zarathustra, that groweth more pleasingly on earth than
+a lofty, strong will:  it is the finest growth.  An entire landscape
+refresheth itself at one such tree.
+
+To the pine do I compare him, O Zarathustra, which groweth up like thee--
+tall, silent, hardy, solitary, of the best, supplest wood, stately,--
+
+--In the end, however, grasping out for ITS dominion with strong, green
+branches, asking weighty questions of the wind, the storm, and whatever is
+at home on high places;
+
+--Answering more weightily, a commander, a victor!  Oh! who should not
+ascend high mountains to behold such growths?
+
+At thy tree, O Zarathustra, the gloomy and ill-constituted also refresh
+themselves; at thy look even the wavering become steady and heal their
+hearts.
+
+And verily, towards thy mountain and thy tree do many eyes turn to-day; a
+great longing hath arisen, and many have learned to ask:  'Who is
+Zarathustra?'
+
+And those into whose ears thou hast at any time dripped thy song and thy
+honey:  all the hidden ones, the lone-dwellers and the twain-dwellers, have
+simultaneously said to their hearts:
+
+'Doth Zarathustra still live?  It is no longer worth while to live,
+everything is indifferent, everything is useless:  or else--we must live
+with Zarathustra!'
+
+'Why doth he not come who hath so long announced himself?' thus do many
+people ask; 'hath solitude swallowed him up?  Or should we perhaps go to
+him?'
+
+Now doth it come to pass that solitude itself becometh fragile and breaketh
+open, like a grave that breaketh open and can no longer hold its dead.
+Everywhere one seeth resurrected ones.
+
+Now do the waves rise and rise around thy mountain, O Zarathustra.  And
+however high be thy height, many of them must rise up to thee:  thy boat
+shall not rest much longer on dry ground.
+
+And that we despairing ones have now come into thy cave, and already no
+longer despair:--it is but a prognostic and a presage that better ones are
+on the way to thee,--
+
+--For they themselves are on the way to thee, the last remnant of God among
+men--that is to say, all the men of great longing, of great loathing, of
+great satiety,
+
+--All who do not want to live unless they learn again to HOPE--unless they
+learn from thee, O Zarathustra, the GREAT hope!"
+
+Thus spake the king on the right, and seized the hand of Zarathustra in
+order to kiss it; but Zarathustra checked his veneration, and stepped back
+frightened, fleeing as it were, silently and suddenly into the far
+distance.  After a little while, however, he was again at home with his
+guests, looked at them with clear scrutinising eyes, and said:
+
+"My guests, ye higher men, I will speak plain language and plainly with
+you.  It is not for YOU that I have waited here in these mountains."
+
+("'Plain language and plainly?'  Good God!" said here the king on the left
+to himself; "one seeth he doth not know the good Occidentals, this sage out
+of the Orient!
+
+But he meaneth 'blunt language and bluntly'--well!  That is not the worst
+taste in these days!")
+
+"Ye may, verily, all of you be higher men," continued Zarathustra; "but for
+me--ye are neither high enough, nor strong enough.
+
+For me, that is to say, for the inexorable which is now silent in me, but
+will not always be silent.  And if ye appertain to me, still it is not as
+my right arm.
+
+For he who himself standeth, like you, on sickly and tender legs, wisheth
+above all to be TREATED INDULGENTLY, whether he be conscious of it or hide
+it from himself.
+
+My arms and my legs, however, I do not treat indulgently, I DO NOT TREAT MY
+WARRIORS INDULGENTLY:  how then could ye be fit for MY warfare?
+
+With you I should spoil all my victories.  And many of you would tumble
+over if ye but heard the loud beating of my drums.
+
+Moreover, ye are not sufficiently beautiful and well-born for me.  I
+require pure, smooth mirrors for my doctrines; on your surface even mine
+own likeness is distorted.
+
+On your shoulders presseth many a burden, many a recollection; many a
+mischievous dwarf squatteth in your corners.  There is concealed populace
+also in you.
+
+And though ye be high and of a higher type, much in you is crooked and
+misshapen.  There is no smith in the world that could hammer you right and
+straight for me.
+
+Ye are only bridges:  may higher ones pass over upon you!  Ye signify
+steps:  so do not upbraid him who ascendeth beyond you into HIS height!
+
+Out of your seed there may one day arise for me a genuine son and perfect
+heir:  but that time is distant.  Ye yourselves are not those unto whom my
+heritage and name belong.
+
+Not for you do I wait here in these mountains; not with you may I descend
+for the last time.  Ye have come unto me only as a presage that higher ones
+are on the way to me,--
+
+--NOT the men of great longing, of great loathing, of great satiety, and
+that which ye call the remnant of God;
+
+--Nay!  Nay!  Three times Nay!  For OTHERS do I wait here in these
+mountains, and will not lift my foot from thence without them;
+
+--For higher ones, stronger ones, triumphanter ones, merrier ones, for such
+as are built squarely in body and soul:  LAUGHING LIONS must come!
+
+O my guests, ye strange ones--have ye yet heard nothing of my children?
+And that they are on the way to me?
+
+Do speak unto me of my gardens, of my Happy Isles, of my new beautiful
+race--why do ye not speak unto me thereof?
+
+This guests'-present do I solicit of your love, that ye speak unto me of my
+children.  For them am I rich, for them I became poor:  what have I not
+surrendered,
+
+--What would I not surrender that I might have one thing:  THESE children,
+THIS living plantation, THESE life-trees of my will and of my highest
+hope!"
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra, and stopped suddenly in his discourse:  for his
+longing came over him, and he closed his eyes and his mouth, because of the
+agitation of his heart.  And all his guests also were silent, and stood
+still and confounded:  except only that the old soothsayer made signs with
+his hands and his gestures.
+
+
+LXXII.  THE SUPPER.
+
+For at this point the soothsayer interrupted the greeting of Zarathustra
+and his guests:  he pressed forward as one who had no time to lose, seized
+Zarathustra's hand and exclaimed:  "But Zarathustra!
+
+One thing is more necessary than the other, so sayest thou thyself:  well,
+one thing is now more necessary UNTO ME than all others.
+
+A word at the right time:  didst thou not invite me to TABLE?  And here are
+many who have made long journeys.  Thou dost not mean to feed us merely
+with discourses?
+
+Besides, all of you have thought too much about freezing, drowning,
+suffocating, and other bodily dangers:  none of you, however, have thought
+of MY danger, namely, perishing of hunger-"
+
+(Thus spake the soothsayer.  When Zarathustra's animals, however, heard
+these words, they ran away in terror.  For they saw that all they had
+brought home during the day would not be enough to fill the one
+soothsayer.)
+
+"Likewise perishing of thirst," continued the soothsayer.  "And although I
+hear water splashing here like words of wisdom--that is to say, plenteously
+and unweariedly, I--want WINE!
+
+Not every one is a born water-drinker like Zarathustra.  Neither doth water
+suit weary and withered ones:  WE deserve wine--IT alone giveth immediate
+vigour and improvised health!"
+
+On this occasion, when the soothsayer was longing for wine, it happened
+that the king on the left, the silent one, also found expression for once.
+"WE took care," said he, "about wine, I, along with my brother the king on
+the right:  we have enough of wine,--a whole ass-load of it.  So there is
+nothing lacking but bread."
+
+"Bread," replied Zarathustra, laughing when he spake, "it is precisely
+bread that anchorites have not.  But man doth not live by bread alone, but
+also by the flesh of good lambs, of which I have two:
+
+--THESE shall we slaughter quickly, and cook spicily with sage:  it is so
+that I like them.  And there is also no lack of roots and fruits, good
+enough even for the fastidious and dainty,--nor of nuts and other riddles
+for cracking.
+
+Thus will we have a good repast in a little while.  But whoever wish to eat
+with us must also give a hand to the work, even the kings.  For with
+Zarathustra even a king may be a cook."
+
+This proposal appealed to the hearts of all of them, save that the
+voluntary beggar objected to the flesh and wine and spices.
+
+"Just hear this glutton Zarathustra!" said he jokingly:  "doth one go into
+caves and high mountains to make such repasts?
+
+Now indeed do I understand what he once taught us:  Blessed be moderate
+poverty!'  And why he wisheth to do away with beggars."
+
+"Be of good cheer," replied Zarathustra, "as I am.  Abide by thy customs,
+thou excellent one:  grind thy corn, drink thy water, praise thy cooking,--
+if only it make thee glad!
+
+I am a law only for mine own; I am not a law for all.  He, however, who
+belongeth unto me must be strong of bone and light of foot,--
+
+--Joyous in fight and feast, no sulker, no John o' Dreams, ready for the
+hardest task as for the feast, healthy and hale.
+
+The best belongeth unto mine and me; and if it be not given us, then do we
+take it:--the best food, the purest sky, the strongest thoughts, the
+fairest women!"--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra; the king on the right however answered and said:
+"Strange!  Did one ever hear such sensible things out of the mouth of a
+wise man?
+
+And verily, it is the strangest thing in a wise man, if over and above, he
+be still sensible, and not an ass."
+
+Thus spake the king on the right and wondered; the ass however, with
+ill-will, said YE-A to his remark. This however was the beginning of that
+long repast which is called "The Supper" in the history-books. At this
+there was nothing else spoken of but THE HIGHER MAN.
+
+
+LXXIII.  THE HIGHER MAN.
+
+1.
+
+When I came unto men for the first time, then did I commit the anchorite
+folly, the great folly:  I appeared on the market-place.
+
+And when I spake unto all, I spake unto none.  In the evening, however,
+rope-dancers were my companions, and corpses; and I myself almost a corpse.
+
+With the new morning, however, there came unto me a new truth:  then did I
+learn to say:  "Of what account to me are market-place and populace and
+populace-noise and long populace-ears!"
+
+Ye higher men, learn THIS from me:  On the market-place no one believeth in
+higher men.  But if ye will speak there, very well!  The populace, however,
+blinketh:  "We are all equal."
+
+"Ye higher men,"--so blinketh the populace--"there are no higher men, we
+are all equal; man is man, before God--we are all equal!"
+
+Before God!--Now, however, this God hath died.  Before the populace,
+however, we will not be equal.  Ye higher men, away from the market-place!
+
+2.
+
+Before God!--Now however this God hath died!  Ye higher men, this God was
+your greatest danger.
+
+Only since he lay in the grave have ye again arisen.  Now only cometh the
+great noontide, now only doth the higher man become--master!
+
+Have ye understood this word, O my brethren?  Ye are frightened:  do your
+hearts turn giddy?  Doth the abyss here yawn for you?  Doth the hell-hound
+here yelp at you?
+
+Well!  Take heart! ye higher men!  Now only travaileth the mountain of the
+human future.  God hath died:  now do WE desire--the Superman to live.
+
+3.
+
+The most careful ask to-day:  "How is man to be maintained?"  Zarathustra
+however asketh, as the first and only one:  "How is man to be SURPASSED?"
+
+The Superman, I have at heart; THAT is the first and only thing to me--and
+NOT man:  not the neighbour, not the poorest, not the sorriest, not the
+best.--
+
+O my brethren, what I can love in man is that he is an over-going and a
+down-going.  And also in you there is much that maketh me love and hope.
+
+In that ye have despised, ye higher men, that maketh me hope.  For the
+great despisers are the great reverers.
+
+In that ye have despaired, there is much to honour.  For ye have not
+learned to submit yourselves, ye have not learned petty policy.
+
+For to-day have the petty people become master:  they all preach submission
+and humility and policy and diligence and consideration and the long et
+cetera of petty virtues.
+
+Whatever is of the effeminate type, whatever originateth from the servile
+type, and especially the populace-mishmash:--THAT wisheth now to be master
+of all human destiny--O disgust!  Disgust!  Disgust!
+
+THAT asketh and asketh and never tireth:  "How is man to maintain himself
+best, longest, most pleasantly?" Thereby--are they the masters of to-day.
+
+These masters of to-day--surpass them, O my brethren--these petty people:
+THEY are the Superman's greatest danger!
+
+Surpass, ye higher men, the petty virtues, the petty policy, the sand-grain
+considerateness, the ant-hill trumpery, the pitiable comfortableness, the
+"happiness of the greatest number"--!
+
+And rather despair than submit yourselves.  And verily, I love you, because
+ye know not to-day how to live, ye higher men!  For thus do YE live--best!
+
+4.
+
+Have ye courage, O my brethren?  Are ye stout-hearted?  NOT the courage
+before witnesses, but anchorite and eagle courage, which not even a God any
+longer beholdeth?
+
+Cold souls, mules, the blind and the drunken, I do not call stout-hearted.
+He hath heart who knoweth fear, but VANQUISHETH it; who seeth the abyss,
+but with PRIDE.
+
+He who seeth the abyss, but with eagle's eyes,--he who with eagle's talons
+GRASPETH the abyss:  he hath courage.--
+
+5.
+
+"Man is evil"--so said to me for consolation, all the wisest ones.  Ah, if
+only it be still true to-day!  For the evil is man's best force.
+
+"Man must become better and eviler"--so do _I_ teach.  The evilest is
+necessary for the Superman's best.
+
+It may have been well for the preacher of the petty people to suffer and be
+burdened by men's sin.  I, however, rejoice in great sin as my great
+CONSOLATION.--
+
+Such things, however, are not said for long ears.  Every word, also, is not
+suited for every mouth.  These are fine far-away things:  at them sheep's
+claws shall not grasp!
+
+6.
+
+Ye higher men, think ye that I am here to put right what ye have put wrong?
+
+Or that I wished henceforth to make snugger couches for you sufferers?  Or
+show you restless, miswandering, misclimbing ones, new and easier
+footpaths?
+
+Nay!  Nay!  Three times Nay!  Always more, always better ones of your type
+shall succumb,--for ye shall always have it worse and harder.  Thus only--
+
+--Thus only groweth man aloft to the height where the lightning striketh
+and shattereth him:  high enough for the lightning!
+
+Towards the few, the long, the remote go forth my soul and my seeking:  of
+what account to me are your many little, short miseries!
+
+Ye do not yet suffer enough for me!  For ye suffer from yourselves, ye have
+not yet suffered FROM MAN.  Ye would lie if ye spake otherwise!  None of
+you suffereth from what _I_ have suffered.--
+
+7.
+
+It is not enough for me that the lightning no longer doeth harm.  I do not
+wish to conduct it away:  it shall learn--to work for ME.--
+
+My wisdom hath accumulated long like a cloud, it becometh stiller and
+darker.  So doeth all wisdom which shall one day bear LIGHTNINGS.--
+
+Unto these men of to-day will I not be LIGHT, nor be called light.  THEM--
+will I blind:  lightning of my wisdom! put out their eyes!
+
+8.
+
+Do not will anything beyond your power:  there is a bad falseness in those
+who will beyond their power.
+
+Especially when they will great things!  For they awaken distrust in great
+things, these subtle false-coiners and stage-players:--
+
+--Until at last they are false towards themselves, squint-eyed, whited
+cankers, glossed over with strong words, parade virtues and brilliant false
+deeds.
+
+Take good care there, ye higher men!  For nothing is more precious to me,
+and rarer, than honesty.
+
+Is this to-day not that of the populace?  The populace however knoweth not
+what is great and what is small, what is straight and what is honest:  it
+is innocently crooked, it ever lieth.
+
+9.
+
+Have a good distrust to-day ye, higher men, ye enheartened ones! Ye
+open-hearted ones! And keep your reasons secret! For this to-day is that of
+the populace.
+
+What the populace once learned to believe without reasons, who could--
+refute it to them by means of reasons?
+
+And on the market-place one convinceth with gestures.  But reasons make the
+populace distrustful.
+
+And when truth hath once triumphed there, then ask yourselves with good
+distrust:  "What strong error hath fought for it?"
+
+Be on your guard also against the learned!  They hate you, because they are
+unproductive!  They have cold, withered eyes before which every bird is
+unplumed.
+
+Such persons vaunt about not lying:  but inability to lie is still far from
+being love to truth.  Be on your guard!
+
+Freedom from fever is still far from being knowledge!  Refrigerated spirits
+I do not believe in.  He who cannot lie, doth not know what truth is.
+
+10.
+
+If ye would go up high, then use your own legs!  Do not get yourselves
+CARRIED aloft; do not seat yourselves on other people's backs and heads!
+
+Thou hast mounted, however, on horseback?  Thou now ridest briskly up to
+thy goal?  Well, my friend!  But thy lame foot is also with thee on
+horseback!
+
+When thou reachest thy goal, when thou alightest from thy horse:  precisely
+on thy HEIGHT, thou higher man,--then wilt thou stumble!
+
+11.
+
+Ye creating ones, ye higher men!  One is only pregnant with one's own
+child.
+
+Do not let yourselves be imposed upon or put upon!  Who then is YOUR
+neighbour?  Even if ye act "for your neighbour"--ye still do not create for
+him!
+
+Unlearn, I pray you, this "for," ye creating ones:  your very virtue
+wisheth you to have naught to do with "for" and "on account of" and
+"because."  Against these false little words shall ye stop your ears.
+
+"For one's neighbour," is the virtue only of the petty people:  there it is
+said "like and like," and "hand washeth hand":--they have neither the right
+nor the power for YOUR self-seeking!
+
+In your self-seeking, ye creating ones, there is the foresight and
+foreseeing of the pregnant!  What no one's eye hath yet seen, namely, the
+fruit--this, sheltereth and saveth and nourisheth your entire love.
+
+Where your entire love is, namely, with your child, there is also your
+entire virtue!  Your work, your will is YOUR "neighbour":  let no false
+values impose upon you!
+
+12.
+
+Ye creating ones, ye higher men!  Whoever hath to give birth is sick;
+whoever hath given birth, however, is unclean.
+
+Ask women:  one giveth birth, not because it giveth pleasure.  The pain
+maketh hens and poets cackle.
+
+Ye creating ones, in you there is much uncleanliness.  That is because ye
+have had to be mothers.
+
+A new child:  oh, how much new filth hath also come into the world!  Go
+apart!  He who hath given birth shall wash his soul!
+
+13.
+
+Be not virtuous beyond your powers!  And seek nothing from yourselves
+opposed to probability!
+
+Walk in the footsteps in which your fathers' virtue hath already walked!
+How would ye rise high, if your fathers' will should not rise with you?
+
+He, however, who would be a firstling, let him take care lest he also
+become a lastling!  And where the vices of your fathers are, there should
+ye not set up as saints!
+
+He whose fathers were inclined for women, and for strong wine and flesh of
+wildboar swine; what would it be if he demanded chastity of himself?
+
+A folly would it be!  Much, verily, doth it seem to me for such a one, if
+he should be the husband of one or of two or of three women.
+
+And if he founded monasteries, and inscribed over their portals:  "The way
+to holiness,"--I should still say:  What good is it! it is a new folly!
+
+He hath founded for himself a penance-house and refuge-house:  much good
+may it do!  But I do not believe in it.
+
+In solitude there groweth what any one bringeth into it--also the brute in
+one's nature.  Thus is solitude inadvisable unto many.
+
+Hath there ever been anything filthier on earth than the saints of the
+wilderness?  AROUND THEM was not only the devil loose--but also the swine.
+
+14.
+
+Shy, ashamed, awkward, like the tiger whose spring hath failed--thus, ye
+higher men, have I often seen you slink aside.  A CAST which ye made had
+failed.
+
+But what doth it matter, ye dice-players!  Ye had not learned to play and
+mock, as one must play and mock!  Do we not ever sit at a great table of
+mocking and playing?
+
+And if great things have been a failure with you, have ye yourselves
+therefore--been a failure?  And if ye yourselves have been a failure, hath
+man therefore--been a failure?  If man, however, hath been a failure:  well
+then! never mind!
+
+15.
+
+The higher its type, always the seldomer doth a thing succeed.  Ye higher
+men here, have ye not all--been failures?
+
+Be of good cheer; what doth it matter?  How much is still possible!  Learn
+to laugh at yourselves, as ye ought to laugh!
+
+What wonder even that ye have failed and only half-succeeded, ye
+half-shattered ones! Doth not--man's FUTURE strive and struggle in you?
+
+Man's furthest, profoundest, star-highest issues, his prodigious powers--do
+not all these foam through one another in your vessel?
+
+What wonder that many a vessel shattereth!  Learn to laugh at yourselves,
+as ye ought to laugh!  Ye higher men, O, how much is still possible!
+
+And verily, how much hath already succeeded!  How rich is this earth in
+small, good, perfect things, in well-constituted things!
+
+Set around you small, good, perfect things, ye higher men.  Their golden
+maturity healeth the heart.  The perfect teacheth one to hope.
+
+16.
+
+What hath hitherto been the greatest sin here on earth?  Was it not the
+word of him who said:  "Woe unto them that laugh now!"
+
+Did he himself find no cause for laughter on the earth?  Then he sought
+badly.  A child even findeth cause for it.
+
+He--did not love sufficiently:  otherwise would he also have loved us, the
+laughing ones!  But he hated and hooted us; wailing and teeth-gnashing did
+he promise us.
+
+Must one then curse immediately, when one doth not love?  That--seemeth to
+me bad taste.  Thus did he, however, this absolute one.  He sprang from the
+populace.
+
+And he himself just did not love sufficiently; otherwise would he have
+raged less because people did not love him.  All great love doth not SEEK
+love:--it seeketh more.
+
+Go out of the way of all such absolute ones!  They are a poor sickly type,
+a populace-type:  they look at this life with ill-will, they have an evil
+eye for this earth.
+
+Go out of the way of all such absolute ones!  They have heavy feet and
+sultry hearts:--they do not know how to dance.  How could the earth be
+light to such ones!
+
+17.
+
+Tortuously do all good things come nigh to their goal.  Like cats they
+curve their backs, they purr inwardly with their approaching happiness,--
+all good things laugh.
+
+His step betrayeth whether a person already walketh on HIS OWN path:  just
+see me walk!  He, however, who cometh nigh to his goal, danceth.
+
+And verily, a statue have I not become, not yet do I stand there stiff,
+stupid and stony, like a pillar; I love fast racing.
+
+And though there be on earth fens and dense afflictions, he who hath light
+feet runneth even across the mud, and danceth, as upon well-swept ice.
+
+Lift up your hearts, my brethren, high, higher!  And do not forget your
+legs!  Lift up also your legs, ye good dancers, and better
+still, if ye stand upon your heads!
+
+18.
+
+This crown of the laughter, this rose-garland crown:  I myself have put on
+this crown, I myself have consecrated my laughter.  No one else have I
+found to-day potent enough for this.
+
+Zarathustra the dancer, Zarathustra the light one, who beckoneth with his
+pinions, one ready for flight, beckoning unto all birds, ready and
+prepared, a blissfully light-spirited one:--
+
+Zarathustra the soothsayer, Zarathustra the sooth-laugher, no impatient
+one, no absolute one, one who loveth leaps and side-leaps; I myself have
+put on this crown!
+
+19.
+
+Lift up your hearts, my brethren, high, higher!  And do not forget your
+legs!  Lift up also your legs, ye good dancers, and better still if ye
+stand upon your heads!
+
+There are also heavy animals in a state of happiness, there are club-footed
+ones from the beginning.  Curiously do they exert themselves, like an
+elephant which endeavoureth to stand upon its head.
+
+Better, however, to be foolish with happiness than foolish with misfortune,
+better to dance awkwardly than walk lamely.  So learn, I pray you, my
+wisdom, ye higher men:  even the worst thing hath two good reverse sides,--
+
+--Even the worst thing hath good dancing-legs:  so learn, I pray you, ye
+higher men, to put yourselves on your proper legs!
+
+So unlearn, I pray you, the sorrow-sighing, and all the populace-sadness!
+Oh, how sad the buffoons of the populace seem to me to-day!  This to-day,
+however, is that of the populace.
+
+20.
+
+Do like unto the wind when it rusheth forth from its mountain-caves:  unto
+its own piping will it dance; the seas tremble and leap under its
+footsteps.
+
+That which giveth wings to asses, that which milketh the lionesses:--
+praised be that good, unruly spirit, which cometh like a hurricane unto all
+the present and unto all the populace,--
+
+--Which is hostile to thistle-heads and puzzle-heads, and to all withered
+leaves and weeds:--praised be this wild, good, free spirit of the storm,
+which danceth upon fens and afflictions, as upon meadows!
+
+Which hateth the consumptive populace-dogs, and all the ill-constituted,
+sullen brood:--praised be this spirit of all free spirits, the laughing
+storm, which bloweth dust into the eyes of all the melanopic and
+melancholic!
+
+Ye higher men, the worst thing in you is that ye have none of you learned
+to dance as ye ought to dance--to dance beyond yourselves!  What doth it
+matter that ye have failed!
+
+How many things are still possible!  So LEARN to laugh beyond yourselves!
+Lift up your hearts, ye good dancers, high! higher!  And do not forget the
+good laughter!
+
+This crown of the laughter, this rose-garland crown:  to you my brethren do
+I cast this crown!  Laughing have I consecrated; ye higher men, LEARN, I
+pray you--to laugh!
+
+
+LXXIV.  THE SONG OF MELANCHOLY.
+
+1.
+
+When Zarathustra spake these sayings, he stood nigh to the entrance of his
+cave; with the last words, however, he slipped away from his guests, and
+fled for a little while into the open air.
+
+"O pure odours around me," cried he, "O blessed stillness around me!  But
+where are mine animals?  Hither, hither, mine eagle and my serpent!
+
+Tell me, mine animals:  these higher men, all of them--do they perhaps not
+SMELL well?  O pure odours around me!  Now only do I know and feel how I
+love you, mine animals."
+
+--And Zarathustra said once more:  "I love you, mine animals!"  The eagle,
+however, and the serpent pressed close to him when he spake these words,
+and looked up to him.  In this attitude were they all three silent
+together, and sniffed and sipped the good air with one another.  For the
+air here outside was better than with the higher men.
+
+2.
+
+Hardly, however, had Zarathustra left the cave when the old magician got
+up, looked cunningly about him, and said:  "He is gone!
+
+And already, ye higher men--let me tickle you with this complimentary and
+flattering name, as he himself doeth--already doth mine evil spirit of
+deceit and magic attack me, my melancholy devil,
+
+--Which is an adversary to this Zarathustra from the very heart:  forgive
+it for this!  Now doth it wish to conjure before you, it hath just ITS
+hour; in vain do I struggle with this evil spirit.
+
+Unto all of you, whatever honours ye like to assume in your names, whether
+ye call yourselves 'the free spirits' or 'the conscientious,' or 'the
+penitents of the spirit,' or 'the unfettered,' or 'the great longers,'--
+
+--Unto all of you, who like me suffer FROM THE GREAT LOATHING, to whom the
+old God hath died, and as yet no new God lieth in cradles and swaddling
+clothes--unto all of you is mine evil spirit and magic-devil favourable.
+
+I know you, ye higher men, I know him,--I know also this fiend whom I love
+in spite of me, this Zarathustra:  he himself often seemeth to me like the
+beautiful mask of a saint,
+
+--Like a new strange mummery in which mine evil spirit, the melancholy
+devil, delighteth:--I love Zarathustra, so doth it often seem to me, for
+the sake of mine evil spirit.--
+
+But already doth IT attack me and constrain me, this spirit of melancholy,
+this evening-twilight devil:  and verily, ye higher men, it hath a
+longing--
+
+--Open your eyes!--it hath a longing to come NAKED, whether male or female,
+I do not yet know:  but it cometh, it constraineth me, alas! open your
+wits!
+
+The day dieth out, unto all things cometh now the evening, also unto the
+best things; hear now, and see, ye higher men, what devil--man or woman--
+this spirit of evening-melancholy is!"
+
+Thus spake the old magician, looked cunningly about him, and then seized
+his harp.
+
+3.
+
+In evening's limpid air,
+What time the dew's soothings
+Unto the earth downpour,
+Invisibly and unheard--
+For tender shoe-gear wear
+The soothing dews, like all that's kind-gentle--:
+Bethinkst thou then, bethinkst thou, burning heart,
+How once thou thirstedest
+For heaven's kindly teardrops and dew's down-droppings,
+All singed and weary thirstedest,
+What time on yellow grass-pathways
+Wicked, occidental sunny glances
+Through sombre trees about thee sported,
+Blindingly sunny glow-glances, gladly-hurting?
+
+"Of TRUTH the wooer?  Thou?"--so taunted they--
+"Nay!  Merely poet!
+A brute insidious, plundering, grovelling,
+That aye must lie,
+That wittingly, wilfully, aye must lie:
+For booty lusting,
+Motley masked,
+Self-hidden, shrouded,
+Himself his booty--
+HE--of truth the wooer?
+Nay!  Mere fool!  Mere poet!
+Just motley speaking,
+From mask of fool confusedly shouting,
+Circumambling on fabricated word-bridges,
+On motley rainbow-arches,
+'Twixt the spurious heavenly,
+And spurious earthly,
+Round us roving, round us soaring,--
+MERE FOOL!  MERE POET!
+
+HE--of truth the wooer?
+Not still, stiff, smooth and cold,
+Become an image,
+A godlike statue,
+Set up in front of temples,
+As a God's own door-guard:
+Nay! hostile to all such truthfulness-statues,
+In every desert homelier than at temples,
+With cattish wantonness,
+Through every window leaping
+Quickly into chances,
+Every wild forest a-sniffing,
+Greedily-longingly, sniffing,
+That thou, in wild forests,
+'Mong the motley-speckled fierce creatures,
+Shouldest rove, sinful-sound and fine-coloured,
+With longing lips smacking,
+Blessedly mocking, blessedly hellish, blessedly bloodthirsty,
+Robbing, skulking, lying--roving:--
+
+Or unto eagles like which fixedly,
+Long adown the precipice look,
+Adown THEIR precipice:--
+Oh, how they whirl down now,
+Thereunder, therein,
+To ever deeper profoundness whirling!--
+Then,
+Sudden,
+With aim aright,
+With quivering flight,
+On LAMBKINS pouncing,
+Headlong down, sore-hungry,
+For lambkins longing,
+Fierce 'gainst all lamb-spirits,
+Furious-fierce all that look
+Sheeplike, or lambeyed, or crisp-woolly,
+--Grey, with lambsheep kindliness!
+
+Even thus,
+Eaglelike, pantherlike,
+Are the poet's desires,
+Are THINE OWN desires 'neath a thousand guises,
+Thou fool!  Thou poet!
+Thou who all mankind viewedst--
+So God, as sheep--:
+The God TO REND within mankind,
+As the sheep in mankind,
+And in rending LAUGHING--
+
+THAT, THAT is thine own blessedness!
+Of a panther and eagle--blessedness!
+Of a poet and fool--the blessedness!--
+
+In evening's limpid air,
+What time the moon's sickle,
+Green, 'twixt the purple-glowings,
+And jealous, steal'th forth:
+--Of day the foe,
+With every step in secret,
+The rosy garland-hammocks
+Downsickling, till they've sunken
+Down nightwards, faded, downsunken:--
+
+Thus had I sunken one day
+From mine own truth-insanity,
+From mine own fervid day-longings,
+Of day aweary, sick of sunshine,
+--Sunk downwards, evenwards, shadowwards:
+By one sole trueness
+All scorched and thirsty:
+--Bethinkst thou still, bethinkst thou, burning heart,
+How then thou thirstedest?--
+THAT I SHOULD BANNED BE
+FROM ALL THE TRUENESS!
+MERE FOOL!  MERE POET!
+
+
+LXXV.  SCIENCE.
+
+Thus sang the magician; and all who were present went like birds unawares
+into the net of his artful and melancholy voluptuousness.  Only the
+spiritually conscientious one had not been caught:  he at once snatched the
+harp from the magician and called out:  "Air!  Let in good air!  Let in
+Zarathustra!  Thou makest this cave sultry and poisonous, thou bad old
+magician!
+
+Thou seducest, thou false one, thou subtle one, to unknown desires and
+deserts.  And alas, that such as thou should talk and make ado about the
+TRUTH!
+
+Alas, to all free spirits who are not on their guard against SUCH
+magicians!  It is all over with their freedom:  thou teachest and temptest
+back into prisons,--
+
+--Thou old melancholy devil, out of thy lament soundeth a lurement:  thou
+resemblest those who with their praise of chastity secretly invite to
+voluptuousness!"
+
+Thus spake the conscientious one; the old magician, however, looked about
+him, enjoying his triumph, and on that account put up with the annoyance
+which the conscientious one caused him.  "Be still!" said he with modest
+voice, "good songs want to re-echo well; after good songs one should be
+long silent.
+
+Thus do all those present, the higher men.  Thou, however, hast perhaps
+understood but little of my song?  In thee there is little of the magic
+spirit.
+
+"Thou praisest me," replied the conscientious one, "in that thou separatest
+me from thyself; very well!  But, ye others, what do I see?  Ye still sit
+there, all of you, with lusting eyes--:
+
+Ye free spirits, whither hath your freedom gone!  Ye almost seem to me to
+resemble those who have long looked at bad girls dancing naked:  your souls
+themselves dance!
+
+In you, ye higher men, there must be more of that which the magician
+calleth his evil spirit of magic and deceit:--we must indeed be different.
+
+And verily, we spake and thought long enough together ere Zarathustra came
+home to his cave, for me not to be unaware that we ARE different.
+
+We SEEK different things even here aloft, ye and I.  For I seek more
+SECURITY; on that account have I come to Zarathustra.  For he is still the
+most steadfast tower and will--
+
+--To-day, when everything tottereth, when all the earth quaketh.  Ye,
+however, when I see what eyes ye make, it almost seemeth to me that ye seek
+MORE INSECURITY,
+
+--More horror, more danger, more earthquake.  Ye long (it almost seemeth so
+to me--forgive my presumption, ye higher men)--
+
+--Ye long for the worst and dangerousest life, which frighteneth ME most,--
+for the life of wild beasts, for forests, caves, steep mountains and
+labyrinthine gorges.
+
+And it is not those who lead OUT OF danger that please you best, but those
+who lead you away from all paths, the misleaders.  But if such longing in
+you be ACTUAL, it seemeth to me nevertheless to be IMPOSSIBLE.
+
+For fear--that is man's original and fundamental feeling; through fear
+everything is explained, original sin and original virtue.  Through fear
+there grew also MY virtue, that is to say:  Science.
+
+For fear of wild animals--that hath been longest fostered in man, inclusive
+of the animal which he concealeth and feareth in himself:--Zarathustra
+calleth it 'the beast inside.'
+
+Such prolonged ancient fear, at last become subtle, spiritual and
+intellectual--at present, me thinketh, it is called SCIENCE."--
+
+Thus spake the conscientious one; but Zarathustra, who had just come back
+into his cave and had heard and divined the last discourse, threw a handful
+of roses to the conscientious one, and laughed on account of his "truths."
+"Why!" he exclaimed, "what did I hear just now?  Verily, it seemeth to me,
+thou art a fool, or else I myself am one:  and quietly and quickly will I
+put thy 'truth' upside down.
+
+For FEAR--is an exception with us.  Courage, however, and adventure, and
+delight in the uncertain, in the unattempted--COURAGE seemeth to me the
+entire primitive history of man.
+
+The wildest and most courageous animals hath he envied and robbed of all
+their virtues:  thus only did he become--man.
+
+THIS courage, at last become subtle, spiritual and intellectual, this human
+courage, with eagle's pinions and serpent's wisdom:  THIS, it seemeth to
+me, is called at present--"
+
+"ZARATHUSTRA!" cried all of them there assembled, as if with one voice, and
+burst out at the same time into a great laughter; there arose, however,
+from them as it were a heavy cloud.  Even the magician laughed, and said
+wisely:  "Well!  It is gone, mine evil spirit!
+
+And did I not myself warn you against it when I said that it was a
+deceiver, a lying and deceiving spirit?
+
+Especially when it showeth itself naked.  But what can _I_ do with regard
+to its tricks!  Have _I_ created it and the world?
+
+Well!  Let us be good again, and of good cheer!  And although Zarathustra
+looketh with evil eye--just see him! he disliketh me--:
+
+--Ere night cometh will he again learn to love and laud me; he cannot live
+long without committing such follies.
+
+HE--loveth his enemies:  this art knoweth he better than any one I have
+seen.  But he taketh revenge for it--on his friends!"
+
+Thus spake the old magician, and the higher men applauded him; so that
+Zarathustra went round, and mischievously and lovingly shook hands with his
+friends,--like one who hath to make amends and apologise to every one for
+something.  When however he had thereby come to the door of his cave, lo,
+then had he again a longing for the good air outside, and for his animals,
+--and wished to steal out.
+
+
+LXXVI.  AMONG DAUGHTERS OF THE DESERT.
+
+1.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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,--
+
+--The bad game of drifting clouds, of damp melancholy, of curtained
+heavens, of stolen suns, of 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!
+
+Thou hast nourished us with strong food for men, and powerful proverbs:  do
+not let the weakly, womanly spirits attack us anew 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?
+
+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!
+
+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:--
+
+For with them was there equally good, clear, Oriental air; there was I
+furthest 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.
+
+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--
+
+Many-hued and foreign, forsooth! but without clouds:  riddles which can be
+guessed:  to please such maidens I then 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.
+
+2.
+
+THE DESERTS GROW:  WOE HIM WHO DOTH THEM HIDE!
+
+--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!
+
+THE DESERTS GROW:  WOE HIM WHO DOTH THEM HIDE!
+
+
+LXXVII.  THE AWAKENING.
+
+1.
+
+After the song of the wanderer and shadow, the cave became all at once full
+of noise and laughter:  and since the assembled guests all spake
+simultaneously, and even the ass, encouraged thereby, no longer remained
+silent, a little aversion and scorn for his visitors came over Zarathustra,
+although he rejoiced at their gladness.  For it seemed to him a sign of
+convalescence.  So he slipped out into the open air and spake to his
+animals.
+
+"Whither hath their distress now gone?" said he, and already did he himself
+feel relieved of his petty disgust--"with me, it seemeth that they have
+unlearned their cries of distress!
+
+--Though, alas! not yet their crying."  And Zarathustra stopped his ears,
+for just then did the YE-A of the ass mix strangely with the noisy
+jubilation of those higher men.
+
+"They are merry," he began again, "and who knoweth? perhaps at their host's
+expense; and if they have learned of me to laugh, still it is not MY
+laughter they have learned.
+
+But what matter about that!  They are old people:  they recover in their
+own way, they laugh in their own way; mine ears have already endured worse
+and have not become peevish.
+
+This day is a victory:  he already yieldeth, he fleeth, THE SPIRIT OF
+GRAVITY, mine old arch-enemy!  How well this day is about to end, which
+began so badly and gloomily!
+
+And it is ABOUT TO end. Already cometh the evening: over the sea rideth it
+hither, the good rider! How it bobbeth, the blessed one, the home-returning
+one, in its purple saddles!
+
+The sky gazeth brightly thereon, the world lieth deep.  Oh, all ye strange
+ones who have come to me, it is already worth while to have lived with me!"
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.  And again came the cries and laughter of the
+higher men out of the cave:  then began he anew:
+
+"They bite at it, my bait taketh, there departeth also from them their
+enemy, the spirit of gravity.  Now do they learn to laugh at themselves:
+do I hear rightly?
+
+My virile food taketh effect, my strong and savoury sayings:  and verily, I
+did not nourish them with flatulent vegetables!  But with warrior-food,
+with conqueror-food:  new desires did I awaken.
+
+New hopes are in their arms and legs, their hearts expand.  They find new
+words, soon will their spirits breathe wantonness.
+
+Such food may sure enough not be proper for children, nor even for longing
+girls old and young.  One persuadeth their bowels otherwise; I am not their
+physician and teacher.
+
+The DISGUST departeth from these higher men; well! that is my victory.  In
+my domain they become assured; all stupid shame fleeth away; they empty
+themselves.
+
+They empty their hearts, good times return unto them, they keep holiday and
+ruminate,--they become THANKFUL.
+
+THAT do I take as the best sign:  they become thankful.  Not long will it
+be ere they devise festivals, and put up memorials to their old joys.
+
+They are CONVALESCENTS!"  Thus spake Zarathustra joyfully to his heart and
+gazed outward; his animals, however, pressed up to him, and honoured his
+happiness and his silence.
+
+2.
+
+All on a sudden however, Zarathustra's ear was frightened:  for the cave
+which had hitherto been full of noise and laughter, became all at once
+still as death;--his nose, however, smelt a sweet-scented vapour and
+incense-odour, as if from burning pine-cones.
+
+"What happeneth?  What are they about?" he asked himself, and stole up to
+the entrance, that he might be able unobserved to see his guests.  But
+wonder upon wonder! what was he then obliged to behold with his own eyes!
+
+"They have all of them become PIOUS again, they PRAY, they are mad!"--said
+he, and was astonished beyond measure.  And forsooth! all these higher men,
+the two kings, the pope out of service, the evil magician, the voluntary
+beggar, the wanderer and shadow, the old soothsayer, the spiritually
+conscientious one, and the ugliest man--they all lay on their knees like
+children and credulous old women, and worshipped the ass.  And just then
+began the ugliest man to gurgle and snort, as if something unutterable in
+him tried to find expression; when, however, he had actually found words,
+behold! it was a pious, strange litany in praise of the adored and censed
+ass.  And the litany sounded thus:
+
+Amen!  And glory and honour and wisdom and thanks and praise and strength
+be to our God, from everlasting to everlasting!
+
+--The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+
+He carrieth our burdens, he hath taken upon him the form of a servant, he
+is patient of heart and never saith Nay; and he who loveth his God
+chastiseth him.
+
+--The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+
+He speaketh not:  except that he ever saith Yea to the world which he
+created:  thus doth he extol his world.  It is his artfulness that speaketh
+not:  thus is he rarely found wrong.
+
+--The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+
+Uncomely goeth he through the world.  Grey is the favourite colour in which
+he wrappeth his virtue.  Hath he spirit, then doth he conceal it; every
+one, however, believeth in his long ears.
+
+--The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+
+What hidden wisdom it is to wear long ears, and only to say Yea and never
+Nay!  Hath he not created the world in his own image, namely, as stupid as
+possible?
+
+--The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+
+Thou goest straight and crooked ways; it concerneth thee little what
+seemeth straight or crooked unto us men.  Beyond good and evil is thy
+domain.  It is thine innocence not to know what innocence is.
+
+--The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+
+Lo! how thou spurnest none from thee, neither beggars nor kings.  Thou
+sufferest little children to come unto thee, and when the bad boys decoy
+thee, then sayest thou simply, YE-A.
+
+--The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+
+Thou lovest she-asses and fresh figs, thou art no food-despiser.  A thistle
+tickleth thy heart when thou chancest to be hungry.  There is the wisdom of
+a God therein.
+
+--The ass, however, here brayed YE-A.
+
+
+LXXVIII.  THE ASS-FESTIVAL.
+
+1.
+
+At this place in the litany, however, Zarathustra could no longer control
+himself; he himself cried out YE-A, louder even than the ass, and sprang
+into the midst of his maddened guests. "Whatever are you about, ye grown-up
+children?" he exclaimed, pulling up the praying ones from the ground.
+"Alas, if any one else, except Zarathustra, had seen you:
+
+Every one would think you the worst blasphemers, or the very foolishest old
+women, with your new belief!
+
+And thou thyself, thou old pope, how is it in accordance with thee, to
+adore an ass in such a manner as God?"--
+
+"O Zarathustra," answered the pope, "forgive me, but in divine matters I am
+more enlightened even than thou.  And it is right that it should be so.
+
+Better to adore God so, in this form, than in no form at all!  Think over
+this saying, mine exalted friend:  thou wilt readily divine that in such a
+saying there is wisdom.
+
+He who said 'God is a Spirit'--made the greatest stride and slide hitherto
+made on earth towards unbelief:  such a dictum is not easily amended again
+on earth!
+
+Mine old heart leapeth and boundeth because there is still something to
+adore on earth. Forgive it, O Zarathustra, to an old, pious
+pontiff-heart!--"
+
+--"And thou," said Zarathustra to the wanderer and shadow, "thou callest
+and thinkest thyself a free spirit?  And thou here practisest such idolatry
+and hierolatry?
+
+Worse verily, doest thou here than with thy bad brown girls, thou bad, new
+believer!"
+
+"It is sad enough," answered the wanderer and shadow, "thou art right:  but
+how can I help it!  The old God liveth again, O Zarathustra, thou mayst say
+what thou wilt.
+
+The ugliest man is to blame for it all:  he hath reawakened him.  And if he
+say that he once killed him, with Gods DEATH is always just a prejudice."
+
+--"And thou," said Zarathustra, "thou bad old magician, what didst thou do!
+Who ought to believe any longer in thee in this free age, when THOU
+believest in such divine donkeyism?
+
+It was a stupid thing that thou didst; how couldst thou, a shrewd man, do
+such a stupid thing!"
+
+"O Zarathustra," answered the shrewd magician, "thou art right, it was a
+stupid thing,--it was also repugnant to me."
+
+--"And thou even," said Zarathustra to the spiritually conscientious one,
+"consider, and put thy finger to thy nose!  Doth nothing go against thy
+conscience here?  Is thy spirit not too cleanly for this praying and the
+fumes of those devotees?"
+
+"There is something therein," said the spiritually conscientious one, and
+put his finger to his nose, "there is something in this spectacle which
+even doeth good to my conscience.
+
+Perhaps I dare not believe in God:  certain it is however, that God seemeth
+to me most worthy of belief in this form.
+
+God is said to be eternal, according to the testimony of the most pious:
+he who hath so much time taketh his time.  As slow and as stupid as
+possible:  THEREBY can such a one nevertheless go very far.
+
+And he who hath too much spirit might well become infatuated with stupidity
+and folly.  Think of thyself, O Zarathustra!
+
+Thou thyself--verily! even thou couldst well become an ass through
+superabundance of wisdom.
+
+Doth not the true sage willingly walk on the crookedest paths?  The
+evidence teacheth it, O Zarathustra,--THINE OWN evidence!"
+
+--"And thou thyself, finally," said Zarathustra, and turned towards the
+ugliest man, who still lay on the ground stretching up his arm to the ass
+(for he gave it wine to drink).  "Say, thou nondescript, what hast thou
+been about!
+
+Thou seemest to me transformed, thine eyes glow, the mantle of the sublime
+covereth thine ugliness:  WHAT didst thou do?
+
+Is it then true what they say, that thou hast again awakened him?  And why?
+Was he not for good reasons killed and made away with?
+
+Thou thyself seemest to me awakened:  what didst thou do? why didst THOU
+turn round?  Why didst THOU get converted?  Speak, thou nondescript!"
+
+"O Zarathustra," answered the ugliest man, "thou art a rogue!
+
+Whether HE yet liveth, or again liveth, or is thoroughly dead--which of us
+both knoweth that best?  I ask thee.
+
+One thing however do I know,--from thyself did I learn it once, O
+Zarathustra:  he who wanteth to kill most thoroughly, LAUGHETH.
+
+'Not by wrath but by laughter doth one kill'--thus spakest thou once, O
+Zarathustra, thou hidden one, thou destroyer without wrath, thou dangerous
+saint,--thou art a rogue!"
+
+2.
+
+Then, however, did it come to pass that Zarathustra, astonished at such
+merely roguish answers, jumped back to the door of his cave, and turning
+towards all his guests, cried out with a strong voice:
+
+"O ye wags, all of you, ye buffoons!  Why do ye dissemble and disguise
+yourselves before me!
+
+How the hearts of all of you convulsed with delight and wickedness, because
+ye had at last become again like little children--namely, pious,--
+
+--Because ye at last did again as children do--namely, prayed, folded your
+hands and said 'good God'!
+
+But now leave, I pray you, THIS nursery, mine own cave, where to-day all
+childishness is carried on. Cool down, here outside, your hot
+child-wantonness and heart-tumult!
+
+To be sure:  except ye become as little children ye shall not enter into
+THAT kingdom of heaven."  (And Zarathustra pointed aloft with his hands.)
+
+"But we do not at all want to enter into the kingdom of heaven:  we have
+become men,--SO WE WANT THE KINGDOM OF EARTH."
+
+3.
+
+And once more began Zarathustra to speak.  "O my new friends," said he,--
+"ye strange ones, ye higher men, how well do ye now please me,--
+
+--Since ye have again become joyful!  Ye have, verily, all blossomed forth:
+it seemeth to me that for such flowers as you, NEW FESTIVALS are required.
+
+--A little valiant nonsense, some divine service and ass-festival, some old
+joyful Zarathustra fool, some blusterer to blow your souls bright.
+
+Forget not this night and this ass-festival, ye higher men!  THAT did ye
+devise when with me, that do I take as a good omen,--such things only the
+convalescents devise!
+
+And should ye celebrate it again, this ass-festival, do it from love to
+yourselves, do it also from love to me!  And in remembrance of me!"
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra.
+
+
+LXXIX.  THE DRUNKEN SONG.
+
+1.
+
+Meanwhile one after another had gone out into the open air, and into the
+cool, thoughtful night; Zarathustra himself, however, led the ugliest man
+by the hand, that he might show him his night-world, and the great round
+moon, and the silvery water-falls near his cave.  There they at last stood
+still beside one another; all of them old people, but with comforted, brave
+hearts, and astonished in themselves that it was so well with them on
+earth; the mystery of the night, however, came nigher and nigher to their
+hearts.  And anew Zarathustra thought to himself:  "Oh, how well do they
+now please me, these higher men!"--but he did not say it aloud, for he
+respected their happiness and their silence.--
+
+Then, however, there happened that which in this astonishing long day was
+most astonishing:  the ugliest man began once more and for the last time to
+gurgle and snort, and when he had at length found expression, behold! there
+sprang a question plump and plain out of his mouth, a good, deep, clear
+question, which moved the hearts of all who listened to him.
+
+"My friends, all of you," said the ugliest man, "what think ye?  For the
+sake of this day--_I_ am for the first time content to have lived mine
+entire life.
+
+And that I testify so much is still not enough for me.  It is worth while
+living on the earth:  one day, one festival with Zarathustra, hath taught
+me to love the earth.
+
+'Was THAT--life?' will I say unto death.  'Well!  Once more!'
+
+My friends, what think ye?  Will ye not, like me, say unto death:  'Was
+THAT--life?  For the sake of Zarathustra, well!  Once more!'"--
+
+Thus spake the ugliest man; it was not, however, far from midnight.  And
+what took place then, think ye?  As soon as the higher men heard his
+question, they became all at once conscious of their transformation and
+convalescence, and of him who was the cause thereof:  then did they rush up
+to Zarathustra, thanking, honouring, caressing him, and kissing his hands,
+each in his own peculiar way; so that some laughed and some wept.  The old
+soothsayer, however, danced with delight; and though he was then, as some
+narrators suppose, full of sweet wine, he was certainly still fuller of
+sweet life, and had renounced all weariness.  There are even those who
+narrate that the ass then danced:  for not in vain had the ugliest man
+previously given it wine to drink.  That may be the case, or it may be
+otherwise; and if in truth the ass did not dance that evening, there
+nevertheless happened then greater and rarer wonders than the dancing of an
+ass would have been.  In short, as the proverb of Zarathustra saith:  "What
+doth it matter!"
+
+2.
+
+When, however, this took place with the ugliest man, Zarathustra stood
+there like one drunken:  his glance dulled, his tongue faltered and his
+feet staggered.  And who could divine what thoughts then passed through
+Zarathustra's soul?  Apparently, however, his spirit retreated and fled in
+advance and was in remote distances, and as it were "wandering on high
+mountain-ridges," as it standeth written, "'twixt two seas,
+
+--Wandering 'twixt the past and the future as a heavy cloud."  Gradually,
+however, while the higher men held him in their arms, he came back to
+himself a little, and resisted with his hands the crowd of the honouring
+and caring ones; but he did not speak.  All at once, however, he turned his
+head quickly, for he seemed to hear something:  then laid he his finger on
+his mouth and said:  "COME!"
+
+And immediately it became still and mysterious round about; from the depth
+however there came up slowly the sound of a clock-bell.  Zarathustra
+listened thereto, like the higher men; then, however, laid he his finger on
+his mouth the second time, and said again:  "COME!  COME!  IT IS GETTING ON
+TO MIDNIGHT!"--and his voice had changed.  But still he had not moved from
+the spot.  Then it became yet stiller and more mysterious, and everything
+hearkened, even the ass, and Zarathustra's noble animals, the eagle and the
+serpent,--likewise the cave of Zarathustra and the big cool moon, and the
+night itself.  Zarathustra, however, laid his hand upon his mouth for the
+third time, and said:
+
+COME!  COME!  COME!  LET US NOW WANDER!  IT IS THE HOUR:  LET US WANDER
+INTO THE NIGHT!
+
+3.
+
+Ye higher men, it is getting on to midnight:  then will I say something
+into your ears, as that old clock-bell saith it into mine ear,--
+
+--As mysteriously, as frightfully, and as cordially as that midnight
+clock-bell speaketh it to me, which hath experienced more than one man:
+
+--Which hath already counted the smarting throbbings of your fathers'
+hearts--ah! ah! how it sigheth! how it laugheth in its dream! the old,
+deep, deep midnight!
+
+Hush!  Hush!  Then is there many a thing heard which may not be heard by
+day; now however, in the cool air, when even all the tumult of your hearts
+hath become still,--
+
+--Now doth it speak, now is it heard, now doth it steal into overwakeful,
+nocturnal souls:  ah! ah! how the midnight sigheth! how it laugheth in its
+dream!
+
+--Hearest thou not how it mysteriously, frightfully, and cordially speaketh
+unto THEE, the old deep, deep midnight?
+
+O MAN, TAKE HEED!
+
+4.
+
+Woe to me!  Whither hath time gone?  Have I not sunk into deep wells?  The
+world sleepeth--
+
+Ah!  Ah!  The dog howleth, the moon shineth.  Rather will I die, rather
+will I die, than say unto you what my midnight-heart now thinketh.
+
+Already have I died.  It is all over.  Spider, why spinnest thou around me?
+Wilt thou have blood?  Ah!  Ah!  The dew falleth, the hour cometh--
+
+--The hour in which I frost and freeze, which asketh and asketh and asketh:
+"Who hath sufficient courage for it?
+
+--Who is to be master of the world?  Who is going to say:  THUS shall ye
+flow, ye great and small streams!"
+
+--The hour approacheth:  O man, thou higher man, take heed! this talk is
+for fine ears, for thine ears--WHAT SAITH DEEP MIDNIGHT'S VOICE INDEED?
+
+5.
+
+It carrieth me away, my soul danceth.  Day's-work!  Day's-work!  Who is to
+be master of the world?
+
+The moon is cool, the wind is still.  Ah!  Ah!  Have ye already flown high
+enough?  Ye have danced:  a leg, nevertheless, is not a wing.
+
+Ye good dancers, now is all delight over:  wine hath become lees, every cup
+hath become brittle, the sepulchres mutter.
+
+Ye have not flown high enough:  now do the sepulchres mutter:  "Free the
+dead!  Why is it so long night?  Doth not the moon make us drunken?"
+
+Ye higher men, free the sepulchres, awaken the corpses!  Ah, why doth the
+worm still burrow?  There approacheth, there approacheth, the hour,--
+
+--There boometh the clock-bell, there thrilleth still the heart, there
+burroweth still the wood-worm, the heart-worm.  Ah!  Ah!  THE WORLD IS
+DEEP!
+
+6.
+
+Sweet lyre!  Sweet lyre!  I love thy tone, thy drunken, ranunculine tone!--
+how long, how far hath come unto me thy tone, from the distance, from the
+ponds of love!
+
+Thou old clock-bell, thou sweet lyre!  Every pain hath torn thy heart,
+father-pain, fathers'-pain, forefathers'-pain; thy speech hath become
+ripe,--
+
+--Ripe like the golden autumn and the afternoon, like mine anchorite heart
+--now sayest thou:  The world itself hath become ripe, the grape turneth
+brown,
+
+--Now doth it wish to die, to die of happiness.  Ye higher men, do ye not
+feel it?  There welleth up mysteriously an odour,
+
+--A perfume and odour of eternity, a rosy-blessed, brown, gold-wine-odour
+of old happiness,
+
+--Of drunken midnight-death happiness, which singeth:  the world is deep,
+AND DEEPER THAN THE DAY COULD READ!
+
+7.
+
+Leave me alone!  Leave me alone!  I am too pure for thee.  Touch me not!
+Hath not my world just now become perfect?
+
+My skin is too pure for thy hands.  Leave me alone, thou dull, doltish,
+stupid day!  Is not the midnight brighter?
+
+The purest are to be masters of the world, the least known, the strongest,
+the midnight-souls, who are brighter and deeper than any day.
+
+O day, thou gropest for me?  Thou feelest for my happiness?  For thee am I
+rich, lonesome, a treasure-pit, a gold chamber?
+
+O world, thou wantest ME?  Am I worldly for thee?  Am I spiritual for thee?
+Am I divine for thee?  But day and world, ye are too coarse,--
+
+--Have cleverer hands, grasp after deeper happiness, after deeper
+unhappiness, grasp after some God; grasp not after me:
+
+--Mine unhappiness, my happiness is deep, thou strange day, but yet am I no
+God, no God's-hell:  DEEP IS ITS WOE.
+
+8.
+
+God's woe is deeper, thou strange world!  Grasp at God's woe, not at me!
+What am I!  A drunken sweet lyre,--
+
+--A midnight-lyre, a bell-frog, which no one understandeth, but which MUST
+speak before deaf ones, ye higher men!  For ye do not understand me!
+
+Gone!  Gone!  O youth!  O noontide!  O afternoon!  Now have come evening
+and night and midnight,--the dog howleth, the wind:
+
+--Is the wind not a dog?  It whineth, it barketh, it howleth.  Ah!  Ah! how
+she sigheth! how she laugheth, how she wheezeth and panteth, the midnight!
+
+How she just now speaketh soberly, this drunken poetess! hath she perhaps
+overdrunk her drunkenness?  hath she become overawake?  doth she ruminate?
+
+--Her woe doth she ruminate over, in a dream, the old, deep midnight--and
+still more her joy.  For joy, although woe be deep, JOY IS DEEPER STILL
+THAN GRIEF CAN BE.
+
+9.
+
+Thou grape-vine!  Why dost thou praise me?  Have I not cut thee!  I am
+cruel, thou bleedest--:  what meaneth thy praise of my drunken cruelty?
+
+"Whatever hath become perfect, everything mature--wanteth to die!" so
+sayest thou.  Blessed, blessed be the vintner's knife!  But everything
+immature wanteth to live:  alas!
+
+Woe saith:  "Hence!  Go!  Away, thou woe!"  But everything that suffereth
+wanteth to live, that it may become mature and lively and longing,
+
+--Longing for the further, the higher, the brighter.  "I want heirs," so
+saith everything that suffereth, "I want children, I do not want MYSELF,"--
+
+Joy, however, doth not want heirs, it doth not want children,--joy wanteth
+itself, it wanteth eternity, it wanteth recurrence, it wanteth everything
+eternally-like-itself.
+
+Woe saith:  "Break, bleed, thou heart!  Wander, thou leg!  Thou wing, fly!
+Onward! upward! thou pain!"  Well!  Cheer up!  O mine old heart:  WOE
+SAITH:  "HENCE!  GO!"
+
+10.
+
+Ye higher men, what think ye?  Am I a soothsayer?  Or a dreamer?  Or a
+drunkard?  Or a dream-reader?  Or a midnight-bell?
+
+Or a drop of dew?  Or a fume and fragrance of eternity?  Hear ye it not?
+Smell ye it not?  Just now hath my world become perfect, midnight is also
+mid-day,--
+
+Pain is also a joy, curse is also a blessing, night is also a sun,--go
+away! or ye will learn that a sage is also a fool.
+
+Said ye ever Yea to one joy?  O my friends, then said ye Yea also unto ALL
+woe.  All things are enlinked, enlaced and enamoured,--
+
+--Wanted ye ever once to come twice; said ye ever:  "Thou pleasest me,
+happiness!  Instant!  Moment!" then wanted ye ALL to come back again!
+
+--All anew, all eternal, all enlinked, enlaced and enamoured, Oh, then did
+ye LOVE the world,--
+
+--Ye eternal ones, ye love it eternally and for all time:  and also unto
+woe do ye say:  Hence!  Go! but come back!  FOR JOYS ALL WANT--ETERNITY!
+
+11.
+
+All joy wanteth the eternity of all things, it wanteth honey, it wanteth
+lees, it wanteth drunken midnight, it wanteth graves, it wanteth
+grave-tears' consolation, it wanteth gilded evening-red--
+
+--WHAT doth not joy want! it is thirstier, heartier, hungrier, more
+frightful, more mysterious, than all woe:  it wanteth ITSELF, it biteth
+into ITSELF, the ring's will writheth in it,--
+
+--It wanteth love, it wanteth hate, it is over-rich, it bestoweth, it
+throweth away, it beggeth for some one to take from it, it thanketh the
+taker, it would fain be hated,--
+
+--So rich is joy that it thirsteth for woe, for hell, for hate, for shame,
+for the lame, for the WORLD,--for this world, Oh, ye know it indeed!
+
+Ye higher men, for you doth it long, this joy, this irrepressible, blessed
+joy--for your woe, ye failures!  For failures, longeth all eternal joy.
+
+For joys all want themselves, therefore do they also want grief!  O
+happiness, O pain!  Oh break, thou heart!  Ye higher men, do learn it, that
+joys want eternity.
+
+--Joys want the eternity of ALL things, they WANT DEEP, PROFOUND ETERNITY!
+
+12.
+
+Have ye now learned my song?  Have ye divined what it would say?  Well!
+Cheer up!  Ye higher men, sing now my roundelay!
+
+Sing now yourselves the song, the name of which is "Once more," the
+signification of which is "Unto all eternity!"--sing, ye higher men,
+Zarathustra's roundelay!
+
+O man!  Take heed!
+What saith deep midnight's voice indeed?
+"I slept my sleep--,
+"From deepest dream I've woke, and plead:--
+"The world is deep,
+"And deeper than the day could read.
+"Deep is its woe--,
+"Joy--deeper still than grief can be:
+"Woe saith:  Hence!  Go!
+"But joys all want eternity-,
+"-Want deep, profound eternity!"
+
+
+LXXX.  THE SIGN.
+
+In the morning, however, after this night, Zarathustra jumped up from his
+couch, and, having girded his loins, he came out of his cave glowing and
+strong, like a morning sun coming out of gloomy mountains.
+
+"Thou great star," spake he, as he had spoken once before, "thou deep eye
+of happiness, what would be all thy happiness if thou hadst not THOSE for
+whom thou shinest!
+
+And if they remained in their chambers whilst thou art already awake, and
+comest and bestowest and distributest, how would thy proud modesty upbraid
+for it!
+
+Well! they still sleep, these higher men, whilst _I_ am awake:  THEY are
+not my proper companions!  Not for them do I wait here in my mountains.
+
+At my work I want to be, at my day:  but they understand not what are the
+signs of my morning, my step--is not for them the awakening-call.
+
+They still sleep in my cave; their dream still drinketh at my drunken
+songs.  The audient ear for ME--the OBEDIENT ear, is yet lacking in their
+limbs."
+
+--This had Zarathustra spoken to his heart when the sun arose:  then looked
+he inquiringly aloft, for he heard above him the sharp call of his eagle.
+"Well!" called he upwards, "thus is it pleasing and proper to me.  Mine
+animals are awake, for I am awake.
+
+Mine eagle is awake, and like me honoureth the sun.  With eagle-talons doth
+it grasp at the new light.  Ye are my proper animals; I love you.
+
+But still do I lack my proper men!"--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra; then, however, it happened that all on a sudden he
+became aware that he was flocked around and fluttered around, as if by
+innumerable birds,--the whizzing of so many wings, however, and the
+crowding around his head was so great that he shut his eyes.  And verily,
+there came down upon him as it were a cloud, like a cloud of arrows which
+poureth upon a new enemy.  But behold, here it was a cloud of love, and
+showered upon a new friend.
+
+"What happeneth unto me?" thought Zarathustra in his astonished heart, and
+slowly seated himself on the big stone which lay close to the exit from his
+cave.  But while he grasped about with his hands, around him, above him and
+below him, and repelled the tender birds, behold, there then happened to
+him something still stranger:  for he grasped thereby unawares into a mass
+of thick, warm, shaggy hair; at the same time, however, there sounded
+before him a roar,--a long, soft lion-roar.
+
+"THE SIGN COMETH," said Zarathustra, and a change came over his heart.  And
+in truth, when it turned clear before him, there lay a yellow, powerful
+animal at his feet, resting its head on his knee,--unwilling to leave him
+out of love, and doing like a dog which again findeth its old master.  The
+doves, however, were no less eager with their love than the lion; and
+whenever a dove whisked over its nose, the lion shook its head and wondered
+and laughed.
+
+When all this went on Zarathustra spake only a word:  "MY CHILDREN ARE
+NIGH, MY CHILDREN"--, then he became quite mute.  His heart, however, was
+loosed, and from his eyes there dropped down tears and fell upon his hands.
+And he took no further notice of anything, but sat there motionless,
+without repelling the animals further.  Then flew the doves to and fro, and
+perched on his shoulder, and caressed his white hair, and did not tire of
+their tenderness and joyousness.  The strong lion, however, licked always
+the tears that fell on Zarathustra's hands, and roared and growled shyly.
+Thus did these animals do.--
+
+All this went on for a long time, or a short time:  for properly speaking,
+there is NO time on earth for such things--.  Meanwhile, however, the
+higher men had awakened in Zarathustra's cave, and marshalled themselves
+for a procession to go to meet Zarathustra, and give him their morning
+greeting:  for they had found when they awakened that he no longer tarried
+with them.  When, however, they reached the door of the cave and the noise
+of their steps had preceded them, the lion started violently; it turned
+away all at once from Zarathustra, and roaring wildly, sprang towards the
+cave.  The higher men, however, when they heard the lion roaring, cried all
+aloud as with one voice, fled back and vanished in an instant.
+
+Zarathustra himself, however, stunned and strange, rose from his seat,
+looked around him, stood there astonished, inquired of his heart, bethought
+himself, and remained alone.  "What did I hear?" said he at last, slowly,
+"what happened unto me just now?"
+
+But soon there came to him his recollection, and he took in at a glance all
+that had taken place between yesterday and to-day.  "Here is indeed the
+stone," said he, and stroked his beard, "on IT sat I yester-morn; and here
+came the soothsayer unto me, and here heard I first the cry which I heard
+just now, the great cry of distress.
+
+O ye higher men, YOUR distress was it that the old soothsayer foretold to
+me yester-morn,--
+
+--Unto your distress did he want to seduce and tempt me:  'O Zarathustra,'
+said he to me, 'I come to seduce thee to thy last sin.'
+
+To my last sin?" cried Zarathustra, and laughed angrily at his own words:
+"WHAT hath been reserved for me as my last sin?"
+
+--And once more Zarathustra became absorbed in himself, and sat down again
+on the big stone and meditated.  Suddenly he sprang up,--
+
+"FELLOW-SUFFERING!  FELLOW-SUFFERING WITH THE HIGHER MEN!" he cried out,
+and his countenance changed into brass.  "Well!  THAT--hath had its time!
+
+My suffering and my fellow-suffering--what matter about them!  Do I then
+strive after HAPPINESS?  I strive after my WORK!
+
+Well!  The lion hath come, my children are nigh, Zarathustra hath grown
+ripe, mine hour hath come:--
+
+This is MY morning, MY day beginneth:  ARISE NOW, ARISE, THOU GREAT
+NOONTIDE!"--
+
+Thus spake Zarathustra and left his cave, glowing and strong, like a
+morning sun coming out of gloomy mountains.
+
+
+APPENDIX.
+
+NOTES ON "THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA" BY ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI.
+
+I have had some opportunities of studying the conditions under which
+Nietzsche is read in Germany, France, and England, and I have found that,
+in each of these countries, students of his philosophy, as if actuated by
+precisely similar motives and desires, and misled by the same mistaken
+tactics on the part of most publishers, all proceed in the same
+happy-go-lucky style when "taking him up." They have had it said to them
+that he wrote without any system, and they very naturally conclude that it
+does not matter in the least whether they begin with his first, third, or
+last book, provided they can obtain a few vague ideas as to what his
+leading and most sensational principles were.
+
+Now, it is clear that the book with the most mysterious, startling, or
+suggestive title, will always stand the best chance of being purchased by
+those who have no other criteria to guide them in their choice than the
+aspect of a title-page; and this explains why "Thus Spake Zarathustra" is
+almost always the first and often the only one of Nietzsche's books that
+falls into the hands of the uninitiated.
+
+The title suggests all kinds of mysteries; a glance at the chapter-headings
+quickly confirms the suspicions already aroused, and the sub-title:  "A
+Book for All and None", generally succeeds in dissipating the last doubts
+the prospective purchaser may entertain concerning his fitness for the book
+or its fitness for him.  And what happens?
+
+"Thus Spake Zarathustra" is taken home; the reader, who perchance may know
+no more concerning Nietzsche than a magazine article has told him, tries to
+read it and, understanding less than half he reads, probably never gets
+further than the second or third part,--and then only to feel convinced
+that Nietzsche himself was "rather hazy" as to what he was talking about.
+Such chapters as "The Child with the Mirror", "In the Happy Isles", "The
+Grave-Song," "Immaculate Perception," "The Stillest Hour", "The Seven
+Seals", and many others, are almost utterly devoid of meaning to all those
+who do not know something of Nietzsche's life, his aims and his
+friendships.
+
+As a matter of fact, "Thus Spake Zarathustra", though it is unquestionably
+Nietzsche's opus magnum, is by no means the first of Nietzsche's works that
+the beginner ought to undertake to read.  The author himself refers to it
+as the deepest work ever offered to the German public, and elsewhere speaks
+of his other writings as being necessary for the understanding of it.  But
+when it is remembered that in Zarathustra we not only have the history of
+his most intimate experiences, friendships, feuds, disappointments,
+triumphs and the like, but that the very form in which they are narrated is
+one which tends rather to obscure than to throw light upon them, the
+difficulties which meet the reader who starts quite unprepared will be seen
+to be really formidable.
+
+Zarathustra, then,--this shadowy, allegorical personality, speaking in
+allegories and parables, and at times not even refraining from relating his
+own dreams--is a figure we can understand but very imperfectly if we have
+no knowledge of his creator and counterpart, Friedrich Nietzsche; and it
+were therefore well, previous to our study of the more abstruse parts of
+this book, if we were to turn to some authoritative book on Nietzsche's
+life and works and to read all that is there said on the subject. Those who
+can read German will find an excellent guide, in this respect, in Frau
+Foerster-Nietzsche's exhaustive and highly interesting biography of her
+brother: "Das Leben Friedrich Nietzsche's" (published by Naumann); while
+the works of Deussen, Raoul Richter, and Baroness Isabelle von
+Unger-Sternberg, will be found to throw useful and necessary light upon
+many questions which it would be difficult for a sister to touch upon.
+
+In regard to the actual philosophical views expounded in this work, there
+is an excellent way of clearing up any difficulties they may present, and
+that is by an appeal to Nietzsche's other works.  Again and again, of
+course, he will be found to express himself so clearly that all reference
+to his other writings may be dispensed with; but where this is not the
+case, the advice he himself gives is after all the best to be followed
+here, viz.:--to regard such works as:  "Joyful Science", "Beyond Good and
+Evil", "The Genealogy of Morals", "The Twilight of the Idols", "The
+Antichrist", "The Will to Power", etc., etc., as the necessary preparation
+for "Thus Spake Zarathustra".
+
+These directions, though they are by no means simple to carry out, seem at
+least to possess the quality of definiteness and straightforwardness.
+"Follow them and all will be clear," I seem to imply.  But I regret to say
+that this is not really the case.  For my experience tells me that even
+after the above directions have been followed with the greatest possible
+zeal, the student will still halt in perplexity before certain passages in
+the book before us, and wonder what they mean.  Now, it is with the view of
+giving a little additional help to all those who find themselves in this
+position that I proceed to put forth my own personal interpretation of the
+more abstruse passages in this work.
+
+In offering this little commentary to the Nietzsche student, I should like
+it to be understood that I make no claim as to its infallibility or
+indispensability.  It represents but an attempt on my part--a very feeble
+one perhaps--to give the reader what little help I can in surmounting
+difficulties which a long study of Nietzsche's life and works has enabled
+me, partially I hope, to overcome.
+
+...
+
+Perhaps it would be as well to start out with a broad and rapid sketch of
+Nietzsche as a writer on Morals, Evolution, and Sociology, so that the
+reader may be prepared to pick out for himself, so to speak, all passages
+in this work bearing in any way upon Nietzsche's views in those three
+important branches of knowledge.
+
+(A.)  Nietzsche and Morality.
+
+In morality, Nietzsche starts out by adopting the position of the
+relativist.  He says there are no absolute values "good" and "evil"; these
+are mere means adopted by all in order to acquire power to maintain their
+place in the world, or to become supreme.  It is the lion's good to devour
+an antelope.  It is the dead-leaf butterfly's good to tell a foe a
+falsehood.  For when the dead-leaf butterfly is in danger, it clings to the
+side of a twig, and what it says to its foe is practically this:  "I am not
+a butterfly, I am a dead leaf, and can be of no use to thee."  This is a
+lie which is good to the butterfly, for it preserves it.  In nature every
+species of organic being instinctively adopts and practises those acts
+which most conduce to the prevalence or supremacy of its kind.  Once the
+most favourable order of conduct is found, proved efficient and
+established, it becomes the ruling morality of the species that adopts it
+and bears them along to victory.  All species must not and cannot value
+alike, for what is the lion's good is the antelope's evil and vice versa.
+
+Concepts of good and evil are therefore, in their origin, merely a means to
+an end, they are expedients for acquiring power.
+
+Applying this principle to mankind, Nietzsche attacked Christian moral
+values.  He declared them to be, like all other morals, merely an expedient
+for protecting a certain type of man.  In the case of Christianity this
+type was, according to Nietzsche, a low one.
+
+Conflicting moral codes have been no more than the conflicting weapons of
+different classes of men; for in mankind there is a continual war between
+the powerful, the noble, the strong, and the well-constituted on the one
+side, and the impotent, the mean, the weak, and the ill-constituted on the
+other.  The war is a war of moral principles.  The morality of the powerful
+class, Nietzsche calls NOBLE- or MASTER-MORALITY; that of the weak and
+subordinate class he calls SLAVE-MORALITY.  In the first morality it is the
+eagle which, looking down upon a browsing lamb, contends that "eating lamb
+is good."  In the second, the slave-morality, it is the lamb which, looking
+up from the sward, bleats dissentingly:  "Eating lamb is evil."
+
+(B.)  The Master- and Slave-Morality Compared.
+
+The first morality is active, creative, Dionysian.  The second is passive,
+defensive,--to it belongs the "struggle for existence."
+
+Where attempts have not been made to reconcile the two moralities, they may
+be described as follows:--All is GOOD in the noble morality which proceeds
+from strength, power, health, well-constitutedness, happiness, and
+awfulness; for, the motive force behind the people practising it is "the
+struggle for power."  The antithesis "good and bad" to this first class
+means the same as "noble" and "despicable."  "Bad" in the master-morality
+must be applied to the coward, to all acts that spring from weakness, to
+the man with "an eye to the main chance," who would forsake everything in
+order to live.
+
+With the second, the slave-morality, the case is different.  There,
+inasmuch as the community is an oppressed, suffering, unemancipated, and
+weary one, all THAT will be held to be good which alleviates the state of
+suffering.  Pity, the obliging hand, the warm heart, patience, industry,
+and humility--these are unquestionably the qualities we shall here find
+flooded with the light of approval and admiration; because they are the
+most USEFUL qualities--; they make life endurable, they are of assistance
+in the "struggle for existence" which is the motive force behind the people
+practising this morality.  To this class, all that is AWFUL is bad, in fact
+it is THE evil par excellence.  Strength, health, superabundance of animal
+spirits and power, are regarded with hate, suspicion, and fear by the
+subordinate class.
+
+Now Nietzsche believed that the first or the noble-morality conduced to an
+ascent in the line of life; because it was creative and active.  On the
+other hand, he believed that the second or slave-morality, where it became
+paramount, led to degeneration, because it was passive and defensive,
+wanting merely to keep those who practised it alive.  Hence his earnest
+advocacy of noble-morality.
+
+(C.)  Nietzsche and Evolution.
+
+Nietzsche as an evolutionist I shall have occasion to define and discuss in
+the course of these notes (see Notes on Chapter LVI., par.10, and on
+Chapter LVII.).  For the present let it suffice for us to know that he
+accepted the "Development Hypothesis" as an explanation of the origin of
+species:  but he did not halt where most naturalists have halted.  He by no
+means regarded man as the highest possible being which evolution could
+arrive at; for though his physical development may have reached its limit,
+this is not the case with his mental or spiritual attributes.  If the
+process be a fact; if things have BECOME what they are, then, he contends,
+we may describe no limit to man's aspirations.  If he struggled up from
+barbarism, and still more remotely from the lower Primates, his ideal
+should be to surpass man himself and reach Superman (see especially the
+Prologue).
+
+(D.)  Nietzsche and Sociology.
+
+Nietzsche as a sociologist aims at an aristocratic arrangement of society.
+He would have us rear an ideal race.  Honest and truthful in intellectual
+matters, he could not even think that men are equal.  "With these preachers
+of equality will I not be mixed up and confounded.  For thus speaketh
+justice unto ME:  'Men are not equal.'"  He sees precisely in this
+inequality a purpose to be served, a condition to be exploited.  "Every
+elevation of the type 'man,'" he writes in "Beyond Good and Evil", "has
+hitherto been the work of an aristocratic society--and so will it always
+be--a society believing in a long scale of gradations of rank and
+differences of worth among human beings."
+
+Those who are sufficiently interested to desire to read his own detailed
+account of the society he would fain establish, will find an excellent
+passage in Aphorism 57 of "The Antichrist".
+
+...
+
+PART I.  THE PROLOGUE.
+
+In Part I. including the Prologue, no very great difficulties will appear.
+Zarathustra's habit of designating a whole class of men or a whole school
+of thought by a single fitting nickname may perhaps lead to a little
+confusion at first; but, as a rule, when the general drift of his arguments
+is grasped, it requires but a slight effort of the imagination to discover
+whom he is referring to.  In the ninth paragraph of the Prologue, for
+instance, it is quite obvious that "Herdsmen" in the verse "Herdsmen, I
+say, etc., etc.," stands for all those to-day who are the advocates of
+gregariousness--of the ant-hill.  And when our author says:  "A robber
+shall Zarathustra be called by the herdsmen," it is clear that these words
+may be taken almost literally from one whose ideal was the rearing of a
+higher aristocracy.  Again, "the good and just," throughout the book, is
+the expression used in referring to the self-righteous of modern times,--
+those who are quite sure that they know all that is to be known concerning
+good and evil, and are satisfied that the values their little world of
+tradition has handed down to them, are destined to rule mankind as long as
+it lasts.
+
+In the last paragraph of the Prologue, verse 7, Zarathustra gives us a
+foretaste of his teaching concerning the big and the little sagacities,
+expounded subsequently.  He says he would he were as wise as his serpent;
+this desire will be found explained in the discourse entitled "The
+Despisers of the Body", which I shall have occasion to refer to later.
+
+...
+
+THE DISCOURSES.
+
+Chapter I.  The Three Metamorphoses.
+
+This opening discourse is a parable in which Zarathustra discloses the
+mental development of all creators of new values.  It is the story of a
+life which reaches its consummation in attaining to a second ingenuousness
+or in returning to childhood.  Nietzsche, the supposed anarchist, here
+plainly disclaims all relationship whatever to anarchy, for he shows us
+that only by bearing the burdens of the existing law and submitting to it
+patiently, as the camel submits to being laden, does the free spirit
+acquire that ascendancy over tradition which enables him to meet and master
+the dragon "Thou shalt,"--the dragon with the values of a thousand years
+glittering on its scales.  There are two lessons in this discourse:  first,
+that in order to create one must be as a little child; secondly, that it is
+only through existing law and order that one attains to that height from
+which new law and new order may be promulgated.
+
+Chapter II.  The Academic Chairs of Virtue.
+
+Almost the whole of this is quite comprehensible.  It is a discourse
+against all those who confound virtue with tameness and smug ease, and who
+regard as virtuous only that which promotes security and tends to deepen
+sleep.
+
+Chapter IV.  The Despisers of the Body.
+
+Here Zarathustra gives names to the intellect and the instincts; he calls
+the one "the little sagacity" and the latter "the big sagacity."
+Schopenhauer's teaching concerning the intellect is fully endorsed here.
+"An instrument of thy body is also thy little sagacity, my brother, which
+thou callest 'spirit,'" says Zarathustra.  From beginning to end it is a
+warning to those who would think too lightly of the instincts and unduly
+exalt the intellect and its derivatives:  Reason and Understanding.
+
+Chapter IX.  The Preachers of Death.
+
+This is an analysis of the psychology of all those who have the "evil eye"
+and are pessimists by virtue of their constitutions.
+
+Chapter XV.  The Thousand and One Goals.
+
+In this discourse Zarathustra opens his exposition of the doctrine of
+relativity in morality, and declares all morality to be a mere means to
+power.  Needless to say that verses 9, 10, 11, and 12 refer to the Greeks,
+the Persians, the Jews, and the Germans respectively.  In the penultimate
+verse he makes known his discovery concerning the root of modern Nihilism
+and indifference,--i.e., that modern man has no goal, no aim, no ideals
+(see Note A).
+
+Chapter XVIII.  Old and Young Women.
+
+Nietzsche's views on women have either to be loved at first sight or they
+become perhaps the greatest obstacle in the way of those who otherwise
+would be inclined to accept his philosophy.  Women especially, of course,
+have been taught to dislike them, because it has been rumoured that his
+views are unfriendly to themselves.  Now, to my mind, all this is pure
+misunderstanding and error.
+
+German philosophers, thanks to Schopenhauer, have earned rather a bad name
+for their views on women.  It is almost impossible for one of them to write
+a line on the subject, however kindly he may do so, without being suspected
+of wishing to open a crusade against the fair sex.  Despite the fact,
+therefore, that all Nietzsche's views in this respect were dictated to him
+by the profoundest love; despite Zarathustra's reservation in this
+discourse, that "with women nothing (that can be said) is impossible," and
+in the face of other overwhelming evidence to the contrary, Nietzsche is
+universally reported to have mis son pied dans le plat, where the female
+sex is concerned.  And what is the fundamental doctrine which has given
+rise to so much bitterness and aversion?--Merely this:  that the sexes are
+at bottom ANTAGONISTIC--that is to say, as different as blue is from
+yellow, and that the best possible means of rearing anything approaching a
+desirable race is to preserve and to foster this profound hostility.  What
+Nietzsche strives to combat and to overthrow is the modern democratic
+tendency which is slowly labouring to level all things--even the sexes.
+His quarrel is not with women--what indeed could be more undignified?--it
+is with those who would destroy the natural relationship between the sexes,
+by modifying either the one or the other with a view to making them more
+alike.  The human world is just as dependent upon women's powers as upon
+men's.  It is women's strongest and most valuable instincts which help to
+determine who are to be the fathers of the next generation.  By destroying
+these particular instincts, that is to say by attempting to masculinise
+woman, and to feminise men, we jeopardise the future of our people.  The
+general democratic movement of modern times, in its frantic struggle to
+mitigate all differences, is now invading even the world of sex.  It is
+against this movement that Nietzsche raises his voice; he would have woman
+become ever more woman and man become ever more man.  Only thus, and he is
+undoubtedly right, can their combined instincts lead to the excellence of
+humanity.  Regarded in this light, all his views on woman appear not only
+necessary but just (see Note on Chapter LVI., par. 21.)
+
+It is interesting to observe that the last line of the discourse, which has
+so frequently been used by women as a weapon against Nietzsche's views
+concerning them, was suggested to Nietzsche by a woman (see "Das Leben F.
+Nietzsche's").
+
+Chapter XXI.  Voluntary Death.
+
+In regard to this discourse, I should only like to point out that Nietzsche
+had a particular aversion to the word "suicide"--self-murder.  He disliked
+the evil it suggested, and in rechristening the act Voluntary Death, i.e.,
+the death that comes from no other hand than one's own, he was desirous of
+elevating it to the position it held in classical antiquity (see Aphorism
+36 in "The Twilight of the Idols").
+
+Chapter XXII.  The Bestowing Virtue.
+
+An important aspect of Nietzsche's philosophy is brought to light in this
+discourse.  His teaching, as is well known, places the Aristotelian man of
+spirit, above all others in the natural divisions of man.  The man with
+overflowing strength, both of mind and body, who must discharge this
+strength or perish, is the Nietzschean ideal.  To such a man, giving from
+his overflow becomes a necessity; bestowing develops into a means of
+existence, and this is the only giving, the only charity, that Nietzsche
+recognises.  In paragraph 3 of the discourse, we read Zarathustra's healthy
+exhortation to his disciples to become independent thinkers and to find
+themselves before they learn any more from him (see Notes on Chapters LVI.,
+par. 5, and LXXIII., pars. 10, 11).
+
+...
+
+PART II.
+
+Chapter XXIII.  The Child with the Mirror.
+
+Nietzsche tells us here, in a poetical form, how deeply grieved he was by
+the manifold misinterpretations and misunderstandings which were becoming
+rife concerning his publications.  He does not recognise himself in the
+mirror of public opinion, and recoils terrified from the distorted
+reflection of his features.  In verse 20 he gives us a hint which it were
+well not to pass over too lightly; for, in the introduction to "The
+Genealogy of Morals" (written in 1887) he finds it necessary to refer to
+the matter again and with greater precision.  The point is this, that a
+creator of new values meets with his surest and strongest obstacles in the
+very spirit of the language which is at his disposal.  Words, like all
+other manifestations of an evolving race, are stamped with the values that
+have long been paramount in that race.  Now, the original thinker who finds
+himself compelled to use the current speech of his country in order to
+impart new and hitherto untried views to his fellows, imposes a task upon
+the natural means of communication which it is totally unfitted to
+perform,--hence the obscurities and prolixities which are so frequently met
+with in the writings of original thinkers.  In the "Dawn of Day", Nietzsche
+actually cautions young writers against THE DANGER OF ALLOWING THEIR
+THOUGHTS TO BE MOULDED BY THE WORDS AT THEIR DISPOSAL.
+
+Chapter XXIV.  In the Happy Isles.
+
+While writing this, Nietzsche is supposed to have been thinking of the
+island of Ischia which was ultimately destroyed by an earthquake.  His
+teaching here is quite clear.  He was among the first thinkers of Europe to
+overcome the pessimism which godlessness generally brings in its wake.  He
+points to creating as the surest salvation from the suffering which is a
+concomitant of all higher life.  "What would there be to create," he asks,
+"if there were--Gods?"  His ideal, the Superman, lends him the cheerfulness
+necessary to the overcoming of that despair usually attendant upon
+godlessness and upon the apparent aimlessness of a world without a god.
+
+Chapter XXIX.  The Tarantulas.
+
+The tarantulas are the Socialists and Democrats.  This discourse offers us
+an analysis of their mental attitude.  Nietzsche refuses to be confounded
+with those resentful and revengeful ones who condemn society FROM BELOW,
+and whose criticism is only suppressed envy.  "There are those who preach
+my doctrine of life," he says of the Nietzschean Socialists, "and are at
+the same time preachers of equality and tarantulas" (see Notes on Chapter
+XL. and Chapter LI.).
+
+Chapter XXX.  The Famous Wise Ones.
+
+This refers to all those philosophers hitherto, who have run in the harness
+of established values and have not risked their reputation with the people
+in pursuit of truth.  The philosopher, however, as Nietzsche understood
+him, is a man who creates new values, and thus leads mankind in a new
+direction.
+
+Chapter XXXIII.  The Grave-Song.
+
+Here Zarathustra sings about the ideals and friendships of his youth.
+Verses 27 to 31 undoubtedly refer to Richard Wagner (see Note on Chapter
+LXV.).
+
+Chapter XXXIV.  Self-Surpassing.
+
+In this discourse we get the best exposition in the whole book of
+Nietzsche's doctrine of the Will to Power.  I go into this question
+thoroughly in the Note on Chapter LVII.
+
+Nietzsche was not an iconoclast from choice.  Those who hastily class him
+with the anarchists (or the Progressivists of the last century) fail to
+understand the high esteem in which he always held both law and discipline.
+In verse 41 of this most decisive discourse he truly explains his position
+when he says:  "...he who hath to be a creator in good and evil--verily he
+hath first to be a destroyer, and break values in pieces."  This teaching
+in regard to self-control is evidence enough of his reverence for law.
+
+Chapter XXXV.  The Sublime Ones.
+
+These belong to a type which Nietzsche did not altogether dislike, but
+which he would fain have rendered more subtle and plastic. It is the type
+that takes life and itself too seriously, that never surmounts the
+camel-stage mentioned in the first discourse, and that is obdurately
+sublime and earnest. To be able to smile while speaking of lofty things and
+NOT TO BE OPPRESSED by them, is the secret of real greatness. He whose hand
+trembles when it lays hold of a beautiful thing, has the quality of
+reverence, without the artist's unembarrassed friendship with the
+beautiful. Hence the mistakes which have arisen in regard to confounding
+Nietzsche with his extreme opposites the anarchists and agitators. For what
+they dare to touch and break with the impudence and irreverence of the
+unappreciative, he seems likewise to touch and break,--but with other
+fingers--with the fingers of the loving and unembarrassed artist who is on
+good terms with the beautiful and who feels able to create it and to
+enhance it with his touch. The question of taste plays an important part in
+Nietzsche's philosophy, and verses 9, 10 of this discourse exactly state
+Nietzsche's ultimate views on the subject. In the "Spirit of Gravity", he
+actually cries:--"Neither a good nor a bad taste, but MY taste, of which I
+have no longer either shame or secrecy."
+
+Chapter XXXVI.  The Land of Culture.
+
+This is a poetical epitome of some of the scathing criticism of scholars
+which appears in the first of the "Thoughts out of Season"--the polemical
+pamphlet (written in 1873) against David Strauss and his school.  He
+reproaches his former colleagues with being sterile and shows them that
+their sterility is the result of their not believing in anything.  "He who
+had to create, had always his presaging dreams and astral premonitions--and
+believed in believing!"  (See Note on Chapter LXXVII.)  In the last two
+verses he reveals the nature of his altruism.  How far it differs from that
+of Christianity we have already read in the discourse "Neighbour-Love", but
+here he tells us definitely the nature of his love to mankind; he explains
+why he was compelled to assail the Christian values of pity and excessive
+love of the neighbour, not only because they are slave-values and therefore
+tend to promote degeneration (see Note B.), but because he could only love
+his children's land, the undiscovered land in a remote sea; because he
+would fain retrieve the errors of his fathers in his children.
+
+Chapter XXXVII.  Immaculate Perception.
+
+An important feature of Nietzsche's interpretation of Life is disclosed in
+this discourse.  As Buckle suggests in his "Influence of Women on the
+Progress of Knowledge", the scientific spirit of the investigator is both
+helped and supplemented by the latter's emotions and personality, and the
+divorce of all emotionalism and individual temperament from science is a
+fatal step towards sterility.  Zarathustra abjures all those who would fain
+turn an IMPERSONAL eye upon nature and contemplate her phenomena with that
+pure objectivity to which the scientific idealists of to-day would so much
+like to attain.  He accuses such idealists of hypocrisy and guile; he says
+they lack innocence in their desires and therefore slander all desiring.
+
+Chapter XXXVIII.  Scholars.
+
+This is a record of Nietzsche's final breach with his former colleagues--
+the scholars of Germany.  Already after the publication of the "Birth of
+Tragedy", numbers of German philologists and professional philosophers had
+denounced him as one who had strayed too far from their flock, and his
+lectures at the University of Bale were deserted in consequence; but it was
+not until 1879, when he finally severed all connection with University
+work, that he may be said to have attained to the freedom and independence
+which stamp this discourse.
+
+Chapter XXXIX.  Poets.
+
+People have sometimes said that Nietzsche had no sense of humour.  I have
+no intention of defending him here against such foolish critics; I should
+only like to point out to the reader that we have him here at his best,
+poking fun at himself, and at his fellow-poets (see Note on Chapter LXIII.,
+pars. 16, 17, 18, 19, 20).
+
+Chapter XL.  Great Events.
+
+Here we seem to have a puzzle.  Zarathustra himself, while relating his
+experience with the fire-dog to his disciples, fails to get them interested
+in his narrative, and we also may be only too ready to turn over these
+pages under the impression that they are little more than a mere phantasy
+or poetical flight.  Zarathustra's interview with the fire-dog is, however,
+of great importance.  In it we find Nietzsche face to face with the
+creature he most sincerely loathes--the spirit of revolution, and we obtain
+fresh hints concerning his hatred of the anarchist and rebel.  "'Freedom'
+ye all roar most eagerly," he says to the fire-dog, "but I have unlearned
+the belief in 'Great Events' when there is much roaring and smoke about
+them.  Not around the inventors of new noise, but around the inventors of
+new values, doth the world revolve; INAUDIBLY it revolveth."
+
+Chapter XLI.  The Soothsayer.
+
+This refers, of course, to Schopenhauer.  Nietzsche, as is well known, was
+at one time an ardent follower of Schopenhauer.  He overcame Pessimism by
+discovering an object in existence; he saw the possibility of raising
+society to a higher level and preached the profoundest Optimism in
+consequence.
+
+Chapter XLII.  Redemption.
+
+Zarathustra here addresses cripples.  He tells them of other cripples--the
+GREAT MEN in this world who have one organ or faculty inordinately
+developed at the cost of their other faculties.  This is doubtless a
+reference to a fact which is too often noticeable in the case of so many of
+the world's giants in art, science, or religion.  In verse 19 we are told
+what Nietzsche called Redemption--that is to say, the ability to say of all
+that is past:  "Thus would I have it."  The in ability to say this, and the
+resentment which results therefrom, he regards as the source of all our
+feelings of revenge, and all our desires to punish--punishment meaning to
+him merely a euphemism for the word revenge, invented in order to still our
+consciences.  He who can be proud of his enemies, who can be grateful to
+them for the obstacles they have put in his way; he who can regard his
+worst calamity as but the extra strain on the bow of his life, which is to
+send the arrow of his longing even further than he could have hoped;--this
+man knows no revenge, neither does he know despair, he truly has found
+redemption and can turn on the worst in his life and even in himself, and
+call it his best (see Notes on Chapter LVII.).
+
+Chapter XLIII.  Manly Prudence.
+
+This discourse is very important.  In "Beyond Good and Evil" we hear often
+enough that the select and superior man must wear a mask, and here we find
+this injunction explained.  "And he who would not languish amongst men,
+must learn to drink out of all glasses:  and he who would keep clean
+amongst men, must know how to wash himself even with dirty water."  This, I
+venture to suggest, requires some explanation.  At a time when
+individuality is supposed to be shown most tellingly by putting boots on
+one's hands and gloves on one's feet, it is somewhat refreshing to come
+across a true individualist who feels the chasm between himself and others
+so deeply, that he must perforce adapt himself to them outwardly, at least,
+in all respects, so that the inner difference should be overlooked.
+Nietzsche practically tells us here that it is not he who intentionally
+wears eccentric clothes or does eccentric things who is truly the
+individualist.  The profound man, who is by nature differentiated from his
+fellows, feels this difference too keenly to call attention to it by any
+outward show.  He is shamefast and bashful with those who surround him and
+wishes not to be discovered by them, just as one instinctively avoids all
+lavish display of comfort or wealth in the presence of a poor friend.
+
+Chapter XLIV.  The Stillest Hour.
+
+This seems to me to give an account of the great struggle which must have
+taken place in Nietzsche's soul before he finally resolved to make known
+the more esoteric portions of his teaching.  Our deepest feelings crave
+silence.  There is a certain self-respect in the serious man which makes
+him hold his profoundest feelings sacred.  Before they are uttered they are
+full of the modesty of a virgin, and often the oldest sage will blush like
+a girl when this virginity is violated by an indiscretion which forces him
+to reveal his deepest thoughts.
+
+...
+
+PART III.
+
+This is perhaps the most important of all the four parts.  If it contained
+only "The Vision and the Enigma" and "The Old and New Tables" I should
+still be of this opinion; for in the former of these discourses we meet
+with what Nietzsche regarded as the crowning doctrine of his philosophy and
+in "The Old and New Tables" we have a valuable epitome of practically all
+his leading principles.
+
+Chapter XLVI.  The Vision and the Enigma.
+
+"The Vision and the Enigma" is perhaps an example of Nietzsche in his most
+obscure vein.  We must know how persistently he inveighed against the
+oppressing and depressing influence of man's sense of guilt and
+consciousness of sin in order fully to grasp the significance of this
+discourse.  Slowly but surely, he thought the values of Christianity and
+Judaic traditions had done their work in the minds of men.  What were once
+but expedients devised for the discipline of a certain portion of humanity,
+had now passed into man's blood and had become instincts.  This oppressive
+and paralysing sense of guilt and of sin is what Nietzsche refers to when
+he speaks of "the spirit of gravity."  This creature half-dwarf, half-mole,
+whom he bears with him a certain distance on his climb and finally defies,
+and whom he calls his devil and arch-enemy, is nothing more than the heavy
+millstone "guilty conscience," together with the concept of sin which at
+present hangs round the neck of men.  To rise above it--to soar--is the
+most difficult of all things to-day.  Nietzsche is able to think cheerfully
+and optimistically of the possibility of life in this world recurring again
+and again, when he has once cast the dwarf from his shoulders, and he
+announces his doctrine of the Eternal Recurrence of all things great and
+small to his arch-enemy and in defiance of him.
+
+That there is much to be said for Nietzsche's hypothesis of the Eternal
+Recurrence of all things great and small, nobody who has read the
+literature on the subject will doubt for an instant; but it remains a very
+daring conjecture notwithstanding and even in its ultimate effect, as a
+dogma, on the minds of men, I venture to doubt whether Nietzsche ever
+properly estimated its worth (see Note on Chapter LVII.).
+
+What follows is clear enough.  Zarathustra sees a young shepherd struggling
+on the ground with a snake holding fast to the back of his throat.  The
+sage, assuming that the snake must have crawled into the young man's mouth
+while he lay sleeping, runs to his help and pulls at the loathsome reptile
+with all his might, but in vain.  At last, in despair, Zarathustra appeals
+to the young man's will.  Knowing full well what a ghastly operation he is
+recommending, he nevertheless cries, "Bite!  Bite!  Its head off!  Bite!"
+as the only possible solution of the difficulty.  The young shepherd bites,
+and far away he spits the snake's head, whereupon he rises, "No longer
+shepherd, no longer man--a transfigured being, a light-surrounded being,
+that LAUGHED!  Never on earth laughed a man as he laughed!"
+
+In this parable the young shepherd is obviously the man of to-day; the
+snake that chokes him represents the stultifying and paralysing social
+values that threaten to shatter humanity, and the advice "Bite!  Bite!" is
+but Nietzsche's exasperated cry to mankind to alter their values before it
+is too late.
+
+Chapter XLVII.  Involuntary Bliss.
+
+This, like "The Wanderer", is one of the many introspective passages in the
+work, and is full of innuendos and hints as to the Nietzschean outlook on
+life.
+
+Chapter XLVIII.  Before Sunrise.
+
+Here we have a record of Zarathustra's avowal of optimism, as also the
+important statement concerning "Chance" or "Accident" (verse 27).  Those
+who are familiar with Nietzsche's philosophy will not require to be told
+what an important role his doctrine of chance plays in his teaching.  The
+Giant Chance has hitherto played with the puppet "man,"--this is the fact
+he cannot contemplate with equanimity.  Man shall now exploit chance, he
+says again and again, and make it fall on its knees before him!  (See verse
+33 in "On the Olive Mount", and verses 9-10 in "The Bedwarfing Virtue").
+
+Chapter XLIX.  The Bedwarfing Virtue.
+
+This requires scarcely any comment.  It is a satire on modern man and his
+belittling virtues.  In verses 23 and 24 of the second part of the
+discourse we are reminded of Nietzsche's powerful indictment of the great
+of to-day, in the Antichrist (Aphorism 43):--"At present nobody has any
+longer the courage for separate rights, for rights of domination, for a
+feeling of reverence for himself and his equals,--FOR PATHOS OF
+DISTANCE...Our politics are MORBID from this want of courage!--The
+aristocracy of character has been undermined most craftily by the lie of
+the equality of souls; and if the belief in the 'privilege of the many,'
+makes revolutions and WILL CONTINUE TO MAKE them, it is Christianity, let
+us not doubt it, it is CHRISTIAN valuations, which translate every
+revolution merely into blood and crime!" (see also "Beyond Good and Evil",
+pages 120, 121).  Nietzsche thought it was a bad sign of the times that
+even rulers have lost the courage of their positions, and that a man of
+Frederick the Great's power and distinguished gifts should have been able
+to say:  "Ich bin der erste Diener des Staates" (I am the first servant of
+the State.)  To this utterance of the great sovereign, verse 24 undoubtedly
+refers.  "Cowardice" and "Mediocrity," are the names with which he labels
+modern notions of virtue and moderation.
+
+In Part III., we get the sentiments of the discourse "In the Happy Isles",
+but perhaps in stronger terms.  Once again we find Nietzsche thoroughly at
+ease, if not cheerful, as an atheist, and speaking with vertiginous daring
+of making chance go on its knees to him.  In verse 20, Zarathustra makes
+yet another attempt at defining his entirely anti-anarchical attitude, and
+unless such passages have been completely overlooked or deliberately
+ignored hitherto by those who will persist in laying anarchy at his door,
+it is impossible to understand how he ever became associated with that foul
+political party.
+
+The last verse introduces the expression, "THE GREAT NOONTIDE!"  In the
+poem to be found at the end of "Beyond Good and Evil", we meet with the
+expression again, and we shall find it occurring time and again in
+Nietzsche's works.  It will be found fully elucidated in the fifth part of
+"The Twilight of the Idols"; but for those who cannot refer to this book,
+it were well to point out that Nietzsche called the present period--our
+period--the noon of man's history.  Dawn is behind us.  The childhood of
+mankind is over.  Now we KNOW; there is now no longer any excuse for
+mistakes which will tend to botch and disfigure the type man.  "With
+respect to what is past," he says, "I have, like all discerning ones, great
+toleration, that is to say, GENEROUS self-control...But my feeling changes
+suddenly, and breaks out as soon as I enter the modern period, OUR period.
+Our age KNOWS..." (See Note on Chapter LXX.).
+
+Chapter LI.  On Passing-by.
+
+Here we find Nietzsche confronted with his extreme opposite, with him
+therefore for whom he is most frequently mistaken by the unwary.
+"Zarathustra's ape" he is called in the discourse. He is one of those at
+whose hands Nietzsche had to suffer most during his life-time, and at whose
+hands his philosophy has suffered most since his death. In this respect it
+may seem a little trivial to speak of extremes meeting; but it is
+wonderfully apt. Many have adopted Nietzsche's mannerisms and
+word-coinages, who had nothing in common with him beyond the ideas and
+"business" they plagiarised; but the superficial observer and a large
+portion of the public, not knowing of these things,--not knowing perhaps
+that there are iconoclasts who destroy out of love and are therefore
+creators, and that there are others who destroy out of resentment and
+revengefulness and who are therefore revolutionists and anarchists,--are
+prone to confound the two, to the detriment of the nobler type.
+
+If we now read what the fool says to Zarathustra, and note the tricks of
+speech he has borrowed from him:  if we carefully follow the attitude he
+assumes, we shall understand why Zarathustra finally interrupts him.  "Stop
+this at once," Zarathustra cries, "long have thy speech and thy species
+disgusted me...Out of love alone shall my contempt and my warning bird take
+wing; BUT NOT OUT OF THE SWAMP!"  It were well if this discourse were taken
+to heart by all those who are too ready to associate Nietzsche with lesser
+and noiser men,--with mountebanks and mummers.
+
+Chapter LII.  The Apostates.
+
+It is clear that this applies to all those breathless and hasty "tasters of
+everything," who plunge too rashly into the sea of independent thought and
+"heresy," and who, having miscalculated their strength, find it impossible
+to keep their head above water.  "A little older, a little colder," says
+Nietzsche.  They soon clamber back to the conventions of the age they
+intended reforming.  The French then say "le diable se fait hermite," but
+these men, as a rule, have never been devils, neither do they become
+angels; for, in order to be really good or evil, some strength and deep
+breathing is required.  Those who are more interested in supporting
+orthodoxy than in being over nice concerning the kind of support they give
+it, often refer to these people as evidence in favour of the true faith.
+
+Chapter LIII.  The Return Home.
+
+This is an example of a class of writing which may be passed over too
+lightly by those whom poetasters have made distrustful of poetry. From
+first to last it is extremely valuable as an autobiographical note. The
+inevitable superficiality of the rabble is contrasted with the peaceful and
+profound depths of the anchorite. Here we first get a direct hint
+concerning Nietzsche's fundamental passion--the main force behind all his
+new values and scathing criticism of existing values. In verse 30 we are
+told that pity was his greatest danger. The broad altruism of the
+law-giver, thinking over vast eras of time, was continually being pitted by
+Nietzsche, in himself, against that transient and meaner sympathy for the
+neighbour which he more perhaps than any of his contemporaries had suffered
+from, but which he was certain involved enormous dangers not only for
+himself but also to the next and subsequent generations (see Note B., where
+"pity" is mentioned among the degenerate virtues). Later in the book we
+shall see how his profound compassion leads him into temptation, and how
+frantically he struggles against it. In verses 31 and 32, he tells us to
+what extent he had to modify himself in order to be endured by his fellows
+whom he loved (see also verse 12 in "Manly Prudence"). Nietzsche's great
+love for his fellows, which he confesses in the Prologue, and which is at
+the root of all his teaching, seems rather to elude the discerning powers
+of the average philanthropist and modern man. He cannot see the wood for
+the trees. A philanthropy that sacrifices the minority of the present-day
+for the majority constituting posterity, completely evades his mental
+grasp, and Nietzsche's philosophy, because it declares Christian values to
+be a danger to the future of our kind, is therefore shelved as brutal,
+cold, and hard (see Note on Chapter XXXVI.). Nietzsche tried to be all
+things to all men; he was sufficiently fond of his fellows for that: in the
+Return Home he describes how he ultimately returns to loneliness in order
+to recover from the effects of his experiment.
+
+Chapter LIV.  The Three Evil Things.
+
+Nietzsche is here completely in his element. Three things hitherto
+best-cursed and most calumniated on earth, are brought forward to be
+weighed. Voluptuousness, thirst of power, and selfishness,--the three
+forces in humanity which Christianity has done most to garble and
+besmirch,--Nietzsche endeavours to reinstate in their former places of
+honour. Voluptuousness, or sensual pleasure, is a dangerous thing to
+discuss nowadays. If we mention it with favour we may be regarded, however
+unjustly, as the advocate of savages, satyrs, and pure sensuality. If we
+condemn it, we either go over to the Puritans or we join those who are wont
+to come to table with no edge to their appetites and who therefore grumble
+at all good fare. There can be no doubt that the value of healthy innocent
+voluptuousness, like the value of health itself, must have been greatly
+discounted by all those who, resenting their inability to partake of this
+world's goods, cried like St Paul: "I would that all men were even as I
+myself." Now Nietzsche's philosophy might be called an attempt at giving
+back to healthy and normal men innocence and a clean conscience in their
+desires--NOT to applaud the vulgar sensualists who respond to every
+stimulus and whose passions are out of hand; not to tell the mean, selfish
+individual, whose selfishness is a pollution (see Aphorism 33, "Twilight of
+the Idols"), that he is right, nor to assure the weak, the sick, and the
+crippled, that the thirst of power, which they gratify by exploiting the
+happier and healthier individuals, is justified;--but to save the clean
+healthy man from the values of those around him, who look at everything
+through the mud that is in their own bodies,--to give him, and him alone, a
+clean conscience in his manhood and the desires of his manhood. "Do I
+counsel you to slay your instincts? I counsel to innocence in your
+instincts." In verse 7 of the second paragraph (as in verse I of paragraph
+19 in "The Old and New Tables") Nietzsche gives us a reason for his
+occasional obscurity (see also verses 3 to 7 of "Poets"). As I have already
+pointed out, his philosophy is quite esoteric. It can serve no purpose with
+the ordinary, mediocre type of man. I, personally, can no longer have any
+doubt that Nietzsche's only object, in that part of his philosophy where he
+bids his friends stand "Beyond Good and Evil" with him, was to save higher
+men, whose growth and scope might be limited by the too strict observance
+of modern values from foundering on the rocks of a "Compromise" between
+their own genius and traditional conventions. The only possible way in
+which the great man can achieve greatness is by means of exceptional
+freedom--the freedom which assists him in experiencing HIMSELF. Verses 20
+to 30 afford an excellent supplement to Nietzsche's description of the
+attitude of the noble type towards the slaves in Aphorism 260 of the work
+"Beyond Good and Evil" (see also Note B.)
+
+Chapter LV.  The Spirit of Gravity.
+
+(See Note on Chapter XLVI.)  In Part II. of this discourse we meet with a
+doctrine not touched upon hitherto, save indirectly;--I refer to the
+doctrine of self-love.  We should try to understand this perfectly before
+proceeding; for it is precisely views of this sort which, after having been
+cut out of the original context, are repeated far and wide as internal
+evidence proving the general unsoundness of Nietzsche's philosophy.
+Already in the last of the "Thoughts out of Season" Nietzsche speaks as
+follows about modern men:  "...these modern creatures wish rather to be
+hunted down, wounded and torn to shreds, than to live alone with themselves
+in solitary calm.  Alone with oneself!--this thought terrifies the modern
+soul; it is his one anxiety, his one ghastly fear" (English Edition, page
+141).  In his feverish scurry to find entertainment and diversion, whether
+in a novel, a newspaper, or a play, the modern man condemns his own age
+utterly; for he shows that in his heart of hearts he despises himself.  One
+cannot change a condition of this sort in a day; to become endurable to
+oneself an inner transformation is necessary.  Too long have we lost
+ourselves in our friends and entertainments to be able to find ourselves so
+soon at another's bidding.  "And verily, it is no commandment for to-day
+and to-morrow to LEARN to love oneself.  Rather is it of all arts the
+finest, subtlest, last, and patientest."
+
+In the last verse Nietzsche challenges us to show that our way is the right
+way.  In his teaching he does not coerce us, nor does he overpersuade; he
+simply says:  "I am a law only for mine own, I am not a law for all.  This
+--is now MY way,--where is yours?"
+
+Chapter LVI.  Old and New Tables.  Par. 2.
+
+Nietzsche himself declares this to be the most decisive portion of the
+whole of "Thus Spake Zarathustra". It is a sort of epitome of his leading
+doctrines. In verse 12 of the second paragraph, we learn how he himself
+would fain have abandoned the poetical method of expression had he not
+known only too well that the only chance a new doctrine has of surviving,
+nowadays, depends upon its being given to the world in some kind of
+art-form. Just as prophets, centuries ago, often had to have recourse to
+the mask of madness in order to mitigate the hatred of those who did not
+and could not see as they did; so, to-day, the struggle for existence among
+opinions and values is so great, that an art-form is practically the only
+garb in which a new philosophy can dare to introduce itself to us.
+
+Pars. 3 and 4.
+
+Many of the paragraphs will be found to be merely reminiscent of former
+discourses.  For instance, par. 3 recalls "Redemption".  The last verse of
+par. 4 is important.  Freedom which, as I have pointed out before,
+Nietzsche considered a dangerous acquisition in inexperienced or unworthy
+hands, here receives its death-blow as a general desideratum.  In the first
+Part we read under "The Way of the Creating One", that freedom as an end in
+itself does not concern Zarathustra at all.  He says there:  "Free from
+what?  What doth that matter to Zarathustra?  Clearly, however, shall thine
+eye answer me:  free FOR WHAT?"  And in "The Bedwarfing Virtue":  "Ah that
+ye understood my word:  'Do ever what ye will--but first be such as CAN
+WILL.'"
+
+Par. 5.
+
+Here we have a description of the kind of altruism Nietzsche exacted from
+higher men.  It is really a comment upon "The Bestowing Virtue" (see Note
+on Chapter XXII.).
+
+Par. 6.
+
+This refers, of course, to the reception pioneers of Nietzsche's stamp meet
+with at the hands of their contemporaries.
+
+Par. 8.
+
+Nietzsche teaches that nothing is stable,--not even values,--not even the
+concepts good and evil.  He likens life unto a stream.  But foot-bridges
+and railings span the stream, and they seem to stand firm.  Many will be
+reminded of good and evil when they look upon these structures; for thus
+these same values stand over the stream of life, and life flows on beneath
+them and leaves them standing.  When, however, winter comes and the stream
+gets frozen, many inquire:  "Should not everything--STAND STILL?
+Fundamentally everything standeth still."  But soon the spring cometh and
+with it the thaw-wind.  It breaks the ice, and the ice breaks down the
+foot-bridges and railings, whereupon everything is swept away.  This state
+of affairs, according to Nietzsche, has now been reached.  "Oh, my
+brethren, is not everything AT PRESENT IN FLUX?  Have not all railings and
+foot-bridges fallen into the water?  Who would still HOLD ON to 'good' and
+'evil'?"
+
+Par. 9.
+
+This is complementary to the first three verses of par. 2.
+
+Par. 10.
+
+So far, this is perhaps the most important paragraph. It is a protest
+against reading a moral order of things in life. "Life is something
+essentially immoral!" Nietzsche tells us in the introduction to the "Birth
+of Tragedy". Even to call life "activity," or to define it further as "the
+continuous adjustment of internal relations to external relations," as
+Spencer has it, Nietzsche characterises as a "democratic idiosyncracy." He
+says to define it in this way, "is to mistake the true nature and function
+of life, which is Will to Power...Life is ESSENTIALLY appropriation,
+injury, conquest of the strange and weak, suppression, severity, obtrusion
+of its own forms, incorporation and at least, putting it mildest,
+exploitation." Adaptation is merely a secondary activity, a mere
+re-activity (see Note on Chapter LVII.).
+
+Pars. 11, 12.
+
+These deal with Nietzsche's principle of the desirability of rearing a
+select race.  The biological and historical grounds for his insistence upon
+this principle are, of course, manifold.  Gobineau in his great work,
+"L'Inegalite des Races Humaines", lays strong emphasis upon the evils which
+arise from promiscuous and inter-social marriages.  He alone would suffice
+to carry Nietzsche's point against all those who are opposed to the other
+conditions, to the conditions which would have saved Rome, which have
+maintained the strength of the Jewish race, and which are strictly
+maintained by every breeder of animals throughout the world.  Darwin in his
+remarks relative to the degeneration of CULTIVATED types of animals through
+the action of promiscuous breeding, brings Gobineau support from the realm
+of biology.
+
+The last two verses of par. 12 were discussed in the Notes on Chapters
+XXXVI. and LIII.
+
+Par. 13.
+
+This, like the first part of "The Soothsayer", is obviously a reference to
+the Schopenhauerian Pessimism.
+
+Pars. 14, 15, 16, 17.
+
+These are supplementary to the discourse "Backworld's-men".
+
+Par. 18.
+
+We must be careful to separate this paragraph, in sense, from the previous
+four paragraphs.  Nietzsche is still dealing with Pessimism here; but it is
+the pessimism of the hero--the man most susceptible of all to desperate
+views of life, owing to the obstacles that are arrayed against him in a
+world where men of his kind are very rare and are continually being
+sacrificed.  It was to save this man that Nietzsche wrote.  Heroism foiled,
+thwarted, and wrecked, hoping and fighting until the last, is at length
+overtaken by despair, and renounces all struggle for sleep.  This is not
+the natural or constitutional pessimism which proceeds from an unhealthy
+body--the dyspeptic's lack of appetite; it is rather the desperation of the
+netted lion that ultimately stops all movement, because the more it moves
+the more involved it becomes.
+
+Par. 20.
+
+"All that increases power is good, all that springs from weakness is bad.
+The weak and ill-constituted shall perish:  first principle of our charity.
+And one shall also help them thereto."  Nietzsche partly divined the kind
+of reception moral values of this stamp would meet with at the hands of the
+effeminate manhood of Europe.  Here we see that he had anticipated the most
+likely form their criticism would take (see also the last two verses of
+par. 17).
+
+Par. 21.
+
+The first ten verses, here, are reminiscent of "War and Warriors" and of
+"The Flies in the Market-place."  Verses 11 and 12, however, are
+particularly important.  There is a strong argument in favour of the sharp
+differentiation of castes and of races (and even of sexes; see Note on
+Chapter XVIII.) running all through Nietzsche's writings.  But sharp
+differentiation also implies antagonism in some form or other--hence
+Nietzsche's fears for modern men.  What modern men desire above all, is
+peace and the cessation of pain.  But neither great races nor great castes
+have ever been built up in this way.  "Who still wanteth to rule?"
+Zarathustra asks in the "Prologue".  "Who still wanteth to obey?  Both are
+too burdensome."  This is rapidly becoming everybody's attitude to-day.
+The tame moral reading of the face of nature, together with such democratic
+interpretations of life as those suggested by Herbert Spencer, are signs of
+a physiological condition which is the reverse of that bounding and
+irresponsible healthiness in which harder and more tragic values rule.
+
+Par. 24.
+
+This should be read in conjunction with "Child and Marriage".  In the fifth
+verse we shall recognise our old friend "Marriage on the ten-years system,"
+which George Meredith suggested some years ago.  This, however, must not be
+taken too literally.  I do not think Nietzsche's profoundest views on
+marriage were ever intended to be given over to the public at all, at least
+not for the present.  They appear in the biography by his sister, and
+although their wisdom is unquestionable, the nature of the reforms he
+suggests render it impossible for them to become popular just now.
+
+Pars. 26, 27.
+
+See Note on "The Prologue".
+
+Par. 28.
+
+Nietzsche was not an iconoclast from predilection.  No bitterness or empty
+hate dictated his vituperations against existing values and against the
+dogmas of his parents and forefathers.  He knew too well what these things
+meant to the millions who profess them, to approach the task of uprooting
+them with levity or even with haste.  He saw what modern anarchists and
+revolutionists do NOT see--namely, that man is in danger of actual
+destruction when his customs and values are broken.  I need hardly point
+out, therefore, how deeply he was conscious of the responsibility he threw
+upon our shoulders when he invited us to reconsider our position.  The
+lines in this paragraph are evidence enough of his earnestness.
+
+Chapter LVII.  The Convalescent.
+
+We meet with several puzzles here.  Zarathustra calls himself the advocate
+of the circle (the Eternal Recurrence of all things), and he calls this
+doctrine his abysmal thought.  In the last verse of the first paragraph,
+however, after hailing his deepest thought, he cries:  "Disgust, disgust,
+disgust!"  We know Nietzsche's ideal man was that "world-approving,
+exuberant, and vivacious creature, who has not only learnt to compromise
+and arrange with that which was and is, but wishes to have it again, AS IT
+WAS AND IS, for all eternity insatiably calling out da capo, not only to
+himself, but to the whole piece and play" (see Note on Chapter XLII.).  But
+if one ask oneself what the conditions to such an attitude are, one will
+realise immediately how utterly different Nietzsche was from his ideal.
+The man who insatiably cries da capo to himself and to the whole of his
+mise-en-scene, must be in a position to desire every incident in his life
+to be repeated, not once, but again and again eternally.  Now, Nietzsche's
+life had been too full of disappointments, illness, unsuccessful struggles,
+and snubs, to allow of his thinking of the Eternal Recurrence without
+loathing--hence probably the words of the last verse.
+
+In verses 15 and 16, we have Nietzsche declaring himself an evolutionist in
+the broadest sense--that is to say, that he believes in the Development
+Hypothesis as the description of the process by which species have
+originated.  Now, to understand his position correctly we must show his
+relationship to the two greatest of modern evolutionists--Darwin and
+Spencer.  As a philosopher, however, Nietzsche does not stand or fall by
+his objections to the Darwinian or Spencerian cosmogony.  He never laid
+claim to a very profound knowledge of biology, and his criticism is far
+more valuable as the attitude of a fresh mind than as that of a specialist
+towards the question.  Moreover, in his objections many difficulties are
+raised which are not settled by an appeal to either of the men above
+mentioned.  We have given Nietzsche's definition of life in the Note on
+Chapter LVI., par. 10.  Still, there remains a hope that Darwin and
+Nietzsche may some day become reconciled by a new description of the
+processes by which varieties occur.  The appearance of varieties among
+animals and of "sporting plants" in the vegetable kingdom, is still
+shrouded in mystery, and the question whether this is not precisely the
+ground on which Darwin and Nietzsche will meet, is an interesting one.  The
+former says in his "Origin of Species", concerning the causes of
+variability:  "...there are two factors, namely, the nature of the
+organism, and the nature of the conditions.  THE FORMER SEEMS TO BE MUCH
+THE MORE IMPORTANT (The italics are mine.), for nearly similar variations
+sometimes arise under, as far as we can judge, dissimilar conditions; and
+on the other hand, dissimilar variations arise under conditions which
+appear to be nearly uniform."  Nietzsche, recognising this same truth,
+would ascribe practically all the importance to the "highest functionaries
+in the organism, in which the life-will appears as an active and formative
+principle," and except in certain cases (where passive organisms alone are
+concerned) would not give such a prominent place to the influence of
+environment.  Adaptation, according to him, is merely a secondary activity,
+a mere re-activity, and he is therefore quite opposed to Spencer's
+definition:  "Life is the continuous adjustment of internal relations to
+external relations."  Again in the motive force behind animal and plant
+life, Nietzsche disagrees with Darwin.  He transforms the "Struggle for
+Existence"--the passive and involuntary condition--into the "Struggle for
+Power," which is active and creative, and much more in harmony with
+Darwin's own view, given above, concerning the importance of the organism
+itself.  The change is one of such far-reaching importance that we cannot
+dispose of it in a breath, as a mere play upon words.  "Much is reckoned
+higher than life itself by the living one."  Nietzsche says that to speak
+of the activity of life as a "struggle for existence," is to state the case
+inadequately.  He warns us not to confound Malthus with nature.  There is
+something more than this struggle between the organic beings on this earth;
+want, which is supposed to bring this struggle about, is not so common as
+is supposed; some other force must be operative.  The Will to Power is this
+force, "the instinct of self-preservation is only one of the indirect and
+most frequent results thereof."  A certain lack of acumen in psychological
+questions and the condition of affairs in England at the time Darwin wrote,
+may both, according to Nietzsche, have induced the renowned naturalist to
+describe the forces of nature as he did in his "Origin of Species".
+
+In verses 28, 29, and 30 of the second portion of this discourse we meet
+with a doctrine which, at first sight, seems to be merely "le manoir a
+l'envers," indeed one English critic has actually said of Nietzsche, that
+"Thus Spake Zarathustra" is no more than a compendium of modern views and
+maxims turned upside down.  Examining these heterodox pronouncements a
+little more closely, however, we may possibly perceive their truth.
+Regarding good and evil as purely relative values, it stands to reason that
+what may be bad or evil in a given man, relative to a certain environment,
+may actually be good if not highly virtuous in him relative to a certain
+other environment.  If this hypothetical man represent the ascending line
+of life--that is to say, if he promise all that which is highest in a
+Graeco-Roman sense, then it is likely that he will be condemned as wicked
+if introduced into the society of men representing the opposite and
+descending line of life.
+
+By depriving a man of his wickedness--more particularly nowadays--
+therefore, one may unwittingly be doing violence to the greatest in him.
+It may be an outrage against his wholeness, just as the lopping-off of a
+leg would be.  Fortunately, the natural so-called "wickedness" of higher
+men has in a certain measure been able to resist this lopping process which
+successive slave-moralities have practised; but signs are not wanting which
+show that the noblest wickedness is fast vanishing from society--the
+wickedness of courage and determination--and that Nietzsche had good
+reasons for crying:  "Ah, that (man's) baddest is so very small!  Ah, that
+his best is so very small.  What is good?  To be brave is good!  It is the
+good war which halloweth every cause!" (see also par. 5, "Higher Man").
+
+Chapter LX.  The Seven Seals.
+
+This is a final paean which Zarathustra sings to Eternity and the
+marriage-ring of rings, the ring of the Eternal Recurrence.
+
+...
+
+PART IV.
+
+In my opinion this part is Nietzsche's open avowal that all his philosophy,
+together with all his hopes, enthusiastic outbursts, blasphemies,
+prolixities, and obscurities, were merely so many gifts laid at the feet of
+higher men.  He had no desire to save the world.  What he wished to
+determine was:  Who is to be master of the world?  This is a very different
+thing.  He came to save higher men;--to give them that freedom by which,
+alone, they can develop and reach their zenith (see Note on Chapter LIV.,
+end).  It has been argued, and with considerable force, that no such
+philosophy is required by higher men, that, as a matter of fact, higher
+men, by virtue of their constitutions always, do stand Beyond Good and
+Evil, and never allow anything to stand in the way of their complete
+growth.  Nietzsche, however, was evidently not so confident about this.  He
+would probably have argued that we only see the successful cases.  Being a
+great man himself, he was well aware of the dangers threatening greatness
+in our age.  In "Beyond Good and Evil" he writes:  "There are few pains so
+grievous as to have seen, divined, or experienced how an exceptional man
+has missed his way and deteriorated..."  He knew "from his painfullest
+recollections on what wretched obstacles promising developments of the
+highest rank have hitherto usually gone to pieces, broken down, sunk, and
+become contemptible."  Now in Part IV. we shall find that his strongest
+temptation to descend to the feeling of "pity" for his contemporaries, is
+the "cry for help" which he hears from the lips of the higher men exposed
+to the dreadful danger of their modern environment.
+
+Chapter LXI.  The Honey Sacrifice.
+
+In the fourteenth verse of this discourse Nietzsche defines the solemn duty
+he imposed upon himself:  "Become what thou art."  Surely the criticism
+which has been directed against this maxim must all fall to the ground when
+it is remembered, once and for all, that Nietzsche's teaching was never
+intended to be other than an esoteric one.  "I am a law only for mine own,"
+he says emphatically, "I am not a law for all."  It is of the greatest
+importance to humanity that its highest individuals should be allowed to
+attain to their full development; for, only by means of its heroes can the
+human race be led forward step by step to higher and yet higher levels.
+"Become what thou art" applied to all, of course, becomes a vicious maxim;
+it is to be hoped, however, that we may learn in time that the same action
+performed by a given number of men, loses its identity precisely that same
+number of times.--"Quod licet Jovi, non licet bovi."
+
+At the last eight verses many readers may be tempted to laugh.  In England
+we almost always laugh when a man takes himself seriously at anything save
+sport.  And there is of course no reason why the reader should not be
+hilarious.--A certain greatness is requisite, both in order to be sublime
+and to have reverence for the sublime.  Nietzsche earnestly believed that
+the Zarathustra-kingdom--his dynasty of a thousand years--would one day
+come; if he had not believed it so earnestly, if every artist in fact had
+not believed so earnestly in his Hazar, whether of ten, fifteen, a hundred,
+or a thousand years, we should have lost all our higher men; they would
+have become pessimists, suicides, or merchants.  If the minor poet and
+philosopher has made us shy of the prophetic seriousness which
+characterized an Isaiah or a Jeremiah, it is surely our loss and the minor
+poet's gain.
+
+Chapter LXII.  The Cry of Distress.
+
+We now meet with Zarathustra in extraordinary circumstances.  He is
+confronted with Schopenhauer and tempted by the old Soothsayer to commit
+the sin of pity.  "I have come that I may seduce thee to thy last sin!"
+says the Soothsayer to Zarathustra.  It will be remembered that in
+Schopenhauer's ethics, pity is elevated to the highest place among the
+virtues, and very consistently too, seeing that the Weltanschauung is a
+pessimistic one.  Schopenhauer appeals to Nietzsche's deepest and strongest
+sentiment--his sympathy for higher men.  "Why dost thou conceal thyself?"
+he cries.  "It is THE HIGHER MAN that calleth for thee!"  Zarathustra is
+almost overcome by the Soothsayer's pleading, as he had been once already
+in the past, but he resists him step by step.  At length he can withstand
+him no longer, and, on the plea that the higher man is on his ground and
+therefore under his protection, Zarathustra departs in search of him,
+leaving Schopenhauer--a higher man in Nietzsche's opinion--in the cave as a
+guest.
+
+Chapter LXIII.  Talk with the Kings.
+
+On his way Zarathustra meets two more higher men of his time; two kings
+cross his path.  They are above the average modern type; for their
+instincts tell them what real ruling is, and they despise the mockery which
+they have been taught to call "Reigning."  "We ARE NOT the first men," they
+say, "and have nevertheless to STAND FOR them:  of this imposture have we
+at last become weary and disgusted."  It is the kings who tell Zarathustra:
+"There is no sorer misfortune in all human destiny than when the mighty of
+the earth are not also the first men.  There everything becometh false and
+distorted and monstrous."  The kings are also asked by Zarathustra to
+accept the shelter of his cave, whereupon he proceeds on his way.
+
+Chapter LXIV.  The Leech.
+
+Among the higher men whom Zarathustra wishes to save, is also the
+scientific specialist--the man who honestly and scrupulously pursues his
+investigations, as Darwin did, in one department of knowledge.  "I love him
+who liveth in order to know, and seeketh to know in order that the Superman
+may hereafter live.  Thus seeketh he his own down-going."  "The spiritually
+conscientious one," he is called in this discourse.  Zarathustra steps on
+him unawares, and the slave of science, bleeding from the violence he has
+done to himself by his self-imposed task, speaks proudly of his little
+sphere of knowledge--his little hand's breadth of ground on Zarathustra's
+territory, philosophy.  "Where mine honesty ceaseth," says the true
+scientific specialist, "there am I blind and want also to be blind.  Where
+I want to know, however, there want I also to be honest--namely, severe,
+rigorous, restricted, cruel, and inexorable."  Zarathustra greatly
+respecting this man, invites him too to the cave, and then vanishes in
+answer to another cry for help.
+
+Chapter LXV.  The Magician.
+
+The Magician is of course an artist, and Nietzsche's intimate knowledge of
+perhaps the greatest artist of his age rendered the selection of Wagner, as
+the type in this discourse, almost inevitable.  Most readers will be
+acquainted with the facts relating to Nietzsche's and Wagner's friendship
+and ultimate separation.  As a boy and a youth Nietzsche had shown such a
+remarkable gift for music that it had been a question at one time whether
+he should not perhaps give up everything else in order to develop this
+gift, but he became a scholar notwithstanding, although he never entirely
+gave up composing, and playing the piano.  While still in his teens, he
+became acquainted with Wagner's music and grew passionately fond of it.
+Long before he met Wagner he must have idealised him in his mind to an
+extent which only a profoundly artistic nature could have been capable of.
+Nietzsche always had high ideals for humanity.  If one were asked whether,
+throughout his many changes, there was yet one aim, one direction, and one
+hope to which he held fast, one would be forced to reply in the affirmative
+and declare that aim, direction, and hope to have been "the elevation of
+the type man."  Now, when Nietzsche met Wagner he was actually casting
+about for an incarnation of his dreams for the German people, and we have
+only to remember his youth (he was twenty-one when he was introduced to
+Wagner), his love of Wagner's music, and the undoubted power of the great
+musician's personality, in order to realise how very uncritical his
+attitude must have been in the first flood of his enthusiasm.  Again, when
+the friendship ripened, we cannot well imagine Nietzsche, the younger man,
+being anything less than intoxicated by his senior's attention and love,
+and we are therefore not surprised to find him pressing Wagner forward as
+the great Reformer and Saviour of mankind.  "Wagner in Bayreuth" (English
+Edition, 1909) gives us the best proof of Nietzsche's infatuation, and
+although signs are not wanting in this essay which show how clearly and
+even cruelly he was sub-consciously "taking stock" of his friend--even
+then, the work is a record of what great love and admiration can do in the
+way of endowing the object of one's affection with all the qualities and
+ideals that a fertile imagination can conceive.
+
+When the blow came it was therefore all the more severe.  Nietzsche at
+length realised that the friend of his fancy and the real Richard Wagner--
+the composer of Parsifal--were not one; the fact dawned upon him slowly;
+disappointment upon disappointment, revelation after revelation, ultimately
+brought it home to him, and though his best instincts were naturally
+opposed to it at first, the revulsion of feeling at last became too strong
+to be ignored, and Nietzsche was plunged into the blackest despair.  Years
+after his break with Wagner, he wrote "The Case of Wagner", and "Nietzsche
+contra Wagner", and these works are with us to prove the sincerity and
+depth of his views on the man who was the greatest event of his life.
+
+The poem in this discourse is, of course, reminiscent of Wagner's own
+poetical manner, and it must be remembered that the whole was written
+subsequent to Nietzsche's final break with his friend.  The dialogue
+between Zarathustra and the Magician reveals pretty fully what it was that
+Nietzsche grew to loathe so intensely in Wagner,--viz., his pronounced
+histrionic tendencies, his dissembling powers, his inordinate vanity, his
+equivocalness, his falseness.  "It honoureth thee," says Zarathustra, "that
+thou soughtest for greatness, but it betrayeth thee also.  Thou art not
+great."  The Magician is nevertheless sent as a guest to Zarathustra's
+cave; for, in his heart, Zarathustra believed until the end that the
+Magician was a higher man broken by modern values.
+
+Chapter LXVI.  Out of Service.
+
+Zarathustra now meets the last pope, and, in a poetical form, we get
+Nietzsche's description of the course Judaism and Christianity pursued
+before they reached their final break-up in Atheism, Agnosticism, and the
+like.  The God of a strong, warlike race--the God of Israel--is a jealous,
+revengeful God.  He is a power that can be pictured and endured only by a
+hardy and courageous race, a race rich enough to sacrifice and to lose in
+sacrifice.  The image of this God degenerates with the people that
+appropriate it, and gradually He becomes a God of love--"soft and mellow,"
+a lower middle-class deity, who is "pitiful."  He can no longer be a God
+who requires sacrifice, for we ourselves are no longer rich enough for
+that.  The tables are therefore turned upon Him; HE must sacrifice to us.
+His pity becomes so great that he actually does sacrifice something to us--
+His only begotten Son.  Such a process carried to its logical conclusions
+must ultimately end in His own destruction, and thus we find the pope
+declaring that God was one day suffocated by His all-too-great pity.  What
+follows is clear enough.  Zarathustra recognises another higher man in the
+ex-pope and sends him too as a guest to the cave.
+
+Chapter LXVII.  The Ugliest Man.
+
+This discourse contains perhaps the boldest of Nietzsche's suggestions
+concerning Atheism, as well as some extremely penetrating remarks upon the
+sentiment of pity. Zarathustra comes across the repulsive creature sitting
+on the wayside, and what does he do? He manifests the only correct feelings
+that can be manifested in the presence of any great misery--that is to say,
+shame, reverence, embarrassment. Nietzsche detested the obtrusive and
+gushing pity that goes up to misery without a blush either on its cheek or
+in its heart--the pity which is only another form of self-glorification.
+"Thank God that I am not like thee!"--only this self-glorifying sentiment
+can lend a well-constituted man the impudence to SHOW his pity for the
+cripple and the ill-constituted. In the presence of the ugliest man
+Nietzsche blushes,--he blushes for his race; his own particular kind of
+altruism--the altruism that might have prevented the existence of this
+man--strikes him with all its force. He will have the world otherwise. He
+will have a world where one need not blush for one's fellows--hence his
+appeal to us to love only our children's land, the land undiscovered in the
+remotest sea.
+
+Zarathustra calls the ugliest man the murderer of God! Certainly, this is
+one aspect of a certain kind of Atheism--the Atheism of the man who reveres
+beauty to such an extent that his own ugliness, which outrages him, must be
+concealed from every eye lest it should not be respected as Zarathustra
+respected it. If there be a God, He too must be evaded. His pity must be
+foiled. But God is ubiquitous and omniscient. Therefore, for the really
+GREAT ugly man, He must not exist. "Their pity IS it from which I flee
+away," he says--that is to say: "It is from their want of reverence and
+lack of shame in presence of my great misery!" The ugliest man despises
+himself; but Zarathustra said in his Prologue: "I love the great despisers
+because they are the great adorers, and arrows of longing for the other
+shore." He therefore honours the ugliest man: sees height in his
+self-contempt, and invites him to join the other higher men in the cave.
+
+Chapter LXVIII.  The Voluntary Beggar.
+
+In this discourse, we undoubtedly have the ideal Buddhist, if not Gautama
+Buddha himself.  Nietzsche had the greatest respect for Buddhism, and
+almost wherever he refers to it in his works, it is in terms of praise.  He
+recognised that though Buddhism is undoubtedly a religion for decadents,
+its decadent values emanate from the higher and not, as in Christianity,
+from the lower grades of society.  In Aphorism 20 of "The Antichrist", he
+compares it exhaustively with Christianity, and the result of his
+investigation is very much in favour of the older religion.  Still, he
+recognised a most decided Buddhistic influence in Christ's teaching, and
+the words in verses 29, 30, and 31 are very reminiscent of his views in
+regard to the Christian Savior.
+
+The figure of Christ has been introduced often enough into fiction, and
+many scholars have undertaken to write His life according to their own
+lights, but few perhaps have ever attempted to present Him to us bereft of
+all those characteristics which a lack of the sense of harmony has attached
+to His person through the ages in which His doctrines have been taught.
+Now Nietzsche disagreed entirely with Renan's view, that Christ was "le
+grand maitre en ironie"; in Aphorism 31 of "The Antichrist", he says that
+he (Nietzsche) always purged his picture of the Humble Nazarene of all
+those bitter and spiteful outbursts which, in view of the struggle the
+first Christians went through, may very well have been added to the
+original character by Apologists and Sectarians who, at that time, could
+ill afford to consider nice psychological points, seeing that what they
+needed, above all, was a wrangling and abusive deity.  These two
+conflicting halves in the character of the Christ of the Gospels, which no
+sound psychology can ever reconcile, Nietzsche always kept distinct in his
+own mind; he could not credit the same man with sentiments sometimes so
+noble and at other times so vulgar, and in presenting us with this new
+portrait of the Saviour, purged of all impurities, Nietzsche rendered
+military honours to a foe, which far exceed in worth all that His most
+ardent disciples have ever claimed for Him.  In verse 26 we are vividly
+reminded of Herbert Spencer's words "'Le mariage de convenance' is
+legalised prostitution."
+
+Chapter LXIX.  The Shadow.
+
+Here we have a description of that courageous and wayward spirit that
+literally haunts the footsteps of every great thinker and every great
+leader; sometimes with the result that it loses all aims, all hopes, and
+all trust in a definite goal.  It is the case of the bravest and most
+broad-minded men of to-day.  These literally shadow the most daring
+movements in the science and art of their generation; they completely lose
+their bearings and actually find themselves, in the end, without a way, a
+goal, or a home.  "On every surface have I already sat!...I become thin, I
+am almost equal to a shadow!"  At last, in despair, such men do indeed cry
+out:  "Nothing is true; all is permitted," and then they become mere
+wreckage.  "Too much hath become clear unto me:  now nothing mattereth to
+me any more.  Nothing liveth any longer that I love,--how should I still
+love myself!  Have I still a goal?  Where is MY home?"  Zarathustra
+realises the danger threatening such a man.  "Thy danger is not small, thou
+free spirit and wanderer," he says.  "Thou hast had a bad day.  See that a
+still worse evening doth not overtake thee!"  The danger Zarathustra refers
+to is precisely this, that even a prison may seem a blessing to such a man.
+At least the bars keep him in a place of rest; a place of confinement, at
+its worst, is real.  "Beware lest in the end a narrow faith capture thee,"
+says Zarathustra, "for now everything that is narrow and fixed seduceth and
+tempteth thee."
+
+Chapter LXX.  Noontide.
+
+At the noon of life Nietzsche said he entered the world; with him man came
+of age.  We are now held responsible for our actions; our old guardians,
+the gods and demi-gods of our youth, the superstitions and fears of our
+childhood, withdraw; the field lies open before us; we lived through our
+morning with but one master--chance--; let us see to it that we MAKE our
+afternoon our own (see Note XLIX., Part III.).
+
+Chapter LXXI.  The Greeting.
+
+Here I think I may claim that my contention in regard to the purpose and
+aim of the whole of Nietzsche's philosophy (as stated at the beginning of
+my Notes on Part IV.) is completely upheld.  He fought for "all who do not
+want to live, unless they learn again to HOPE--unless THEY learn (from him)
+the GREAT hope!"  Zarathustra's address to his guests shows clearly enough
+how he wished to help them:  "I DO NOT TREAT MY WARRIORS INDULGENTLY," he
+says:  "how then could ye be fit for MY warfare?"  He rebukes and spurns
+them, no word of love comes from his lips.  Elsewhere he says a man should
+be a hard bed to his friend, thus alone can he be of use to him.  Nietzsche
+would be a hard bed to higher men.  He would make them harder; for, in
+order to be a law unto himself, man must possess the requisite hardness.
+"I wait for higher ones, stronger ones, more triumphant ones, merrier ones,
+for such as are built squarely in body and soul."  He says in par. 6 of
+"Higher Man":--
+
+"Ye higher men, think ye that I am here to put right what ye have put
+wrong?  Or that I wished henceforth to make snugger couches for you
+sufferers?  Or show you restless, miswandering, misclimbing ones new and
+easier footpaths?"
+
+"Nay!  Nay!  Three times nay!  Always more, always better ones of your type
+shall succumb--for ye shall always have it worse and harder."
+
+Chapter LXXII.  The Supper.
+
+In the first seven verses of this discourse, I cannot help seeing a gentle
+allusion to Schopenhauer's habits as a bon-vivant.  For a pessimist, be it
+remembered, Schopenhauer led quite an extraordinary life.  He ate well,
+loved well, played the flute well, and I believe he smoked the best cigars.
+What follows is clear enough.
+
+Chapter LXXIII.  The Higher Man.  Par. 1.
+
+Nietzsche admits, here, that at one time he had thought of appealing to the
+people, to the crowd in the market-place, but that he had ultimately to
+abandon the task.  He bids higher men depart from the market-place.
+
+Par. 3.
+
+Here we are told quite plainly what class of men actually owe all their
+impulses and desires to the instinct of self-preservation.  The struggle
+for existence is indeed the only spur in the case of such people.  To them
+it matters not in what shape or condition man be preserved, provided only
+he survive.  The transcendental maxim that "Life per se is precious" is the
+ruling maxim here.
+
+Par. 4.
+
+In the Note on Chapter LVII. (end) I speak of Nietzsche's elevation of the
+virtue, Courage, to the highest place among the virtues.  Here he tells
+higher men the class of courage he expects from them.
+
+Pars. 5, 6.
+
+These have already been referred to in the Notes on Chapters LVII. (end)
+and LXXI.
+
+Par. 7.
+
+I suggest that the last verse in this paragraph strongly confirms the view
+that Nietzsche's teaching was always meant by him to be esoteric and for
+higher man alone.
+
+Par. 9.
+
+In the last verse, here, another shaft of light is thrown upon the
+Immaculate Perception or so-called "pure objectivity" of the scientific
+mind.  "Freedom from fever is still far from being knowledge."  Where a
+man's emotions cease to accompany him in his investigations, he is not
+necessarily nearer the truth.  Says Spencer, in the Preface to his
+Autobiography:--"In the genesis of a system of thought, the emotional
+nature is a large factor:  perhaps as large a factor as the intellectual
+nature" (see pages 134, 141 of Vol. I., "Thoughts out of Season").
+
+Pars. 10, 11.
+
+When we approach Nietzsche's philosophy we must be prepared to be
+independent thinkers; in fact, the greatest virtue of his works is perhaps
+the subtlety with which they impose the obligation upon one of thinking
+alone, of scoring off one's own bat, and of shifting intellectually for
+oneself.
+
+Par. 13.
+
+"I am a railing alongside the torrent; whoever is able to grasp me, may
+grasp me!  Your crutch, however, I am not."  These two paragraphs are an
+exhortation to higher men to become independent.
+
+Par. 15.
+
+Here Nietzsche perhaps exaggerates the importance of heredity.  As,
+however, the question is by no means one on which we are all agreed, what
+he says is not without value.
+
+A very important principle in Nietzsche's philosophy is enunciated in the
+first verse of this paragraph.  "The higher its type, always the seldomer
+doth a thing succeed" (see page 82 of "Beyond Good and Evil").  Those who,
+like some political economists, talk in a business-like way about the
+terrific waste of human life and energy, deliberately overlook the fact
+that the waste most to be deplored usually occurs among higher individuals.
+Economy was never precisely one of nature's leading principles.  All this
+sentimental wailing over the larger proportion of failures than successes
+in human life, does not seem to take into account the fact that it is the
+rarest thing on earth for a highly organised being to attain to the fullest
+development and activity of all its functions, simply because it is so
+highly organised.  The blind Will to Power in nature therefore stands in
+urgent need of direction by man.
+
+Pars. 16, 17, 18, 19, 20.
+
+These paragraphs deal with Nietzsche's protest against the democratic
+seriousness (Pobelernst) of modern times.  "All good things laugh," he
+says, and his final command to the higher men is, "LEARN, I pray you--to
+laugh."  All that is GOOD, in Nietzsche's sense, is cheerful.  To be able
+to crack a joke about one's deepest feelings is the greatest test of their
+value.  The man who does not laugh, like the man who does not make faces,
+is already a buffoon at heart.
+
+"What hath hitherto been the greatest sin here on earth?  Was it not the
+word of him who said:  'Woe unto them that laugh now!'  Did he himself find
+no cause for laughter on the earth?  Then he sought badly.  A child even
+findeth cause for it."
+
+Chapter LXXIV.  The Song of Melancholy.
+
+After his address to the higher men, Zarathustra goes out into the open to
+recover himself.  Meanwhile the magician (Wagner), seizing the opportunity
+in order to draw them all into his net once more, sings the Song of
+Melancholy.
+
+Chapter LXXV.  Science.
+
+The only one to resist the "melancholy voluptuousness" of his art, is the
+spiritually conscientious one--the scientific specialist of whom we read in
+the discourse entitled "The Leech".  He takes the harp from the magician
+and cries for air, while reproving the musician in the style of "The Case
+of Wagner".  When the magician retaliates by saying that the spiritually
+conscientious one could have understood little of his song, the latter
+replies:  "Thou praisest me in that thou separatest me from thyself."  The
+speech of the scientific man to his fellow higher men is well worth
+studying.  By means of it, Nietzsche pays a high tribute to the honesty of
+the true specialist, while, in representing him as the only one who can
+resist the demoniacal influence of the magician's music, he elevates him at
+a stroke, above all those present.  Zarathustra and the spiritually
+conscientious one join issue at the end on the question of the proper place
+of "fear" in man's history, and Nietzsche avails himself of the opportunity
+in order to restate his views concerning the relation of courage to
+humanity.  It is precisely because courage has played the most important
+part in our development that he would not see it vanish from among our
+virtues to-day.  "...courage seemeth to me the entire primitive history of
+man."
+
+Chapter LXXVI.  Among the Daughters of the Desert.
+
+This tells its own tale.
+
+Chapter LXXVII.  The Awakening.
+
+In this discourse, Nietzsche wishes to give his followers a warning.  He
+thinks he has so far helped them that they have become convalescent, that
+new desires are awakened in them and that new hopes are in their arms and
+legs.  But he mistakes the nature of the change.  True, he has helped them,
+he has given them back what they most need, i.e., belief in believing--the
+confidence in having confidence in something, but how do they use it?  This
+belief in faith, if one can so express it without seeming tautological, has
+certainly been restored to them, and in the first flood of their enthusiasm
+they use it by bowing down and worshipping an ass!  When writing this
+passage, Nietzsche was obviously thinking of the accusations which were
+levelled at the early Christians by their pagan contemporaries.  It is well
+known that they were supposed not only to be eaters of human flesh but also
+ass-worshippers, and among the Roman graffiti, the most famous is the one
+found on the Palatino, showing a man worshipping a cross on which is
+suspended a figure with the head of an ass (see Minucius Felix, "Octavius"
+IX.; Tacitus, "Historiae" v. 3; Tertullian, "Apologia", etc.).  Nietzsche's
+obvious moral, however, is that great scientists and thinkers, once they
+have reached the wall encircling scepticism and have thereby learned to
+recover their confidence in the act of believing, as such, usually manifest
+the change in their outlook by falling victims to the narrowest and most
+superstitious of creeds.  So much for the introduction of the ass as an
+object of worship.
+
+Now, with regard to the actual service and Ass-Festival, no reader who
+happens to be acquainted with the religious history of the Middle Ages will
+fail to see the allusion here to the asinaria festa which were by no means
+uncommon in France, Germany, and elsewhere in Europe during the thirteenth,
+fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries.
+
+Chapter LXXVIII.  The Ass-Festival.
+
+At length, in the middle of their feast, Zarathustra bursts in upon them
+and rebukes them soundly.  But he does not do so long; in the Ass-Festival,
+it suddenly occurs to him, that he is concerned with a ceremony that may
+not be without its purpose, as something foolish but necessary--a
+recreation for wise men.  He is therefore highly pleased that the higher
+men have all blossomed forth; they therefore require new festivals,--"A
+little valiant nonsense, some divine service and ass-festival, some old
+joyful Zarathustra fool, some blusterer to blow their souls bright."
+
+He tells them not to forget that night and the ass-festival, for "such
+things only the convalescent devise!  And should ye celebrate it again," he
+concludes, "do it from love to yourselves, do it also from love to me!  And
+in remembrance of ME!"
+
+Chapter LXXIX.  The Drunken Song.
+
+It were the height of presumption to attempt to fix any particular
+interpretation of my own to the words of this song.  With what has gone
+before, the reader, while reading it as poetry, should be able to seek and
+find his own meaning in it.  The doctrine of the Eternal Recurrence appears
+for the last time here, in an art-form.  Nietzsche lays stress upon the
+fact that all happiness, all delight, longs for repetitions, and just as a
+child cries "Again!  Again!" to the adult who happens to be amusing him; so
+the man who sees a meaning, and a joyful meaning, in existence must also
+cry "Again!" and yet "Again!" to all his life.
+
+Chapter LXXX.  The Sign.
+
+In this discourse, Nietzsche disassociates himself finally from the higher
+men, and by the symbol of the lion, wishes to convey to us that he has won
+over and mastered the best and the most terrible in nature.  That great
+power and tenderness are kin, was already his belief in 1875--eight years
+before he wrote this speech, and when the birds and the lion come to him,
+it is because he is the embodiment of the two qualities.  All that is
+terrible and great in nature, the higher men are not yet prepared for; for
+they retreat horror-stricken into the cave when the lion springs at them;
+but Zarathustra makes not a move towards them.  He was tempted to them on
+the previous day, he says, but "That hath had its time!  My suffering and
+my fellow suffering,--what matter about them!  Do I then strive after
+HAPPINESS?  I strive after my work!  Well! the lion hath come, my children
+are nigh.  Zarathustra hath grown ripe.  MY day beginneth:  ARISE NOW,
+ARISE, THOU GREAT NOONDAY!"
+
+...
+
+The above I know to be open to much criticism.  I shall be grateful to all
+those who will be kind enough to show me where and how I have gone wrong;
+but I should like to point out that, as they stand, I have not given to
+these Notes by any means their final form.
+
+ANTHONY M. LUDOVICI.
+
+London, February 1909.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of Thus Spake Zarathustra by Friedrich
+Nietzsche
+
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