X-
 
 
 THE WORKS OF FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE 
 VOL. VIII
 
 This sole authorised edition of the Collected Works 
 of Friedrich Nietzsche is issued under the editor- 
 ship of ALEXANDER TILLE, Ph.D., Lecturer 
 at the University of Glasgow. It is based on the 
 final German edition (Leipzig: C. G. Naumann) 
 prepared by Dr. Fritz Kocgel, and is published 
 under the supervision of the Nietzsche-Archiv at 
 Naumburg. Copyright in the United States by 
 Macmillan and Co. All rights reserved.
 
 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA 
 
 A BOOK FOR ALL AND NONE 
 
 BY 
 
 FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 ALEXANDER TILLE 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD. 
 1896 
 
 All rights resettled
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1896, 
 BY MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 Kortooot) $SB 
 
 J. 8. Cashing & Co. - Berwick & Smith 
 Norwood Mast. U.S.A.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PACE 
 
 INTRODUCTION BY THE EDITOR . . .... . ix 
 
 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA . . . . . . . . xxv 
 
 FIRST PART xxvii 
 
 Zarathustra's Introductory Speech on Beyond-Man and the 
 
 Last Man i 
 
 Zarathustra's Speeches 23 
 
 Of the Three Metamorphoses 25 
 
 Of the Chairs of Virtue 29 
 
 Of Back-Worlds-Men 33 
 
 Of the Despisers of Body 38 
 
 Of Delights and Passions -41 
 
 Of the Pale Criminal 44 
 
 Of Reading and Writing . 48 
 
 Of the Tree at the Hill 51 
 
 Of the Preachers of Death 56 
 
 Of War and Warriors ........ 59 
 
 Of the New Idol 62 
 
 Of the Flies of the Market 66 
 
 Of Chastity 71 
 
 Of the Friend 73 
 
 Of a Thousand and One Goals 76 
 
 Of Love for One's Neighbour ...... 80 
 
 Of the Way of a Creator 83 
 
 Of Little Women Old and Young 87 
 
 Of the Bite of the Adder 91 
 
 v
 
 VI CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Of Child and Marriage 94 
 
 Of Free Death 97 
 
 Of Giving Virtue 102 
 
 SECOND PART 109 
 
 The Child with the Looking-Glass in 
 
 On the Blissful Islands 115 
 
 Of the Pitiful 119 
 
 Of Priests 123 
 
 Of the Virtuous 127 
 
 Of the Rabble 132 
 
 Of Tarantulas 136 
 
 Of the Famous Wise Men 141 
 
 The Night-Song 146 
 
 The Dance-Song 149 
 
 The Grave-Song 153 
 
 Of Self-Overcoming 158 
 
 Of the August 163 
 
 Of the Country of Culture 167 
 
 Of Immaculate Perception 171 
 
 Of Scholars 176 
 
 Of Poets 179 
 
 Of Great Events 184 
 
 The Fortune-Teller 190 
 
 Of Salvation 196 
 
 Of Manly Prudence 204 
 
 The Still Hour 209 
 
 THIRD PART 215 
 
 The Wanderer 217 
 
 Of the Vision and the Riddle 222 
 
 Of Involuntary Bliss 230 
 
 Before Sunrise ......... 235 
 
 Of Virtue that Maketh Smaller ...... 240
 
 CONTENTS Vll 
 
 PAGE 
 
 On the Mount of Olives 248 
 
 Of Passing 253 
 
 Of Apostates 258 
 
 Return Homeward 264 
 
 Of the Three Evil Ones 270 
 
 Of the Spirit of Gravity 278 
 
 Of Old and New Tables . . 285 
 
 The Convalescent One . . . . . .. -313 
 
 Of Great Longing . . . 323 
 
 The Second Dance-Song . . . . . . 327 
 
 The Seven Seals (or the Song of Yea and Amen) . . . 333 
 
 FOURTH AND LAST PART 339 
 
 The Honey-Offering 341 
 
 The Cry for Help . . . . * . . . . -347 
 
 Conversation with the Kings 353 
 
 The Leech 359 
 
 The Wizard 364 
 
 Off Duty 374 
 
 The Ugliest Man 381 
 
 The Voluntary Beggar 389 
 
 The Shadow 396 
 
 At Noon 401 
 
 Salutation 406 
 
 The Supper 414 
 
 Of Higher Man 418 
 
 The Song of Melancholy 433 
 
 Of Science 440 
 
 Among Daughters of the Desert 445 
 
 The Awakening 453 
 
 The Ass-Festival 458 
 
 The Drunken Song 464 
 
 The Sign 475
 
 INTRODUCTION
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 At various periods of his life Nietzsche designated different 
 written and unwritten books of his as his " principal work." 
 The composition of some of them never advanced very far, and 
 whilst in the midst of his " Transvaluation of all Values," the 
 First Part of which is the "Antichrist," he was forever disabled 
 by an incurable disease. If one has a right to speak of the 
 principal work of a mental life that never reached its goal, 
 but was suddenly crippled in mid-career, the strange fact ap- 
 pears, that Nietzsche's masterpiece is not one of his purely 
 philosophical books, but a work, half philosophy, half fiction ; 
 half an ethical sermon, half a story ; a book serio-jocular and 
 scientific-fantastical ; historico-satirical, and realistico-idealistic ; 
 a novel embracing worlds and ages and, at the same time, ex- 
 pressing a pure essence of Nietzsche, his astounding prose- 
 poem Thus Spake Zarathustra. 
 
 Thus Spake Zarathustra is without doubt the strangest prod- 
 uct of modern German literature ; and that says a good deal. 
 If it is to be compared with other works of World Literature, 
 perhaps it is nearest the Three Baskets of Buddhism, the Tripi- 
 taka. It has the same elevated prose style as that sacred book 
 of the East, in narrating a comparatively simple story, full of 
 parables and sayings of wisdom ; it has the same solemn, long- 
 drawn-out method of relating ; it has the same fantastic way 
 of looking at the world and life ; whilst in the idea of eternal 
 recurrence called by Nietzsche the genuine Zarathustra thought,
 
 xii INTRODUCTION 
 
 it rather approaches Brahmanism than Buddhism. In similar 
 respects the Gospels may be said to have formed its model, 
 not only in the way of telling the tale, but also in the tone and 
 mode of transvaluing current ideas ; in the division into small 
 chapters and prose verses ; in the way of forming sentences ; 
 and in phrases and words ; and this although the general drift 
 of thought, more especially the ethical teaching, goes in a 
 direction so different. 
 
 In English literature there are two books to which, by its 
 allegorical basis and wealth of moral wisdom, Nietzsche's work 
 shows a strong similarity, viz., Piers the Ploughman and Bun- 
 yan's Pilgrim* 's Progress. Though separated by centuries, these 
 two are, with comparatively slight modifications, traversed by 
 the same stream of thought, which is well known to be the 
 essence of the grand system of mediaeval theology and religion. 
 The author of Pie rs the Ploughman was, in numerous respects, 
 ahead of his time, while the plain man John Bunyan had 
 scarcely shared the intellectual advancement of the century 
 and a half preceding the date of his death. While the Tripi- 
 taka and the Gospels deal with historical personages, the 
 Ploughman and the Pilgrim are not at all historical, although 
 resembling Sakyamuni Buddha and the Christ of the Gospels 
 in one respect : in each case, the biography presents its hero 
 as a moral ideal. Yet the Ploughman and the Pilgrim are 
 true in another sense : they represent after a sort ideal aspi- 
 rations of two ages and show us more clearly than any learned 
 treatise could do, what in these ages was regarded as highest 
 and worthiest of human effort, by men who had turned away 
 from life, and sought for satisfaction in their own consciousness. 
 
 In German literature, leaving out of account the old Gospel- 
 Harmonies, which are not works of original fiction in the proper 
 sense, the germs of much that is in Zarathustra may be traced
 
 INTRODUCTION Xlll 
 
 distinctly enough. For example, Ruckert's Wisdom of the 
 Brahman, has many suggestions of Nietzsche's book, the third 
 part of which has been strongly influenced by it. The whole 
 orientalising and didactic poetry of the nineteenth century in 
 Germany is inspired by Goethe's Western-Eastern Divan, and 
 although Nietzsche's work does not show that influence to the 
 same extent as A. W. Schlegel, Riickert, Platen, Bodenstedt, 
 and Count Schack, yet it is historically in more than one respect 
 connected with that literary school. 
 
 The work takes its title from the mythological founder or 
 reformer of the Avestic religion, Zarathustra, whose name, 
 in its Greek mutilated form, Zoroaster, is familiar to British 
 readers. As the Antichrist shows, Nietzsche had made some 
 studies in oriental religious literature, which Professor Max 
 Muller's Sacred Books of the East had brought within the reach 
 of educated Europe. Yet he either neglected Persian religious 
 tradition or purposely in his prose-poem made no use of any 
 knowledge he possessed in that field. Though attracted by 
 the solemn sound of the name, which in a high degree pleased 
 his musical ear, he declined to describe the life of his hero after 
 the model of the Gathas, which according to Professor Darme- 
 steter form the oldest part of the Avesta, though belonging, in 
 their present form at least, to no earlier date than the first cen- 
 tury of our era. Nietzsche's Zarathustra is neither of the family 
 of Spitama, nor is he the husband of Frahaoshtra's daughter 
 Huogvi, nor yet the father-in-law of Jamaspa, who had married 
 Pourusishta, Zarathustra's daughter; but he has been disen- 
 tangled from the whole mythological circle of which the Zara- 
 thustra of Persian sacred tradition is part. He is a solitary 
 man, he has no relations, not even a sister. But, like Buddha, 
 Christ, and old Zarathustra, he has a few disciples. Of a 
 miraculous birth of his we learn nothing in Nietzsche's poem.
 
 XIV INTRODUCTION 
 
 No ray of the Divine Majesty descends into the womb of 
 Dughdo ; no Frohar or genius of Zarathustra is enclosed in a 
 Homa plant, 1 in order to be absorbed at a sacrifice by Paurush- 
 aspa, from whose union with Dughdo old Zarathustra was born 
 according to the later prose literature of the Avesta ; no dangers 
 are escaped by him till he is thirty years of age, although 
 Nietzsche's Zarathustra begins to teach people at the same date, 
 when his old model began his conversations with Ahura and 
 received from him his revelations ; nothing is said about him 
 having had only one disciple for ten years and having con- 
 verted then two sons of Hogva, till at last king Vishtaspa him- 
 self was gained over to Zarathustra's religion by his queen 
 Hutaosa. The modern Zarathustra is neither killed in the 
 battle nor has he any sons who might carry on his work after 
 his death. He stands quite alone, his only permanent com- 
 panions being two animals, an eagle and a serpent. He is 
 neither an historical nor a mythical person, but a " ghost," as 
 Nietzsche would have called him, a type existing nowhere, and 
 yet the incorporation of wishes and aspirations ; an ideal re- 
 flected in a human image ; a man as man should be in Nietzsche's 
 opinion, and as he would have liked to be himself. 
 
 Under these circumstances it is but natural that in Nietzsche's 
 Zarathustra there should be a strong personal element ; that he 
 should be part of Nietzsche himself. He has his creator's love 
 for loneliness and wild rocky mountains ; his love for the sea 
 and its wonders ; his love for a simple life almost in poverty ; 
 like him he is an eager wanderer ; he has his extreme individ- 
 ualism ; and a hundred great and small events in his story are 
 reflections of small and great occurrences in Nietzsche's own 
 life. Yet, as Nietzsche has not even made an attempt in his 
 
 1 Max Miiller's Chips from a German Workshop. Vol. I. 1894. p. 
 474 ff.
 
 INTRODUCTION XV 
 
 prose-poem to represent modern life and its outward appear- 
 ances, all these things are veiled under allegorical and typical 
 persons, things, and incidents, so that, e.g., Richard Wagner 
 plays the part of an evil wizard, and a modern specialist wears 
 the mask of the Conscientious one of the Spirit, one who knows 
 only the brain of the leech, but that thoroughly. And as 
 Nietzsche's early writings failed to appeal to the public, and 
 his picturesque style was later on imitated and distorted by 
 inferior writers, Zarathustra's speech is beaten by a rope-dan- 
 cer's performance, and, when approaching the great city, he 
 meets the Raging Fool who regards himself as the image of 
 his teacher and is anxious to keep the public of the great city 
 for himself. 
 
 The scene of Thus Spake Zarathustra is laid, as it were, 
 outside of time and space, and certainly outside of countries 
 and nations, outside of this age, and outside of the main con- 
 dition of all that lives the struggle for existence. Zarathus- 
 tra has not to work for his bread, but has got it without effort. 
 His eagle and his serpent provide him with all he needs, and 
 whenever they are not with him, he finds men who supply him. 
 Thus there is something of the miraculous in his story, and the 
 personification of lifeless objects and the gift of speech con- 
 ferred upon them are frequently made use of. True, in his 
 story there appear cities and mob, kings and scholars, poets 
 and cripples, but outside of their realm there is a province 
 which is Zarathustra's own, where he lives in his cave amid the 
 rocks, and whence he thrice goes to men to teach them his wis- 
 dom pointing away from all that unites and separates men at 
 present. This Nowhere and Nowhen, over which Nietzsche's 
 imagination is supreme, is a province of boundless individual- 
 ism, in which a man of mark has free play, unfettered by the 
 tastes and inclinations of the multitude.
 
 XVi INTRODUCTION 
 
 What far more than style or story separates Thus Spake 
 Zarathustra from the Tripitaka and the Gospels, from Piers 
 and the Pilgrim, is the creed contained in it. Thus Spake 
 Zarathustra is a kind of summary of the intellectual life of 
 the nineteenth century, and it is on this fact that its principal 
 significance rests. It unites in itself a number of mental move- 
 ments which, in literature as well as in various sciences, have 
 made themselves felt separately during the last hundred years, 
 without going far beyond them. By bringing them into con- 
 tact, although not always into uncontradictory relation, Niet- 
 zsche transfers them from mere existence in philosophy, or 
 scientific literature in general, into the sphere of the creed or 
 Weltanschauung of the educated classes, and thus his book 
 becomes capable of influencing the views and strivings of a 
 whole age. His immense rhetorical power and rhapsodic gift 
 give them a stress they scarcely possessed before. His enthu- 
 siasm and energy of thought animate them, and his lyrical 
 talent transforms them into " true poetry " for the believers in 
 them. He makes the freest use of traditional wisdom, of prov- 
 erbs and sayings of poets and philosophers that can easily 
 be traced to their original source, partly by repeating them 
 but slightly altered, partly by transforming them considerably, 
 partly by turning them into their contrary, or even into more 
 than that, by giving them a new point altogether, while keep- 
 ing nine-tenths of their old form. And this close connection 
 with the wisdom of the century gives a person who is well read 
 in German literature of the present century quite a peculiar 
 pleasure in reading the book. It is almost inconceivable that 
 Nietzsche should have gone through the amount of reading 
 which would be necessary to gather all these things from the 
 places in which individual minds had placed them for the first 
 time. A great number of them indeed belong to the treasury
 
 INTRODUCTION XVii 
 
 of quotations familiar to literary men. But even in explaining 
 the knowledge of many of the others a large part will have to 
 be ascribed to oral communication from persons who were 
 probably no longer conscious of the fact that they uttered 
 sayings of others. 
 
 However peculiar a book Thus Spake Zarathustra be, it 
 stands neither in its form nor in its tendencies quite isolated 
 in modern German literature. A similar aim is pursued by the 
 whole Weltanschauungsroman, which since the early seventies 
 of this century has partly taken an historical turn, and has by 
 preference dealt with subjects from periods of history which 
 show the like struggle about religious belief, as the present 
 time. Books like Felix Dahn's prose-poem Odhiris Trost 
 (1880) are very much like Zarathustra in style, form, and 
 general drift of thought, only that much more stress is laid on 
 the story and their purpose is not mainly philosophico-didactic. 
 The philosophy of the Gods and warriors appearing in Dahn's 
 novel, differs little from Zarathustra's wisdom except as regards 
 the extreme individualism of the latter. The lake-dwelling 
 story in Auch Einer by Friedrich Theodor Vischer (1879) 
 shows the same element of travesty as prevails in Zarathustra, 
 and the religious examination of the lake-dwellers' children is 
 based on exactly the same feelings and the same criticism as 
 the Ass-Festival in Nietzsche's book. The tendency of 
 modern German lyrics to prefer free rhythms to rhymed verses 
 based on a regular change of accented and unaccented sylla- 
 bles, spreads far beyond Zarathustra, in which it is mixed with 
 some elements of ancient Greek hymnology. Most of these 
 books, especially those by Dahn, show in some respects a very 
 advanced state of thought, whilst in others they delight in sub- 
 mitting to old fancies and antiquated prejudices. In the same 
 way Zarathustra mixes with the highest knowledge of our time
 
 xviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 bold and unreasonable speculations like the idea of eternal 
 recurrence, according to which all that is has been infinite 
 times before in exactly the same way, and will recur infinitely 
 in future, and Zarathustra boasts to be the first to teach this 
 grand illusion. Indeed at another place he carries his indi- 
 vidualism so far as to counsel people to kill themselves at the 
 right time, in order not to become superfluous on earth. 
 
 Among the numerous intellectual currents which gather in 
 the channel of Thus Spake Zarathustra in order to be con- 
 veyed to the ocean of general cultured, and subsequently 
 popular, opinion, three take a prominent place, the individ- 
 ualistic, the free religious, and the evolutional utilitarian move- 
 ments, the springs of all of which go back to last century. 
 These currents are neither the only ones that flow through 
 Nietzsche's book, nor do they appear clearly separated from 
 other minor tendencies. The first and the third are in more 
 than one respect in opposite directions to each other. Yet 
 they may be said to express the leading motives of the book. 
 
 The greatest German historian of to-day distinguishes three 
 stages in the evolution of mental life, symbolical, conventional, 
 and individual mental life. In Western Europe the period of 
 individual mental life begins with the time of the Reforma- 
 tion, the doctrine of private judgment in matters of belief 
 being its clearest expression. It is only since then that the 
 theory was developed that opinions are free. This field was 
 in the course of time somewhat enlarged, so as to cover other 
 things besides opinion. In political thought the school of 
 Anarchism is an outcome of this idea, and Humboldt, Duno- 
 yer, Stirner, Bakounine, and Auberon Spencer are probably 
 the best-known representatives of these tendencies. Even 
 Herbert Spencer shows traces so marked of this doctrine, 
 that Huxley could name his theory Administrative Nihilism.
 
 INTRODUCTION XIX 
 
 The same tendencies which in political speculation take the 
 form of theoretical anarchism, prevail, to a smaller extent, in 
 modern ethics, in modern philosophy generally, and, perhaps 
 even in larger measure, in modern religious concepts, in which 
 everybody claims the right to build up for himself a Universe 
 of his own. By Huxley this liberty has been sanctified by the 
 name of Agnosticism. 
 
 Nietzsche's mind is as unpolitical as possible. The modern 
 state is for him nothing but a new idol. He does not believe 
 in nations and countries, and is indifferent about any special 
 form of Government, except that he hates from the bottom of 
 his soul democracy as the depth of decadence. In his eyes 
 the teachers of equality are tarantulas, and Huxley's essay On 
 the Natural Inequality of Men would have delighted him. 
 But he pays no special attention to political and social ques- 
 tions. The competition of nations for the surface of the earth 
 is neglected by him entirely, and his few speculations about a 
 further evolution of larger groups of individuals suffer seriously 
 from his apathy towards everything called social. He deals 
 with men almost exclusively as individuals, and has beautiful 
 words on man's moral self-education, on friendship, and on 
 love, but none for labour and its reward. For him the 
 struggle for existence is not the source of all power and 
 efficiency. His ideal is the lonely philosopher, the creator, 
 as he calls him ; and in what he demands from man in this 
 respect he has scarcely been surpassed. 
 
 When, about the middle of last century, Lessing and Reima- 
 rus had considerably shaken the position of theoretical church 
 doctrines, it did not take long, till, under the influence of the 
 French encyclopaedists, attempts were made to replace them 
 by altogether different concepts. Wieland's philosophical 
 novels and part of Goethe's prose writings led the way.
 
 XX INTRODUCTION 
 
 Then in the nineteenth century a whole literature bearing on 
 the subject arose. Ludwig Feuerbach, Karl Gutzkow, Hein- 
 rich Heine, David Strauss, F. Th. Vischer, Eduard von Hart- 
 mann, and Felix Dahn are its principal representatives. And 
 Ludwig Feuerbach has given this free religious movement a 
 motto by the saying : " God was my first, Reason my second, 
 and Man my third and last thought. Man alone is and must 
 be our God. No salvation outside of Man." The same idea 
 which made James Cotter Morrison writing on the decrease of 
 religious influence and the increase of morality title his book : 
 Service of Man, in opposition to the Service of God preached 
 by the churches all over the world, is at the root of that Ger- 
 man movement, the most prominent representative of which 
 in modern Germany is Friedrich Nietzsche. His Zarathustra 
 deals with the latest phases of the belief in God. In many 
 respects he adopts the same attitude as Heinrich Heine, but 
 his criticism of Christianity is most akin to that of perhaps the 
 freest spirit of modern Germany, Karl Gutzkow, whose foot- 
 steps he follows. 
 
 The connection between natural science and literature has 
 always, in Germany as elsewhere, been very loose. True, 
 Albrecht von Haller made some attempts to bring them into 
 contact, and Goethe tried to attain the same end in his Wahl- 
 venvandtschaften and in other writings : up to the present time 
 the world has no literature which has taken into itself even the 
 most important knowledge which natural science regards as 
 definitively fixed ; and the literary historian who would take up 
 as his subject a history of the conversations on Darwinism 
 occurring in modern novels would produce a most astounding 
 book that could not fail to make any scientist laugh in his 
 most melancholy hours. Yet there are certain parallel devel- 
 opments in literature and science which by no means lack
 
 INTRODUCTION XXI 
 
 significance ; and the history of modern evolutional utilitarian- 
 ism in ethics is perhaps the most astonishing among them. If 
 it was the last goal of mediaeval ethical speculation to find the 
 way to heaven by fulfilling the commandments of God, another 
 goal was, after the sixteenth century, set up the goal of so- 
 called eudaemonistic utilitarianism. It was to be reached by 
 furtherance of the happiness of one's fellowmen. But before 
 it was, in this century, called by Bentham the greatest possible 
 happiness of the greatest possible number, or the maximisation 
 of happiness, it had, in German philosophy and literature been 
 superseded by another goal, which is usually called the goal 
 of Perfectionism. Under the influence of Greek antiquity it 
 had become the aim of the educated man to work out his own 
 perfection in every respect. Leibniz is the most important 
 representative of that school, which, in the course of the eigh- 
 teenth century, borrowed a whole phraseology from the world 
 of art. It was Goethe, who, after the model of the French 
 phrases former le cceur and former r esprit, coined the new 
 word Bildung which later on became identical partly with 
 culture and partly with education. He is probably the most 
 pronounced perfectionist who has ever lived. Early in his 
 youth he called his Faust a Beyond- Man, an Uebermensch. 
 His aim it was to make his own life a great work of art. And 
 yet in Wilhehn Meister's Wanderjahren he stands at the 
 threshold of a new phase in the evolution of individual perfec- 
 tionism, of the phase of racial perfectionism. This phase was 
 opened by Prince Piickler-Muskau, who was the first to lay 
 before his contemporaries the idea of leading the human race 
 to a higher perfection by means of artificial selection, after the 
 model of the breeder of animals and the father of Frederic 
 the Great, who is said to have married by preference his tallest 
 grenadiers to tall ladies in order to beget a still taller offspring.
 
 XXli INTRODUCTION 
 
 Prince Puckler-Muskau, however, was scarcely taken seriously, 
 and even when Wilhelm Jordan took up the idea in his Demi- 
 urgos of 1854 and Radenhausen in his book Isis, Man and 
 World, scarcely anybody thought of its far-reaching impor- 
 tance. It was only after Darwin had in his Origin of Species 
 of 1859 placed the whole idea of evolution on a scientific basis, 
 that the same poet Wilhelm Jordan could celebrate in his epos 
 Die Nibdunge the higher bodily and intellectual development 
 of the human race as the great goal of humanity, and the 
 centre of ethical obligations. He connected it with patriarchal 
 matrimonial institutions, and made it the point of view from 
 which his heroes select wives for their sons. Although clearly 
 pronounced in at least twenty passages of that epic, it failed 
 to attract public sympathy for a considerable time, and only 
 after Nietzsche (who follows Jordan closely in all details) 
 had taken up the idea and made it almost the leading motive 
 of his Zarathustra, did it impress itself upon large circles of the 
 educated youth. And it is Nietzsche's undeniable merit to 
 have led this new moral ideal to a complete victory, so that 
 from his writings it rapidly spread over German lyrics and epic 
 poetry. 
 
 Nietzsche himself tells us that the fundamental idea of his 
 Zarathustra originated in August 1881 in the Engadine. The 
 composition of the work extended over about two years. The 
 First Part was written in January and February 1883 near 
 Genoa ; the Second Part in Sils Maria in June and July of the 
 same year ; the Third Part in the following winter at Nice, and 
 the Fourth Part from November 1884 till February 1885 at 
 Mentone. The Fourth Part, which was then not intended to 
 be the last, but rather an Interlude of the whole poem, was 
 never published by Nietzsche, but merely printed for private 
 circulation among a few friends. It was not publicly issued till
 
 INTRODUCTION XX111 
 
 after the outbreak of Nietzsche's illness, in March 1892, so that 
 the whole of Zarathustra, containing all four parts, appeared no 
 earlier than July 1892, since which time it has gone through 
 several editions. 
 
 The aim of the present translation has been to give the 
 meaning of the German text as exactly as could be done. 
 Where several interpretations of words or sentences were pos- 
 sible, as is rather frequently the case, that interpretation was 
 chosen which seemed to agree best with the context, although 
 the decision of this question is in many cases quite arbitrary. 
 For the few facts regarding the composition of Thus Spake 
 Zarathustra the editor is obliged to Dr. Fritz Koegel's Nach- 
 bcricht to Vol. VI of the German edition. 
 
 ALEXANDER TILLE.
 
 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA
 
 FIRST PART
 
 ZARATHUSTRA'S INTRODUCTORY SPEECH 
 ON BEYOND-MAN AND THE LAST MAN
 
 Having attained the age of thirty Zarathustra left 
 his home and the lake of his home and went into the 
 mountains. There he rejoiced in his spirit and his 
 loneliness and, for ten years, did not grow weary of 
 it. But at last his heart turned, one morning he 
 got up with the dawn, stepped into the presence of 
 the Sun and thus spake unto him : 
 
 "Thou great star! What would be thy happiness, 
 were it not for those for whom thou shinest. 
 
 For ten years thou hast come up here to my cave. 
 Thou wouldst have got sick of thy light and thy jour- 
 ney but for me, mine eagle, and my serpent. 
 
 But we waited for thee every morning and, receiv- 
 ing from thee thine abundance, blessed thee for it. 
 
 Lo ! I am weary of my wisdom, like the bee that 
 hath collected too much honey; I need hands reaching 
 out for it. 
 
 I would fain grant and distribute until the wise 
 among men could once more enjoy their folly, and 
 the poor once more their riches. 
 
 For that end I must descend to the depth : as 
 thou dost at even, when, sinking behind the sea, 
 
 B I
 
 2 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 thou givest light to the lower regions, thou resplendent 
 star! 
 
 I must, like thee, go down, as men say men to 
 whom I would descend. 
 
 Then bless me, thou impassive eye that canst look 
 without envy even upon over-much happiness! 
 
 Bless the cup which is about to overflow so that 
 the water golden-flowing out of it may carry every- 
 where the reflection of thy rapture. 
 
 Lo! this cup is about to empty itself again, and 
 Zarathustra will once more become a man." 
 
 Thus Zarathustra's going down began. 
 
 Zarathustra stepped down the mountains alone and 
 met with nobody. But when he reached the woods, 
 suddenly there stood in front of him an old man who 
 had left his hermitage to seek roots in the forest. 
 And thus the old man spake unto Zarathustra: 
 
 "No stranger to me is the wanderer : many years 
 ago he passed here. Zarathustra was his name; but 
 he hath changed. 
 
 Then thou carriedst thine ashes to the mountains: 
 wilt thou to-day carry thy fire to the valleys? Dost 
 thou not fear the incendiary's doom? 
 
 Yea, I know Zarathustra again. Pure is his eye, 
 nor doth any loathsomeness lurk about his mouth. 
 Doth he not skip along like a dancer?
 
 ZARATHUSTRA S INTRODUCTORY SPEECH 3 
 
 Changed is Zarathustra, a child Zarathustra became, 
 awake is Zarathustra : what art thou going to do among 
 those who sleep ? 
 
 As in the sea thou livedst in loneliness, and wert 
 borne by the sea. Alas ! art thou now going to walk 
 on the land ? Alas, art thou going to drag thy body 
 thyself ? " 
 
 Zarathustra answered : " I love men." 
 
 " Why," said the saint, " did I go to the forest and 
 desert? Was it not because I loved men greatly 
 over-much ? 
 
 Now I love God : men I love not. Man is a thing 
 far too imperfect for me. Love of men would kill me." 
 
 Zarathustra answered : " What did I say of love ! 
 I am bringing gifts to men." 
 
 " Do not give them anything," said the saint. 
 " Rather take something from them and bear their 
 burden along with them that will serve them best: 
 if it only serve thyself well ! 
 
 And if thou art going to give them aught, give 
 them no more than an alms, and let them beg even 
 for that." 
 
 " No," said Zarathustra, "I do not give 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 suspicious of hermits and do not believe that we 
 are coming in order to give.
 
 4 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 In their ears our steps sound too lonely through 
 the streets. And just when during the night in their 
 beds they hear a man going long before sunrise 
 they sometimes ask : whither goeth that thief ? 
 
 Go not to men, but tarry in the forest! Rather 
 go to the animals ! Why wilt thou not be like me, 
 a bear among bears, a bird among birds ? " 
 
 " And what doth the saint in the forest ? " asked 
 Zarathustra. 
 
 The saint answered : " I make songs and sing 
 them, and making songs I laugh, cry, and hum : I 
 praise God thus. 
 
 With singing, crying, laughing, and humming I 
 praise that God who is my God. But what gift 
 bringest thou to us ? " 
 
 Having heard these words Zarathustra bowed to 
 the saint and said : " What could I give to you ! 
 But let me off quickly, lest I take aught from you." 
 And thus they parted from each other, the old 
 man and the man like two boys laughing. 
 
 When Zarathustra was alone, however, he spake 
 thus unto his heart : " Can it actually be possible ! 
 This old saint in his forest hath not yet heard aught 
 of God being dead ! ' ' 
 
 3 
 
 Arriving at the next town which lieth nigh the 
 forests Zarathustra found there many folk gathered in
 
 ZARATHUSTRA S INTRODUCTORY SPEECH 5 
 
 the market; for a performance had been promised by 
 a rope-dancer. And Zarathustra thus spake unto the 
 folk: 
 
 " I teach you beyond-man. Man is a something that 
 shall be surpassed. What have ye done to surpass 
 him ? 
 
 All beings hitherto have created something beyond 
 themselves : and are ye going to be the ebb of this 
 great tide and rather revert to the animal than surpass 
 man? 
 
 What with man is the ape ? A joke or a sore 
 shame. Man shall be the same for beyond-man, a 
 joke or a sore shame. 
 
 Ye have made your way from worm to man, and 
 much within you is still worm. Once ye were apes, 
 even now man is ape in a higher degree than any ape. 
 
 He who is the wisest among you is but a discord 
 and hybrid of plant and ghost. But do I order you 
 to become ghosts or plants ? 
 
 Behold, I teach you beyond-man ! 
 
 Beyond-man is the significance of earth. Your will 
 shall say : beyond-man shall be the significance of 
 earth. 
 
 I conjure you, my brethren, remain faithful to earth 
 and do not believe those who speak unto you of 
 superterrestrial hopes ! Poisoners they are whether 
 they know it or not. 
 
 Despisers of life they are, decaying and themselves
 
 6 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 poisoned, of whom earth is weary : begone with 
 them ! 
 
 Once the offence against God was the greatest 
 offence, but God died, so that these offenders died 
 also. Now the most terrible of things is to offend 
 earth and rate the intestines of the inscrutable one 
 higher than the significance of earth! 
 
 Once soul looked contemptuously upon body; that 
 contempt then being the highest ideal : soul wished 
 the body meagre, hideous, starved. Thus soul thought 
 it could escape body and earth. 
 
 Oh ! that soul was itself meagre, hideous, starved : 
 cruelty was the lust of that soul! 
 
 But ye also, my brethren, speak : what telleth your 
 body of your soul ? Is your soul not poverty and dirt 
 and a miserable ease ? 
 
 Verily, a muddy stream is man. One must be a 
 sea to be able to receive a muddy stream without 
 becoming unclean. 
 
 Behold, I teach you beyond-man : he is that sea, in 
 him your great contempt can sink. 
 
 What is the greatest thing ye can experience? 
 That is the hour of great contempt. The hour in 
 which not only your happiness, but your reason and 
 virtue as well turn loathsome. 
 
 The hour in which ye say: 'What is my happiness 
 worth ! It is poverty and dirt and a miserable ease. 
 But my happiness should itself justify existence ! '
 
 ZARATHUSTRA S INTRODUCTORY SPEECH J 
 
 The hour in which ye say : ' What is my reason 
 worth ! Longeth it for knowledge as a lion for its 
 food ? It is poverty and dirt and a miserable ease.' 
 
 The hour in which ye say : ' What is my virtue 
 worth ! It hath not yet lashed me into rage. How 
 tired I am of my good and mine evil ! All that is 
 poverty and dirt and a miserable ease ! ' 
 
 The hour in which ye say: 'What is my justice 
 worth ! I do not see that I am flame and fuel. But 
 the just one is flame and fuel ! ' 
 
 The hour in which ye say : ' What is my pity 
 worth ! Is pity not the cross to which he is being 
 nailed who loveth men ? But my pity is no crucifixion.' 
 
 Spake ye ever like that ? Cried ye ever like that ? 
 Alas ! would that I had heard you cry like that ! 
 
 Not your sin, your moderation crieth unto heaven, 
 your miserliness in sin even crieth unto heaven ! 
 
 Where is the lightning to lick you with its tongue ? 
 Where is that insanity with which ye ought to be 
 inoculated ? 
 
 Behold ! I teach you beyond-man : he is that light- 
 ning, he is that insanity ! " 
 
 Zarathustra having spoken thus one of the folk 
 shouted : " We have heard enough of the rope-dancer ; 
 let us see him now ! " And all the folk laughed at 
 Zarathustra. The rope-dancer, however, who thought 
 he was meant by that word started with his perform- 
 ance.
 
 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 4 
 
 But Zarathustra looked at the folk and wondered. 
 Then he spake thus : 
 
 " Man is a rope connecting animal and beyond- 
 man, a rope over a precipice. 
 
 Dangerous over, dangerous on-the-way, dangerous 
 looking backward, dangerous shivering and making a 
 stand. 
 
 What is great in man is that he is a bridge and 
 not a goal : what can be loved in man is that he is 
 a transition and a destruction. 
 
 I love those who do not know how to live unless 
 in perishing, for they are those going beyond. 
 
 I love the great despisers because they are the 
 great adorers, they are arrows of longing for the 
 other shore. 
 
 I love those who do not seek behind the stars for 
 a reason to perish and be sacrificed, but who sacrifice 
 themselves to earth in order that earth may some day 
 become beyond-man's. 
 
 I love him who liveth to perceive, and who is long- 
 ing for perception in order that some day beyond-man 
 may live. And thus he willeth his own destruction. 
 
 I love him who worketh and inventeth to build a 
 house for beyond-man and make ready for him earth, 
 animal, and plant; for thus he willeth his own de- 
 struction.
 
 ZARATHUSTRA S INTRODUCTORY SPEECH 9 
 
 I love him who loveth his virtue : for virtue is 
 will to destruction and an arrow of longing. 
 
 I love him who keepeth no drop of spirit for him- 
 self, but willeth to be entirely the spirit of his virtue : 
 thus as a spirit crosseth he the bridge. 
 
 I love him who maketh his virtue his inclination 
 and his fate : thus for the sake of his virtue he 
 willeth to live longer and live no more. 
 
 I love him who yearneth not after too many 
 virtues. One virtue is more than two because it 
 is so much the more a knot on which to hang 
 fate. 
 
 I love him whose soul wasteth itself, who neither 
 wanteth thanks nor returneth aught : for he always 
 giveth and seeketh nothing to keep of himself. 
 
 I love him who is ashamed when the dice are 
 thrown in his favour and who then asketh : am I a 
 cheat in playing? for he desireth to perish. 
 
 I love him who streweth golden words before his 
 deeds and perf ormeth still more than his promise ; for 
 he seeketh his own destruction. 
 
 I love him who justifieth the future ones and 
 saveth the past ones; for he seeketh to perish on 
 account of the present ones. 
 
 I love him who chastiseth his God because he 
 loveth his God ; for he must perish on account of 
 the wrath of his God. 
 
 I love him whose soul is deep even when wounded
 
 IO THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 and who can perish even on account of a small 
 affair; for he gladly crosseth the bridge. 
 
 I love him whose soul is over-full so that he for- 
 getteth himself and all things are within him : thus 
 all things become his destruction. 
 
 I love him who is of a free spirit and of a free 
 heart : thus his head is merely the intestine of his 
 heart, but his heart driveth him to destruction. 
 
 I love all those who are like heavy drops falling 
 one by one from the dark cloud lowering over men : 
 they announce the coming of the lightning and perish 
 in the announcing. 
 
 Behold, I am an announcer of the lightning and 
 a heavy drop from the clouds : that lightning's name 
 is beyond-man" 
 
 5 
 
 Having spoken these words Zarathustra again looked 
 at the folk and was silent. "There they are stand- 
 ing," he said unto his heart, "there they are laugh- 
 ing : they do not understand me, I am not the mouth 
 for these ears. 
 
 Must they needs have their ears beaten to pieces 
 before they will learn to hear with their eyes ? Must 
 one rattle like a kettledrum and a fast-day-preacher ? 
 Or do they only believe stammerers ? 
 
 They have got something to be proud of. How 
 name they what maketh them proud ? Education
 
 ZARATHUSTRA S INTRODUCTORY SPEECH 1 1 
 
 they name it; it distinguishes them from the goat- 
 herds. 
 
 Wherefore they like not to hear the word contempt 
 used of themselves. Thus I am going to speak unto 
 their pride. 
 
 Thus I am going to speak unto them of the most 
 contemptible : that is of the last man," 
 
 And thus Zarathustra spake unto the folk : 
 
 " It is time for man to mark out his goal. It is 
 time for man to plant the germ of his highest hope. 
 
 His soil is still rich enough for that purpose. But 
 one day that soil will be impoverished and tame, no 
 high tree being any longer able to grow from it. 
 
 Alas ! the time cometh when man will no longer 
 throw the arrow of his longing beyond man and the 
 string of his bow will have lost the cunning to 
 whizz ! 
 
 I tell you : one must have chaos within to enable 
 one to give birth to a dancing star. I tell you : ye 
 have still got chaos within. 
 
 Alas ! the time cometh when man will no longer 
 give birth to any star ! Alas ! There cometh the 
 time of the most contemptible man who can no 
 longer despise himself. 
 
 Behold ! I show you the last man. 
 
 ' What is love ? What is creation ? What is long- 
 ing ? What is star ? ' thus the last man asketh 
 blinking.
 
 12 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 Then earth will have become small, and on it the 
 last man will be hopping who maketh everything 
 small. His kind is indestructible like the ground- 
 flea; the last man liveth longest. 
 
 ' We have invented happiness ' the last men say 
 blinking. 
 
 They have left the regions where it was hard to 
 live, for one must have warmth. One still loveth 
 his neighbour and rubbeth one's self on him ; for 
 warmth one must have. 
 
 To turn sick and to have suspicion are regarded 
 as sinful. They walk wearily. A fool he who still 
 stumbleth over stones or men. 
 
 A little poison now and then : that causeth pleasant 
 dreams. And much poison at last for an easy death. 
 
 They still work, for work is an entertainment. 
 But they are careful, lest the entertainment exhaust 
 them. 
 
 They no longer grow poor and rich ; it is too trouble- 
 some to do either. No herdsman and one flock ! 
 Each willeth the same, each is equal : he who feel- 
 eth otherwise voluntarily goeth into a lunatic asylum. 
 
 ' Once all the world was lunatic ' the most 
 refined say blinking. 
 
 One is clever and knoweth whatever has happened 
 so that there is no end of mocking. They still quar- 
 rel, but they are soon reconciled otherwise the 
 stomach would turn.
 
 ZARATHUSTRA S INTRODUCTORY SPEECH 13 
 
 One hath one's little lust for the day and one's little 
 lust for the night : but one honoureth health. 
 
 ' We have invented happiness ' the last men say 
 blinking." 
 
 And here ended Zarathustra's first speech which 
 is also called " the introductory speech " : for in that 
 moment the shouting and merriment of the folk inter- 
 rupted him. "Give us that last man, O Zarathustra" 
 thus they bawled "make us that last man! We 
 gladly renounce beyond-man ! " And all the folk 
 cheered smacking with the tongue. But Zarathustra 
 sadly said unto his heart : 
 
 " They understand me not : I am not the mouth 
 for these ears. 
 
 I suppose I lived too long in the mountains listen- 
 ing too much to brooks and trees : now for them my 
 speech is like that of goat-herds. 
 
 Unmoved is my soul and bright like the mountains 
 in the morning. But they deem me cold and a mocker 
 with terrible jokes. 
 
 And now they look at me and laugh : and while they 
 laugh they hate me. There is ice in their laughter." 
 
 Then a thing happened which silenced every mouth 
 and fixed every eye. For in the meantime the rope- 
 dancer had begun his performance : he had stepped 
 out of the little door and walked along the rope that
 
 14 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 was stretched between two towers so that it hung 
 over the market and the folk. When he was just 
 midway the little door opened again and a gay-coloured 
 fellow like a clown jumped out and walked with quick 
 steps after the first. " Go on, lame-leg," his terrible 
 voice shouted, " go on, slow-step, smuggler, pale-face ! 
 That I may not tickle thee with my heel ! What dost 
 thou here between towers ? Thy place is in the tower. 
 Thou shouldst be imprisoned. Thou barrest the free 
 course to one who is better than thou art ! " And 
 with each word the clown drew nearer and nearer : 
 but when he was just one step behind the terrible 
 thing happened, which silenced every mouth and 
 fixed every eye : uttering a cry like a devil he 
 jumped over him who was in his way. The latter 
 seeing his rival conquer, lost his head and the rope; 
 throwing down his stick he shot down quicker than 
 it, like a whirl of arms and legs. The market and 
 the folk were as the sea when the storm rusheth 
 over it : everybody fled tumbling one over the other, 
 and most there where the body was to strike the 
 ground. 
 
 Zarathustra remained standing there and the body 
 fell down just beside him, badly disfigured and broken, 
 but not dead. After a while the consciousness of 
 the fallen one coming back he saw Zarathustra kneel 
 beside him. "What art thou doing there ?" he asked 
 at last, " I knew it long ago that the devil would play
 
 ZARATHUSTRA S INTRODUCTORY SPEECH 15 
 
 me a trick. Now he draggeth me unto hell : art thou 
 going to hinder him ? " 
 
 " On my honour, friend," Zarathustra answered, 
 "what thou speakest of doth not exist: there is no 
 devil nor hell. Thy soul will be dead even sooner 
 than thy body : henceforward fear nothing." 
 
 The man looked up suspiciously : " If thou speakest 
 truth," he said, "losing my life I lose nothing. Then 
 I am not much more than an animal which by means 
 of blows and titbits hath been taught to dance." 
 
 " Not so," Zarathustra said ; " thou hast made 
 danger thy calling, there is nothing contemptible in 
 that. Now thou diest of thy calling : therefore shall I 
 bury thee with mine own hands." 
 
 Zarathustra having said thus the dying one made 
 no answer, but moved his hand as though he sought 
 Zarathustra's to thank him. 
 
 7 
 
 Meanwhile the evening fell, and the market was 
 hidden in darkness : the folk dispersed, for even curi- 
 osity and terror grow tired. Zarathustra, however, sat 
 beside the dead man on the ground absorbed in 
 thought forgetting the time. But at last it was night, 
 and a cold wind blew over the lonely one. Then 
 Zarathustra rising said unto his heart : 
 
 " Verily, a fine fishing was Zarathustra's to-day ! It 
 was not a man he caught, but a corpse.
 
 l6 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 Haunted is human life and yet meaningless : a 
 buffoon may be fatal to it. 
 
 I am going to teach men their life's significance : 
 which is beyond-man, the lightning from the dark 
 cloud of man. 
 
 But still I am remote from them, my sense speaketh 
 not to their sense. For men I am still a cross between 
 a fool and a corpse. 
 
 Dark is the night, dark are Zarathustra's ways. 
 Come on, thou cold and stiff companion ! I carry 
 thee to the place where I shall bury thee with my 
 hands." 
 
 8 
 
 Having said thus unto his heart Zarathustra took 
 the corpse on his back and started on his way. When 
 he had not yet gone a hundred steps, somebody steal- 
 ing close to him whispered into his ear and lo ! the 
 speaker was the buffoon from the tower. " Depart 
 from this town, O Zarathustra," he said; "too many 
 hate thee here. There hate thee the good and just 
 ones, and they call thee their enemy and despiser; 
 there hate thee the faithful of the right belief, and 
 they call thee a danger for the many. It was thy good 
 fortune to be laughed at : and, verily, thou spakest 
 like a buffoon. It was thy good fortune to associ- 
 ate with the dead dog; by thus humiliating thyself 
 thou hast saved thyself to-day. But depart from this
 
 ZARATHUSTRA S INTRODUCTORY SPEECH I/ 
 
 town or to-morrow I jump over thee, a living 
 over a dead one." Having so said the man dis- 
 appeared, whilst Zarathustra went on through the 
 dark lanes. 
 
 At the gate of the town he met the grave-diggers. 
 They flared their torch in his face and recognising 
 Zarathustra mocked him. " Zarathustra is carrying off 
 the dead dog : well that Zarathustra hath turned grave- 
 digger! For our hands are too clean for this roast. 
 Perhaps Zarathustra means to steal from the devil 
 his bite ? Go on ! And much luck to the din- 
 ner! We are afraid the devil will be a better thief 
 than Zarathustra ! he stealeth both of them, he 
 eateth both ! " And putting their heads together 
 they laughed. 
 
 Zarathustra saying no word in answer went his 
 way. Journeying two hours through forests and 
 swamps, he heard the hungry howling of the wolves 
 and felt hungry himself. So he stopped at a lonely 
 house in which a light was burning. 
 
 " Hunger surpriseth me," said Zarathustra, " like a 
 robber. Amid forests and swamps in the depth of 
 the night my hunger surpriseth me. 
 
 My hunger hath odd fancies. Frequently it appear- 
 eth only after dinner, and to-day it did not appear all 
 day : where was it ? " 
 
 And then Zarathustra knocked at the door of the 
 house. Very soon an old man came carrying a 
 c
 
 18 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 candle and asking : " Who cometh to me and mine 
 evil sleep ? " 
 
 "A living and a dead one," replied Zarathustra. 
 " Give me to eat and to drink, I forgot it in the day- 
 time. He who feedeth the hungry refresheth his 
 own soul ; thus saith wisdom." 
 
 The old man having gone off returned immediately 
 offering Zarathustra bread and wine. "This is a 
 bad quarter for hungry people," said he; "that is 
 why I am staying here. Animal and man come to 
 me, the hermit. But ask also thy companion to eat 
 and drink ; he is much more tired than thou art." 
 Zarathustra answered : " Dead is my companion ; I 
 shall scarcely persuade him to do so." "That is no 
 reason with me," said the old man crossly; "he who 
 knocketh at my house must take whatever I offer 
 him. Eat and farewell ! " 
 
 Then Zarathustra walked two more hours and 
 trusted the road and the light of the stars ; for he 
 was accustomed to walk by night and liked to look 
 into the face of all things asleep. But when the 
 morning dawned Zarathustra found himself in a deep 
 forest with no road visible. Then he laid the dead 
 one in a hollow tree at his own head for he wished 
 to defend him from the wolves and he laid him- 
 self down on the ground and moss. And at once he 
 fell asleep, with his body tired, but with his soul 
 unmoved,
 
 ZARATHUSTRA S INTRODUCTORY SPEECH 19 
 
 9 
 
 Long slept Zarathustra, not only the dawn passing 
 over his face, but the morning also. At last, however, 
 his eye opened : astonished Zarathustra looked into 
 the forest and the stillness, astonished he looked into 
 himself. Then quickly rising, like a mariner who sud- 
 denly seeth land, he exulted : for he saw a new truth. 
 And thus he then spake unto his heart : 
 
 " A light hath arisen for me : companions I need, 
 and living ones, not dead companions or corpses 
 which I carry with me wherever I go. 
 
 But living companions I need who follow me be- 
 cause they wish to follow themselves and to the 
 place whither I wish to go. 
 
 A light hath arisen for me : Zarathustra is not to 
 speak unto the folk, but unto companions ! Zarathus- 
 tra is not to be the herdsman and dog of a herd! 
 
 To entice many from the herd that is why I have 
 come. Folk and herd will be angry with me : a robber 
 Zarathustra wisheth to be called by herdsmen. 
 
 Herdsmen I call them, but they call themselves 
 the good and just. Herdsmen I call them, but they 
 call themselves the faithful of the right belief. 
 
 Lo, the good and just! Whom do they hate most? 
 Him who breaketh to pieces their tables of values, 
 the breaker, the criminal : but he is the creator. 
 
 Lo, the faithful of all beliefs ! Whom do they hate
 
 2O THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 most? Him who breaketh to pieces their tables of 
 values, the breaker, the criminal : but he is the , 
 creator. 
 
 Companions the creator seeketh and not corpses, 
 neither herds nor faithful men. Such as will be 
 creators with him the creator seeketh, those who 
 write new values on new tables. 
 
 Companions the creator seeketh, and such as will 
 reap with him : for with him everything is ripe for 
 harvest. But he lacketh the hundred sickles so that 
 he teareth up the ears and is angry. 
 
 Companions the creator seeketh, and such as know 
 how to whet their sickles. Destroyers they will be 
 called and despisers of good and evil. But they are 
 those who reap and cease from labour. 
 
 Such as will be creators with him Zarathustra 
 seeketh, such as reap with him and cease from labour 
 with him : what hath he to do with herds and herds- 
 men and corpses ! 
 
 And thou, my first companion, farewell ! Well I 
 buried thee in thy hollow tree, well I hid thee from 
 the wolves. 
 
 But I part from thee, the time is past. Between 
 dawn and dawn a new truth hath revealed itself to 
 me. 
 
 I am not to be a herdsman not yet a grave-digger. 
 I am not even to speak unto the folk again. I have 
 spoken unto a dead one for the last time.
 
 ZARATHUSTRA S INTRODUCTORY SPEECH 21 
 
 Those who are creators, who reap, who cease from 
 labour I shall associate with. I shall show them the 
 rainbow and all the degrees of beyond-man. 
 
 I shall sing my song unto the hermits and those 
 who are hermits in pairs. And the heart of him who 
 hath ears for unheard things I shall make heavy 
 with my happiness. 
 
 Towards my goal I struggle, mine own way I go; 
 I shall overleap those who hesitate and delay. Let 
 my way be their destruction ! " 
 
 10 
 
 Having said thus unto his heart when the sun was 
 at noon Zarathustra suddenly looked upwards won- 
 dering for above himself he heard the sharp cry of 
 a bird. And lo ! an eagle swept through the air 
 in wide circles, a serpent hanging from it not like a 
 prey, but like a friend : coiling round its neck. 
 
 "They are mine animals," said Zarathustra, and 
 rejoiced heartily. 
 
 "The proudest animal under the sun, and the 
 wisest animal under the sun have set out to recon- 
 noitre. 
 
 They wished to learn whether Zarathustra still 
 liveth. Verily, do I still live ? 
 
 More dangerous than among animals I found it 
 among men. Dangerous ways are taken by Zara- 
 thustra. Let mine animals lead me ! "
 
 22 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 Having so said Zarathustra thought of the words 
 of the saint in the forest and sighing he thus spake 
 unto his heart : 
 
 "Would I were wiser! Would I were wise from 
 the root like my serpent! 
 
 But I ask impossibilities. I ask my pride to be 
 always the companion of my wisdom. 
 
 And when once my wisdom leaveth me : alas ! it 
 liketh to fly away ! Would that my pride would then 
 fly with my folly ! " 
 
 Thus began Zarathustra' s down-going.
 
 ZARATHUSTRA'S SPEECHES
 
 OF THE THREE METAMORPHOSES 
 
 "Three metamorphoses of the spirit I declare unto 
 you : how the spirit becometh a camel, the camel a 
 lion, and the lion at last a child. 
 
 There are many things heavy for the spirit, the 
 strong spirit which is able to bear the load and in 
 which reverence dwelleth : its strength longeth for 
 the heavy and heaviest. 
 
 What is heavy ? asketh the spirit which is able to 
 bear the load, and kneeling down like a camel wish- 
 eth to be well-laden. 
 
 What is the heaviest, ye heroes ? asketh the spirit 
 which is able to bear the load, that I may take it 
 on me and rejoice in my strength. 
 
 Is it not : to humiliate one's self in order to give 
 pain to one's haughtiness ? To show forth one's 
 folly in order to mock at one's wisdom ? 
 
 Or is it : to part from our cause when it is cele- 
 brating its victory ? To ascend high mountains in 
 order to tempt the tempter ? 
 
 Or is it: to live on the acorns and grass of know- 
 ledge and to starve one's soul for the sake of truth ? 
 
 Or is it : to be ill and send away the consolers 
 
 2 5
 
 26 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 and make friends of deaf people who never hear 
 thy wishes ? 
 
 Or is it : to step into dirty water, if it be the 
 water of truth, and not drive away the cold frogs 
 and hot toads? 
 
 Or is it : to love those who despise us and to shake 
 hands with the ghost when it is going to terrify us ? 
 
 All these heaviest things are taken upon itself by 
 the spirit that is able to bear the load; like the 
 camel which when it is laden hasteth to the desert, 
 the spirit hasteth to its own desert. 
 
 In the loneliest desert however cometh the second 
 metamorphosis : there the spirit becometh a lion. 
 Freedom it will take as its prey and be lord in its 
 own desert. 
 
 There it seeketh its last lord: to him and its last 
 God it seeketh to be a foe, with the great dragon 
 it seeketh to contend for victory. 
 
 What is the great dragon which the spirit is no 
 longer willing to call lord and God ? ' Thou shalt ' 
 is the name of" the great dragon. But the lion's 
 spirit saith : ' I will.' 
 
 'Thou shalt' besets his way glittering with gold, 
 a pangolin, on each scale there shineth golden 
 'Thou shalt.' 
 
 Values a thousand years old are shining on these 
 scales, and thus saith the most powerful of all drag- 
 ons : ' The value of all things is shining on me.
 
 OF THE THREE METAMORPHOSES 27 
 
 All value hath been created, and all value created 
 that is I. Verily, there shall be no more "I will." ' 
 Thus saith the dragon. 
 
 My brethren, wherefore is the lion in the spirit 
 necessary ? Wherefore doth the beast of burden that 
 renounceth and is reverent not suffice ? 
 
 To create new values that even the lion is not 
 able to do : but to create for itself freedom for new 
 creating, for that the lion's power is enough. 
 
 To create for one's self freedom and a holy Nay 
 even towards duty: therefore, my brethren, the lion 
 is required. 
 
 To take for one's self the right to new values that 
 is the most terrible taking for a spirit able to bear the 
 load and reverent. Indeed, for it a preying it is and 
 the work of a beast of prey. 
 
 As its holiest it once loved ' thou shalt ' : now it 
 must find illusion and arbitrariness even in the holiest, 
 in order to prey for itself freedom from its love : the 
 lion is required for that preying. 
 
 But tell me, my brethren, what can the child do 
 which not even the lion could ? Why must the prey- 
 ing lion become a child also ? 
 
 The child is innocence and oblivion, a new starting, 
 a play, a wheel rolling by itself, a prime motor, a holy 
 asserting. 
 
 Ay, for the play of creating, my brethren, a holy 
 asserting is wanted : it is its own will that the spirit
 
 28 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 now willeth, it is its own world that the recluse win- 
 neth for himself. 
 
 Three metamorphoses of the spirit I declare unto 
 you : how the spirit becometh a camel, the camel a 
 lion, and the lion at last a child." 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra when he stayed in the 
 town which is called : The Cow of Many Colours.
 
 OF THE CHAIRS OF VIRTUE 
 
 Some one praised a wise man to Zarathustra be- 
 cause he was said to speak well of sleep and virtue 
 and therefore to be very much honoured and re- 
 warded. All young men were said to sit before his 
 chair. Zarathustra went to him and sat among all 
 the young men before his chair. And thus spake the 
 wise man : 
 
 " Honour and shame to sleep ! That is the first 
 thing. And to go out of the way of all who sleep 
 badly and are awake in the night! 
 
 Even the thief is ashamed to disturb sleep : he al- 
 ways stealeth gently through the night. But shame- 
 less is the watchman of the night, shamelessly he 
 weareth his horn. 
 
 Sleeping is no small art : for that purpose one need- 
 eth firstly to keep awake all day. 
 
 Ten times a day thou must conquer thyself : that 
 giveth a wholesome weariness and is poppy for the 
 soul. 
 
 Ten times thou must reconcile thyself with thyself ; 
 for resignation is bitterness and badly sleepeth he who 
 is not reconciled. 
 
 29
 
 3O THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 Ten truths a day thou must find : else thou seekest 
 for truth even in the night, thy soul having remained 
 hungry. 
 
 Ten times a day thou must laugh and be gay : 
 else thy stomach disturbeth thee in the night, that 
 father of affliction. 
 
 Few know that, but in order to sleep well one 
 must have all virtues. Shall I bear false witness ? 
 Shall I commit adultery? 
 
 Shall I covet my neighbour's maid servant? All 
 that would ill accord with good sleep. 
 
 And even if one hath got all the virtues, one must 
 know one more thing, to send unto sleep the virtues 
 at the proper time. 
 
 In order that they may not quarrel, the pretty little 
 women ! And about thee, thou unhappy one ! 
 
 Peace with God and thy neighbour: good sleep 
 will have it so. And peace even with the neighbour's 
 devil! Else it will haunt thee in the night. 
 
 Honour and obedience to the magistrates, and even 
 to crooked magistrates ! good sleep will have it so. Is 
 it my fault that power liketh to walk on crooked legs ? 
 
 He shall be called by me the best herdsman who 
 leadeth his sheep unto the greenest meadow: that 
 accordeth well with good sleep. 
 
 I do not want many honours nor great treasures: 
 that inflameth the milt. But one sleepeth badly with- 
 out a good name and a small treasure.
 
 OF THE CHAIRS OF VIRTUE 3! 
 
 A small society is more welcome unto me than an 
 evil one : it must however come and go at the proper 
 time. That accordeth well with good sleep. 
 
 I am also well pleased with the poor in spirit : they 
 promote sleep. Blessed are they, especially if one 
 always yieldeth to them. 
 
 Thus the day passeth for the virtuous. When night 
 cometh I take good care not to call sleep ! It liketh 
 not to be called : sleep which is the master of 
 virtues ! 
 
 But I think of what I did and thought during the 
 day. Ruminating I ask myself, patient as a cow : 
 what were thy ten resignations ? 
 
 And what were thy ten reconciliations, and the 
 ten truths and the ten laughters with which my heart 
 pleased itself ? 
 
 Whilst I am meditating thus and rocked by forty 
 thoughts, suddenly sleep seizeth me : the uncalled one, 
 the master of virtues. 
 
 Sleep knocking at mine eye it getteth heavy. Sleep 
 touching my mouth it remaineth open. 
 
 Verily, on soft soles it approacheth me, the dearest 
 of thieves, stealing my thoughts : stupid I stand like 
 this chair. 
 
 But I do not stand long then : there I lie 
 
 Having heard the wise man speak thus, Zarathustra 
 laughed in his heart : for a light had arisen for him 
 in the meantime. And thus he spake unto his heart :
 
 32 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 " A fool I consider that wise man there with his 
 forty thoughts ; but I believe that he well knoweth 
 how to sleep. 
 
 Happy he who liveth near this wise man ! Such 
 a sleep is infectious, even through a thick wall it is 
 infectious. 
 
 A charm liveth even in his chair. Nor did the 
 youths sit in vain before the preacher of virtue. 
 
 His wisdom is : to wake in order to sleep well. 
 And verily, if life had no significance, and had I to 
 choose nonsense, this nonsense would seem to be the 
 worthiest to be chosen for me as well. 
 
 Now I understand clearly, what once was sought 
 for above all when teachers of virtue were sought. 
 Good sleep was sought for and poppyhead-like virtues 
 with it ! 
 
 For all those belauded wise men of chairs, wisdom 
 was sleep without dreams : they knowing no better 
 significance of life. 
 
 Even to-day there are a few extant who are like 
 this preacher of virtues and not always so honest. 
 But their time is past. And not much longer they 
 stand : there they lie already. 
 
 Blessed are the sleepy : for they shall soon drop 
 off." 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF BACK- WORLDS-MEN 
 
 " Once Zarathustra threw his spell beyond man, 
 like all back-worlds-men. Then the world seemed 
 to me the work of a suffering and tortured God. 
 
 A dream then the world appeared to me, and a 
 God's fiction ; coloured smoke before the eyes of a 
 godlike discontented one. 
 
 Good and evil, and pleasure and pain, and I and 
 thou coloured smoke it appeared to me before cre- 
 ative eyes. When the creator wished to look away 
 from himself he created the world. 
 
 For the sufferer it is an intoxicating joy to look 
 away from his suffering and lose himself. An intox- 
 icating joy and a losing of one's self the world once 
 appeared to me. 
 
 This world, the ever imperfect, an image and an 
 imperfect image of an eternal contradiction an in- 
 toxicating joy to its imperfect creator: thus this 
 world once appeared to me. 
 
 Thus I threw my spell beyond man, like all back- 
 worlds-men. Truly beyond man ? 
 
 Alas ! brethren, that God whom I created was man's 
 work and man's madness, like all Gods ! 
 D 33
 
 34 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 Man he was, and but a poor piece of man and the 
 I. From mine own ashes and flame it came unto 
 me, that ghost, yea verily ! It did not come unto 
 me from beyond ! 
 
 What happened, brethren? I overcame myself, 
 the sufferer, and carrying mine own ashes unto the 
 mountains invented for myself a brighter flame. And 
 lo ! the ghost departed from me ! 
 
 Now to me, the convalescent, it would be suffer- 
 ing and pain to believe in such ghosts : suffering it 
 were now for me and humiliation. Thus I speak 
 unto the back-worlds-men. 
 
 Sorrow and weakness created all back-worlds ; and 
 that short madness of happiness which only the most 
 sorrowful experience. 
 
 Weariness which, with one jump, with a jump of 
 death, wanteth to reach the last, a poor ignorant 
 weariness which is not even willing any more to will : 
 it created all Gods and back-worlds. 
 
 Believe me, my brethren ! It was the body which 
 despaired of the body with the fingers of a befooled 
 spirit it groped at the last walls. 
 
 Believe me, my brethren ! It was the body which 
 despaired of earth, it heard the womb of existence 
 speak unto it. 
 
 And there it yearned to get through the last walls 
 with its head, and not with its head only beyond, 
 to 'the other world.'
 
 OF BACK-WORLDS-MEN 35 
 
 But 'the other world' is carefully hidden from 
 man, that brutish, inhuman world which is a heavenly 
 nothing; and the womb of existence speaketh not 
 unto man unless as man. 
 
 Verily, difficult to be proved is all existence and 
 difficult to be induced to speak. Tell me, brethren, 
 hath not the oddest of all things been proved even 
 best of all ? 
 
 Ay, that I and the contradiction and confusion of 
 the I speak most honestly of all existence, that creat- 
 ing, willing, valuing I which is the measure and the 
 value of things. 
 
 And that most honest existence, that I which 
 speaketh of the body and still willeth the body even 
 when composing poetry and imagining and fluttering 
 with broken wings. 
 
 Even more honestly it learneth to speak, that I : 
 and the more it learneth, the more words and 
 honours for body and earth it findeth. 
 
 A new pride I have been taught by mine I ; and 
 this I teach men : no more to put their head into 
 the sand of heavenly things, but to carry it freely, 
 an earth-head that giveth significance unto earth ! 
 
 A new will I teach men : to will that way which 
 man hath gone blindly and to call it good and no 
 longer to shirk aside from it like the sickly and 
 dying. 
 
 The sickly and dying folk despised body and earth
 
 36 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 and invented the heavenly and the redeeming blood- 
 drops : but even those sweet and gloomy poisons 
 were borrowed from body and earth ! 
 
 They sought to escape from their misery, and the 
 stars were too remote for them. Then they sighed : 
 Would that there were heavenly ways by which to 
 steal into another existence and happiness ! they in- 
 vented for themselves their byways and little bloody 
 drinks ! 
 
 And they professed to be beyond the reach of 
 their body and this earth, the ungrateful ones. But 
 to whom did they owe the convulsion and delight 
 of their removal ! To their body and this earth. 
 
 Kind unto the sick is Zarathustra. Verily, he is 
 not angry at their ways of consolation and ingrati- 
 tude. Would they were convalescent and conquering 
 and creating a higher body for themselves ! 
 
 Neither is Zarathustra angry with the convalescent 
 one, if he looketh fondly back upon his illusion and 
 at midnight stealeth round the grave of his God : but 
 even his tears remain for me a disease and a sick 
 body. 
 
 Many sick folk were always among the makers of 
 poetry and the god-passionate ; furiously they hate 
 him who perceiveth and that youngest of virtues 
 that is called honesty. 
 
 Backward they ever gaze into the dark times : 
 then, of course, illusion and belief were something
 
 OF BACK-WORLDS-MEN 37 
 
 else. Intoxication of reason was likeness unto God, 
 and doubt was sin. 
 
 Only too well I know those god-like ones : they 
 wish to be believed in, and that doubt should be sin. 
 Only too well I know, besides, what they themselves 
 believe in most. 
 
 Verily, not in back-worlds and redeeming blood- 
 drops : but even they believe most in body, and their 
 own body for them is the thing in itself. 
 
 But a sickly thing it is for them : and fain they 
 would leap out of their skin. Therefore they listen 
 unto the preachers of death and themselves preach 
 back-worlds. 
 
 Rather listen, my brethren, unto the voice of the 
 body that hath been restored unto health : it is a 
 more honest and a purer voice. 
 
 More honestly and purely the healthy body speak- 
 eth, the perfect and rectangular : it speaketh of the 
 significance of earth." 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF THE DESPISERS OF BODY 
 
 " It is unto the despisers of body that I shall 
 say my word. It is not to re-learn and re-teach what 
 I wish them to do ; I wish them to say farewell unto 
 their own body and be dumb. 
 
 ' Body I am and soul ' thus the child speaketh. 
 And why should one not speak like the children ? 
 
 But he who is awake and knoweth saith : body I 
 am throughout, and nothing besides; and soul is 
 merely a word for a something in body. 
 
 Body is one great reason, a plurality with one 
 sense, a war and a peace, a flock and a herdsman. 
 
 Also thy little reason, my brother, which thou 
 callest ' spirit ' it is a tool of thy body, a little tool 
 and toy of thy great reason. 
 
 ' I ' thou sayest and art proud of that word. But 
 the greater thing is which thou wilt not believe 
 thy body and its great reason. It doth not say ' I,' 
 but it doth 'I.' 
 
 What the sense feeleth, what the spirit perceiveth 
 hath never its end in itself. But sense and spirit 
 would fain persuade thee that they were the end of 
 all things : so vain they are. 
 
 38
 
 OF THE DESPISERS OF BODY 39 
 
 Tools and toys are sense and spirit : behind them 
 there lieth the self. The self also seeketh with the 
 eyes of the senses, it also listeneth with the ears of 
 the spirit. 
 
 The self ever listeneth and seeketh : it compareth, 
 subdueth, conquereth, destroyeth. It ruleth and is 
 the ruler of the ' I ' as well. 
 
 Behind thy thoughts and feelings, my brother, 
 standeth a mighty lord, an unknown wise man whose 
 name is self. In thy body he dwelleth, thy body he is. 
 
 There is more reason in thy body than in thy best 
 wis,dom. And who can know why thy body needeth 
 thy best wisdom ? 
 
 Thy self laugheth at thine I and its prancings : 
 What are these boundings and flights of thought? it 
 saith unto itself. A round-about way to my purpose. 
 I am the leading-string of the I and the suggester 
 of its concepts. 
 
 The self saith unto the I : ' Feel pain here ! ' And 
 there it suffereth and meditateth, how to get rid of 
 suffering and that is why it shall think. 
 
 The self saith unto the I : ' Feel lust here ! ' 
 There it rejoiceth and meditateth how to rejoice 
 often and that is why it shall meditate. 
 
 I am going to say a word unto the despisers of 
 body. Their contempt maketh their valuing. What 
 is it that created valuing and despising and worth 
 and will ?
 
 4O THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 The creative self created for itself valuing and 
 despising, it created for itself lust and woe. The 
 creative body created for itself the spirit to be the 
 hand of its will. 
 
 Even in your folly and contempt, ye despisers of 
 body, ye are serving your self. I say unto you : 
 your self itself is going to die and turneth away 
 from life. 
 
 No longer is it able to do what it liketh best : to 
 create something beyond itself. That it liketh best, 
 that is its whole enthusiasm. 
 
 But now it is too late for it to attain that purpose : 
 your self seeketh to perish, ye despisers of body. 
 
 Your self seeketh to perish and therefore ye are 
 become despisers of body ! For no longer are ye 
 able to create anything beyond yourselves. 
 
 And therefore are ye now angry at life and earth. 
 An unconscious envy is in the sidelong look of your 
 contempt. 
 
 I go not your way, ye despisers of body ! Ye are 
 no bridges to beyond-man ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF DELIGHTS AND PASSIONS 
 
 " My brother, when thou hast a virtue and it is 
 thy virtue, thou hast it in common with nobody. 
 
 It is true thou wilt call it by a name and pet it; 
 thou wilt pull its ear and amuse thyself with it. 
 
 And lo ! now thou hast its name in common with 
 the folk and hast become folk and herd with thy 
 virtue ! 
 
 It would be better for thee to say : Unutterable 
 and nameless is that which maketh my soul's pain 
 and sweetness, and it is a hunger of mine intestines. 
 
 Let thy virtue be too high for the familiarity of 
 names : and if thou hast to speak of it, be not 
 ashamed to stammer. 
 
 Speak and stammer : ' That is my good, that love I, 
 thus it pleaseth me entirely, thus alone will I the good. 
 
 I do not will it as the law of a God, I do not 
 will it as the statute or requirement of man : it shall 
 not be a landmark for me to beyond-earths or para- 
 dises. 
 
 It is an earthly virtue that I love : there is little pru- 
 dence in it, and still less the reason common to all. 
 
 But that bird hath built its nest with me : that is 
 
 41
 
 42 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 why I love and embrace it, now with me it sitteth 
 on golden eggs.' 
 
 Thus thou shalt stammer praising thy virtue. 
 
 Once having passions thou calledst them evil. Now 
 however thou hast nothing but thy virtues : they 
 grow out of thy passions. 
 
 Thou laidest thy highest goal upon these passions : 
 then they became thy virtues and delights. 
 
 And though thou wert from the stock of the 
 choleric, or of the voluptuous, or of the religiously 
 frantic, or of the vindictive : 
 
 At last all thy passions grew virtues, and all thy 
 devils angels. 
 
 Once thou hadst wild dogs in thy cellar; but at 
 last they changed into birds and sweet singers. 
 
 Out of thy poisons thou brewedst a balsam for 
 thee ; thou didst milk thy cow of sorrow now thou 
 drinkest the sweet milk of its udder. 
 
 And from this time forth, nothing evil groweth 
 out of thee, unless it be the evil that groweth out of 
 the struggle of thy virtues. 
 
 My brother, if thou hast good luck, thou hast one 
 virtue and no more : thus thou walkest more easily 
 over the bridge. 
 
 It is a distinction to have many virtues, but a hard 
 lot ; and many having gone to the desert killed them- 
 selves, because they were tired of being the battle 
 and battlefield of virtues.
 
 OF DELIGHTS AND PASSIONS 43 
 
 My brother, are warfare and battle evil? But 
 necessary is this evil, necessary are envy and mistrust 
 and backbiting among thy virtues. 
 
 Behold, how each of thy virtues is covetous for 
 the highest: it longeth for thy whole spirit to be its 
 herald, it longeth for thy whole power in wrath, love 
 and hatred. 
 
 Jealous is each virtue of the other, and a terrible 
 thing is jealousy. Even virtues may perish from 
 jealousy. 
 
 He who is encompassed by the flame of jealousy, 
 at last, like the scorpion, turneth the poisonous sting 
 towards himself. 
 
 Alas, my brother, didst thou never see a virtue 
 backbite and stab itself ? 
 
 Man is a something that must be surpassed : and 
 therefore thou shalt love thy virtues : for thou wilt 
 perish from them." 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF THE PALE CRIMINAL 
 
 " Ye are not going to slay, ye judges and sacrificers, 
 before the animal hath nodded. Behold, the pale 
 criminal hath nodded : from his eye there speaketh 
 the great contempt. 
 
 ' Mine I is a something that shall be surpassed : 
 for me mine I is the great contempt of man : ' thus 
 something speaketh out of that eye. 
 
 His highest moment was when he judged himself : 
 let not the sublime one fall back into his lower 
 state ! 
 
 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 whilst slaying take care to justify 
 life itself ! 
 
 It is not enough that ye should be reconciled 
 unto him whom ye are slaying. Let your sorrow 
 be love unto beyond-man : thus ye justify your still 
 living. 
 
 ' Enemy ' ye shall say, but not ' wicked one ' ; 
 ' diseased one ' ye shall say, but not ' wretch ' ; 
 'fool' ye shall say, but not 'sinner.' 
 
 44
 
 OF THE PALE CRIMINAL 45 
 
 And thou, red judge, if thou wert to declare aloud 
 all that thou hast done in thy thoughts, everybody 
 would cry : ' Away with this filth and worm of 
 poison ! ' 
 
 But one thing is thought, another is deed, another 
 is the picture of the deed. The wheel of reason roll- 
 eth not between them. 
 
 A picture made this pale man pale. Of the same 
 growth with himself was his deed when he did it ; but 
 when it was done, he could not bear the picture of it. 
 
 He ever saw himself as the doer of one deed. 
 Madness I call that : the exceptional was engrained 
 upon his nature. 
 
 The streak of chalk paralyseth the hen ; the stroke 
 he struck paralysed his poor reason. Madness after 
 the deed I call that. 
 
 Listen, ye judges ! There is, besides, another mad- 
 ness : it is before the deed. Alas, ye did not creep 
 far enough into this soul ! 
 
 Thus speaketh the red judge : ' Why did that crim- 
 inal murder? He was going to rob.' But I say 
 unto you : his soul asked for blood, not for prey : he 
 was thirsting for the happiness of the knife ! 
 
 But his poor reason understood not that madness 
 and persuaded him. ' What is blood worth ! ' it said ; 
 ' wouldst not thou at least make a prey along with it ? 
 take revenge along with it ? ' 
 
 And he hearkened unto his poor reason : like lead
 
 46 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 its speech lay upon him, then he robbed when 
 murdering. He did not like to be ashamed of his 
 madness. 
 
 And now again lieth the lead of his guilt upon him, 
 and again his poor reason is so chilled, so paralysed, 
 so heavy. 
 
 If he could but shake his head that burden would 
 roll off. But who will shake that head ? 
 
 What is this man ? A mass of diseases which 
 through the spirit reach out into the world : there they 
 are going to prey. 
 
 What is this man ? A coil of wild serpents which 
 seldom are at rest with each other thus singly they 
 depart to search for prey in the world. 
 
 Behold this poor body ! What it suffered and 
 longed for, this poor soul interpreted : it interpreted it 
 as a murderous lust and greediness for the happiness 
 of the knife. 
 
 He who is diseased now is surprised by the evil 
 which is evil now. He willeth to cause pain with 
 what causeth pain to him. But there have been other 
 times and another evil and another good. 
 
 Once doubt and the will unto self were evil. Then 
 the diseased became heretics or witches : as heretics or 
 witches they suffered and sought to cause suffering. 
 
 This however entereth not into your ears; it is 
 hurtful unto your good ones, ye say unto me. But 
 what are your good ones worth unto me!
 
 OF THE PALE CRIMINAL 47 
 
 Many things in your good ones cause loathsomeness 
 unto me not what is evil in them. I even wish they 
 had a madness from which they might perish like 
 this pale criminal. 
 
 Indeed I wish their madness could be named truth 
 or faithfulness or justice : but they have their virtue to 
 live long and in a miserable ease. 
 
 I am a railing alongside the stream ; whoever is 
 able to seize me, may seize me. Your crutch, how- 
 ever, I am not." 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF READING AND WRITING 
 
 " Of all that is written I love only that which the 
 writer wrote with his blood. Write with blood, and 
 thou wilt learn that blood is spirit. 
 
 It is not easily possible to understand other people's 
 blood. I hate the reading idlers. 
 
 He who knoweth the reader doth nothing more for 
 the reader. Another century of readers and spirit 
 itself will stink. 
 
 That everybody is allowed to learn to read spoileth 
 in the long run not only writing but thinking. 
 
 Once spirit was God, then it became man, and now 
 it is becoming mob. 
 
 He who writeth in blood and apophthegms seeketh 
 not to be read, but to be learnt by heart. 
 
 In the mountains the shortest way is from summit 
 to summit : but for that thou needst long legs. Apoph- 
 thegms shall be summits, and they who are spoken 
 unto, great ones and tall. 
 
 The air rarefied and pure, danger near, and the 
 spirit full of a gay wickedness : these agree well 
 together. 
 
 I desire to have goblins round me, for I am brave. 
 
 48
 
 OF READING AND WRITING 49 
 
 Courage that dispelleth ghosts createth goblins for 
 itself, courage desireth to laugh. 
 
 I no longer feel as ye do : this cloud which I see 
 beneath me, that blackness and heaviness at which I 
 laugh, that is your thunder-cloud. 
 
 Ye look upward when longing to be exalted. And 
 I look downward because I am exalted. 
 
 Which of you can at the same time laugh and be 
 exalted ? 
 
 He who strideth across the highest mountains 
 laugheth at all tragedies whether of the stage or of 
 life. 
 
 Brave, unconcerned, scornful, violent, thus wisdom 
 would have us to be : she is a women and ever 
 loveth the warrior only. 
 
 Ye say unto me : ' Life is hard to bear.' But for 
 what purpose have ye got in the morning your pride 
 and in the evening your submission ? 
 
 Life is hard to bear. But do not pretend to be so 
 frail ! We are all good he-asses and she-asses of 
 burden. 
 
 What have we in common with the rose-bud that 
 trembleth because a drop of dew lieth on its body ? 
 
 It is true : we love life, not because we are accus- 
 tomed to life, but because we are accustomed to love. 
 
 There is always a madness in love. There is how- 
 ever also always a reason in madness. 
 
 And to my thinking as a lover of life, butterflies,
 
 5<D THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 soap-bubbles, and whatever is of their kind among 
 men, know most of happiness. 
 
 To see these light, foolish, delicate, mobile little 
 souls flitting about that moveth Zarathustra to tears 
 and to song. 
 
 I could believe only in a God who would know 
 how to dance. 
 
 And when I saw my devil, I found him earnest, 
 thorough, deep, solemn : he was the spirit of gravity, 
 through him all things fall. 
 
 Not through wrath but through laughter one slayeth. 
 Arise ! let us slay the spirit of gravity ! 
 
 I learned to walk : now I let myself run. I 
 learned to fly: now I need no pushing to move me 
 from the spot. 
 
 Now I am light, now I fly, now I see myself be- 
 neath myself, now a God danceth through me." 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF THE TREE AT THE HILL 
 
 Zarathustra's eye had seen that a young man 
 avoided him. And one night when walking alone 
 through the hills round about the town that is 
 called " the Cow of Many Colours " : behold, walking 
 there he found that young man sitting with his 
 back against a tree and gazing into the valley with 
 a tired look. Zarathustra taking hold of the tree 
 against which the young man was sitting spake 
 thus : 
 
 "If I wished to shake this tree with my hands I 
 could not do so. 
 
 But the wind which we do not see tormenteth and 
 bendeth it wherever it listeth. By unseen hands we 
 are bent and tormented worst." 
 
 Astonished the young man rose and said : " I hear 
 Zarathustra and was just thinking of him." Zara- 
 thustra answered : 
 
 " Wherefore dost thou fear ? It is with man as 
 with the tree. 
 
 The more he would ascend to height and light 
 the stronger are his roots striving earthwards, down- 
 wards, into the dark, the deep, the evil." 
 
 Si
 
 52 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 "Ay, towards the evil!" cried the youth. "How 
 was it possible for thee to discover my soul ? " 
 
 Zarathustra said smiling : " Some souls will never 
 be discovered, unless they be invented first." 
 
 " Ay, towards the evil ! " repeated the youth. 
 
 "Thou saidst the truth, Zarathustra. I do not 
 trust myself any longer since I am striving upwards, 
 neither doth anybody else trust me say, how is that ? 
 
 I alter too quickly : my to-day refuteth my yester- 
 day. I frequently overleap steps when I ascend 
 no step pardoneth me for that. 
 
 When I reach the summit I always find myself 
 alone. Nobody speaketh unto me, the frost of sol- 
 itude maketh me tremble. What do I seek on high? 
 
 My contempt and longing grow together; the 
 higher I ascend the more I despise him who as- 
 cendeth. What seeketh he on high ? 
 
 How ashamed I am of mine ascending and stum- 
 bling ! How I mock at my vehement panting and 
 puffing ! How I hate him who flieth ! How tired 
 I am on high ! " 
 
 Here the youth was silent. And Zarathustra con- 
 templating the tree by which they stood .spake 
 thus : 
 
 " This tree standeth lonely by the mountains ; it 
 grew high beyond man and animal. 
 
 And if it were to speak it would have nobody to 
 understand it : so high hath it grown.
 
 OF THE TREE AT THE HILL 53 
 
 Now, it is waiting and waiting, for what is it 
 waiting, say? It dwelleth too close to the clouds. 
 It is waiting I suppose for the first lightning ? " 
 
 Zarathustra having so said the youth cried with 
 vehement gesture. "Ay, Zarathustra, thou speakest 
 truth. It was for my destruction that I longed 
 when I was striving upwards, and thou art the light- 
 ning I waited for ! Behold, what am I since thou 
 hast appeared unto us ? It is the envy of thee which 
 hath destroyed me ! " Speaking thus the youth wept 
 bitterly. Zarathustra, however, put his arm round 
 him and led him away with him. 
 
 When they had walked a while together Zara- 
 thustra thus began : 
 
 " It teareth my heart. Better than thy words say 
 it, thine eye telleth me all thy danger. 
 
 Thou art not free yet, thou seekest freedom still. 
 Weary with watching thou art made by thy seeking, 
 and much too wakeful. 
 
 Towards the free height thou art striving, for stars 
 thy soul is thirsting. But thy bad instincts are also 
 thirsting for freedom. 
 
 Thy wild dogs seek freedom ; in their cellar they 
 bark for lust when thy spirit seeketh to open all 
 prisons. 
 
 To me thou art still a prisoner meditating freedom 
 for himself : alas ! ingenious becometh the soul of 
 such prisoners, but guileful and bad also
 
 54 THUS SPAKE ZAKATHUSTRA, I 
 
 Even he who is freed in spirit must purify him- 
 self. Much of prison and mould is still left in him : 
 his eye needeth to be purified. 
 
 Ay, I know thy danger. But by my love and hope 
 I conjure thee : throw not away thy love and hope ! 
 
 Noble thou feelest thyself, and that thou art noble 
 feel even the others who are angry with thee and 
 cast evil glances. Know that a noble one is in the 
 way of all. 
 
 A noble one is in the way of the good : and even 
 if they call him a good one, by so doing they seek 
 to put him aside. 
 
 The noble one wisheth to create something new 
 and a new virtue. The good one willeth that old 
 things should be preserved. 
 
 But that is not the danger of the noble one, to 
 become a good one, but to become an insolent, a 
 sneering one, a destroyer. 
 
 Alas, I have known noble ones who lost their 
 highest hope. And then they slandered all high 
 hopes. 
 
 Then they lived insolently in brief pleasure, and 
 scarcely made any of their goals beyond the day. 
 
 'Spirit is voluptuousness also'- said they. Then 
 they broke the wings of their spirit : now it creepeth 
 about and soileth whilst it gnaweth. 
 
 Once they thought of becoming heroes : men of
 
 OF THE TREE AT THE HILL 55 
 
 pleasure they are now. A hero is a grief and a hor- 
 ror for them. 
 
 But by my love and hope I conjure thee: throw 
 not away the hero in thy soul ! Keep holy thy high- 
 est hope!" 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF THE PREACHERS OF DEATH 
 
 "There are preachers of death, and the earth is 
 full of those unto whom it is necessary to preach 
 the abandonment of life. 
 
 Full is earth of superfluous ones, spoiled is life by 
 the much-too-many. Would they could be tempted 
 away from this life by 'eternal life.' 
 
 ' Yellow ones ' the preachers of death are called 
 or 'black ones.' I shall, however, show them unto 
 you in other colours besides. 
 
 There are the terrible who carry about within 
 themselves a beast of prey and have no choice 
 except voluptuousness or self-laceration. And even 
 their voluptuousness is self-laceration. 
 
 They have not even become human beings, these 
 terrible ones : let them preach abandonment of life 
 and themselves pass away ! 
 
 There are the consumptive of soul. When scarce 
 born they begin to die and long for the doctrine of 
 weariness and renunciation. 
 
 They would fain be dead, and we should approve 
 of their will ! Let us beware lest we awaken these 
 dead ones or damage these living coffins ! 
 
 56
 
 OF THE PREACHERS OF DEATH 57 
 
 Whenever they meet with a diseased or an old 
 man or a corpse they say : ' Life hath been refuted.' 
 
 But only they themselves are refuted and their eye 
 that seeth only that one face of existence. 
 
 Wrapped in thick melancholy and hungry for those 
 little accidents which produce death they wait with 
 clenched teeth. 
 
 Or: they reach out for sweetmeats and so doing 
 mock their own childishness : they cling to the straw 
 of their life and mock because they are hanging on 
 a straw. 
 
 Their wisdom is : 'A fool he who remaineth alive ; 
 but to that extent we are fools ! And that is the 
 greatest folly of life ! ' 
 
 ' Life is but suffering ' others say, and they do 
 not lie. Well then, see that you die ! See to it that 
 life which is but suffering come to an end. 
 
 And let this be the teaching of your virtue : 
 ' Thou shalt kill thyself ! thou shalt steal thyself 
 away ! ' 
 
 ' Lust is sin,' the preachers of death say, ' let 
 us turn aside and produce no children ! ' 
 
 'Giving birth is toilsome,' say the others, 'why 
 give birth ? One giveth birth to unhappy ones 
 only ! ' And they also are preachers of death. 
 
 'Pity is needed' a third section say. 'Accept 
 from me whatever I have ! Accept from me what- 
 ever I am. The less am I bound unto life ! '
 
 58 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 Were they piteous at heart, they would set the 
 minds of their neighbours against life. To be evil 
 that would be their proper goodness. 
 
 They yearn to be rid of life : what care they if 
 with their chains and gifts they tie others the 
 faster ! 
 
 Ye also to whom life is stormf ul labour and unrest : 
 are ye not wearied of life ? Are ye not ripe for the 
 sermon of death ? 
 
 All of you to whom stormful labour is dear, and 
 what is swift, what is new and what is strange are 
 dear, ye bear yourselves ill; your industry is retreat 
 and will to forget itself. 
 
 If ye had more belief in life ye would yield your- 
 selves the less to the moment. But ye have not 
 enough substance within you to enable you to wait, 
 not even to idle. 
 
 Everywhere soundeth the voice of the preachers of 
 death : and the earth is full of those unto whom it 
 is necessary to preach death. 
 
 Or : ' eternal life : ' that is the same unto me, if 
 they only pass away quickly ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF WAR AND WARRIORS 
 
 " We like neither to be spared by our best enemies, 
 nor by those whom we love from our heart of heart. 
 Let me tell you the truth ! 
 
 My brethren in war ! I love you from my heart's 
 heart. I am and was your like. And, besides, I am 
 your best enemy. Therefore let me tell you the truth ! 
 
 I know the hatred and envy of your heart. Ye 
 are not great enough not to know hatred and envy. 
 Then be great enough not to be ashamed of them ! 
 
 And if ye cannot be saints of knowledge, at least 
 be its warriors. They are the companions and pio- 
 neers of the saints' holiness. 
 
 I see many soldiers : would I could see many 
 warriors ! ' Uniform ' they call what they wear : 
 would it were not uniform what they hide under it ! 
 
 Ye shall be like unto them whose eye is ever look- 
 ing out for the enemy for your enemy. And with 
 a few of you there is hatred at first sight. 
 
 Ye shall seek your own enemy, ye shall wage your 
 own war, and for your own thoughts. And if your 
 thought be conquered, your honesty shall shout vic- 
 tory over it. 
 
 59
 
 60 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 Ye shall love peace as a means to new wars, and 
 the short peace better than the long. 
 
 I do not advise you to work, but to fight. I do 
 not advise you to conclude peace, but to conquer. 
 Let your work be a fight, your peace a victory ! 
 
 One cannot be silent and sit still unless one hath 
 bow and arrow. Otherwise one talketh and quarrel- 
 leth. Let your peace be a victory! 
 
 Ye say, a good cause will hallow even war? I say 
 unto you : a good war halloweth every cause. 
 
 War and courage have done more great things 
 than charity. Not your pity, but your bravery, hath 
 hitherto saved those who had met with an accident. 
 
 What is good ? ye ask. To be brave is good. 
 Let the little girlies talk : 'To be good is what is 
 sweet and touching at the same time.' 
 
 They call you heartless : but your heart is genuine, 
 and I love the shame of your heartiness. Ye are 
 ashamed of your tide, and others are ashamed of 
 their ebb. 
 
 Ye are ugly ? Well then, my brethren ! Wrap the 
 sublime round yourselves, the mantle of what is ugly ! 
 
 And when your soul waxeth great, it waxeth 
 haughty, and in your sublimity there is wickedness. 
 I know you. 
 
 In wickedness the haughty one and the weakling 
 meet. But they misunderstand each other. I know 
 you.
 
 OF WAR AND WARRIORS 6l 
 
 Ye are permitted to have enemies only who are 
 to be hated ; not enemies who are to be despised. Ye 
 are to be proud of your enemy : then the success of 
 your enemy is your success also. 
 
 Rebellion, that is superiority in the slave. Let 
 your superiority be obedience, your commanding even 
 be an obeying! 
 
 To a good warrior 'thou shalt' soundeth more 
 agreeably than ' I will.' And all that will be dear 
 unto you, ye shall yet be commanded. 
 
 Let your love unto life be love unto your highest 
 hope : and your highest hope the highest thought of 
 your life ! 
 
 Your highest thought, however, ye shall be ordained 
 by myself and it is : man is a something that shall 
 be surpassed. 
 
 Thus live your life of obedience and war ! What 
 is long life worth ! What warrior wisheth to be 
 spared ! 
 
 I do not spare you, I love you from the heart of 
 my heart, my brethren in war ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF THE NEW IDOL 
 
 "Somewhere there are still peoples and herds, but 
 not with us, my brethren : with us there are states. 
 
 The state ? What is that ? Well ! now open your 
 ears, for now I deliver my sentence on the death of 
 peoples. 
 
 The state is called the coldest of all cold monsters. 
 And coldly it lieth ; and this lie creepeth out of its 
 mouth : ' I, the state, am the people.' 
 
 It is a lie ! Creators they were who created the 
 peoples and hung one belief and one love over them ; 
 thus they served life. 
 
 Destroyers they are who lay traps for many, calling 
 them the state : they hung a sword and a hundred 
 desires over them. 
 
 Wherever a people is left, it understandeth not 
 the state but hateth it as the evil eye and a sin 
 against customs and rights. 
 
 This sign I show unto you : every people speaketh 
 its own tongue of good and evil not understood by 
 its neighbour. Every people hath found out for itself 
 its own language in customs and rights. 
 
 But the state is a liar in all tongues of good and 
 
 62
 
 OF THE NEW IDOL 63 
 
 evil; whatever it saith, it lieth, whatever it hath, it 
 hath stolen. 
 
 False is everything in it ; with stolen teeth it biteth, 
 the biting one. False are even its intestines. 
 
 Confusion of languages of good and evil. This 
 sign I show unto you as the sign of the state. Verily, 
 this sign pointeth to the will unto death ! Verily, it 
 waveth hands unto the preachers of death ! 
 
 Far too many are born : for the superfluous the 
 state was invented. 
 
 Behold, behold, how it allureth them, the much- 
 too-many ! How it devoureth, cheweth, and masti- 
 cateth them ! 
 
 ' On earth there is nothing greater than I ; God's 
 regulating finger am I,' thus the monster howleth. 
 And not only those with long ears and short sight 
 sink upon their knees ! 
 
 Alas, even within you, ye great souls, the state 
 whispereth its gloomy lies ! Alas ! it findeth out the 
 rich hearts which are eager to squander themselves ! 
 
 Ay, it findeth out even you, ye conquerors of the 
 old God ! Ye got wearied in the battle, and now 
 your weariness serveth the new idol. 
 
 The new idol would fain surround itself with 
 heroes and honest men ! It liketh to sun itself 
 in the sunshine of good consciences that cold 
 monster ! 
 
 It will give you anything if you adore it, the new
 
 64 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 idol: thus it buyeth for itself the splendour of your 
 virtue and the glance of your proud eyes. 
 
 With you the state will bait the hook for the much- 
 too-many ! Ay, a piece of hellish machinery was in- 
 vented then, a horse of death, rattling in the attire of 
 godlike honours ! 
 
 Ay, the death of many was invented then, death 
 which praiseth itself as life : verily, a welcome service 
 unto all preachers of death ! 
 
 What I call the state is where all are poison- 
 drinkers, the good and the evil alike. What I call 
 the state is where all lose themselves, the good and 
 the evil alike. What I call the state is where the 
 slow suicide of all is called 'life.' 
 
 Look at those superfluous ! They steal the works 
 of inventors and the treasures of wise men : their 
 theft they call education and for them everything 
 turneth into disease and hardship ! 
 
 Look at those superfluous ! Diseased they ever are, 
 they vomit bile and call it newspaper. They devour 
 but cannot digest each other. 
 
 Look at those superfluous ! They acquire riches 
 and become poorer thereby. They seek power, and 
 first the crow-bar of power, much money these im- 
 potent ones. 
 
 See how they climb, these swift apes ! They climb 
 over each other and thus drag themselves into the 
 mud and depths.
 
 OF THE NEW IDOL 65 
 
 They all strive towards the throne : that is their 
 madness, as though happiness were sitting on the 
 throne ! Often mud sitteth on the throne ; often also 
 the throne sitteth on the mud. 
 
 Madmen they are all to my mind, and climbing 
 apes, and over-hot. Ill smelleth to me their idol, that 
 cold monster: ill smell they all to me, these idolaters. 
 
 My brethren, will ye be suffocated in the damp of 
 their mouths and desires ! Rather break the windows 
 and jump into the open air ! 
 
 Go, I pray, out of the way of the evil odour. Go 
 away from the idolatry of the superfluous. 
 
 Go, I pray, out of the way of the evil odour. Go 
 away from the steam of these human sacrifices ! 
 
 For great souls earth is yet open. For hermits, 
 and hermits in pairs, many seats are yet empty round 
 which floateth the odour of calm seas. 
 
 For great souls a free life is still open. Verily, he 
 who possesseth little is possessed still less : a modest 
 poverty be praised ! 
 
 Where the state ceaseth there beginneth that man 
 who is not superfluous : there beginneth the song of 
 the necessary, the melody that is sung once and can- 
 not be replaced. 
 
 Where the state ceaseth look there, I pray, my 
 brethren ! Do you not see it, the rainbow and the 
 bridges of beyond-man ? " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF THE FLIES OF THE MARKET 
 
 " Fly, my friend, into thy loneliness ! I see thee 
 stunned by the noise of the great men and pierced 
 by the stings of the small. 
 
 With thee forest and rock know how to be fitly 
 silent. Be like the tree again which thou lovest, the 
 tree with broad boughs : still and listening it hangeth 
 over the sea. 
 
 Where loneliness ceaseth, the market beginneth, and 
 where the market beginneth, there begin also the noise 
 of the great actors and the buzzing of the poisonous flies. 
 
 In the world even the best things are useless with- 
 out somebody to show them : great men are these 
 showmen called by the folk. 
 
 The folk little understand what is great, i.e., what 
 createth. But they have eyes and ears for all show- 
 men and actors of great things. 
 
 The world revolveth round the inventors of new 
 values : invisibly it revolveth. But the folk and 
 glory revolve round actors : such is life. 
 
 The actor hath spirit ; but little conscience of spirit. 
 He always believeth in that by which he maketh 
 others believe most, i.e., to believe in himself/ 
 
 66
 
 OF THE FLIES OF THE MARKET 6/ 
 
 To-morrow he hath a new belief, and the day after 
 to-morrow a still newer. Quick senses he hath, like 
 the folk, and can change the scent quickly. 
 
 To overthrow that meaneth for him : to prove. 
 To drive mad that meaneth for him : to convince. 
 And for him blood is the best of all reasons. 
 
 A truth which slippeth only into sharp ears he 
 calleth a lie and nothing. Verily, he believeth only 
 in Gods that make a great noise in the world ! 
 
 Full of noisy clowns is the market and the folk 
 boast of their great men. Such for them are the 
 masters of the hour. 
 
 But the hour presseth them and they press thee. 
 From thee also they seek a Yea or Nay. Alas ! wilt 
 thou put thy chair between for and against! 
 
 As for these unconditioned and pressing ones be 
 thou, O lover of truth, without jealousy ! Never yet 
 did truth hang on the arm of an unconditioned one. 
 
 As for these sudden ones, return unto thy safety: 
 it is only at the market that one is surprised by the 
 question : Yea ? or Nay ? 
 
 All deep wells get their experience slowly : they 
 have to wait long before they know what hath fallen 
 to the bottom of them. 
 
 Away from the market and glory happeneth every- 
 thing that is great: away from the market and glory 
 have ever lived the inventors of new values. 
 
 Fly, my friend, into thy loneliness : I see thee stung
 
 68 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 all over by poisonous flies. Fly where the rough, 
 strong wind bloweth! 
 
 Fly into thy loneliness ! Thou hast lived too close 
 unto the small and miserable. Fly from their invisible 
 revenge ! Against thee they are nothing but revenge. 
 
 Lift no more thine arm against them ! Innumer- 
 able are they; neither is it thy lot to be a fly-brush. 
 
 Innumerable are these small and miserable ones ; 
 and many a proud building the raindrops and weeds 
 have destroyed. 
 
 Thou art not a stone, but already thou hast been 
 hollowed out by the many drops. Under the many 
 drops thou wilt break into pieces and burst asunder. 
 
 I see thee wearied by poisonous flies and blood 
 drawn at a hundred spots ; and thy pride will not 
 even be angry. 
 
 In all innocence they seek to draw blood from thee, 
 their bloodless souls crave for blood and therefore 
 in all innocence they sting. 
 
 But thou deep one, thou sufferest too greatly, even 
 from small wounds ; and ere thou art healed, the same 
 poisonous worm creepeth over thy hand. 
 
 Thou art, I know, too proud to kill these dainty- 
 mouthed. But take care that it be not thy fate to 
 endure all their poisonous wrong. 
 
 They also hum round thee with their praise : their 
 praise is impudence. They seek to have nigh unto 
 them thy skin and thy blood.
 
 OF THE FLIES OF THE MARKET 69 
 
 They flatter thee like a God or devil ; they whimper 
 before thee as before a God or devil. What matter ? 
 Flatterers they are and whimperers, that is all. 
 
 They also frequently present themselves unto thee 
 as amiable. But that hath ever been the prudence of 
 cowards. Ay, cowards are prudent. 
 
 They think much about thee with their narrow 
 souls, thou art ever suspected of them ! Whatever is 
 much reflected upon, becometh suspected. 
 
 They punish thee for all thy virtues. From the 
 heart of their heart they only pardon thee thy mis- 
 takes. 
 
 Because thou art tender and of a just mind thou 
 sayest : ' Their small existence is not their fault.' 
 But their narrow soul thinketh : ' Guilty is all great 
 existence.' 
 
 Even if thou art tender unto them they think that 
 thou despisest them ; and they return thy benefits 
 with secret harms. 
 
 Thy unspoken pride is ever against their taste; 
 they exult, when once thou art modest enough to 
 be idle. 
 
 Whatever we recognise in a man, we inflame hi 
 him. Therefore beware of the small. 
 
 They feel themselves to be small before thee, and 
 their lowness glimmereth and gloweth in invisible 
 revenge against thee. 
 
 Sawest thou not how often they were silent when
 
 7O THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 thou earnest nigh unto them, and how their power 
 left them as the smoke leaveth a fire that is going 
 out? 
 
 Ay, my friend, thou art the bad conscience for thy 
 neighbours ; for they are unworthy of thee. That is 
 why they hate thee and would fain suck thy blood. 
 
 Thy neighbours will always be poisonous flies. 
 That which is great in thee that itself must make 
 them still more poisonous and ever more like flies. 
 
 Fly, my friend, into thy loneliness and where the 
 rough, strong wind bloweth. It is not thy lot to be 
 a fly-brush." 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF CHASTITY 
 
 " I love the forest. It is bad to live in towns : too 
 many of the lustful are there. 
 
 Is it not better to fall into the hands of a murderer 
 than into the dreams of a lustful woman ? 
 
 And look at these men : their eye saith it they 
 know of nothing better on earth than to lie by a 
 woman's side. 
 
 Mud is at the bottom of their soul; alas! if there 
 is spirit in their mud ! 
 
 Would ye were perfect, at least as animals are. 
 But innocence is a necessary quality of animals. 
 
 Do I counsel you to slay your senses ? I counsel 
 the innocence of the senses. 
 
 Do I counsel chastity ? Chastity is a virtue with 
 some, but with most almost a vice. 
 
 True, these abstain : but the she-dog of sensuality 
 looketh with envy out of all they do. 
 
 This beast and its no-peace followeth them even unto 
 the heights of their virtues and into their cold spirit. 
 
 And with what grace the she-dog of sensuality 
 knoweth how to beg for a piece of spirit, if it be 
 denied a piece of flesh ! 
 
 7*
 
 ?2 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 Ye love tragedies and all that breaketh the heart 
 to pieces. I am suspicious, however, of your she-dog. 
 
 Ye have too cruel eyes and look wantonly for 
 sufferers. Hath not your lust merely been disguised 
 by calling itself pity ? 
 
 This other parable I speak unto you : not a few 
 who sought to drive out their devil, went themselves 
 into the swine. 
 
 He unto whom chastity is hard is to be counselled 
 against it : in order that it may not become the way 
 unto hell, i.e., to mud and concupiscence of the soul. 
 
 Speak I of dirty things ? That is not the worst 
 for me. 
 
 Not when truth is dirty, but when it is shallow 
 doth he who perceiveth dislike to step into its water. 
 
 Verily, there are some who are chaste to the 
 bottom : they are more tender in their hearts, they 
 like to laugh more and oftener than ye do. 
 
 They also laugh at chastity, asking : ' What is 
 chastity ! ' 
 
 Is chastity not folly ? But that folly hath come 
 unto us, not we unto it. 
 
 We offered that guest house and heart: now he 
 liveth with us, let him stay as long as he liketh ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF THE FRIEND 
 
 " ' There is always one too many about me ' thus 
 thinketh the hermit. ' Always once one that maketh 
 in the long run two.' 
 
 I and me are always too eager in a conversation : 
 how could it be borne if there were not a friend ? 
 
 For the hermit a friend is always the third one : the 
 third one is the cork that hindereth the conversation 
 of the two from sinking into the depth. 
 
 Alas ! there are too many depths for all hermits. 
 That is why they long so much for a friend and his 
 height. 
 
 Our belief in others betrayeth what we would fain 
 believe in ourselves. Our longing for a friend is our 
 betrayer. 
 
 And often with love one only trieth to overleap envy. 
 And frequently one assaileth and maketh another one's 
 enemy in order to hide the fact of one's self being 
 assailable. 
 
 ' Be at least mine enemy,' thus saith true reverence 
 that dareth not ask for friendship. 
 
 If one seek to have a friend one must also be ready 
 to wage war for him : and in order to wage war one 
 must be able to be an enemy. 
 
 73
 
 74 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 In one's friend one shall honour the enemy. Canst 
 thou step close unto thy friend without going 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 resistest him. 
 
 Thou wouldst not wear clothes in the presence of thy 
 friend. It is to honour thy friend that thou presentest 
 thyself unto him as thou art ? But he therefore wisheth 
 thee to go unto the devil. 
 
 He who maketh no secret of himself shocketh : so 
 much reason have ye to fear nakedness ! Ay, if ye 
 were Gods, ye might well be ashamed of your clothing ! 
 
 For thy friend thou canst not adorn thyself beauti- 
 fully enough : for unto him thou shalt be an arrow and 
 a longing towards beyond-man. 
 
 Didst thou ever see thy friend asleep so as to learn 
 what he is like ? What is thy friend's face at other 
 times ? It is thine own face seen in a rough and 
 imperfect looking-glass. 
 
 Didst thou ever see thy friend asleep ? Wert thou 
 not terrified at thy friend looking like that ? O my 
 friend, man is a something that shall be surpassed. 
 
 In rinding out and being silent the friend shall be 
 master : thou must not wish to see everything. Thy 
 dream shall betray unto thee what thy friend doth when 
 he is awake. 
 
 Let a finding out be thy sympathy : in order that 
 first thou mayest know whether thy friend seeketh sym-
 
 OF THE FRIEND 75 
 
 pathy. Perhaps in thee he liketh the unmoved eye and 
 the look of eternity. 
 
 Let thy sympathy with thy friend be hidden under a 
 hard shell, on it thou shalt break thy tooth in biting. 
 Thus thy sympathy will have delicacy and sweetness. 
 
 Art thou unto thy friend fresh air and solitude and 
 bread and medicine? Many a one cannot loose his 
 own chains and yet is a saviour unto his friend. 
 
 Art thou a slave ? If thou be, thou canst not be a 
 friend. Art thou a tyrant ? If thou be, thou canst not 
 have friends. 
 
 Far too long a slave and a tyrant have been hidden 
 in woman. Therefore woman is not yet capable of 
 friendship : she knoweth love only. 
 
 In the love of woman there is injustice and blindness 
 unto everything she loveth not. And even in the know- 
 ing love of woman there is still, along with light, sur- 
 prise and lightning at night. 
 
 Yet woman is not capable of friendship : women are 
 still always cats and birds. Or, in the best case, cows. 
 
 Yet woman is not capable of friendship. But say, ye 
 men, which of you is capable of friendship ? 
 
 Oh ! for your poverty, ye men, and your avarice of 
 soul ! As much as ye give unto your friend, I will give 
 unto mine enemy, and will not become poorer thereby. 
 
 There is comradeship : oh, that there were friend- 
 ship ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF A THOUSAND AND ONE GOALS 
 
 " Many lands were seen by Zarathustra, and many 
 peoples : thus he discovered the good and evil of 
 many peoples. No greater power on earth was 
 found by Zarathustra than good and evil. 
 
 No people could live that did not, in the first 
 place, value. If it would maintain itself it must not 
 value as its neighbour doth. 
 
 Much that one people called good another called 
 scorn and dishonour : thus I found it. Much I found 
 named evil here, adored there with the honours of 
 the purple. 
 
 Never did one neighbour understand the other: 
 his soul was ever astonished at his neighbour's self- 
 deception and wickedness. 
 
 A table of values hangeth over each people. Be- 
 hold, it is the table of its resignations ; behold, it is 
 the voice of its will unto power. 
 
 That is laudable which is reckoned hard; what is 
 indispensable and hard is named good ; and that 
 which freeth from the extremest need, the rare, the 
 hardest, that is praised as holy. 
 
 Whatever enableth a people to dominate and con- 
 
 76
 
 OF A THOUSAND AND ONE GOALS 77 
 
 quer and shine, unto the horror and envy of its 
 neighbour, that is regarded as the high, the first, 
 the standard, the significance of all things. 
 
 Verily, my brother, if thou once recognisedst a 
 people's need and land and sky and neighbour, thou 
 mightest easily find out the law of its resignations, 
 and why it climbeth on this ladder unto its hope. 
 
 ' Thou shalt ever be the first, standing out from the 
 others : no one shall be loved by thy jealous soul 
 unless thy friend ' that saying thrilled the soul of the 
 Greek : then went he upon the path of his greatness. 
 
 'To speak the truth and handle bow and arrow 
 well ' that was at once loved and reckoned hard by 
 the people from whom my name cometh the name 
 which is at once dear and hard unto me. 
 
 ' To honour father and mother, and make their 
 will thine unto the heart of thy heart : ' this table of 
 resignations was hung up by another people which 
 thereby became mighty and eternal. 
 
 ' To keep faith and, for the sake of faith, risk 
 honour and blood in evil and dangerous affairs ' - 
 thus teaching itself another people conquered itself, 
 and thus conquering became pregnant and heavy 
 with great hopes. 
 
 Verily, men have made for themselves all their 
 good and evil. Verily, they did not take it, they did 
 not find it, it did not come down as a voice from 
 heaven.
 
 78 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 Values were only assigned unto things by man in 
 order to maintain himself he it was who gave signifi- 
 cance to things, a human significance. Therefore he 
 calleth himself ' man,' i.e., the valuing one. 
 
 Valuing is creating : listen, ye who are creative ! 
 To value is the treasure and jewel among all things 
 valued. 
 
 Only by valuing is there value, without valuing the 
 nut of existence would be hollow. Listen, ye who are 
 creative ! 
 
 Change of values, i.e. y change of creators ! He 
 who is obliged to be a creator ever destroyeth. 
 
 At first people only were creators, and not till long 
 afterwards individuals ; verily, the individual himself 
 is the latest creation. 
 
 Once peoples hung up above them a table of good. 
 Love that seeketh to rule, and love that seeketh to 
 obey, together created such tables. 
 
 Older than the pleasure received from the I is the 
 pleasure received from the herd : and as long as the 
 good conscience is called herd, only the bad con- 
 science saith : ' I.' 
 
 Verily, that cunning, unloving I that seeketh its 
 own profit in the profit of many : that is not the 
 origin of the herd, but its destruction. 
 
 The loving and creative, they have always been 
 the creators of good and evil. The flame of love and 
 the flame of wrath glow in the names of all virtues.
 
 OF A THOUSAND AND ONE GOALS 79 
 
 Many lands were seen by Zarathustra, and many 
 peoples : no greater power was found on earth by 
 Zarathustra than the works of the loving : good and 
 evil are their names. 
 
 Verily, a monster is this power of praising and 
 blaming. Say, brethren, who will overthrow it ? 
 Who will cast the fetters over its thousand necks? 
 
 A thousand goals have existed hitherto, for a thou- 
 sand peoples existed. But the fetter of the thousand 
 necks is lacking, the one goal is lacking. Humanity 
 hath no goal yet. 
 
 But tell me, I pray, my brethren : if the goal be 
 lacking to humanity, is not humanity itself lack- 
 ing?" 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF LOVE FOR ONE'S NEIGHBOUR 
 
 "Ye throng round your neighbour and have fine 
 words for that. But I tell you, your love for your 
 neighbour is your bad love for yourselves. 
 
 Ye flee from yourselves unto your neighbour and 
 would fain make a virtue thereof; but I see through 
 your ' unselfishness.' 
 
 The thou is older than the I ; the thou hath been 
 proclaimed holy, but the I not yet ; man thus thrusteth 
 himself upon his neighbour. 
 
 Do I counsel you to love your neighbour ? I rather 
 counsel you to flee from your neighbour and to love 
 the most remote. 
 
 Love unto the most remote future man is higher 
 than love unto your neighbour. And I consider love 
 unto things and ghosts to be higher than love unto men. 
 
 This ghost which marcheth before thee, my brother, 
 is more beautiful than thou art. Why dost thou not 
 give him thy flesh and thy bones ? Thou art afraid 
 and flecst unto thy neighbour. 
 
 Unable to endure yourselves and not loving your- 
 selves enough : you seek to wheedle your neighbour 
 into loving you and thus to gild you with his error. 
 
 80
 
 OF LOVE FOR ONE'S NEIGHBOUR 8 1 
 
 Would that ye could not endure any kind of your 
 neighbours and their neighbours; were that so ye 
 would need to create your friend and his enthusiastic 
 heart out of yourselves. 
 
 Ye invite a witness, if ye wish to speak well of your- 
 selves, and having wheedled him into thinking well of 
 you, ye think well of yourselves also. 
 
 Not only doth he lie who speaketh contrary to his 
 knowledge, but still more he who speaketh contrary to 
 his not-knowledge. Thus ye speak of yourselves in 
 company and deceive your neighbour as yourselves. 
 
 Thus saith the fool : ' Intercourse with men spoileth 
 character, especially if ye have none.' 
 
 One goeth unto the neighbour because he seeketh 
 himself, another because he wisheth to lose himself. 
 Your bad love for yourselves maketh for yourselves 
 a prison out of solitude. 
 
 It is the more remote who pay for your love unto 
 your neighbour; and whenever there are five of you 
 together the sixth must die. 
 
 I like not your festivals : I have found there too many 
 actors, and the spectators also often behaved like actors. 
 
 I teach you not the neighbour, but the friend. Let 
 the friend be for you the festival of earth and a fore- 
 taste of beyond-man. 
 
 I teach you the friend and his too-full heart. But 
 one must know how to be a sponge, if one would be 
 loved by too-full hearts.
 
 82 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 I teach you the friend in whom there standeth the 
 world finished, a husk of the good, the creative friend 
 who hath ever a finished world in his gift. 
 
 And as, for him, the world hath unrolled itself so it 
 rolleth itself up again in rings being the growth of 
 good out of evil, the growth of purposes out of chance. 
 
 Let the future and the most remote be for thee 
 the cause of thy to-day : in thy friend thou shalt 
 love beyond-man as thy cause. 
 
 My brethren, I counsel you not to love your neigh- 
 bour, I counsel you to love those who are the most 
 remote." 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF THE WAY OF A CREATOR 
 
 " Wilt thou, my brother, go into solitude ? Wilt thou 
 seek the way unto thyself ? Tarry a while and listen 
 unto me. 
 
 ' He who seeketh is easily lost himself. All solitude 
 is a crime,' thus say the herd. And for a long time 
 thyself wert of the herd. 
 
 The voice of the herd will sound even within thee. 
 And whenever thou sayest : ' I no longer have the 
 same conscience with you,' it will be a grief and pain. 
 
 Behold, that pain itself was born of the same con- 
 science. And the last gleam of that conscience still 
 gloweth over thy woe. 
 
 But wilt thou go the way of thy woe which is the 
 way unto thyself ? If so, show me thy right and thy 
 power so to do ! 
 
 Art thou a new power and a new right ? A prime 
 motor ? A wheel self-rolling ? Canst thou also compel 
 stars to circle round thee ? 
 
 Alas, there is much lust for height ! there are so 
 many throes of the ambitious ! Show me that thou 
 art not of those lustful or ambitious ! 
 
 Alas, there are so many great thoughts which are no 
 
 83
 
 84 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 better than bellows : they inflate things and then make 
 them emptier than ever. 
 
 Thou callest thyself free? I wish to hear thy 
 dominating thought, not that thou hast escaped a yoke. 
 
 Art thou such a one as to be permitted to escape 
 a yoke ? Many there are who threw away everything 
 they were worth when they threw away their servitude. 
 
 Free from what ? What doth that concern Zara- 
 thustra ? Clearly thine eyes shall answer : free for 
 what ? 
 
 Canst thou give thyself thine evil and thy good, 
 hanging thy will above thee as a law ? Canst thou 
 be thine own judge and the avenger of thine own law ? 
 
 Terrible it is to be alone with the judge and avenger 
 of one's own law. Thus a star is cast out into the 
 void and into the icy breath of solitude. 
 
 To-day thou still sufferest from the many, thou : 
 to-day thou hast still thy courage and thy hopes entire. 
 
 But one day loneliness will weary thee, one day thy 
 pride will writhe and thy courage gnash its teeth. 
 One day thou wilt cry : ' I am alone.' 
 
 One day thou wilt see no longer what is high for 
 thee, and much too close what is low for thee ; and 
 what is sublime for thee will make thee afraid as if 
 it were a ghost. One day thou wilt cry: 'All is false.' 
 
 There are feelings which tend to slay the lonely 
 one ; if they do not succeed they must themselves die ! 
 But art thou able to be a murderer ?
 
 OF THE WAY OF A CREATOR 85 
 
 Knowest thou, my brother, the word ' contempt ' ? 
 And the agony it is for thy justice to be just unto 
 those who despise thee? 
 
 Thou compellest many to relearn about thee; that 
 is sternly set down unto thine account by them. Thy 
 drawing near unto them and yet passing they will 
 never pardon. 
 
 Thou goest beyond them : the higher thou risest, 
 the smaller thou appearest unto the eye of envy. But 
 he who flieth is hated the most. 
 
 ' How could ye be just unto me ! ' thou hast to 
 say ' I choose your injustice as my portion.' 
 
 Injustice and dirt are thrown after the lonely one; 
 but, my brother, if thou wouldst be a star, thou must 
 shine unto them none the less ! 
 
 Beware of the good and just! They would fain 
 crucify those who invent their own standard of virtue, 
 they hate the lonely one. 
 
 Beware also of sacred simplicity ! For it, nothing 
 is sacred that is not simple ; it liketh to play with 
 the fire of the stake. 
 
 And beware of the attacks of thy love ! Too 
 quickly the lonely one stretcheth out his hand unto 
 him whom he meeteth. 
 
 Unto some folk thou shouldst not give thy hand, 
 but only thy paw, and I would that thy paw might 
 have claws. 
 
 But the worst enemy thou canst meet will always
 
 86 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 be thyself; thou waylayest thyself in caves and 
 forests. 
 
 O lonely one, thou goest the way unto thyself! 
 And thy way leadeth past thyself and thy seven 
 devils ! 
 
 As for thee thou wilt be a heretic, witch, fortune- 
 teller, fool, sceptic, unholy one, villain. 
 
 Thou must be ready to burn thyself in thine own 
 flame : how canst thou become new, if thou hast not 
 first become ashes ! 
 
 O lonely one, thou goest the way of the creator : 
 thou wilt create for thyself a God out of thy seven 
 devils ! 
 
 O lonely one, thou goest the way of the loving 
 one : loving thyself thou despisest thyself as only the 
 loving do. 
 
 The loving one will create because he despiseth ! 
 What knoweth he of love whose lot it hath not been 
 to despise just what he loved ! 
 
 My brother, go into thy solitude with thy love 
 and thy creating ; and justice will not haltingly follow 
 thee until long after. 
 
 My brother, go into thy solitude with my tears. 
 I love him who willeth the creating of something 
 beyond himself and thus perisheth." 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF LITTLE WOMEN OLD AND YOUNG 
 
 "Why stealest thou so timidly through the dawn, 
 Zarathustra ? and what hidest thou so carefully under 
 thy mantle ? 
 
 Is it a treasure that thou hast been given ? Or a 
 child born unto thee ? Or dost thou now go thyself 
 in the ways of thieves, thou friend of evil ? " 
 
 * Verily, my brother ! " said Zarathustra, " it is a 
 treasure that I have been given : a little truth it is I 
 carry. 
 
 But it is unruly like a little child; and if I hold 
 not its mouth, it bawleth as loud as it can. 
 
 When I went on my way alone at the hour of sun- 
 set this day I met an old little woman who thus spake 
 unto my soul : 
 
 ' Much hath Zarathustra said unto us women, but 
 never hath he spoken unto us of woman.' 
 
 And I answered her : ' Of woman one must speak 
 unto men only.' 
 
 ' Speak also unto me of woman,' she said ; ' I am 
 old enough to forget it at once.' 
 
 And I assenting thus spake unto the old little 
 woman : 
 
 87
 
 88 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 ' Everything in woman is a riddle, and everything 
 in woman hath one answer : its name is child-bearing. 
 
 Man is for woman a means : the end is always 
 the child. But what is woman for man ? 
 
 Two things are wanted by the true man : danger 
 and play. Therefore he seeketh woman as the most 
 dangerous toy. 
 
 Man shall be educated for war, and woman for 
 the recreation of the warrior. Everything else is folly. 
 
 Over-sweet fruits the warrior liketh not. There- 
 fore he liketh woman ; bitter is even the sweetest 
 woman. 
 
 Woman understandeth children better than man 
 cloth; but man is more child-like than woman. 
 
 In the true man a child is hidden that seeketh to 
 play. Up, ye women, reveal the child in man ! 
 
 Let woman be a toy pure and delicate like a jewel, 
 illuminated by the virtues of a world which hath not 
 yet come. 
 
 Let a ray of starlight shine in your love ! Let 
 your hope be called : " Would that I might give birth 
 to beyond-man ! " 
 
 Let bravery be in your love ! With your love ye 
 shall attack him who inspireth you with awe. 
 
 Let your honour be in your love ! Little else doth 
 woman understand of honour. But let it be your 
 honour ever to love more than ye are loved, and 
 never to be the second.
 
 OF LITTLE WOMEN OLD AND YOUNG 89 
 
 Let man fear woman when she loveth : then she sac- 
 rificeth anything, and nothing else hath value for her. 
 
 Let man fear woman when she hateth : for in the 
 heart of their heart, man is only evil, but woman is 
 base. 
 
 Whom doth woman hate the most? Thus spake 
 the iron unto the loadstone : " I hate thee most because 
 thou attractest, but art not strong enough to draw unto 
 thee." 
 
 Man's happiness is : "I will." Woman's happiness 
 is: "He will." 
 
 / " Behold, this moment the world hath become per- 
 fect! " thus thinketh every woman, when she obeyeth 
 from sheer love. 
 
 And woman must obey and find a depth for her 
 surface. Surface is woman's mood, a foam driven to 
 and fro over a shallow water. 
 
 But man's mood is deep, his stream roareth in 
 underground caves : woman divineth his power, but 
 understandeth it not.' 
 
 Then the little old woman answered me : ' Many 
 fine things hath Zarathustra said, and especially for 
 those who are young enough. 
 
 Strange it is, that Zarathustra little knoweth women, 
 and yet is right regarding them ! Is that because 
 with woman nothing is impossible ? 
 
 And now take as my thanks a little truth. For 
 I am old enough for that.
 
 90 
 
 Wrap it up and keep its mouth shut : or it will 
 bawl as loud as it can, that little truth. ' 
 
 'Give me, woman, thy little truth,' I said, and 
 thus spake the little old woman : 
 
 ' Thou goest to women ? Remember thy whip ! ' ' 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF THE BITE OF THE ADDER 
 
 One day Zarathustra had fallen asleep under a 
 fig-tree; it was hot, and he had folded his arras over 
 his face. Then an adder came and bit his neck so 
 that Zarathustra cried out with pain. Taking his 
 arm from his face he looked at the serpent : which 
 recognising Zarathustra' s eyes tried awkwardly to 
 wriggle away. "Not so," said Zarathustra; "thou hast 
 not yet accepted my thanks ! Thou wakedst me in 
 due time, my way is long." " Thy way is short," said 
 the adder, sadly; "my poison killeth." Zarathustra 
 smiled : " When did ever a dragon die from a serpent's 
 poison ? " he said. " But take back thy poison ! Thou 
 art not rich enough to make me a gift of it." Then 
 the adder again fell upon his neck and licked his wound. 
 
 Zarathustra once telling this unto his disciples they 
 asked : " And what, O Zarathustra, is the moral of 
 thy tale ? " Zarathustra thus answered : 
 
 "The destroyer of moral I am called by the good 
 and just : my tale is immoral. 
 
 But if ye have an enemy return not good for evil : 
 for that would make him ashamed. But prove that he 
 hath done you a good turn. 
 
 91
 
 92 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 And rather be angry than make him ashamed. And 
 if ye be cursed I would have you not bless. Rather 
 curse a little also ! 
 
 And if a great wrong be done unto you straightway 
 do five small ones in return ! A horrible sight is he 
 who is oppressed by having done wrong unrevenged. 
 
 Know ye that ? Divided wrong is half right. And 
 he who can bear it, is to take the wrong on himself ! 
 
 A small revenge is more human than no revenge at 
 all. And if punishment be not, at once, a right and an 
 honour of the offender, I like not your punishing. 
 
 It is higher to own one's self wrong than to carry 
 the point, especially if one be right. Only one must 
 be rich enough for that. 
 
 I like not your cold justice ; from the eye of your 
 judges the executioner and his cold iron ever gaze. 
 
 Say, where is justice to be found which is love with 
 seeing eyes ? 
 
 Arise ! invent that love which not only beareth all 
 punishment, but all guilt as well ! 
 
 Arise ! invent that justice which acquitteth everybody 
 except the judge ! 
 
 Desire ye to hear this also ? In him who wisheth 
 to be just from the heart even a lie becometh a hu- 
 manity. 
 
 But how could I be just from the heart? How could 
 I give unto each what is his ? Let this be enough for 
 me : I grive unto each what is mine.
 
 OF THE BITE OF THE ADDER 93 
 
 Lastly, my brethren, beware of doing wrong unto 
 any hermit ! How could a hermit forget ? How could 
 he retaliate? 
 
 Like a deep well is a hermit. It is easy to throw a 
 stone into it. But when it hath sunk unto the bottom 
 who will get it out again ? 
 
 Beware of offending a hermit. But, if ye do, well, 
 kill him also ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF CHILD AND MARRIAGE 
 
 " I have a question for thee alone, my brother : like 
 the lead I heave that question over into thy soul that I 
 may know how deep it is. 
 
 Thou art young and wishest for child and marriage. 
 But I ask thee : art thou a man who darest to wish for 
 a child ? 
 
 Art thou the victorious one, the self-subduer, the 
 commander of thy senses, the master of thy virtues ? 
 Thus I ask thee. 
 
 Or, in thy wish, doth there speak the animal or 
 necessity ? Or solitude ? Or discord with thyself ? 
 
 I would that thy victory and freedom were longing 
 for a child. Thou shalt build living monuments unto 
 thy victory and liberation. 
 
 Thou shalt build beyond thyself. But first thou 
 must be built thyself square in body and soul. 
 
 Thou shalt not only propagate thyself but propagate 
 thyself upwards ! Therefore the garden of marriage 
 may help thee ! 
 
 Thou shalt create a higher body, a prime motor, a 
 wheel of self-rolling thou shalt create a creator. 
 
 Marriage : thus I call the will of two to create that 
 
 94
 
 OF CHILD AND MARRIAGE 95 
 
 one which is more than they who created it. I call 
 marriage reverence unto each other as unto those who 
 will such a will. 
 
 Let this be the significance and the truth of thy 
 marriage. But that which the much-too-many call 
 marriage, those superfluous alas, what call I that ? 
 
 Alas ! that soul's poverty of two ! Alas ! that soul's 
 dirt of two ! Alas ! that miserable ease of two ! 
 
 Marriage they call that; and they say marriage is 
 made in heaven. 
 
 Well, I like it not, that heaven of the superfluous ! 
 Nay, I like them not, those animals caught in heavenly 
 nets ! 
 
 Far from me also be the God who cometh halting to 
 bless what he did not join together. 
 
 Laugh not at such marriages ! What child hath not 
 reason to weep over its parents ! 
 
 Worthy and ripe for the significance of earth 
 appeared this man unto me, but when I saw his wife 
 earth seemed unto me a madhouse. 
 
 Yea, I wish the earth would tremble in convulsions 
 whenever a saint and a goose couple. 
 
 This one went out for truths like a hero and at last 
 he secured a little dressed-up lie. He calleth it his 
 marriage. 
 
 That one was reserved in intercourse and chose fas- 
 tidiously. But suddenly he for ever spoiled his com- 
 pany : he calleth this his marriage.
 
 96 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 A third one looked for a servant with an angel's 
 virtues. But suddenly he became the servant of a 
 woman, and now it would be well if in consequence he 
 became an angel. 
 
 I found all buyers careful, having cunning eyes. 
 But even the most cunning one buyeth his wife in a 
 sack. 
 
 Many short follies that is what ye call love. 
 And your marriage maketh an end of many short 
 follies being one long stupidity. 
 
 Your love unto woman, and woman's love unto 
 man : alas ! would it were sympathy with suffering 
 and veiled Gods ! But generally two animals find 
 each other out. 
 
 But even your best love is but an enraptured 
 parable and a painful heat. It is a torch that is to 
 beacon you unto higher ways. 
 
 One day ye shall love beyond yourselves ! If so, 
 first learn how to love. And hence ye have had to 
 drink the bitter cup of your love. 
 
 Bitterness is in the cup even of the best love : thus 
 it bringeth longing for beyond-man : thus it bring- 
 eth thirst unto thee, the creator ! 
 
 Thirst unto the creator, an arrow and longing for 
 beyond-man : say, my brother, is that thy will unto 
 marriage ? 
 
 Holy I call such a will and such a marriage." 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF FREE DEATH 
 
 " Many die too late, and some die too early. Still 
 the doctrine soundeth strange : ' Die at the right 
 time.' 
 
 ' Die at the right time : ' thus Zarathustra teacheth. 
 
 Nay, he who hath never lived at the right time, 
 hgw could he ever die at the right time? Would 
 that he had never been born ! Thus I counsel the 
 superfluous. 
 
 But even the superfluous put on airs about their 
 dying, and even the hollowest nut wisheth to be 
 cracked. 
 
 Everyone taketh dying seriously, and death is not 
 yet a festival. Not yet have men learnt how the finest 
 festivals are consecrated. 
 
 I show you the achieving death, which, for the 
 living, becometh a sting and a pledge. 
 
 The achieving one dieth his death victorious, sur- 
 rounded by hopeful ones and such as pledge them- 
 selves. 
 
 Thus should one learn to die; and there should 
 be no festival, in which such a dying one did not 
 consecrate the oaths of the living! 
 H 97
 
 98 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 To die thus is the best; the second is however to 
 die in the battle and spend a great soul. 
 
 But equally hated by the fighting one and the 
 victor is your grinning death, which stealeth nigh 
 like a thief, and yet cometh as a master. 
 
 I praise unto you my death, free death, which 
 cometh because I will. 
 
 And when shall I will ? He who hath a goal and 
 an heir wisheth death to come at the right time for 
 goal and heir. 
 
 And out of reverence for goal and heir he will 
 hang up no more withered wreaths in the sanctuary 
 of life. 
 
 Indeed, I would not be like the rope-makers. They 
 draw out their cord longer and longer, going ever 
 backwards themselves. 
 
 Many a one, besides, waxeth too old for his truths 
 and victories, a toothless mouth having no longer a 
 right unto every truth. 
 
 And whoever wisheth fame, must in time say fare- 
 well unto honour, and exercise the difficult art of depart- 
 ing at the right time. 
 
 One must cease to be eaten, when one tasteth best ; 
 they who would be loved for long know that. 
 
 There are sour apples whose lot it is to wait till 
 the last day of autumn. At the same time they wax 
 ripe and yellow and wrinkled. 
 
 With some the heart groweth old first, with others
 
 OF FREE DEATH 99 
 
 the spirit. And some are old in youth : but late youth 
 remaineth long youth. 
 
 Unto many life is a failure, a poisonous worm eat- 
 ing through unto their heart. These ought to see to 
 it that they succeed better in dying. 
 
 Many never grow sweet, but putrefy even in sum- 
 mer. It is cowardice that maketh them stick unto 
 their branch. 
 
 Much-too-many live, and much-too-long they stick 
 unto their branches. Would that storm came to 
 shake from the tree all that is putrid and gnawed by 
 worms ! 
 
 Would that preachers of swift death came! They 
 would be the proper storms to shake the trees of life ! 
 But I hear only slow death preached and patience 
 with all that is 'earthly.' 
 
 Alas ! ye preach patience with what is earthly ? 
 What is earthly hath too much patience with you, ye 
 revilers ! 
 
 Too early died that Hebrew whom the preachers of 
 slow death revere : and his dying-too-early hath been 
 fatal for many since. 
 
 When Jesus the Hebrew knew only the tears and 
 melancholy of the Hebrew, together with the hatred 
 of the good and just, then a longing for death sur- 
 prised him. 
 
 Would that he had remained in the desert and far 
 away from the good and just ! Perhaps he would have
 
 IOO THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 learnt how to live and to love the earth and how to 
 laugh besides ! 
 
 Believe me, my brethren ! He died too early ; he 
 himself would have revoked his doctrine, had he 
 reached mine age ! Noble enough to revoke he was ! 
 
 But he was still unripe. Unripely the youth loveth, 
 and unripely also he hateth man and earth. Fettered 
 and heavy are still his mind and the wings of his 
 spirit. 
 
 But in a man there is more of child than in a 
 youth, and less of melancholy : he better understand- 
 eth how to manage death and life. 
 
 Free for death and free in death, a holy Nay-sayer, 
 when there is no longer time to say yea: thus he 
 understandeth how to manage death and life. 
 
 That your dying may not be a blasphemy of man 
 and earth, my friends, that is what I ask from the 
 honey of your soul. 
 
 In your dying your spirit and your virtue shall glow 
 on, like the evening-red round the earth : or else your 
 dying hath not succeeded well. 
 
 Thus I would die myself, that ye friends for my 
 sake may love the earth more than before; and I 
 would become dust again, in order to have rest in 
 earth which gave me birth. 
 
 Of a truth, Zarathustra had a goal, he threw his 
 ball : now, friends, be the heirs of my goal, I throw 
 the golden ball unto you.
 
 OF FREE DEATH IOI 
 
 Best of all, my friends, I like to see you throw the 
 golden ball ! And thus I wait for a little while on 
 earth : Excuse me ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF GIVING VIRTUE 
 
 Zarathustra having taken leave of the town unto 
 which his heart was attached and whose name is : 
 the Cow of Many Colours many followed him who 
 called themselves his disciples, and accompanied him. 
 Having arrived at four crossways Zarathustra told 
 them that now he wished to go alone; for he had a 
 liking for going alone. But his disciples gave him 
 at parting a stick on the golden handle of which a 
 serpent curled round a sun. Zarathustra, pleased 
 with the stick and supporting himself with it, spake 
 thus unto his disciples : 
 
 "Tell me: how came gold to be valued highest? 
 Because it is uncommon and of little use and shining 
 and chaste in its splendour; it ever spendeth itself. 
 
 Only as an image of the highest virtue gold came 
 to be valued highest. Gold-like shineth the glance of 
 him who giveth. The glitter of gold maketh peace 
 between moon and sun. 
 
 Uncommon is the highest virtue, and of little use ; 
 shining it is and chaste in its splendour : a giving 
 virtue is the highest virtue. 
 
 1 02
 
 OF GIVING VIRTUE IO3 
 
 Verily, I believe I have found you out, my dis- 
 ciples : ye seek like me after giving virtue. What 
 could ye have in common with cats and wolves ? 
 
 Your thirst is to become sacrifices and gifts your- 
 selves : hence it is that ye thirst to heap all riches 
 into your soul. 
 
 Unsatisfied your soul seeketh after treasures and 
 trinkets because your virtue is ever unsatisfied in 
 willing to give away. 
 
 Ye compel all things to come unto you and into 
 you, in order that they may flow back from your 
 well as gifts of your love. 
 
 Verily, such a giving love must become a robber 
 as regardeth all values; but I call that selfishness 
 healthy and holy : 
 
 There is another selfishness, a very poor one, a 
 starving one which ever seeketh to steal, the selfish- 
 ness of the sickly, sickly selfishness. 
 
 With a thief's eye it looketh at all that glittereth ; with 
 the craving of hunger it measureth him who hath plenty 
 to eat; and it ever stealeth round the table of givers. 
 
 Disease speaketh in that craving, and invisible 
 degeneration; of a sick body speaketh the thief-like 
 craving of that selfishness. 
 
 Tell me, my brethren : what regard we as the bad 
 and the worst thing? Is it not degeneration 1 ? And 
 we always suspect degeneration wherever the giving 
 soul is lacking.
 
 IO4 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 Upwards goeth our way, from species to beyond- 
 species. But a horror for us is the degenerating mind 
 which saith : ' All for myself ! ' 
 
 Upwards flieth our mind: it is an image of our 
 body, an image of an exaltation. The names of virt- 
 ues are images of such exaltations. 
 
 Thus the body goeth through history, growing 
 and fighting. And the spirit what is it unto the 
 body ? The herald, companion, and echo of its fights 
 and victories. 
 
 All names of good and evil are images : they speak 
 not out, they only beckon. A fool he who seeketh 
 knowledge from them ! 
 
 My brethren, give heed unto each hour, in which 
 your spirit wisheth to speak in images : there is the 
 origin of your virtue. 
 
 There your body is exalted and risen ; with its de- 
 light it ravisheth the spirit so that it becometh creative 
 and valuing and loving and benefiting all things. 
 
 When your heart overfloweth, broad and full like 
 a stream, a blessing and a danger for those dwelling 
 nigh : there is the origin of your virtue. 
 
 When ye are raised above praise and blame, and 
 your will seeketh to command all things, as the will 
 of a loving one : there is the origin of your virtue. 
 
 When ye despise what is agreeable and a soft bed, 
 and know not how to make your bed far enough from 
 the effeminate : there is the origin of your virtue.
 
 OF GIVING VIRTUE IO5 
 
 When ye will one will, and that end of all trouble 
 is called necessity by you : there is the origin of your 
 virtue. 
 
 Verily, a new good and evil is your virtue verily, 
 a new deep rushing, and the voice of a new well ! 
 
 It is power, that new virtue ; one dominating thought 
 it is, and round it a cunning soul : a golden sun, and 
 round it the serpent of knowledge." 
 
 Here Zarathustra was silent a while looking with 
 love upon his disciples. Then he continued to speak 
 thus with a changed voice. 
 
 " Remain faithful unto earth, my brethren, with the 
 power of your virtue ! Let your giving love and your 
 knowledge serve the significance of earth ! Thus I 
 beg and conjure you. 
 
 Let it not fly away from what is earthly and beat 
 against eternal walls with its wings ! Alas, so much 
 virtue hath ever gone astray in flying ! 
 
 Like me lead back unto earth the virtue which hath 
 gone astray yea, back unto body and life : that it may 
 give its significance unto earth, a human significance. 
 
 Spirit and virtue also have hitherto gone astray 
 and mistaken their goals in a hundred ways. Alas, 
 in our body now all these illusions and mistakes still 
 live. Body and will they have become there.
 
 IO6 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 Spirit and virtue also have lost themselves in 
 seeking and erring hitherto. Yea, man hath been 
 only an attempt. Alas, much ignorance and error 
 have become body in us ! 
 
 Not only the reason of millenniums but also their 
 madness breaketh out in us. Dangerous it is to be 
 an heir. 
 
 Yet we fight step by step with the giant of chance ; 
 over all humanity hitherto not-sense, the lack of sense, 
 hath ruled. 
 
 Let your spirit and your virtue serve the signifi- 
 cance of earth, my brethren ; and let the value of all 
 things be fixed anew by yourselves ! Therefore ye 
 shall be fighters ! Therefore ye shall be creators ! 
 
 Knowingly the body purifieth itself ; attempting 
 with knowledge it exalteth itself; for him who per- 
 ceiveth all instincts are proclaimed holy ; the soul of 
 him who is exalted waxeth merry. 
 
 Physician, heal thyself ; so thou healest also thy 
 patient. Let that be his best health, that he may see 
 with his own eyes him who hath made himself 
 whole. 
 
 A thousand paths there are which have never yet 
 been walked, a thousand healths and hidden islands 
 of life. Unexhausted and undiscovered ever are man 
 and the human earth. 
 
 Awake and listen, ye lonely ones ! From the 
 future winds are coming with a gentle beating of
 
 OF GIVING VIRTUE 
 
 wings, and there cometh a good message for fine 
 ears. 
 
 Ye lonely ones of to-day, ye who stand apart, ye 
 shall one day be a people : from you who have chosen 
 yourselves, a chosen people shall arise : and from it 
 beyond-man. 
 
 Verily, a place of healing shall earth become ! 
 And already a new odour lieth round it, an odour 
 which bringeth salvation and a new hope." 
 
 Zarathustra having spoken these words was silent 
 like one who hath not yet uttered his last word ; a 
 long while he doubtfully balanced the stick in his 
 hand. And last he spake thus, his voice having again 
 changed : 
 
 " Alone I now go, my disciples ! Ye go also, and 
 alone. I would have it so. 
 
 Verily, I counsel you : depart from me and defend 
 yourselves from Zarathustra ! And better still : be 
 ashamed of him. Perhaps he hath deceived you. 
 
 The man of perception must not only be able to 
 love his enemies, but also to hate his friends. 
 
 One ill requiteth one's teacher by always remain- 
 ing only his scholar. Why will ye not pluck at my 
 wreath ? 
 
 Ye revere me; but how if your reverence one day
 
 IO8 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, I 
 
 falleth down ? Beware of being crushed to death by 
 a statue! 
 
 Ye say ye believe in Zarathustra ? But what is 
 Zarathustra worth ? Ye are my faithful ones : but 
 what are all faithful ones worth ! 
 
 When ye had not yet sought yourselves ye found me. 
 Thus do all faithful ones ; hence all belief is worth so 
 little. 
 
 Now I ask you to lose me and find yourselves; not 
 until all of you have disowned me, shall I return unto 
 you. 
 
 Verily, with other eyes, my brethren, I shall then seek 
 my lost ones ; with another love I shall then love you. 
 
 And one day ye shall have become friends of mine 
 and children of one hope : then I shall be with you 
 for a third time, in order to celebrate with you the 
 great noon. 
 
 And the great noon is when man standeth in the 
 middle of his course between animal and beyond-man, 
 and glorifieth his way unto the evening as his highest 
 hope ; for it is the way unto a new morning. 
 
 Then he who perisheth will bless himself as one who 
 goeth beyond ; and his sun of knowledge will stand 
 at noon. 
 
 'Dead are all Gods: now we will that beyond-man 
 live' Let this be one day your last will at the great 
 noon !" 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 SECOND PART 
 
 " not until all of you have disowned 
 me shall I return unto you. 
 
 Verily, with other eyes, my brethren, 
 I shall then seek my lost ones ; with an- 
 other love I shall then love you." 
 
 Zarathustra, I 
 Of Giving Virtue
 
 THE CHILD WITH THE LOOKING-GLASS 
 
 After this Zarathustra went back into the moun- 
 tains and the solitude of his cave and withdrew from 
 men, waiting like a sower who hath thrown out his 
 seed. But his soul was filled with impatience and 
 longing for those he loved ; for he had still many gifts 
 for them. For this is the hardest : to shut one's open 
 hand because of love, and as a giver to preserve one's 
 modesty. 
 
 Thus months and years passed away with the lonely 
 one, but his wisdom grew, and its abundance caused 
 him pain. 
 
 But one morning he awoke before dawn, meditated 
 long on his couch, and at last spake unto his heart : 
 
 "Why then was I terrified in my dream so that I 
 awoke ? Did not a child come unto me carrying a 
 looking-glass ? 
 
 ' O Zarathustra ' the child said unto me ' look at 
 thyself in the looking-glass ! ' 
 
 But when I looked into the looking-glass I cried 
 aloud, and my heart was shaken. For in it I did not 
 see myself, I saw a devil's grimace and scornful 
 laughter. 
 
 Verily, only too well I understand the sign and warn-
 
 112 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 ing of this dream ; my teaching is in danger : tares 
 usurp the name of wheat. 
 
 Mine enemies have grown strong and have distorted 
 the face of my teaching, so that my dearest friends 
 must be ashamed of the gifts I gave them. 
 
 My friends are lost; the hour hath come for me to 
 seek my lost ones." 
 
 With these words Zarathustra started up, but not 
 like one terrified seeking for air ; on the contrary, like 
 a prophet and poet visited by the spirit. With aston- 
 ishment his eagle and his serpent gazed upon him ; 
 for a happiness to come lay on his countenance like 
 the day-blush. 
 
 " What hath happened unto me, mine animals ? " 
 said Zarathustra. " Am I not changed ! Did not bliss 
 come unto me like a stormwind ? 
 
 Foolish is my happiness, and foolish things it will 
 say : too young it is : have patience with it ! 
 
 Wounded I am by my happiness. All sufferers 
 shall be my physicians ! 
 
 Again I am allowed to descend unto my friends as 
 well as unto mine enemies ! Again Zarathustra is 
 allowed to speak and give and do his kindest unto 
 his dear friends. 
 
 Mine impatient love floweth over in streams, down- 
 wards towards east and west. Out of silent mountains 
 and thunderstorms of pain my soul rusheth into the 
 valleys.
 
 THE CHILD WITH THE LOOKING-GLASS 113 
 
 Too long have I yearned and looked into the dis- 
 tance; too long hath solitude possessed me: thus I 
 have got disaccustomed to silence. 
 
 Mouth I have become all over, and the brawling of 
 a brook rushing from high rocks: I will hurl my 
 speech into the valleys. 
 
 Let the stream of my love rush into what is pathless ! 
 How should a stream not at last find its way into the 
 ocean ! 
 
 It is true, there is a lake within me, hermit-like, 
 self-contented; but the stream of my love teareth it 
 along into the ocean ! 
 
 New paths I tread, a new speech cometh unto me ; 
 like all creators I have grown weary of old tongues. 
 My mind wisheth no more to walk on worn-out 
 soles. 
 
 Too slowly all speech runneth for me. Into thy 
 chariot, O storm, I leap. And even thee I will scourge 
 with my malignity. 
 
 Like a cry and a shouting of triumph I shall rush 
 over wide seas until I find the blissful islands where 
 my friends dwell 
 
 And mine enemies among them ! How I now 
 love everyone unto whom I may speak! Even mine 
 enemies are part of my bliss. 
 
 And when I mount my wildest horse my spear 
 always helpeth me best to get on its back; it is the 
 ever ready servant of my foot.
 
 114 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 The spear which I throw at mine enemies ! How 
 grateful am I unto mine enemies that at last I may 
 throw it! 
 
 Too heavily charged was my cloud : between the 
 laughters of lightnings I will throw hail-showers into 
 the depths. 
 
 Powerfully my breast will heave, powerfully it will 
 blow its stormblast over the mountains: thus it will 
 relieve itself. 
 
 Verily, like a storm my happiness and my freedom 
 come. But mine enemies shall believe that the evil 
 one rageth over their heads. 
 
 Yea, ye also will be terrified by my wild wisdom, 
 my friends, and perhaps ye will flee away along with 
 mine enemies. 
 
 Oh ! that I were able to tempt you back with a 
 herdsman's flute ! Oh ! that the lioness of my wis- 
 dom would learn how to growl lovingly ! How many 
 things we have already learnt together. 
 
 My wild wisdom became pregnant on lonely moun- 
 tains; upon rugged stones she bore her young, her 
 youngest. 
 
 Now she runneth strangely through the hard desert 
 and seeketh, and ever seeketh for soft grass, mine 
 old, wild wisdom. 
 
 She would fain bed her dearest on the soft grass 
 of your hearts, on your love, my friends ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 ON THE BLISSFUL ISLANDS 
 
 "The figs fall from the trees, they are good and 
 sweet; and while falling their red skin bursteth. A 
 north wind I am unto ripe figs. 
 
 Thus, my friends, those precepts fall unto your 
 share like figs: now drink their juice and their sweet 
 meat ! Autumn it is round about and clear sky and 
 afternoon. 
 
 Behold what plenty is around us! And it is 
 beautiful to gaze on remote seas from the midst of 
 plenty. 
 
 Once folk said 'God' when they gazed on remote 
 seas, now I have taught you to say: ' Beyond-man.' 
 
 God is a supposition ; but I would have your sup- 
 posing reach no further than your creative will. 
 
 Could ye create a God ? Then be silent concern- 
 ing all Gods ! But ye could very well create beyond- 
 man. 
 
 Not yourselves perhaps, my brethren ! But ye 
 could create yourselves into fathers and fore-fathers 
 of beyond-man : and let this be your best creating ! 
 
 God is a supposition ; but I would have your sup- 
 posing limited by conceivableness. 
 
 "5
 
 Il6 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 Could ye conceive a God ? But let this be for 
 you will unto truth, that all be turned into something 
 conceivable, visible, tangible for men ! Ye should 
 mentally follow your own senses unto their ends. 
 
 And what ye called world hath still to be created 
 by you : it shall become your reason, your image, 
 your will, your love itself! And, verily, it would be 
 for your bliss, ye perceiving ones ! 
 
 How could ye bear life without that hope, ye 
 perceiving ones ? Ye could neither have been born 
 into an inconceivable, nor into an unreasonable 
 world. 
 
 But let me reveal unto you my heart entirely, my 
 friends : If there were Gods, how could I bear to be 
 no God ! Consequently there are no Gods. 
 
 True, I have drawn that conclusion, but now it 
 draweth me. 
 
 God is a supposition, but who could drink all the 
 pain of that supposition without dying ? Is the creator 
 to be bereaved of his belief, and the eagle of his flight 
 into eagle-distances ? 
 
 God is a thought which bendeth all that is straight, 
 and turneth round whatever standeth still. How ? 
 Should time have disappeared, and all that is perish- 
 able be a mere lie ? 
 
 To think this is a whirling and giddiness for human 
 bones, and a vomiting for the stomach. The giddy- 
 sickness I call it to imagine such things.
 
 ON THE BLISSFUL ISLANDS 117 
 
 Evil I call it and hostile unto human beings, all 
 that teaching of the one thing, the full, the unmoved, 
 the satisfied, the imperishable ! 
 
 All that is imperishable is only a simile! And 
 the poets lie too much. 
 
 But for a simile the best images shall speak of time 
 and becoming ; a praise they shall be and a justification 
 of all perishableness ! 
 
 Creating that is the great salvation from suffering, 
 and an alleviation of life. But for the existence 
 of the creator pain and much transformation are 
 necessary. 
 
 Yea, much bitter death must be in your life, ye 
 creators ! Thus are ye advocates and justifiers of 
 all perishableness. 
 
 In order to be the child that is newly born, the 
 creator must also be the child-bearing woman and 
 the pain of the child-bearing woman. 
 
 Verily, I have gone my way through an hundred 
 souls and through an hundred cradles and birth-throes. 
 Many times have I taken leave ; I know the heart- 
 breaking last hours. 
 
 But thus willeth my creative will my doom. Or 
 to put it more candidly : such a doom is just willed 
 by my will. 
 
 All that feeleth within me suffereth and is in prison ; 
 but my willing always approacheth me as my liberator 
 and bringer of joy.
 
 Il8 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 Willing delivereth : that is the true doctrine of will 
 and freedom thus ye are taught by Zarathustra. 
 
 No-longer-willing, and no-longer-valuing, and no- 
 longer-creating ! Oh, that that great weariness were 
 for ever far from me ! 
 
 Even in perception I feel only the lust of my will 
 to procreate and grow ; and if there be innocence in 
 my perception, it is because there is in it will unto 
 procreation. 
 
 This will enticed me away from God and Gods; 
 for what could be created, if there were Gods ! 
 
 But mine ardent will to create impelleth me unto 
 man ever anew. Thus the hammer is impelled unto 
 the stone. 
 
 Alas, ye men, in the stone there sleepeth for me 
 an image, the image of all mine images ! Alas, that 
 it should have to sleep in the hardest and ugliest 
 stone ! 
 
 Now my hammer rageth cruelly against its prison. 
 Pieces fly off from the stone : what doth it concern 
 me ? 
 
 I shall finish it. For a shadow came unto me 
 the stillest and lightest of all things once came unto 
 me ! 
 
 The beauty of beyond-man came unto me as a 
 shadow. Alas, my brethren ! What do Gods concern 
 me!" 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF THE PITIFUL 
 
 " My friends, a mocking speech hath come unto 
 your friend : ' Behold Zarathustra ! Doth he not walk 
 among us as among animals ? ' 
 
 But it is better said thus : ' The perceiving one 
 walketh among men as being animals.' 
 
 Man himself is called by the perceiving one : the 
 animal with red cheeks. 
 
 How did he get them ? Was it not because he had 
 occasion so often to be ashamed? 
 
 my friends ! Thus speaketh the perceiving 
 one : ' Shame, shame, shame, that is the history of 
 man ! ' 
 
 That is why the noble one maketh it his law never 
 to make anybody ashamed. He maketh it his law to 
 be ashamed in presence of all that suffereth. 
 
 Verily, I like them not, the merciful who are blessed 
 in their mercy. Too much they are lacking in the 
 sense of shame. 
 
 If I must be pitiful, I do not wish to be called 
 so ; and if I am so, I like to be so at a distance. 
 
 1 also like to veil my head and flee before being 
 recognised ; and thus I ask you to do, my friends ! 
 
 119
 
 I2O THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 Would that my fate would always lead across my 
 path such as are free from sorrow like you, and such 
 as those with whom I may share hope and meal and 
 honey. 
 
 Verily, now and then I did something for sufferers, 
 but I always seemed unto myself to do something better 
 when I learned how to enjoy myself better. 
 
 Since man came into existence he hath had too little 
 joy. That alone, my brethren, is our original sin ! 
 
 And when we learn how to have more joy we best 
 get disaccustomed to cause pain and to invent pain unto 
 others. 
 
 Therefore I wash my hand which helped the sufferer : 
 therefore I even wipe my soul. 
 
 For on account of the sufferer's shame I was 
 ashamed, when seeing him suffer; and when I helped 
 him, I strongly offended his pride. 
 
 Great obligations do not make grateful but revenge- 
 ful ; and when a small benefit is not forgotten it turneth 
 into a gnawing worm. 
 
 ' Be shy of accepting ! Distinguish by accepting ! ' 
 Thus I counsel those who have nothing to give away. 
 
 But I am a giver : willingly I give, as a friend unto 
 friends. But strangers and paupers may themselves 
 pluck the fruit from my tree : thus it causeth less shame. 
 
 Beggars should be abolished utterly ! Verily, we are 
 angry when giving them anything and are angry when 
 not giving.
 
 OF THE PITIFUL 121 
 
 And likewise the sinners and bad consciences! Be- 
 lieve me, my friends : remorse of conscience teacheth to 
 bite. 
 
 But the worst are petty thoughts. Verily, it is still 
 better to act wickedly than to think pettily. 
 
 True ye say : ' The pleasure derived from petty wick- 
 edness saveth us many a great wicked deed.' But here 
 folk should not try to save. 
 
 Like an ulcer is an evil deed : it itcheth and scratch- 
 eth and breaketh forth, it speaketh honestly. 
 
 ' Behold, I am disease ' saith the evil deed : that is its 
 hqnesty. 
 
 But the petty thought resembleth a fungus : it creep- 
 eth and cowereth and wisheth to be nowhere until 
 the whole body is rotten and withered with small fungi. 
 
 Unto him who is possessed by the devil I say this 
 word into his ear : ' It is better for thee to bring up thy 
 devil. Even for thee there is a way unto greatness ! ' 
 
 Alas, my brethren ! Of everybody one knoweth a 
 little too much. And many a one becometh transparent 
 for us ; but for that reason we are by no means able to 
 penetrate him. 
 
 It is difficult to live with men, because silence is so 
 difficult. 
 
 And we are most unjust not unto him who is contrary 
 to our taste, but unto him who doth not concern us in 
 any way. 
 
 But if thou hast a suffering friend, be a couch for his
 
 122 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 suffering, but a hard bed, as it were, a field-bed : thus 
 thou wilt be of most use for him. 
 
 And if a friend doth wrong unto thee, say : ' I forgive 
 thee what thou didst unto me, but that thou didst so 
 unto thyself, how could I forgive that ? ' 
 
 Thus speaketh all great love : it even overcometh for- 
 giveness and pity. 
 
 One must keep fast one's heart. For if one letteth 
 it go, how soon the head runneth away ! 
 
 Alas ! where in the world have greater follies hap- 
 pened than with the pitiful ? And what in the world 
 hath done more harm than the follies of the pitiful ? 
 
 Woe unto all loving ones who do not possess an 
 elevation which is above their pity ! 
 
 Thus the devil once said unto me : ' Even God hath 
 his own hell : that is his love unto men.' 
 
 And recently I heard the word said : ' God is dead ; 
 he hath died of his pity for men.' 
 
 Beware of pity : a heavy cloud will one day come 
 from it for men. Verily, I understand about weather- 
 forecasts ! 
 
 But remember this word also : All great love is lifted 
 above all its pity, for it seeketh to create what it loveth ! 
 
 ' Myself I sacrifice unto my love, and my neighbour 
 as myself,' thus runneth the speech of all creators. 
 
 But all creators are hard." 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF PRIESTS 
 
 One day Zarathustra made a sign unto his disciples 
 and spake unto them these words : 
 
 " Here are priests. And though they are mine 
 enemies, pass them quietly and with sleeping sword ! 
 
 Among them also there are heroes; many of them 
 have suffered too much. Hence they try to make 
 others suffer. 
 
 t Evil friends they are : nothing is more revengeful 
 than their submissiveness. And easily he defileth him- 
 self who toucheth them. 
 
 But my blood is kindred with theirs; I would have 
 my blood honoured even in theirs." 
 
 And when they had passed Zarathustra was attacked 
 by pain. And when he had fought with his pain a little 
 while, he thus began to speak: 
 
 " I am sorry for these priests. They are contrary 
 unto my taste, but that is a small matter unto me since 
 I am dwelling among men. 
 
 But I suffer and have suffered with them : prisoners 
 they are for me, and branded ones. He whom they 
 call Saviour put them into fetters : 
 
 Into the fetters of false values and illusory words! 
 Oh, that someone would save them from their Saviour! 
 
 123
 
 124 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 Once when the sea tossed them to and fro they 
 believed they had landed on an island; but, behold, 
 it was a slumbering monster ! 
 
 False values and illusory words : these are the 
 worst monsters for mortals, in them doom slum- 
 bereth and waiteth long. 
 
 But at last it cometh and waketh and eateth and 
 devoureth whatever made its tabernacle upon it. 
 
 Oh, look at the tabernacles made by these priests ! 
 Churches they call their sweetly smelling dens. 
 
 Oh, that falsified light, that heavy air ! This place 
 where the soul is not allowed to fly upwards unto 
 its height ! 
 
 But thus its faith commandeth ! ' On your knees 
 up the stairs, ye sinners ! ' 
 
 Verily, I would rather see the shameless than the 
 sprained eyes of their shame and devotion ! 
 
 Who created for himself such dens and stairs 
 of penitence ? Was it not such as sought to hide 
 themselves and were ashamed of the clear sky ? 
 
 And not until the clear sky shall again look through 
 broken ceilings and down on grass and red poppy 
 growing by broken walls, shall I again turn my 
 heart unto the places of this God. 
 
 They called God what was opposite and painful 
 unto them : and, verily, there was much of the heroic 
 in their worship ! 
 
 And they did not know how to love their God 
 otherwise than by fixing man unto the cross.
 
 OF PRIESTS 125 
 
 As corpses they meant to live, in black they draped 
 their corpse : even in their words I smell the evil sea- 
 soning of the deadhouse. 
 
 And he who liveth nigh unto them, liveth nigh unto 
 the black ponds from which the toad singeth its song 
 in sweet melancholy. 
 
 In order that I might learn to believe in their 
 Saviour they ought to sing better songs, and his dis- 
 ciples ought to look saved-like. 
 
 I would fain see them naked : for beauty alone 
 should preach penitence. But who in the world is 
 persuaded by that disguised affliction ? 
 
 Verily, even their saviours have not come from 
 freedom and the seventh heaven of freedom ! Verily, 
 they themselves have never walked on the carpets of 
 knowledge ! 
 
 The mind of these saviours consisted of voids, but 
 into every void they had put their illusion, their stop- 
 gap whom they called God. 
 
 In their pity their mind was drowned, and when 
 they swelled, and swelled over from pity, at the sur- 
 face there always swam a great folly. 
 
 Eagerly and with much crying they drove their 
 flock over their wooden bridge, as if there were only 
 a single bridge into the future! Verily, those herds- 
 men also were of the sheep ! 
 
 Petty intellects and comprehensive souls these 
 herdsmen had: but, my brethren, what small terri-
 
 126 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 tones hitherto have been even the most comprehen- 
 sive souls ! 
 
 Signs of blood have been written by them on the 
 way they went, and it was taught by their folly that 
 truth is proved by blood. 
 
 But blood is the worst of all witnesses for truth ; 
 blood even poisoneth the purest teaching and turneth 
 it into delusion and hatred of hearts. 
 
 And when a man goeth through fire for his teaching 
 what is proved thereby ? Verily, it is more when 
 one's own teaching springeth from one's own burning. 
 
 A sultry heart and a cool head, where these hap- 
 pen to meet, the blusterer ariseth, the ' saviour.' 
 
 Verily, there have been much greater ones and 
 more highly born ones than those whom folk call 
 saviours, those ravishing blusterers. 
 
 And ye, my brethren, if ye ever wish to find the 
 way unto freedom, ye must be saved by much greater 
 ones than any saviours have been. 
 
 Never yet beyond-man existed. I have seen them 
 both naked, the greatest and the smallest man. 
 
 Much too like are they still unto each other. 
 Verily, even the greatest one I found to be much 
 too human ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF THE VIRTUOUS 
 
 "With thunder and heavenly fire-works one hath to 
 speak unto languid and sleeping senses. 
 
 But the voice of beauty speaketh gently ; it stealeth 
 only into the sprightliest souls. 
 
 To-day my shield trembled and laughed gently : 
 that is the holy laughter and trembling of beauty. 
 
 Over you, ye virtuous, my beauty laughed to-day. 
 And thus came its voice unto me : ' They wish to be 
 
 paid in addition ! ' 
 
 Ye wish to be paid in addition, ye virtuous ! Ye 
 wish reward for virtue, heaven for earths, and eternity 
 for your to-day? 
 
 And now ye are angry at my teaching that there 
 is no rewarder and pay-master. Nay, I do not even 
 teach that virtue is its own reward. 
 
 Alas ! That is my trouble : reward and punishment 
 have been deceitfully put into the foundation of things 
 
 and now even into the foundation of your souls, 
 ye virtuous ! 
 
 But like a boar's snout my word shall harrow the 
 foundation of your souls. I would have you call me 
 a plough. 
 
 127
 
 128 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 All the secrets of your foundation shall be brought 
 unto light ; and when ye will lie in the sun harrowed 
 and crushed, your lie will be separated from your truth. 
 
 For this is your truth : ye are too cleanly for the filth 
 of the words : revenge, punishment, reward, retaliation. 
 
 Ye love your virtue as the mother doth her child ; 
 but did anybody ever hear of a mother wishing to be 
 paid for her love ? 
 
 It is your dearest self, your virtue. The thirst of 
 the ring is within you. To reach itself again, for that 
 purpose every ring struggleth and turneth. 
 
 And every work of your virtue resembleth a star 
 extinguished. Its light is still on the way and travel- 
 leth on. When will it have ceased to be on the way ? 
 
 Thus the light of your virtue is still on the way, even 
 when the work hath been done. Be it forgotten or 
 dead, its beam of light still liveth and travelleth. 
 
 That your virtue is your self, and not anything 
 strange, a skin, a mantle : that is the truth from the 
 foundation of your soul, ye virtuous ! 
 
 But to be sure there are men who call the agony 
 under the whip virtue ; and ye have listened too much 
 unto their crying ! 
 
 And there are others who call the putrefaction of 
 their vices virtue ; and when their hatred and their 
 jealousy for once stretch their limbs, their justice 
 awakeneth and rubbeth its sleepy eyes. 
 
 And there are others who are drawn downwards :
 
 OF THE VIRTUOUS , I2Q 
 
 they are drawn by their devils. But the deeper they 
 sink the more ardently gleameth their eye and the 
 desire for their God. 
 
 Alas, their crying also hath reached your ears, ye 
 virtuous : ' What I am not, that, that is for me God and 
 virtue ! ' 
 
 And there are others who walk about heavily and 
 creaking like waggons carrying stones downhill. They 
 talk much of dignity and virtue, their skid they call 
 virtue ! 
 
 And there are others who are wound up like every- 
 day watches ; they go on ticking and wish that ticking 
 to be called virtue. 
 
 Verily, these are mine entertainment. Wherever I 
 find such watches I shall wind them up with my mock- 
 ing; and they shall even click at that. 
 
 And others are proud of their handful of justice, and 
 for its sake commit outrages on all things, so that the 
 world is drowned with their unjustice. 
 
 Alas ! How badly the word ' virtue ' cometh from 
 their mouth ! And when they say : ' I am just,' it 
 soundeth almost like: 'I am just revenged!' 
 
 With their virtue they try to scratch out the eyes of 
 their enemies ; they only extol themselves in order to 
 debase others. 
 
 And again there are others who sit in their mud-bath 
 and thus speak out of the bulrushes : ' Virtue that 
 meaneth to sit still in the mud-bath.
 
 I3O + THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 We bite nobody and go out of the way of him who 
 seeketh to bite ; and in all things we have the opinion 
 we are given.' 
 
 And again there are such as love gestures and think 
 virtue is a kind of gesture. 
 
 Their knees always adore, and their hands are a 
 praise of virtue, but their heart knoweth nothing of it. 
 
 And again there are such as deem it virtue to say : 
 ' Virtue is necessary ' ; but in reality they only believe 
 police to be necessary. 
 
 And many a one who cannot see what is sublime in 
 men, calleth it virtue to see too well what is base in 
 them : thus he calleth his evil eye virtue. 
 
 And some wish to be edified and lifted up, and call 
 it virtue; and others wish to be cast down and call 
 it virtue also. 
 
 And in this way almost all believe they share in 
 virtue. At any rate everybody would have himself to 
 be an expert as to 'good' and 'evil.' 
 
 Zarathustra hath not come to say unto all these liars 
 and fools : ' What know ye of virtue ! What could ye 
 know of virtue ! ' 
 
 But that ye, my friends, may become weary of the 
 old words which ye have learnt from fools and liars. 
 
 Weary of the words ' reward,' ' retaliation,' ' punish- 
 ment,' 'revenge in justice' 
 
 Weary of saying : ' That an action is good, springeth 
 from its being unselfish.'
 
 OF THE VIRTUOUS 13! 
 
 Alas, my friends ! That your self be in your action 
 as a mother is in the child, that shall be for me your 
 word of virtue ! 
 
 Verily, I have taken from you perhaps an hundred 
 words and the dearest playthings of your virtue ; and 
 now ye are angry with me as children are. 
 
 They played on the seashore, then came a wave 
 and swept all their toys away into the depth : now 
 they cry. 
 
 But the same wave shall bring them new playthings 
 and spread before them new coloured shells. 
 
 Thus they will be comforted ; and like them ye also, 
 my friends, shall have your comforts and new col- 
 oured shells ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF THE RABBLE 
 
 " Life is a well of lust ; but wherever the rabble 
 drink also, all wells are poisoned. 
 
 I am fond of all things cleanly ; I like not to see 
 the grinning mouths and the thirst of the unclean. 
 
 They have cast their eye down into the well ; now 
 their repugnant smile shineth up out of the well. 
 
 The holy water hath been poisoned by their con- 
 cupiscence ; and when calling their foul dreams lust 
 they have poisoned words as well. 
 
 Angry waxeth the flame when they lay their 
 damp hearts nigh the fire ; the spirit itself bubbleth 
 and smoketh wherever the rabble approach the fire. 
 
 Sweetish and much too mellow waxeth the fruit 
 in their hand ; shaky and withered at the top waxeth 
 the fruit-tree from their look. 
 
 And many a one who turned away from life only 
 turned away from the rabble ; he cared not to share 
 with them well and fire and fruit. 
 
 And many a one who went into the desert and 
 suffered from thirst v/ith the camels, merely cared 
 not to sit round the cistern with dirty camel-drivers. 
 
 And many a one who came along like a destroyer 
 and a hail-storm unto all corn-fields, merely intended 
 
 132
 
 OF THE RABBLE 133 
 
 to put his foot into the jaws of the rabble and thus 
 stuff their throat. 
 
 And this was not the bit which choked me most : 
 to know that life itself requireth hostility and death 
 and crosses of torture; 
 
 But once I asked and was almost suffocated by 
 my question : ' What ? doth life also require rabble ? 
 
 Are poisoned wells required, and stinking fires, 
 and foul dreams, and mites in the bread of life ? ' 
 
 Not my hatred but my loathing gnawed hungrily 
 at my life ! Alas, I frequently wearied of the spirit 
 when I found the rabble also full of spirit ! 
 
 And I turned my back upon the rulers, when I saw 
 what is now called ruling : to chaffer and barter about 
 power with the rabble ! 
 
 Among nations with foreign tongues I lived with 
 closed ears, in order that the tongue of their chaffer- 
 ing might remain unknown unto me, and their bar- 
 tering about power. 
 
 And holding my nose I angrily walked through 
 all yesterday and to-day. Verily, after writing rabble 
 badly smelleth all yesterday and to-day! 
 
 Like a cripple who became deaf and blind and 
 dumb, thus I lived long in order not to live with the 
 rabble of power, writing, and lust. 
 
 With difficulty my mind went up stairs, and cau- 
 tiously ; alms of lust were its refreshments ; for the 
 blind man, life crept leaning on a stick.
 
 134 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 What happened unto me ? How did I free myself 
 from loathing ? How became mine eye younger ? 
 How did I reach in flying the height where no 
 longer the rabble sit at the well ? 
 
 Did my very loathing give me wings and powers 
 divining wells ? Verily, I had to fly unto the very 
 highest to rediscover the well of lust ! 
 
 Oh, I found it, my brethren ! How on the very 
 height the well of lust floweth for me ! And there 
 is a life, in the drinking of which no rabble share ! 
 
 Almost too violently for me thou flowest, well of 
 lust ! And frequently thou emptiest the cup again 
 by trying to fill it ! 
 
 And yet I must learn to approach thee more 
 modestly. Much too violently my heart floweth tow- 
 ards thee 
 
 My heart on which my summer burneth, the short, 
 hot, melancholy, all-too-blessed summer ! How doth 
 my summer-heart long for thy coolness ! 
 
 Past is the hesitating trouble of my spring ! Past 
 is the wickedness of my flakes of snow in June ! 
 Wholly I became summer and a summer-noon ! 
 
 A summer on the very height with cold wells and 
 blessed stillness ! Oh come, my friends, that the 
 stillness may become still more blessed ! 
 
 For this is our height and our home. Too highly 
 and too steeply we here stay for all the impure and 
 their thirst.
 
 OF THE RABBLE , 135 
 
 Just cast your pure eyes into the well of my lust, 
 ye friends ! How could it become muddy therefrom ! 
 Laughing with its purity it shall receive you. 
 
 On the tree of the future we build our nest. Eagles 
 are to bring food with their beaks unto us lonely ones ! 
 
 Verily, no food, in the eating of which impure ones 
 would be allowed to share ! They would fancy they 
 ate fire and burned their mouths with it. 
 
 Verily, here we have no homes ready for impure 
 ones. Unto their bodies our happiness would mean 
 a cave of ice, and unto their minds as well ! 
 
 And like strong winds we will live above them, 
 companions of eagles, companions of the snow, com- 
 panions of the sun ; thus live strong winds. 
 
 And like a wind I shall one day blow amidst 
 them and take away their breath with my spirit ; 
 thus my future willeth it. 
 
 Verily, a strong wind is Zarathustra for all low 
 lands ; and his enemies and everything that spitteth 
 and bespattereth he counselleth with such advice: 
 ' Take care to spit against the wind ! ' ' 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF TARANTULA 
 
 " Behold, this is the cave of the tarantula ! Wouldst 
 thou see itself ? Here hangeth its net. Touch it so as 
 to make it tremble. 
 
 There the tarantula cometh willingly. Welcome, 
 tarantula ! Black on thy back is thy triangle and 
 mark ; besides I know what is in thy soul. 
 
 Revenge is in thy soul : wherever thou bitest, black 
 canker waxeth ; with revenge thy poison maketh the 
 soul turn round. 
 
 Thus I speak unto you in a parable, ye who make 
 the souls turn round, ye preachers of equality! For 
 me ye are tarantulae and underhand revengeful ones ! 
 
 But I shall bring unto the light your hiding places. 
 Therefore I laugh into your face my laughter of the 
 height. 
 
 Therefore I tear at your net so that rage may 
 tempt you out of your cave of lying and your revenge 
 may jump forth from behind your word 'justice.' 
 
 To save man from revenge, that is for me the 
 bridge towards the highest hope and a rainbow after 
 long thunderstorms. 
 
 136
 
 OF TARANTULA 137 
 
 But the tarantulae would have it otherwise. 'Call 
 it very justice, to fill the world with the thunderstorms 
 of our revenge,' thus they speak unto each other. 
 
 ' Revenge will we take, and aspersion will we cast 
 on all who are not like us ' this the tarantulae-hearts 
 pledge unto themselves. 
 
 And 'will unto equality that itself shall in the 
 future become the name of virtue; and we will raise 
 our clamour against everything that hath power ! ' 
 
 Ye preachers of equality, the tyrant-insanity of im- 
 potency thus crieth out of yourselves for ' equality.' 
 Your most secret tyrant-aspirations thus disguise them- 
 selves under words of virtue ! 
 
 Surly presumption, hidden envy, perhaps the pre- 
 sumption and envy of your fathers : as a flame and 
 insanity of revenge they break forth from you. 
 
 What the father kept close is uttered by the son ; 
 and frequently I found the son to be the revealed 
 secret of the father. 
 
 They resemble the enthusiastic ; but it is not the 
 heart that rouseth their enthusiasm, but revenge. 
 And when they grow sharp and cold, it is not spirit, 
 but envy that maketh them sharp and cold. 
 
 Their jealousy even leadeth them into the paths 
 of thinkers ; and it is the mark of their jealousy that 
 they ever go too far, so that their weariness hath at 
 last to lie down on the snow to sleep. 
 
 From each of their laments soundeth revenge, in
 
 138 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 each of their praises is a sore ; and to be judges ap- 
 peareth unto them to be bliss. 
 
 But thus I counsel you, my friends: Mistrust all 
 in whom the impulse to punish is powerful ! 
 
 They are folk of bad kin and descent. Out of their 
 countenances look the hang-man and blood-hound. 
 
 Mistrust all those who talk much of their justice ! 
 Verily, it is not honey merely that their souls lack. 
 
 And if they call themselves 'the good and just' 
 forget not that to be Pharisees they lack nothing but 
 
 power 
 
 My friends, I like not to be confounded with and 
 taken for a wrong one. 
 
 There are some that preach my doctrine of life 
 but at the same time are preachers of equality and 
 tarantulae. 
 
 If they speak favourably of life although they sit 
 in their cave, these poisonous spiders, and have turned 
 away from life : it is because they wish to cause pain. 
 
 They intend to cause pain unto those who now 
 have power ; for with them the sermon of death is 
 most at home. 
 
 Were it otherwise the tarantulae would teach other- 
 wise. Once it was just they who were the best calum- 
 niators of the world and the best burners of heretics. 
 
 I do not wish to be confounded with, and mistaken 
 for these preachers of equality. For within me justice 
 saith : ' Men are not equal.'
 
 OF TARANTULA 
 
 139 
 
 Neither shall they become so! For what would 
 be my love for beyond-man if I spake otherwise? 
 
 On a thousand bridges and gang-ways they shall 
 throng towards the future, and ever more war and 
 inequality shall be set up among them. Thus my great 
 love maketh me speak ! 
 
 Inventors of images and ghosts they shall become 
 in their hostilities, and with their images and ghosts 
 they shall fight against each other the supreme 
 battle ! 
 
 Good and evil, rich and poor, high and low, and 
 alt the names of values: they shall be weapons and 
 clashing signs that life always hath to surpass itself 
 
 again 
 
 Upwards it striveth to build itself with pillars and 
 stairs, life itself : into far distances it longeth to gaze 
 and outwards after blessed beauties therefore it 
 needeth height! 
 
 And because it needeth height it needeth stairs 
 and contradiction between stairs and those rising be- 
 yond them ! To rise striveth life and to surpass itself 
 in rising. 
 
 And now behold, my friends ! Here where the cave 
 of the tarantula is, the ruins of an old temple rise, 
 do ye gaze there with enlightened eyes! 
 
 Verily, he who here once made his thoughts tower 
 upwards in stone, like the wisest one he knew the 
 secret of all life !
 
 I4O THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 That even in beauty there is fight . and inequality 
 and war over power and superiority : he teacheth it 
 unto us in the clearest parable. 
 
 How divinely here vaults and arches break each 
 other in a struggle ! How with light and shadow they 
 strive contrary unto each other, the divinely striving 
 ones ! 
 
 Let our enemies also be thus secure and beautiful, 
 my friends ! Divinely we will strive contrary to each 
 other ! 
 
 Alas ! There the tarantula bit me, mine old enemy ! 
 Divinely, securely, and beautifully it bit my finger ! 
 
 'There must be punishment and justice' thus it 
 thinketh. ' Not for nothing shall he sing here songs 
 in honour of hostility ! ' 
 
 Yea, it hath taken its revenge ! And alas, now 
 it will with revenge even make my soul turn round ! 
 
 But that I may not turn round, my friends, tie me 
 fast unto this pillar ! I will rather be a stylite than 
 a whirlpool of revengefulness ! 
 
 Verily, no whirlwind or eddy-wind is Zarathustra; 
 and if he be a dancer, he will never be a tarantula- 
 dancer! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF THE FAMOUS WISE MEN 
 
 "Ye have saved the folk and the superstition of 
 the folk, all ye famous wise men, and not truth ! 
 And for that very reason ye were revered. 
 
 And for the same reason your unbelief was en- 
 dured because it was a joke and a round-about-way 
 unto the folk. Thus the lord alloweth his slaves to 
 bustle about and is amused with their overflowing 
 spirits. 
 
 But what is hated by the folk as a wolf is by the 
 dogs is the free spirit, the enemy of all fetters, the 
 not-adorer, he who liveth in the woods. 
 
 To hunt him up from his hiding place that hath 
 always been called by the folk : ' the sense for what 
 is right ' : against him they still bait their hounds 
 with the sharpest teeth. 
 
 ' For truth is there because the folk are there ! 
 Alas ! Alas ! for them who seek ! ' Thus it hath 
 sounded at all times. 
 
 Ye tried to help your people to feel themselves 
 right in their reverence. That was what ye called 
 ' will unto truth,' ye famous wise men ! 
 
 141
 
 142 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 And for ever your heart said unto itself : ' From the 
 folk I have sprung; thence also sprang the voice of 
 God.' 
 
 Stiff necks and wisdom ye always had, like the asses, 
 when ye were the folk's advocates. 
 
 And many a mighty one who wished to drive well 
 with the folk, harnessed in front of his horses a little 
 ass, a famous wise man. 
 
 And now I wish, ye famous wise men, ye would 
 finally and entirely throw off the hide of the lion! 
 
 The hide of the beast of prey, the many-coloured, 
 and the shaggy hair of the explorer, seeker, conqueror ! 
 
 Alas ! in order to make me believe in your ' truth- 
 fulness,' ye would require first to break your revering 
 will. 
 
 Truthful thus I call him who goeth into godless 
 deserts and hath broken his revering heart. 
 
 In yellow sand burnt by the sun, it is true, he leer- 
 eth thirstily at the islands full of wells where living 
 things rest under dark trees. 
 
 But his thirst persuadeth him not to become like 
 these comfortable ones ; for where oases are, there are 
 idols also. 
 
 Hungry, violent, lonely, godless thus the lion's will 
 willeth itself. 
 
 Free from the happiness of slaves ; saved from 
 Gods and adorations ; fearless and fear-inspiring ; great 
 and lonely ; this is the will of the truthful one.
 
 OF THE FAMOUS WISE MEN 143 
 
 In the desert at all times the truthful have lived, 
 the free spirits, as the masters of the desert; but in 
 towns live the well-fed, famous wise men, the draught- 
 beasts. 
 
 For, being asses, they always draw the folk's cart ! 
 
 Not that therefore I was angry with them ; but as 
 serving ones they are regarded by me, and as har- 
 nessed ones, even if they glitter in golden harness. 
 
 For often they were good servants and worth their 
 hire. For thus speaketh virtue : ' If thou must be a 
 servant, seek him unto whom thy service will be of the 
 mt>st use ! 
 
 The spirit and virtue of thy master shall grow in 
 that thou art his servant. Thus thou thyself wilt grow 
 with his spirit and his virtue ! ' 
 
 And, verily, ye famous wise men, ye servants of the 
 folk ! Ye yourselves have grown with the folk's spirit 
 and virtue and the folk through you! I say so in 
 your honour ! 
 
 But folk ye remain for me even in your virtues, 
 folk with dim-sighted eyes, folk that know not what 
 spirit is ! 
 
 Spirit is that life which itself cutteth into life. By 
 one's own pain one's own knowledge increaseth ; 
 knew ye that before ? 
 
 And the happiness of the spirit is this : to be anointed 
 and consecrated by tears as a sacrificial animal; 
 knew ye that before?
 
 144 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 And even the blindness of the blind and his seeking 
 and fumbling shall bear witness as unto the power of 
 the sun, into which he gazed ; knew ye that before ? 
 
 And the perceiver shall learn to build with moun- 
 tains. Little it is for the spirit to remove mountains ; 
 - knew ye that before ? 
 
 Ye only see the sparks of the spirit; ye know not 
 the anvil it is, nor the cruelty of its hammer ! 
 
 Verily, ye know not the pride of the spirit ! Still 
 less would ye endure the modesty of the spirit, if it 
 once would utter it. 
 
 Neither have ye ever before been allowed to throw 
 your spirit into a pit of snow. Ye are not hot enough 
 for that. Thus ye know not, either, the ravishings of 
 its coldness. 
 
 But in every respect ye make yourselves too famil- 
 iar with the spirit ; and ye have frequently made out 
 of wisdom an alms-house and infirmary for bad poets. 
 
 Ye are not eagles. Thus ye have never experienced 
 the happiness in the terror of the spirit. And he who 
 is not a bird shall not dwell over abysses. 
 
 Ye are for me lukewarm ; but every deep percep- 
 tion floweth cold. As cold as ice are the innermost 
 wells of the spirit, a refreshment for hot hands and 
 doers. 
 
 Decently there ye stand, and stiff, and with a stiff 
 back, ye famous wise men ! Ye are not driven by 
 any strong wind or will.
 
 OF THE FAMOUS WISE MEN 145 
 
 Saw ye never a sail go over the sea, rounded and 
 blown up and trembling with the violence of the 
 wind ? 
 
 Like that sail, trembling with the violence of the 
 spirit, my wisdom goeth over the sea my wild wis- 
 dom! 
 
 But ye servants of the folk, ye famous wise men, 
 how could ye go with me ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 THE NIGHT-SONG 
 
 "Night it is: now talk louder all springing wells. 
 And my soul is a springing well. 
 
 Night it is : only now all songs of the loving 
 awake. And my soul is the song of a loving one. 
 
 Something never stilled, something never to be 
 stilled is within me. It longeth to give forth sound. 
 A longing for love is within me, that itself speaketh 
 the language of love. 
 
 Light I am : would that I were night ! But it is 
 my loneliness, to be girded round by light. 
 
 Oh, that I were dark and like the night! How 
 would I suck at the breasts of light ! 
 
 And I would bless even you, ye small, sparkling 
 stars and glow-worms on high, and be blessed by 
 your gifts of light! 
 
 But in mine own light I live, back into myself 
 I drink the flames that break forth from me. 
 
 I know not the happiness of the receiver. And 
 often I dreamt that stealing was needs much sweeter 
 than receiving. 
 
 It is my poverty that my hand never resteth from 
 giving; it is mine envy that I see waiting eyes and 
 the illuminated nights of longing. 
 
 146
 
 THE NIGHT-SONG 147 
 
 Oh, unblessedness of all givers ! Oh, obscuration 
 of my sun ! Oh, longing for longing ! Oh, famished 
 voracity in the midst of satisfaction ! 
 
 They take things from me : but do I touch their 
 soul? There is a gulf between giving and taking; 
 and the smallest gulf is the most difficult to bridge 
 over. 
 
 A hunger waxeth out of my beauty: I would 
 cause pain unto those unto whom I bring light ; I 
 would fain bereave those I gave my gifts to. Thus 
 am I hungry for wickedness. 
 
 Taking back my hand when another hand stretch- 
 eth out for it; hesitating like the waterfall that hesi- 
 tateth when raging down thus am I hungry for 
 wickedness. 
 
 Such revenge is invented by mine abundance; 
 such insidiousness springeth from my loneliness. 
 
 My happiness of giving died from giving; my 
 virtue became weary of itself from its abundance ! 
 
 He who always giveth is in danger to lose his sense 
 of shame ; he who always distributeth getteth hard 
 swellings on his hand and heart from distributing. 
 
 Mine eye no longer floweth over from the shame 
 of the begging ones ; my hand hath become too 
 hard to feel the trembling of full hands. 
 
 Whither went the tear of mine eye and the down 
 of my heart ? Oh, solitude of all givers ! Oh, silence 
 of all lighters !
 
 148 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 Many suns circle round in empty space : unto all 
 that is dark they speak with their light, unto me 
 they are silent. 
 
 Oh, that is the enmity of light against what 
 shineth ! Without pity it wandereth on its course. 
 
 Unfair towards what shineth in the heart of its 
 heart, cold towards suns, thus walketh every sun. 
 
 Like the storm the suns fly on their courses ; that 
 is their walking. They follow their inexorable will ; 
 that is their coldness. 
 
 Oh, it is only ye, ye dark ones, ye of the night 
 who create warmth out of what shineth ! Oh, it is 
 only ye who drink milk and refreshment from the 
 udders of light ! 
 
 Alas, there is ice round me, my hand burneth it- 
 self when touching what is icy ! Alas, there is thirst 
 within me that is thirsty for your thirst! 
 
 Night it is : alas, that I must be a light ! And 
 a thirst for what is of the night ! And solitude ! 
 
 Night it is : now, like a well, my longing breaketh 
 forth from me. I am longing for speech. 
 
 Night it is : now talk louder all springing wells. 
 And my soul is a springing well. 
 
 Night it is : only now all songs of the loving 
 awake. And my soul is the song of a loving one." 
 
 Thus sang Zarathustra.
 
 THE DANCE-SONG 
 
 One night Zarathustra went through the forest 
 with his disciples, and when seeking for a well, 
 behold ! he came unto a green meadow which was 
 surrounded by trees and bushes. There girls danced 
 together. As soon as the girls knew Zarathustra, 
 they ceased to dance; but Zarathustra approached 
 them with a friendly gesture and spake these words : 
 
 " Cease not to dance, ye sweet girls ! No spoil- 
 sport hath come unto you with an evil eye, no 
 enemy of girls. 
 
 I am the advocate of God in the presence of the 
 devil. But he is the spirit of gravity. How could 
 I, ye light ones, be an enemy unto divine dances ? 
 Or unto the feet of girls with beautiful ankles? 
 
 True, I am a forest and a night of dark trees, 
 but he who is not afraid of my darkness, findeth 
 banks full of roses under my cypresses. 
 
 And I think he will also find the tiny God whom 
 girls like best. Beside the well he lieth, still with 
 his eyes shut. 
 
 Verily, in broad daylight he fell asleep, the slug- 
 gard! Did he perhaps try to catch too many butter- 
 flies ? 
 
 149
 
 I5O THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 Be not angry with me, ye beautiful dancers, if I 
 chastise a little the tiny God! True, he will prob- 
 ably cry and weep; but even when weeping he 
 causeth laughter! 
 
 And with tears in his eyes shall he ask you for a 
 dance ; and I myself shall sing a song unto his dance : 
 
 A dance-song and a mocking song directed unto 
 the spirit of gravity, my very highest and most power- 
 ful devil, whom they call ' the master of the world.' " 
 
 And this is the song sung by Zarathustra, when 
 Cupid and the girls danced together : 
 
 "Of late I looked into thine eye, O life! And I 
 seemed unto myself to sink into what is impenetrable. 
 
 But thou drewest me out of it with thy golden 
 hook. Mockingly thou laughedst when I called thee 
 impenetrable. 
 
 'This is the speech of all fish,' saidst thou. 'What 
 they do not penetrate is impenetrable. 
 
 But I am only changeable and wild and a woman 
 in all respects, and not a virtuous one 
 
 Although I am called by you men " the deep one " 
 or "the faithful one" or "the eternal one" or "the 
 mysterious one." 
 
 But ye men always present us with your own virt- 
 ues. Alas, ye virtuous ! ' 
 
 Thus she laughed, the incredible one. But I never 
 believe her or her laughter when she speaketh badly 
 of herself.
 
 THE DANCE-SONG 151 
 
 And when I talked with my wild wisdom privately, 
 she told me angrily : ' Thou wiliest, thou desirest, thou 
 lovest ; therefore only thou praisest life ! ' 
 
 Then I almost answered in anger and told the truth 
 unto the angry one ; and one cannot answer more 
 angrily than when ' telling the truth ' unto one's wis- 
 dom. 
 
 For thus things stand among us three. I love 
 life alone from the bottom and, verily, the most, 
 when I hate her ! 
 
 But that I am fond of wisdom and often too fond, 
 that is because she remindeth me of life very much ! 
 
 Wisdom hath life's eye, life's laughter, and even 
 life's little golden fishing-rod. Is it my fault that the 
 two are so like unto each other ? 
 
 And when once life asked me : ' Wisdom, who is 
 she ? ' I eagerly said : ' Oh yes ! wisdom ! 
 
 One is thirsty for her and is not satisfied; one 
 looketh through veils; one catcheth with nets. 
 
 Is she beautiful ? I do not know. But even the 
 oldest carps are lured by her. 
 
 Changeable she is and defiant; often I saw her 
 bite her own lip and pass the comb the wrong way 
 through her hair. 
 
 Perhaps she is wicked and deceitful, and in all re- 
 spects a woman ; but just when speaking badly of 
 herself she seduceth most.' 
 
 When I told that unto life, she laughed wickedly
 
 152 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 and shut her eyes. ' Say, of whom dost thou speak ? 
 Is it of me ? 
 
 Suppose thou wert right, doth one say that thus 
 into my face ! But now speak of thy wisdom also ! ' 
 
 Oh ! and now thou openedst again thine eye, O 
 beloved life ! And I seemed again unto myself to sink 
 into what is impenetrable." 
 
 Thus sang Zarathustra. But when the dance was 
 finished and the girls had departed, sad he grew. 
 
 "The sun hath gone down long ago," he said at 
 last; "the meadow is damp, and coolness ariseth 
 from the forests. 
 
 An unknown something hovereth round me and 
 gazeth in deep thought. What? Thou livest still, 
 Zarathustra ? 
 
 Why ? Wherefore ? Wherethrough ? Whither ? 
 Where ? How ? Is it not folly still to live ? 
 
 Alas ! my friends, it is the evening that thus out of 
 myself asketh. Forgive me my sadness ! 
 
 Evening it hath become. Forgive me that it hath 
 become evening ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 THE GRAVE-SONG 
 
 " ' Yonder is the island of graves, the silent. Yonder 
 also are the graves of ray youth. Thither will I carry 
 an evergreen wreath of life.' 
 
 Resolving this in my heart I went over the sea. 
 
 Oh, ye, ye visions and apparitions of my youth ! 
 Oh, all ye glances of love, ye divine moments ! How 
 could ye die so quickly for me ! This day I think of 
 ycfu as of my dead ones. 
 
 From your direction, my dearest dead ones, a sweet 
 odour cometh unto me, an odour setting free heart 
 and tears. Verily, it shaketh and setteth free the 
 heart of the lonely sailor. 
 
 Still I am the richest and he who is to be envied 
 most I, the loneliest ! For I have had you, and ye 
 have me still. Say, for whom as for me have such 
 rose apples fallen from the tree ? 
 
 Still I am the heir and soil of your love, flourish- 
 ing in memory of you with many-coloured wild- 
 growing virtues, O ye dearest! 
 
 Alas, we had been made to remain nigh unto each 
 other, ye kind, strange marvels ! And ye came not 
 unto me and my desire, as shy birds do. Nay, ye 
 came as trusting ones unto a trusting one ! 
 
 'S3
 
 154 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 Yea, like me, ye are made for faithfulness, and for 
 tender eternities. Must I now call you after your 
 faithlessness, ye divine glances and moments ? No 
 other name have I yet learnt. 
 
 Verily, too soon have ye died for me, ye fugitives. 
 Yet ye did not flee from me, nor did I flee from 
 you. Innocent we are towards each other in our 
 faithlessness ! 
 
 To kill me they strangled you, ye singing birds 
 of my hopes ! Yea, after you, my dearest ones, 
 wickedness always shot arrows to hit my heart! 
 
 And it hath hit ! For ye have ever been what 
 was dearest unto me, my possession and my being 
 possessed. Therefore ye had to die young and much 
 too soon ! 
 
 At the most vulnerable things I possessed, the 
 arrow was shot. That was after you whose skin is 
 like down and still more like the smile that dieth by 
 a glance ! 
 
 But this word I shall say unto mine enemies : 
 What is all manslaughter compared with what ye 
 have done unto me ! 
 
 More wicked things ye have done unto me than 
 all manslaughter is. What was irrecoverable for me 
 ye have taken from me. Thus I say unto you, mine 
 enemies ! 
 
 For ye have slain the visions and dearest marvels 
 of my youth ! For ye have taken from me my play-
 
 THE GRAVE-SONG 155 
 
 fellows, the blessed spirits ! Unto their memory I lay 
 down this wreath and this curse. 
 
 This curse upon you, mine enemies! For ye have 
 made short what was eternal for me ; as a sound 
 breaketh off in a cold night ! Scarcely as a glancing 
 of divine eyes it came unto me, as a moment ! 
 
 Thus in a good hour once spake my purity : ' All 
 beings shall be divine for me ! ' 
 
 Then ye surprised me with foul ghosts. Alas ! 
 Whither fled then that good hour? 
 
 ' All days shall be holy unto me.' Thus spake once 
 thfe wisdom of my youth, verily, the speech of a 
 gay wisdom ! 
 
 But then ye, mine enemies, stole my nights and 
 sold them to cause me sleepless pain. Alas ! Whither 
 now hath fled that gay wisdom ? 
 
 Once I desired lucky bird-omens. Then ye led an 
 owl-monster across my way, an adverse one. Alas! 
 Whither fled then my tender desire ? 
 
 Once I promised to renounce all loathing. Then 
 ye changed into ulcers those who were nigh unto 
 me and nighest unto me. Alas ! Whither fled then 
 my noblest promise ? 
 
 As a blind man I once went in blessed ways. Then 
 ye threw filth in the way of the blind man. And now 
 the old footpath of the blind man striketh him with 
 disgust. 
 
 And when I did my hardest and celebrated the
 
 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 victory of mine overcomings, then ye made those 
 who loved me cry, that I caused them the sorest 
 pain. 
 
 Verily, it hath always been your action, to make 
 bitter my best honey and the diligence of my best 
 bees. 
 
 Ye always sent the most impudent beggars unto 
 my charity. Ye always pressed the incurably shame- 
 less round my sympathy. Thus ye wounded my 
 virtues in their belief. 
 
 And as soon as I laid down as a sacrifice what 
 was holiest unto me, quickly your ' piety ' laid its 
 fatter gifts beside it, so that in the steam of your 
 fat my holiest was suffocated. 
 
 And once I wished to dance as I had danced be- 
 fore ; I wished to dance beyond all heavens. Then 
 ye persuaded my dearest singer. 
 
 And now he started a dull, terrible melody. Alas, 
 he blew into mine ears like a mournful horn ! 
 
 Murderous singer, tool of wickedness, most innocent 
 one ! Already I stood prepared for the best dance ; 
 then thou murderedst my rapture with thy tunes ! 
 
 Only in dancing I know how to utter the parable 
 of the highest things. And now my highest parable 
 remained unuttered in my limbs ! 
 
 Unuttered and unsaved remained my highest hope ! 
 And all the visions and comforts of my youth died ! 
 
 How did I bear it ? How did I forget and over-
 
 THE GRAVE-SONG 157 
 
 come such wounds ? How did my soul rise again 
 from these graves ? 
 
 Yea, a thing invulnerable, unburiable is within 
 me; a thing that blasteth rocks; it is called my will. 
 Silently and unchanged it walketh through the years. 
 
 It will go its way on my feet, mine old will ; 
 hard-hearted and invulnerable is its sense. 
 
 Invulnerable I am at my heel only. There thou 
 still livest and art like thyself, thou most patient one ! 
 Thou hast ever broken through all graves, and dost 
 so still ! 
 
 fn thee what is unsaved of my youth still liveth. 
 And as life and youth thou sittest hopeful on the 
 yellow ruins of graves. 
 
 Yea, thou still art for me the destroyer of all 
 graves ! All hail unto thee, my will ! Only where 
 there are graves are there resurrections." 
 
 Thus sang Zarathustra.
 
 OF SELF-OVERCOMING 
 
 " ' Will unto truth ' ye call, ye wisest men, what 
 inspireth you and maketh you ardent? 
 
 ' Will unto the conceivableness of all that is ' 
 thus I call your will ! 
 
 All that is ye are going to make conceivable. For 
 with good mistrust ye doubt whether it is conceiv- 
 able. 
 
 But it hath to submit itself and bend before your- 
 selves ! Thus your will willeth. Smooth it shall be- 
 come and subject unto spirit as its mirror and 
 reflected image. 
 
 That is your entire will, ye wisest men, as a will 
 unto power; even when ye speak of good and evil 
 and of valuations. 
 
 Ye will create the world before which to kneel 
 down. Thus it is your last hope and drunkenness. 
 
 The unwise, it is true, the folk, they are like 
 unto a river down which a boat glideth. And in 
 the boat the valuations are sitting solemn and 
 disguised. 
 
 Your will and your valuations ye placed on the 
 river of becoming. What is believed by the folk as 
 
 '58
 
 OF SELF-OVERCOMING 159 
 
 good and evil betrayeth unto me an old will unto 
 power. 
 
 It hath been you, ye wisest men, who placed such 
 guests in the boat and gave them pomp and proud 
 names, ye and your dominating will ! 
 
 Now the river carrieth on your boat; it must 
 carry it on. Little matter if the broken wave 
 foameth and angrily contradicteth the keel! 
 
 Not the river is your danger, nor the end of your 
 good and evil, ye wisest men; but that will itself, 
 will unto power, the unexhausted, procreative will 
 of flif e. 
 
 But in order that ye may understand my word of 
 good and evil, I shall tell you my word of life and 
 of all kinds of living things. 
 
 I pursued living things, I walked on the broadest 
 and the narrowest paths to perceive their kin. 
 
 With an hundredfold mirror I caught their glance 
 when their mouth was shut, in order to hear their 
 eye speak. And their eye spake unto me. 
 
 But wherever I found living things, there also I 
 heard the speech of obedience. All living things are 
 things that obey. 
 
 And this is the second : he is commanded who 
 cannot obey his own self. This is the way of living 
 things. 
 
 But this is the third I heard: to command is 
 more difficult than to obey. And not only that the
 
 I6O THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 commander beareth the burden of all who obey, and 
 that this burden easily crusheth him; 
 
 An effort and a jeopardy appeared unto me to be 
 contained in all commanding; and whenever living 
 things command they risk themselves. 
 
 Nay even, when they command themselves : even 
 there they have to atone for their commanding. For 
 their own law they must become judge and avenger 
 and sacrifice. 
 
 ' How doth that happen ? ' I asked myself. What 
 persuadeth living things to obey and command and 
 obey in commanding ? 
 
 Now hearken unto my word, ye wisest men ! Ex- 
 amine earnestly whether I have stolen into the heart 
 of life itself and unto the roots of its heart ! 
 
 Wherever I found living matter I found will unto 
 power ; and even in the will of the serving, I found 
 the will to be master. 
 
 To serve the stronger the weaker is persuaded by 
 its own will which wisheth to be master over what is 
 still weaker. This delight alone it liketh not to miss. 
 
 And as the smaller giveth itself up unto the 
 larger, in order to have itself delight from, and 
 power over the smallest : thus even the largest 
 giveth itself up, and for the sake of power risketh 
 life. 
 
 That is the devotion of the largest, to be jeopardy 
 and danger and a casting of dice about death.
 
 OF SELF-OVERCOMING l6l 
 
 And wherever there are sacrifice and services and 
 loving glances, there is will to be master. By secret 
 paths the weaker one stealeth into the castle and 
 unto the heart of the more powerful one and there 
 stealeth power. 
 
 And this secret did life itself utter unto me : ' Be- 
 hold/ it said, ' I am whatever must surpass itself. 
 
 It is true, ye call it will unto procreation or impulse 
 for the end, for the higher, the more remote, the more 
 manifold ; but all that is one thing and one secret 
 
 I perish rather than renounce that one thing; and, 
 verily, wherever there is perishing and falling of leaves, 
 behold, life sacrificeth itself for the sake of power ! 
 
 That I must be war and becoming and end and 
 the contradiction of the ends alas, he who findeth 
 out my will, probably findeth out also on what 
 crooked ways he hath to walk ! 
 
 Whatever I create and however I love it, soon 
 afterwards I have to be an adversary unto it and 
 unto my love. Thus willeth my will. 
 
 And even thou, O perceiver, art but a path and 
 footstep of my will. Verily, my will unto power 
 walketh on the feet of thy will unto truth ! 
 
 Of course, he who shot after the word of "will 
 unto existence" did not hit truth. Such a will- 
 doth not exist! 
 
 For what existeth not cannot will ; but what is 
 in existence how could that strive after existence!
 
 1 62 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 Only where there is life, there is will; but not will 
 unto life, but thus I teach thee will unto power! 
 
 Many things are valued higher by living things 
 than life itself ; but even out of valuing speaketh 
 will unto power ! ' 
 
 Thus life once taught me. And by means of that, 
 ye wisest men, I read you the riddle of your heart. 
 
 Verily, I tell you : good and evil, which would be 
 imperishable, do not exist ! Of themselves they must 
 ever again surpass themselves. 
 
 With your values and words of good and evil ye 
 exercise power, ye valuing ones. And this is your 
 hidden love and the shining, trembling, and overflow- 
 ing of your soul. 
 
 But a stronger power waxeth out of your values, 
 and a new overcoming. On it there break egg and 
 eggshell. 
 
 And he who must be a creator in good and evil 
 verily, he must first be a destroyer, and break values 
 into pieces. 
 
 Thus the highest evil is part of the highest good- 
 ness. But that is creative goodness. 
 
 Let us speak thereon, ye wisest men, however bad 
 it be. To be silent is worse ; all unuttered truths be- 
 come poisonous. 
 
 And whatever will break on our truths, let it break ! 
 Many a house hath yet to be built!" 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF THE AUGUST 
 
 "Still is the bottom of my sea. Who could know 
 that it hideth jesting monsters ! 
 
 Unshakable is my depth, but it shineth from swim- 
 ming riddles and laughters. 
 
 An august one I saw to-day, a solemn one, a peni- 
 tent of spirit. Oh, how laughed my soul at his ugli- 
 ness! 
 
 With his breast raised and like those who draw 
 in their breath thus he stood there, the august one, 
 and silent; 
 
 Covered with ugly truths, the prey of his hunting, 
 and rich with torn clothes ; many thorns also hung on 
 him, but I saw no rose. 
 
 Not yet had he learnt laughter and beauty. Frown- 
 ing this hunter came back from the forest of percep- 
 tion. 
 
 He returned from the struggle with wild beasts ; 
 but out of his seriousness a wild beast looketh one 
 not overcome ! 
 
 Like a tiger still standeth he there, about to jump ; 
 but I care not for these strained souls ; my taste hath 
 no favour for all these reserved ones. 
 
 163
 
 164 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 And ye tell me, friends, that one cannot quarrel 
 about taste and tasting? But all life is a struggle 
 about taste and tasting! 
 
 Taste that is at the same time weight and balance 
 and the weighing one. And alas ! for all living things 
 that would try to live without struggle about weight 
 and balance and weighing ones ! 
 
 If he would become weary of his augustness, this 
 august one only then his beauty would begin. And 
 not until then shall I taste him and find him tasty. 
 
 And not until he turneth away from himself will 
 he jump over his own shadow and lo ! straight into 
 his sun. 
 
 . Much too long hath he been sitting in the shadow ; 
 the cheeks of the penitent of spirit grew pale ; he al- 
 most died from hunger because of his expectations. 
 
 Contempt is still in his eye ; and loathing is hidden 
 round his mouth. Although he resteth just now, his 
 rest hath not yet lain down in the sun. 
 
 He ought to do as doth the bull; and his happiness 
 ought to smell after earth and not after contempt of 
 earth. 
 
 I should like to see him as a white bull snorting 
 and roaring and going in front of the plough. And 
 even his roaring should praise all that is earthy. 
 
 Dark still is his face ; the shadow of his hand 
 playeth over it. Overshadowed still is the sense of 
 his eye.
 
 OF THE AUGUST 165 
 
 His deed itself is the shadow that lieth on him ; 
 the hand obscureth the acting one. Not yet hath he 
 overcome his deed. 
 
 True, I love in him the bull's neck, but I also want 
 to see the angel's eye. 
 
 He also hath to unlearn his heroic will. He shall 
 be one who is lifted up, and not only an august 
 one. Ether itself should lift him who should have 
 lost all will! 
 
 He hath conquered monsters, he hath solved riddles. 
 But besides he should save his monsters and riddles, 
 he should alter them into heavenly children. 
 
 Not yet hath his perception learnt how to smile 
 and be without jealousy ; not yet hath his flowing 
 passion become still in beauty. 
 
 Verily, not in satiety shall his desire be silent and 
 submerge, but in beauty ! Gracefulness is part of the 
 generosity of the magnanimous. 
 
 His arm put across his head thus the hero should 
 rest; thus he should also overcome his resting. 
 
 But for the hero above all the beautiful is the 
 hardest of things. Unattainable by struggle is the 
 beautiful for all eager will. 
 
 A little more, a little less just that is here much, 
 that is here the most. 
 
 To stand with your muscles relaxed and with your 
 will unharnessed, that is the hardest for all of you, 
 ye august !
 
 1 66 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 When power becometh gracious and steppeth down 
 into visibleness beauty I call such stepping down. 
 
 And of no one I demand beauty with the same 
 eagerness as just from thee, thou powerful one. 
 Let thy goodness be thy last self -overcoming ! 
 
 Everything evil I expect from thee; therefore I 
 demand from thee what is good. 
 
 Verily, I laughed many a time over the weaklings 
 who thought themselves good because they had lame 
 paws ! 
 
 Thou shalt strive after the virtue of the pillar. It 
 ever getteth more beautiful and tender, but inside 
 ever harder and more able to bear the load, the 
 higher it ariseth. 
 
 Yea, thou august one, one day thou shalt be 
 beautiful and hold the mirror before thine own 
 beauty. 
 
 Then thy soul will quiver with god-like desires; 
 and there will be adoration even in thy vanity ! 
 
 For this is the secret of the soul. Not until the 
 hero hath left it, is it approached in dream by 
 beyond-hero." 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF THE COUNTRY OF CULTURE 
 
 "Too far flew I into the future; a shivering seized 
 me. 
 
 And when I looked round, behold! time was mine 
 only contemporary there. 
 
 Then I flew backwards, homeward and ever in a 
 greater haste. Thus I came unto you, ye present 
 ones, and into the country of culture. 
 
 For the first time have I brought with me an eye 
 to see you and a good desire. Verily, with a long- 
 ing in my heart have I come. 
 
 But what befell me ? However frightened I was, 
 I had to laugh ! Never hath mine eye seen any- 
 thing so many-coloured ! 
 
 I laughed and laughed whilst my foot was still 
 trembling and my heart also. ' Behold, here is the 
 home of all paint-pots ! ' said I. 
 
 With fifty spots of paint on your face and limbs, 
 ye sat there and aroused mine astonishment, ye pres- 
 ent ones ! 
 
 And with fifty mirrors around you, which flattered 
 your play of colours and spake in its favour ! 
 
 Verily, ye could not possibly wear any better mask, 
 
 107
 
 l68 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 ye present ones, than your own face is ! Who could 
 recognise you ! 
 
 Written all over with the signs of the past, and 
 these signs painted over with new signs thus have 
 ye concealed yourselves well from all soothsayers ! 
 
 And even if one could look through your intestines 
 who will believe that ye have intestines ? Ye 
 seem to have been baked out of colours and glued 
 papers ! 
 
 All times and all peoples, many-coloured, gaze out 
 of your veils ; all customs and beliefs, many-coloured, 
 speak out of your gestures. 
 
 He who would take away from you veils and 
 garments and colours and gestures he would just 
 keep sufficient to scare the birds. 
 
 Verily, I myself am the scared bird, who for once 
 saw you naked and colourless ; and I flew away 
 when the 'skeleton made me signs of love. 
 
 Rather I would be a day-labourer in the lower 
 regions and among the shadows of the past ! For 
 fatter and fuller than ye are the inhabitants of the 
 lower regions ! 
 
 This, yea, this is bitterness in my bowels, that I 
 can endure you neither naked nor dressed, ye present 
 ones ! 
 
 All that is dismal in the future, all that hath 
 scared the strayed birds, is indeed more home-like and 
 more familiar than your ' reality.'
 
 OF THE COUNTRY OF CULTURE 169 
 
 For thus ye speak: 'We are wholly real and 
 without any belief or superstition.' Thus ye give 
 yourselves airs alas, even without having any 
 breasts ! 
 
 Oh, how could ye believe, ye many-coloured ye 
 who are pictures of whatever hath been believed at 
 any time! 
 
 Ye are yourselves living refutations of belief and 
 a breaking of limbs of all thought. Untrustworthy 
 thus I call you, ye real ! 
 
 All times rave against each other in your minds; 
 aitd the dreams and gossip of all times have been 
 more real than your being awake ! 
 
 Sterile ye are. Therefore faith is lacking within 
 you. But he who was compelled to create had 
 always his prophesying dreams and prognostics in 
 the stars and believed in belief ! 
 
 Half-open doors ye are at which grave-diggers wait. 
 And this is your reality : ' Everything deserveth to 
 perish.' 
 
 Oh, how ye appear unto me, ye sterile, how 
 meagre in your ribs! And many of you knew that 
 perfectly. 
 
 And they said : ' Whilst I was sleeping, a God, I 
 suppose, clandestinely stole something from me ? 
 Verily, enough to form a little woman out of it ! ' 
 
 ' Wonderful is the poverty of my ribs ! ' thus said 
 many present ones.
 
 I/O THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 Yea, ye make me laugh at you, ye present ones ! 
 And especially when ye are astonished at yourselves ! 
 
 And woe unto me, if I could not laugh at your 
 astonishment, and had to swallow whatever is loath- 
 some in your dishes ! 
 
 But as it is, I shall take you more lightly, since 
 I have to bear heavy things. What matter, if beetles 
 and flying worms alight on my burden ! 
 
 Verily, it shall not thereby become heavier! And 
 not from you, ye present ones, shall my great weari- 
 ness spring. 
 
 Alas ! where shall I now ascend with my longing ? 
 From all mountain-tops I look out for my fathers' 
 and my mothers' lands. 
 
 But a home I found nowhere. Unresting I am in 
 all towns and a departure at all gates. 
 
 Strange and a mockery unto me are the present 
 ones unto whom my heart hath driven me of late. 
 Banished am I from my fathers' and my mothers' 
 lands. 
 
 Thus I love only my children's land, the undis- 
 covered, in the remotest sea. For it I bid my sails 
 seek and seek. 
 
 Unto my children shall I make amends for being 
 the child of my fathers ; and unto all the future shall 
 I make amends for this present ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF IMMACULATE PERCEPTION 
 
 "When the moon rose yesternight, I fancied she 
 would give birth unto a sun. So broad and big she 
 lay on the horizon. 
 
 But a liar she was with her child-bearing ; and I 
 shall rather believe in the man in the moon than in 
 the woman. 
 
 To be sure, there is little of man either in the 
 moon, that shy dreamer of the night. Verily, with a 
 bad conscience she strideth over the roofs. 
 
 For he is lascivious and jealous, the monk in the 
 moon, lascivious for earth and all delights of the 
 loving. 
 
 Nay, I like him not, this tom-cat on the roofs ! 
 Disgusting for me are all who steal round half- 
 closed windows ! 
 
 Piously and silently he walketh on over starry 
 carpets. But I like not soft-stepping men's feet, 
 without even a spur clinking. 
 
 Every honest man's step speaketh; but the cat 
 stealeth over the ground. Behold, like a cat, dis- 
 honestly the moon strideth on. 
 
 This parable I give unto you sentimental dissem- 
 
 171
 
 172 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 biers, unto you with your 'pure perception.' You / 
 call lascivious ! 
 
 Ye also love earth and things earthly. Truly I 
 found you out! But shame and bad conscience are 
 in your love ; ye are like the moon ! 
 
 To despise things earthly your mind hath been per- 
 suaded, but not your bowels which are the strongest 
 thing within you ! 
 
 And now your mind is ashamed to be under the 
 will of your bowels, and goeth byways and lie-ways 
 to escape its own shame. 
 
 ' That would be the highest for me ' thus saith 
 your deceitful mind unto itself ' to look at life with- 
 out desire, and not like the dog with the tongue 
 hanging out; 
 
 To be happy in gazing, with one's will dead, with- 
 out the grasp or greediness of selfishness cold and 
 ashen-grey all over the body, but with the eyes 
 drunken like the moon ! 
 
 That is what I should like best.' Thus the se- 
 duced one seduceth himself to love earth, as the 
 moon loveth it, and to touch its beauty solely with 
 the eye. 
 
 And I call it the immaculate perception of all 
 things, that I want nothing from things but to be 
 allowed to lie before them, like a mirror with an 
 hundred eyes. 
 
 Oh, ye sentimental dissemblers, ye lascivious ! Ye
 
 OF IMMACULATE PERCEPTION 173 
 
 lack innocence in desire, and therefore ye backbite 
 desire. 
 
 Verily, not as creators, procreators, happy in be- 
 coming, ye love earth ! 
 
 Where is innocence ? Where will unto procreation 
 is. And he who would create beyond himself, hath 
 in mine eyes the purest will. 
 
 Where is beauty? Where I am compelled to will 
 with all will; where I must love and perish in order 
 that an image may not remain an image only. 
 
 Loving and perishing, these words have rhymed 
 for eternities. Will unto love, that is, to be willing 
 even unto death. Thus I speak unto you cowards ! 
 
 But now your emasculate ogling wisheth to be 
 called ' contemplativeness.' And what can be touched 
 with cowardly eyes is to be baptized ' beautiful ' ! Oh, 
 ye befoulers of noble names ! 
 
 But that shall be your curse, ye immaculate, 
 ye pure perceivers, that ye shall never give birth. 
 And that although ye lie broad and big on the 
 horizon ! 
 
 Verily, ye fill your mouth well with noble words, 
 and we are to be made believe that your heart hath 
 too great abundance, ye liars ? 
 
 But my words are small, despised, crooked words; 
 happily I pick up what falleth under the table during 
 your dinner. 
 
 Still they serve to tell dissemblers the truth ! Yea,
 
 174 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 my fishbones, shells, and stinging leaves shall tickle 
 the noses of dissemblers ! 
 
 Bad air is always around you and your meals. 
 For your lascivious thoughts, your lies and secrecies 
 are in the air! 
 
 Dare first to believe yourselves yourselves and 
 your intestines! He who doth not believe himself 
 lieth ever. 
 
 A God's mask ye hang before yourselves, ye 'pure.' 
 In a God's mask hid itself your horrible coiled worm. 
 
 Verily, ye deceive, ye ' contemplative ' ! Zarathustra 
 also hath been the dupe of your god-like hides. He 
 did not find out the coiling of the snakes by which 
 they were stuffed. 
 
 Once I thought I saw a God's soul play in your 
 plays, ye pure perceivers ! No better art I once 
 thought existed than your arts ! 
 
 The filth of snakes and the bad odour were hidden 
 from me by distance. So was the fact that the cun- 
 ning of a lizard crept lasciviously about. 
 
 But I stepped close unto you. Then the day came 
 unto me, and now it cometh unto you, the moon's 
 flirtation is at an end ! 
 
 Look there ! Detected and pale she standeth there 
 before the dawn of the day ! 
 
 There it cometh already, the glowing one, its love 
 unto earth cometh ! All sun-love is innocence and 
 creative desire.
 
 OF IMMACULATE PERCEPTION 175 
 
 Look there, how impatiently it cometh over the 
 sea ! Feel ye not the thirst and the hot breath of its 
 love ? 
 
 It will suck the sea, and by drinking its depth 
 draw up unto the height. Then the lust of the sea 
 riseth with a thousand breasts. 
 
 It desireth to be kissed and sucked by the thirst 
 of the sun ; it desireth to become air and height, and 
 a foot-path of light, and light itself ! 
 
 Verily, like the sun I love life and all deep seas. 
 
 And this is called perception by myself : all that 
 is tleep shall be raised upwards unto my height ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF SCHOLARS 
 
 " When I lay sleeping, a sheep ate at the ivy- 
 wreath of my head, ate and said eating: 'Zara- 
 thustra is no longer a scholar.' 
 
 Said it and went off clumsily and proudly. So a 
 child told me. 
 
 I like to lie here where the children play, at the 
 broken wall, under thistles and red poppy flowers. 
 
 A scholar am I still for the children and the 
 thistles and the red poppy flowers. Innocent are 
 they, even in their wickedness. 
 
 But a scholar am I no longer for the sheep. Thus 
 my fate willeth be it blessed ! 
 
 For this is the truth : I have departed from the 
 house of scholars, and the door I have shut violently 
 behind me. 
 
 Too long sat my soul hungry at their table. Not, 
 as they, am I trained for perceiving as for cracking 
 nuts. 
 
 Freedom I love, and a breeze over a fresh soil. 
 And I would rather sleep on ox-skins than on their 
 honours and respectabilities. 
 
 I am too hot and am burnt with mine own thoughts, 
 
 176
 
 OF SCHOLARS 177 
 
 so as often to take my breath away. Then I must 
 go into the open air and away from all dusty rooms. 
 
 But they are sitting cool in the cool shadow. They 
 like to be spectators in all things and take care not 
 to sit where the sun burneth on the steps. 
 
 Like such as stand in the street and gaze at the 
 folk passing thus they tarry and gaze at the thoughts 
 thought by others. 
 
 As soon as they are grasped by hands, they give 
 off dust like flour-bags, and involuntarily. But who 
 would find out rightly that their dust is derived from 
 the? corn and the yellow delight of summer fields ? 
 
 When they give themselves the air of wisdom, I grow 
 cold with their petty sayings and truths. An odour is 
 often in their wisdom, as if it sprang from the swamp. 
 And, verily, I have even heard the frog croak in it! 
 
 Clever they are, they have able fingers. What doth 
 my simplicity wish from their manifoldness ? Their 
 fingers understand all threading and knotting and 
 weaving. Thus they weave the stockings of the spirit ! 
 
 Good clock-works are they. Only take care to 
 wind them up properly! Then without deceitfulness 
 they indicate the hour and make a modest noise in 
 so doing. 
 
 Like millworks they work, and like corn-crushers. 
 Let folk only throw their grain into them! They 
 know only too well how to grind corn and make 
 white dust out of it.
 
 178 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 They look well at each other's fingers and trust 
 each other not over-much. Ingenious in little strata- 
 gems, they wait for those whose knowledge walketh 
 on lame feet; like spiders they wait. 
 
 I have seen them always prepare their poison with 
 prudence ; and they always put gloves of glass on 
 their fingers in so doing. 
 
 They also know how to play with false dice ; and I 
 found them play so eagerly that they perspired from it. 
 
 We are strangers unto each other, and their virtues 
 are still more contrary unto my taste than their false- 
 hoods and false dice. 
 
 And when I lived among them I lived above them. 
 Therefore they became angry at me. 
 
 They like not to hear of any one walking above 
 their heads. Thus they laid wood and earth and 
 filth between myself and their heads. 
 
 Thus they have deadened the sound of my steps ; 
 and the most learned have heard me worst. 
 
 The fault and weakness of all human beings they 
 laid between themselves and myself. ' False ceiling ' 
 they call that in their houses. 
 
 But nevertheless I walk with my thoughts above 
 their heads ; and even if I should walk on mine own 
 faults, I should still be above them and their heads. 
 
 For men are not equal. Thus speaketh justice. 
 And what I will they would not be allowed to will ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF POETS 
 
 "Since I came to know the body better," said 
 Zarathustra unto one of his disciples, "spirit hath 
 been for me, as it were, spirit only, and all that is 
 'imperishable' only a simile." 
 
 "Thus I heard thee say already," answered the 
 disciple. "And when thou saidst thus thou didst 
 add : 'But the poets lie too much.' Why didst thou 
 say that the poets lie too much ? " 
 
 "Why?" said Zarathustra. "Thou askest why? I 
 am not of those who may be asked for their whys. 
 
 Forsooth, is mine experience of yesterday ? It is 
 long since I found by experience the reasons for mine 
 opinions. 
 
 Would I not require to be a barrel of memory, if 
 I were to have my reasons with me? 
 
 Even to keep mine opinions is too much for me ; 
 and many a bird flieth off. 
 
 And sometimes indeed I find a bird in my dove- 
 cot, that hath come there but is strange unto me 
 and trembleth when I lay my hand on it. 
 
 But what did Zarathustra once say unto thee ? 
 That the poets lie too much? But Zarathustra is a 
 poet also. 
 
 179
 
 ISO THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 Believest thou now that he spake the truth in 
 this point ? Why dost thou believe that ? " 
 
 The disciple answered : " I believe in Zarathustra." 
 But Zarathustra shook his head and smiled. 
 
 "Belief doth not make me blessed," said he, 
 "more especially not the belief in myself. 
 
 But suppose somebody said seriously that the 
 poets lie too much : he is right, we lie too much. 
 
 Besides we know too little and are bad learners. 
 Thus we are compelled to lie. 
 
 And which of us poets hath not adulterated his 
 wine ? Many a poisonous mishmash hath been 
 brought about in our cellars ; many indescribable 
 things have been done there. 
 
 And because we know little we like from our 
 heart's heart the poor in spirit, especially if they are 
 little young women ! 
 
 And we are even desirous of the things which the 
 little old women tell each other at night. This we 
 call in ourselves eternally feminine. 
 
 And as though there were a particular secret ac- 
 cess unto knowledge, which was obstructed for those 
 who learn something we believe in the folk and 
 their 'wisdom.' 
 
 But this is what all poets believe, that he who is 
 lying in the grass or by lonely slopes and pricketh 
 up his ears, learneth something about the things 
 which are between heaven and earth.
 
 OF POETS igl 
 
 And when feeling amorous emotions, the poets 
 ever think that nature herself is in love with them. 
 
 And that she stealeth unto their ear, to whisper 
 into it secret things and love-flatteries, of that they 
 boast, and in it they take their pride in the presence 
 of all mortals ! 
 
 Alas, there are so many things between heaven 
 and earth of which poets only have dreamt ! 
 
 And chiefly above heaven. For all Gods are a 
 simile of poets, an imposition by poets ! 
 
 Verily, we are always drawn upwards namely 
 tnto the kingdom of clouds. On these we place our 
 coloured dolls and call them Gods and beyond-men. 
 
 For they are just light enough for such chairs 
 all these Gods and beyond-men ! 
 
 Alas, how weary I am of all the inadequate things 
 which are obstinately maintained to be actuality! 
 Alas, how weary I am of poets ! " 
 
 Zarathustra so saying, his disciple was angry with 
 him but was silent. And Zarathustra was silent 
 also ; and his eye had turned inwards, as though he 
 gazed into far distances. At last he sighed and took 
 breath. 
 
 Then he said : " I am of to-day and of the past ; 
 but something is within me that is of to-morrow and 
 the day after to-morrow and the far future. 
 
 I became weary of poets, of the old and of the 
 new. Superficial all of them are, and shallow seas.
 
 1 82 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 They did not think deep enough. Therefore their 
 feeling did not sink so deep as to reach the bottom. 
 
 Some voluptuousness and some tediousness these 
 have even been their best meditation. 
 
 As a breathing and vanishing of ghosts I regard 
 all the strumming of their harp. What have they 
 known hitherto of the ardour of tones ! 
 
 Besides they are not cleanly enough for me. All 
 of them make their water muddy that it may seem 
 deep. 
 
 And they like to let themselves appear as recon- 
 cilers. But mediators and mixers they remain for 
 me, and half-and-half ones and uncleanly ! 
 
 Alas, it is true I have cast my net in their seas 
 and tried to catch good fish ; but I always drew up 
 the head of some old God. 
 
 Thus the sea gave a stone unto the hungry one. 
 And perhaps they themselves are born from the sea. 
 
 True, one fmdeth pearls in them. So much the 
 more are they like unto the hard shell-fish. And 
 instead of a soul I often found salt slime in them. 
 
 From the sea they learned even its vanity. Is not 
 the sea the peacock of peacocks ? 
 
 Even before the ugliest of all buffaloes it unfoldeth 
 its tail; and it never wearieth of its lace-fan of silver 
 and silk. 
 
 Defiantly looketh at it the buffalo, with soul nigh the 
 sand, still nigher the thicket, but nighest the swamp.
 
 OF POETS 183 
 
 What is for it beauty and sea and peacock-decora- 
 tion ? This simile I give unto poets. 
 
 Verily, their mind itself is the peacock of peacocks, 
 and a sea of vanity ! 
 
 The mind of poets wisheth spectators, even if it 
 were buffaloes ! 
 
 But I wearied of that mind ; and I see a time when 
 it will weary of itself. 
 
 Changed already have I seen the poets, and their 
 glance turned against themselves. 
 
 Penitents of spirit I saw come. They grew out of 
 poets." 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF GREAT EVENTS 
 
 There is an island in the sea not far from the 
 blissful islands of Zarathustra in which a volcano 
 smoketh constantly. The folk, and especially the 
 little old women among the folk, say that that island 
 is set before the gate of the underworld. But through 
 the volcano there is a narrow path down, which leadeth 
 unto that gate of the underworld. 
 
 About that time when Zarathustra lived on the 
 blissful islands it came to pass that a ship cast an- 
 chor at that island on which the smoking mountain 
 standeth ; and the sailors of that ship went ashore in 
 order to shoot rabbits! But about the hour of noon, 
 when the captain and his men had mustered again, 
 they suddenly saw a man come through the air unto 
 them, and a voice said distinctly : " It is time ! It is 
 high time ! " But when that person was nighest unto 
 them (he passed by them flying quickly like a shadow, 
 in the direction in which the volcano was situated) 
 they recognised with the greatest confusion that it 
 was Zarathustra. For all of them, except the captain, 
 had seen him before, and they loved him, as the folk 
 love : blending love and awe in equal parts. 
 
 184
 
 OF GREAT EVENTS 185 
 
 "Lo there!" said the old steersman, " Zarathustra 
 goeth unto hell!" 
 
 About the same time when these sailors landed at 
 the fire-island, a rumour went about that Zarathustra 
 had disappeared. And when his friends were asked 
 they told how at night he had gone aboard a ship 
 without saying whither he was going to voyage. 
 
 Thus some anxiety arose. But after three days the 
 story of the sailors was added unto that anxiety 
 and now every one said that the devil had taken Zara- 
 thustra. Although his disciples laughed at that gossip 
 find one of them even said : " I rather believe that 
 Zarathustra hath taken the devil," at the bottom of 
 their soul they were all full of sorrow and longing. 
 Thus their joy was great when, on the fifth day, 
 Zarathustra appeared among them. 
 
 And this is the story of Zarathustra's conversation 
 with the fiery dog: 
 
 " Earth," said he, " hath a skin ; and that skin hath 
 diseases. One of these diseases, for example, is called 
 'man.' 
 
 And another of these diseases is called 'fiery dog'; 
 of it men have told and been told many lies. 
 
 To find out this secret I went beyond the sea. 
 And I have seen truth naked, verily ! barefoot up to 
 its neck. 
 
 Now I know the truth about that fiery dog ; and at 
 the same time about all the devils of casting out and
 
 1 86 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 of revolution, of which not only little old women are 
 afraid. 
 
 'Come up, fiery dog, out of thy depth!' I shouted, 
 ' and confess how deep that depth is ! Whence cometh 
 what thou snortest up ? 
 
 Thou drinkest enough at the sea ; that is betrayed 
 by thy salt eloquence ! Verily, considering that thou 
 art a dog of the depth thou takest thy food too much 
 from the surface ! 
 
 At the highest I regard thee as a ventriloquist 
 of earth, and whenever I heard devils of revolution 
 and casting out speak, I found them to be like thee : 
 salt, deceitful, and shallow. 
 
 Ye understand how to roar and to darken with 
 ashes ! Ye are the best swaggerers and have suffi- 
 ciently learnt the art of heating mud. 
 
 Wherever ye are, there must mud be nigh, and 
 many mud-like, hollow, squeezed-in things. They seek 
 to get into freedom. 
 
 "Freedom" all of you like best to shout. But I 
 have lost my belief in " great events," whenever much 
 shouting and smoke are round them. 
 
 And believe me, friend Hellish Noise ! The great- 
 est events are not our loudest but our stillest hours. 
 
 The world doth not revolve round the inventors 
 of new noise, but round the inventors of new values ; 
 inaudibly it turneth. 
 
 And now confess ! Little had actually happened
 
 OF GREAT EVENTS 187 
 
 when thy noise and smoke disappeared. What matter 
 that a town became a mummy, and a statue lay in 
 the mud ! 
 
 And this word I tell the subverters of statues. 
 Probably the greatest folly is to throw salt into the 
 sea, and statues into the mud. 
 
 In the mud of your contempt the statue lay. But 
 that very fact is its law, that out of contempt life and 
 living beauty grow again ! 
 
 With more god-like features it now ariseth, seducing 
 by suffering ; and verily ! it will thank you one day 
 fpr subverting it, ye subverters ! 
 
 But with this counsel I counsel kings and churches 
 and all that is weak from old age and virtue : allow 
 yourselves to be subverted ! In order that ye may 
 recover life, and that virtue may recover you!' 
 
 Thus I spake before the fiery dog; then it inter- 
 rupted me sullenly and asked : ' Church ? What is 
 that ? ' 
 
 'Church?' I answered, 'that is a kind of state, 
 viz., the most deceitful kind. But be quiet, thou hypo- 
 critical dog ! Thou knowest thy kin best, I suppose ! 
 
 The state is a hypocritical dog like thyself; like 
 thyself it liketh to speak with smoke and roaring, in 
 order to make believe, like thee, that it speaketh out 
 of the womb of things. 
 
 For it wisheth absolutely to be the most important 
 animal on earth, the state. And it is believed to be so.'
 
 1 88 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 When I had said thus, the fiery dog behaved as 
 if it were mad with envy. 'How?' it cried, 'the 
 most important animal on earth? And it is believed 
 to be so ? ' And so much steam and terrible voices 
 came from its throat, that I thought it would choke 
 with anger and envy. 
 
 At last it became quieter, and its panting ceased. 
 But as soon as it was quiet I said laughing : 
 
 'Thou art angry, fiery dog. Therefore I am right 
 about thee ! 
 
 And in order that I may also be right in future, 
 let me speak unto thee of another fiery dog, that 
 actually speaketh out of the heart of earth. 
 
 Gold is breathed by its breath, and a golden rain. 
 Thus its heart willeth. What are for it ashes and 
 smoke and hot phlegm ! 
 
 Laughter fluttereth out of it like coloured clouds ; 
 it misliketh thy gargling and spitting and thy pains 
 in the bowels ! 
 
 But gold and laughter it taketh out of the heart 
 of earth. For thou mayest now know the heart of 
 earth is of gold' 
 
 When the fiery dog had heard that, it could bear 
 no longer to listen unto me. In shame it drew in its 
 tail ; sorely cast down it said : ' Bow wow ! ' and crept 
 down into its cave." 
 
 Thus told Zarathustra. But his disciples scarcely 
 listened unto him. So great was their desire to tell
 
 OF GREAT EVENTS 189 
 
 him about the sailors, the rabbits, and the flying 
 man. 
 
 "What am I to think of that!" said Zarathustra. 
 "Am I a ghost? 
 
 But it may have been my shadow. I suppose ye 
 have heard some things about the wanderer and his 
 shadow ? 
 
 But one thing is sure : I must keep it shorter, 
 otherwise it spoileth my reputation." 
 
 And Zarathustra shook his head once more and 
 wondered. " What am I to think of that ! " he re- 
 peated. 
 
 " Why did that ghost cry : ' It is high time ! ' 
 
 For ivhat is it high time ? " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 THE FORTUNE-TELLER 
 
 "And I saw a great sadness coming over men. 
 The best became weary of their works. 
 
 A doctrine went out, a belief ran with it : ' All is 
 empty, all is equal, all hath been!' 
 
 And from all hills it echoed : ' All is empty, all is 
 equal, all hath been ! ' 
 
 True, we have reaped. But why grew all our fruits 
 rotten and brown ? What hath fallen down from the 
 evil moon last night ? 
 
 In vain hath been all work, our wine hath become 
 poison, an evil eye hath burnt our fields and hearts 
 yellow. 
 
 Dry all of us have become ; and when fire falleth 
 down on us we become dust like ashes. Fire itself 
 we have wearied out. For us, all wells pined away; 
 even the sea receded from us. All the soil is going 
 to break, but the depth is not going to devour 
 anything ! 
 
 Alas ! where is a sea left to be drowned in ? Thus 
 soundeth our lament, away over shallow swamps. 
 
 Verily, we are already too weary to die. Now we 
 wake on and live on in burial vaults!" 
 
 190
 
 THE FORTUNE-TELLER 
 
 191 
 
 Thus heard Zarathustra a fortune-teller say ; and 
 the prophecy touched his heart and changed him. He 
 went about dreary and weary; and he became like 
 those of whom the fortune-teller had spoken. 
 
 "Verily," said he unto his disciples, "yet a little 
 while, and then cometh that long twilight. Alas, 
 how can I save my light beyond it ! 
 
 Would that it were not extinguished in that sad- 
 ness ! For it is meant to be a light for still remoter 
 worlds, and for the remotest nights ! " 
 
 Thus afflicted Zarathustra went about. And for 
 three days he did not take any drink or food ; he had 
 no rest and lost his speech. At last it came to pass 
 that he fell into a deep sleep. But his disciples sat 
 around him in long night-watches and waited sorrow- 
 ing, to see whether he would awake and speak again 
 and recover from his affliction. 
 
 This is the speech which Zarathustra made when 
 he awoke. But his voice sounded unto his disciples 
 as though it came from a far distance. 
 
 "Now listen unto the dream I dreamt, ye friends, 
 and help me to find out its sense ! 
 
 A riddle it is still for me, that dream. Its sense 
 is hidden within it and caught in it, and flieth not 
 yet over it with free wings. 
 
 I dreamt I had renounced all life. I had become 
 a night watchman and grave watchman, there on the 
 lonely castle of death in the mountains.
 
 TQ2 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 On high there I guarded death's coffins. The 
 damp vaults stood full of such signs of triumph. Out 
 of glass coffins, overcome life gazed at me. 
 
 The odour of dusty eternities I breathed. Sultry 
 and dusty lay my soul. And who could have aired 
 his soul there ! 
 
 Light of midnight was always round me, loneliness 
 cowered beside me, and, as the third, the death-still- 
 ness-and-rattle, the most wicked of all my female 
 friends. 
 
 I had keys with me, the rustiest of keys ; and I knew 
 how to open with them the loudest-creaking doors. 
 
 Like a very cruel groan the sound ran through 
 the long corridors when the door opened on both 
 hinges ; weirdly cried that bird ; it liked not to be 
 awakened. 
 
 But still more terrible, strangling one's heart, it 
 was when it became silent again and still round 
 about, and I sat alone with that insidious silence. 
 
 Thus the time went on and crept on, if there really 
 was time. What know I thereof ! But at last that 
 came to pass which awakened me. 
 
 Three times blows struck the door, like thunder 
 strokes ; three times the vaults resounded and 
 groaned ; then I went unto the door. 
 
 'Alpa!' I called, 'who carrieth his ashes unto 
 the mountains? Alpa! Alpa! Who carrieth his 
 ashes unto the mountains ? '
 
 THE FORTUNE-TELLER 
 
 193 
 
 And I pressed the key and tried to lift the door, 
 and exerted myself. But it was not yet opened a 
 ringer's breadth 
 
 Then an impetuous wind tore its two halves apart. 
 Whistling, whizzing, and buzzing it threw a black 
 coffin at me. 
 
 And amidst the roaring and whistling and whizz- 
 ing the coffin brake and spat out a thousandfold 
 laughter. 
 
 And out of a thousand caricatures of children, 
 angels, owls, fools, and butterflies as big as children, 
 something laughed and mocked and roared at me. 
 
 It made me sore afraid, it threw me down. And 
 with terror I yelled, as never I yelled before. 
 
 But mine own cry awakened me ; and I became 
 conscious again." 
 
 Thus Zarathustra told his dream and then was 
 silent. For he did not yet know the interpretation 
 of it. But the disciple whom he loved most, arose 
 quickly and took Zarathustra's hand, saying : 
 
 "Thy life itself is explained unto us by this dream, 
 O Zarathustra ! 
 
 Art thou not thyself the wind with whizzing whist- 
 ling, that openeth the doors of the castles of death? 
 
 Art thou not thyself the coffin of many-coloured 
 wickednesses and caricatures of the angels of life? 
 
 Verily, like a thousandfold laughter of children 
 Zarathustra entereth all chambers of the dead, laugh-
 
 194 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 ing at those night watchmen and grave watchmen, 
 and whoever else rattleth with gloomy keys. 
 
 Thou wilt terrify and subvert them with thy 
 laughter. Impotence and awakening will be . proved 
 by thy power over them. 
 
 And even when the long dawn cometh, and the 
 weariness of death, thou wilt not set in our sky, thou 
 advocate of life ! 
 
 Thou madest us see new stars and new beauties 
 of the night. Verily, life itself thou didst stretch 
 over us like a many-coloured tent. 
 
 Now for ever the laughter of children will spring 
 forth from coffins ; now for ever a strong wind will 
 come victoriously over all weariness of death. Of 
 that thou art thyself a pledge and a prophet. 
 
 Verily, thou beheldest thine enemies themselves, in 
 thy dream ; that was thy hardest dream ! 
 
 But as thou awokest and earnest back from them 
 unto thyself, so shall they awake from themselves 
 and come unto thee ! " 
 
 Thus said the disciple. And now all the others 
 thronged round Zarathustra and took his hands and 
 tried to persuade him to leave his bed and his sad- 
 ness and return unto them. But Zarathustra sat 
 upright on his couch and with a strange glance. 
 Like unto one who returneth from a long journey 
 abroad he gazed at his disciples and examined their 
 faces ; but not yet did he recognise them. But when
 
 THE FORTUNE-TELLER 195 
 
 they lifted him and set him on his feet, behold, then 
 his eye changed at once. He understood all that 
 had befallen, he stroked his beard and said with a 
 strong voice : 
 
 " Up ! This hath had its time. Take care, my dis- 
 ciples, that we have a good dinner, and that right 
 early ! Thus would I do penance for bad dreams ! 
 
 But the fortune-teller shall eat and drink at my 
 side. And, verily, I shall show him a sea in which he 
 can be drowned ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra. And then for a long 
 while he gazed into the face of the disciple who had 
 been the interpreter of his dream shaking his head.
 
 OF SALVATION 
 
 When Zarathustra one day crossed the large bridge, 
 cripples and beggars surrounded him, and a hunchback 
 thus spake unto him : 
 
 "Behold, Zarathustra! Even the folk learn from 
 thee and learn belief in thy teaching. But in order 
 that they may believe thee entirely, one thing more is 
 wanted first thou must persuade us cripples ! Here 
 thou hast now a beautiful selection, and, verily, an 
 opportunity with more than one forelock to catch it 
 by. Thou mightest heal the blind and make the lame 
 run, and thou mightest also perhaps take a little from 
 him who hath too much behind him. That, I think, 
 would be the proper way to make the cripples believe 
 in Zarathustra ! " 
 
 But Zarathustra replied thus unto him who had 
 spoken : " If one taketh the hunch from the hunch- 
 back, one taketh his spirit away. Thus the folk 
 teach. And if one giveth the blind one his eyes, he 
 seeth too many bad things on earth, so that he curseth 
 him who hath healed him. But he who maketh the lame 
 one run, hurteth him sorely ; for just when he hath 
 learnt to run, his vices run away with him. Thus 
 
 196
 
 OF SALVATION 197 
 
 the folk teach about cripples. And why should not 
 Zarathustra learn from the folk, what the folk learn 
 from Zarathustra? 
 
 But it is of the least moment for me since I came to 
 live among men, to see : these are lacking an eye, and 
 that man is lacking an ear, and a third one is lacking 
 a leg, and there are others who have lost the tongue 
 or the nose or the head. 
 
 I see and have seen worse things and many kinds 
 of things so abominable that I should not like to speak 
 of all things ; and about some I should not even stand 
 silent : namely men who are lacking everything except 
 that they have one thing too much ; men who are 
 nothing but a great eye, or a great mouth, or a great 
 womb, or something else great. Reversed cripples I 
 call such. 
 
 And when I came out of my solitude and crossed 
 this bridge for the first time I trusted not mine eyes, 
 and gazed there again and again, and said at last : 
 'That is an ear, an ear as great as a man ! ' I gazed 
 there still more thoroughly. And really, under the ear 
 something moved, which was pitifully small and poor 
 and slender. And, truly, that immense ear was carried 
 by a small, thin stalk ; and the stalk was a man ! He 
 who would put a glass before his eye could even rec- 
 ognise a small envious face ; also that a little bloated 
 soul was hanging down from the stalk. The folk, 
 however, informed me that that great ear was not only
 
 198 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 a man, but a great man, a genius. But I never be- 
 lieved the folk when they spake of great men and 
 kept my belief that he was a reversed cripple who 
 had too little of all things, and too much of one 
 thing." 
 
 Having thus spoken unto the hunchback and unto 
 those whose mouthpiece and advocate that man was, 
 Zarathustra turned unto his disciples in deep distress 
 and said : 
 
 "Verily, my friends, I walk among men as among 
 the fragments and limbs of men ! 
 
 This is the dreadful thing for mine eye, that I find 
 man broken into pieces and scattered as over a battle- 
 field and a butcher's shambles. 
 
 And when mine eye fleeth from to-day into the 
 past it findeth always the same : fragments and limbs 
 and dismal accidents, but no men ! 
 
 The present and the past on earth alas ! my 
 friends, these are what / find most intolerable. 
 And I should not know how to live, if I were not a 
 prophet of what must come. 
 
 A prophet, a willing one, a creator, a veritable 
 future, and a bridge unto the future and alas! be- 
 sides, as it were, a cripple at that bridge. All these 
 things is Zarathustra. 
 
 And ye also asked yourselves : ' Who is Zarathustra 
 for us ? How is he to be called by us ? ' And as I 
 do, ye gave yourselves questions for answer.
 
 OF SALVATION 
 
 199 
 
 Is he one who promiseth ? Or one who fulfilleth ? 
 One who conquereth ? Or one who inheriteth ? An 
 autumn ? Or a plough ? A physician ? Or a con- 
 valescent ? 
 
 Is he a poet ? Or a truthful one ? A liberator ? Or 
 a subduer ? One who is good ? Or one who is bad ? 
 
 I walk among men as among the fragments of the 
 future, of that future which I see. 
 
 And all my thought and striving is to compose 
 and gather into one thing what is a fragment and a 
 riddle and a dismal accident. 
 
 And how could I bear to be a man, if man was not a 
 poet and a solver of riddles and the saviour of accident ! 
 
 To save the past ones and to change every ' It 
 was' into a 'Thus I would have it' that alone would 
 mean salvation for me ! 
 
 Will that is the name of the liberator and bringer 
 of joy. Thus I taught you, my friends ! But now 
 learn this in addition : will itself is still a prisoner. 
 
 Willing delivereth. But what is the name of that 
 which putteth into chains even the liberator? 
 
 ' It was ; ' thus the gnashing of the teeth and the 
 loneliest affliction of will are named. Impotent against 
 what hath been done, it is an evil spectator of all 
 that is past. 
 
 Will is unable to will anything in the past. That 
 it cannot break time and the desire of time, that is 
 the loneliest affliction of will.
 
 2OO THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 Willing delivereth. What doth willing itself invent 
 in order to get rid of its affliction and mock at its 
 prison ? 
 
 Alas, every prisoner becometh a fool ! Foolishly ; 
 likewise, imprisoned will delivereth itself. 
 
 That time doth not go backwards, that is will's 
 wrath. 'What was' is the name of the stone it 
 cannot turn. 
 
 And thus it turneth stones out of wrath and in- 
 dignation and taketh revenge on what doth not feel 
 wrath and indignation like it. 
 
 Thus will, the liberator, became a causer of pain. 
 And on all that is able to suffer, it taketh revenge for 
 being unable to enter the past. 
 
 This, this alone, is revenge: will's abhorrence of 
 time and its 'It was.' 
 
 Verily, great folly liveth in our will ; and it became 
 a curse for all that is human, that that folly learned 
 how to have spirit ! 
 
 The spirit of revenge my friends, that hath hith- 
 erto been the best meditation of men. And wherever 
 there was affliction, there punishment was supposed 
 to be. 
 
 'Punishment' thus revenge calleth itself. With a 
 word of lying, it feigneth a good conscience for itself. 
 
 And because there is affliction in the willing one, 
 because he cannot will backwards all willing and all 
 living were supposed to be punishment !
 
 OF SALVATION 2OI 
 
 And now one cloud after another hath rolled over 
 the spirit, until at last madness preached : ' Everything 
 perisheth, therefore all is worthy to perish!' 
 
 'And this law of time is justice, that time must 
 devour its own children.' Thus madness preached. 
 
 'Morally things are arranged according to right 
 and punishment. Oh ! where is the salvation from the 
 current of things and the " existence " of punishment ? ' 
 Thus madness preached. 
 
 ' Can there be salvation if there is an eternal right ? 
 Alas, unturnable is the stone " It was ! " Eternal 
 mfist be all punishments ! ' Thus madness preached. 
 
 'No action can be annihilated. How could it be 
 undone by punishment ! This, this, is what is eternal 
 in the punishment of "existence," that existence itself 
 must eternally be again action and guilt ! 
 
 Unless it should be, that at last will would save 
 itself, and willing would become not-willing.' But ye 
 know, my brethren, this fabulous song of madness ! 
 
 I led you away from those fabulous songs, when I 
 taught you: 'All will is a creator.' 
 
 All ' It was ' is a fragment, a riddle, a dismal accident 
 until a creating will saith unto it : ' Thus I would have it ! ' 
 
 Until a creating will saith unto it : ' Thus I will ! 
 Thus I shall will ! * 
 
 But did it ever speak thus? And when doth that 
 happen ? Hath will been unharnessed yet from its 
 own folly?
 
 2O2 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 Hath will become its own saviour and bringer of 
 joy? Hath it unlearnt the spirit of revenge and the 
 gnashing of teeth ? 
 
 And who taught it reconciliation with time and 
 something higher than all reconciliation is ? 
 
 Something higher than all reconciliation is, must 
 be willed by the will that is will unto power. But 
 how doth that happen unto it? And who taught it 
 that willing into the past ? " 
 
 But at this place of his speech it came to pass that 
 Zarathustra stopped suddenly and looked like unto 
 one who is sore afraid. With a terrified eye he looked 
 upon his disciples. As it were with arrows, his eye 
 pierced their thoughts and back-thoughts. But after 
 a short while he again laughed and said appeased : 
 
 "It is difficult to live with men because silence is 
 so difficult. Especially for a talkative person." 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra. But the hunchback had 
 listened unto the conversation with his face covered 
 over. Yet when he heard Zarathustra laugh he looked 
 up curiously and said slowly : 
 
 " But why doth Zarathustra speak unto us in differ- 
 ent wise from that in which he speaketh unto his 
 disciples ? " 
 
 Zarathustra answered : " What cause is there for 
 astonishment ? With the hunchback, one may well 
 speak jn a hunchbacked way ' "
 
 OF SALVATION 2O3 
 
 " Good and well," said the hunchback ; " and among 
 schoolfellows one may well talk of school. 
 
 But why doth Zarathustra speak in different wise 
 unto his disciples from that in which he speaketh 
 unto himself ! "
 
 OF MANLY PRUDENCE 
 
 " Not the height, the declivity is the terrible thing ! 
 
 The declivity where the glance hurleth down, and 
 the hand graspeth up. There the heart becometh 
 dizzy from its double will. 
 
 Alas, friends, do ye guess rightly the double will 
 of my heart? 
 
 This, this is my declivity and my danger, that my 
 glance hurleth up, and my hand would fain clutch and 
 lean upon depth ! 
 
 My will clingeth round man ; with chains I bind 
 myself unto man because I am torn upwards unto 
 beyond-man. For thither mine other will is longing. 
 
 And for this purpose I live blind among men as 
 though I did not know them ; that my hand might 
 not lose entirely its belief in what is firm. 
 
 I know not you men ; this darkness and comfort 
 is frequently spread out over me. 
 
 I am sitting at the gateway for every villain and 
 ask : ' Who is going to deceive me ? ' 
 
 My first manly prudence is that I admit myself to be 
 deceived in order not to be compelled to guard myself 
 from deceivers. 
 
 204
 
 OF MANLY PRUDENCE 2O$ 
 
 Alas, if I guarded myself from man how could man 
 be an anchor for my ball ! Much too easily would I 
 be drawn upwards and away ! 
 
 This providence hangeth over my fate, that I must be 
 without caution. 
 
 And whoever wisheth not to die of thirst among 
 men, must learn to drink out of all glasses ; and who- 
 ever wisheth to remain clean among men, must under- 
 stand to wash himself even with dirty water. 
 
 Thus I often spake unto myself comforting : ' Up ! 
 up ! old heart ! A misfortune of thine hath failed. 
 Enjoy that as thy happiness ! ' 
 
 But this is mine other manly prudence : I spare the 
 conceited more than the proud. 
 
 Is not wounded conceit the mother of all tragedies ? 
 But where pride is wounded, there groweth up some- 
 thing better than pride. 
 
 In order that life may be a fine spectacle, its play 
 must be played well. But for that purpose good actors 
 are required. 
 
 Good actors, I found, all the conceited are. They 
 play and wish that folk may like to look at their play- 
 ing. All their spirit is in this will. 
 
 They act themselves, they invent themselves ; close by 
 them I like to look at life's play, it cureth melancholy. 
 
 Therefore I spare all the conceited, because they are 
 physicians of my melancholy and keep me tied fast 
 unto man as unto a spectacle.
 
 2O6 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 And then : in the conceited one, who could measure 
 the entire depth of his modesty ! I am favourable and 
 sympathetic towards him because of his modesty. 
 
 From you he wisheth to learn his belief in himself ; 
 he feedeth from your glances, he eateth praise off your 
 hands. 
 
 He even believeth your lies when ye lie well about 
 him. For in its depths his heart sigheth : 'What am //' 
 
 And if that is the right virtue, which knoweth not 
 about itself : now, the conceited one knoweth not about 
 his modesty! 
 
 But this is my third manly prudence, that I allow 
 not the sight of the wicked to be made disagreeable 
 through your fear. 
 
 I am blessed in seeing the marvels which hot 
 sunshine breedeth : tigers and palm-trees and rattle- 
 snakes. 
 
 Among men there is a beautiful brood from the hot 
 sunshine, and in the wicked there are many astonishing 
 things. 
 
 Let me confess : as your wisest men did not appear 
 unto me to be so very wise, so I found men's wicked- 
 ness much less than the fame of it. 
 
 And often I asked with a shaking of my head : ' Why 
 rattle still, ye rattle-snakes?' 
 
 Verily, even for what is wicked there is still a future ! 
 And the hottest south hath not yet been discovered for 
 man.
 
 OF MANLY PRUDENCE 2O/ 
 
 How many things are at present called highest wick- 
 edness, which are only twelve shoes broad and three 
 months long! One day, however, bigger dragons will 
 come into the world. 
 
 For, in order that beyond-man may not lack a dragon, 
 a beyond-dragon that is worthy of him, much hot sun- 
 shine must glow over damp primeval forest! 
 
 Out of your wild cats tigers must have grown and 
 crocodiles out of your poisonous toads. For the good 
 hunter shall have a good hunt ! 
 
 And, verily, ye good and just! Much in you is 
 laughable and especially your fear of what hath hith- 
 erto been called ' devil ' ! 
 
 What is great is so strange unto your soul, that 
 beyond-man would be terrible unto you by his kindness ! 
 
 And ye wise and knowing men, ye would flee from 
 the burning sun of wisdom, in which beyond-man 
 rejoiceth to bathe his nakedness ! 
 
 Ye highest men with whom mine eye hath met! 
 This is my doubt as regardeth you, and my secret 
 laughter: I guess, my beyond-man ye would call 
 'devil'! 
 
 Alas, I have grown weary of these highest and best ! 
 From their ' height ' I longed to rise upwards, out, away 
 unto beyond-man ! 
 
 A terror overcame me when I saw these best men 
 naked. Then wings grew unto me to fly away into 
 remote futures.
 
 2O8 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 Into more remote futures, into more southern souths 
 than artist ever dreamt of: thither where Gods are 
 ashamed of all clothing! 
 
 But I wish to see you disguised, ye neighbours and 
 fellow-men, and well adorned, and vain, and worthy, as 
 'the good and just,' 
 
 And disguised I will sit among you myself, in order 
 to mistake you and myself. For this is my last manly 
 prudence." 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 THE STILL HOUR 
 
 "What hath happened unto me, my friends? Ye 
 see me troubled, driven away, unwillingly obedient, 
 ready to go alas, to go away from you ! 
 
 Yea, once more Zarathustra hath to go into his 
 solitude ! But this time the bear goeth back into its 
 pave sadly ! 
 
 What hath happened unto me ? Who commandeth 
 this ? Alas, mine angry mistress wisheth it to be 
 thus ! She spake unto me. Did I ever mention her 
 name unto you ? 
 
 Yester-even my stillest hour spake unto me. That 
 is the name of my terrible mistress. 
 
 And thus it happened. (For everything must I tell 
 you, that your heart may not harden towards him 
 who taketh sudden leave ! ) 
 
 Know ye the terror of him who falleth asleep? 
 
 Unto his very toes he is terrified by the ground 
 giving way and the dream beginning. 
 
 This I tell you as a parable. Yesterday at the 
 stillest hour, the ground gave way beneath me: the 
 dream began. 
 
 The hand moved on, the clock of my life took 
 P 209
 
 2IO THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 breath. Never did I hear such stillness round me. 
 Thus my heart was terrified. 
 
 Then it was said unto me without a voice : * Thou 
 knowest it, Zarathustra? 1 
 
 And I yelled with terror at that whispering, and 
 the blood went out of my face, but I was speechless. 
 
 Then it was again said unto me without a voice : 
 'Thou knowest it, Zarathustra, but thou speakest 
 not!' 
 
 And at last I answered like a spiteful one : ' Yea, 
 I know it, but wish not to pronounce it ! ' 
 
 Then it was again said unto me : ' Thou wishest 
 not, Zarathustra? Is that true? Conceal not thyself 
 behind thy spite ! ' 
 
 But I wept and trembled like a child and said : 
 ' Alas, I should wish, but how can I do it ! Exempt 
 me from this one thing ! It is beyond my power ! ' 
 
 Then it was again said unto me without a voice : 
 'What matter about thyself, Zarathustra! Say thy 
 word and break into pieces ! ' 
 
 And I answered : ' Alas, is it my word ? Who 
 am I? I wait for a worthier one ; I am not worthy 
 to be broken into pieces even from that word.' 
 
 Then it was again said unto me without a voice : 
 ' What matter about thyself ? Thou art not yet hum- 
 ble enough. Humility hath the thickest skin.' 
 
 And I answered : ' What hath not been borne by 
 the skin of my humility ! At the foot of my height
 
 THE STILL HOUR 211 
 
 I dwell. How high my summits are ? How high, no 
 one hath yet told me. But well I know my valleys.' 
 
 Then it was again said unto me without a voice: 
 'O Zarathustra, he who hath to move mountains 
 moveth valleys and low lands as well.' 
 
 And I answered: 'Not yet hath my word moved 
 any mountains, and what I spake hath not reached 
 men. Although I went unto men, not yet have I 
 reached them.' 
 
 Then it was again said unto me without a voice : 
 'What knowest thou of that? The dew falleth upon 
 th grass when the night is most silent.' 
 
 And I answered : ' They mocked at me when I 
 found and went mine own way. And in truth my 
 feet trembled ,then. 
 
 And thus they spake unto me: 'Thou unlearnedst 
 the path ; now thou also unlearnest walking ! ' 
 
 Then it was again said unto me without a voice: 
 ' What matter for their mocking ? Thou art one who 
 hath unlearnt obedience : now thou shalt command ! 
 
 Knowest thou not who is required most by all ? 
 He who commandeth great things. 
 
 To do great things is hard ; but to command great 
 things is still harder. 
 
 This is what is most unpardonable in thee : thou 
 hast the power and wantest not to rule.' 
 
 And I answered : ' I lack a lion's voice for com- 
 manding.'
 
 212 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II 
 
 Then it was again said unto me like a whispering : 
 ' The stillest words bring the storm. Thoughts which 
 come on doves' feet rule the world. 
 
 O Zarathustra, thou shalt go as a shadow of what 
 must come. Thus thou wilt command and go in the 
 front commanding.' 
 
 And I answered: 'I am ashamed.' 
 
 Then it was again said unto me without a voice : 
 'Thou hast still to become a child and without sense 
 of shame. 
 
 The pride of youth is still upon thee ; very late hast 
 thou become young. And whoever wanteth to become 
 a child must overcome even his youth.' 
 
 And I meditated a long while and trembled. But 
 at last I said what I had said first : 'I wish not.' 
 
 Then a laughter brake out around me. Alas, how 
 the laughter tore mine intestines and ripped up my 
 heart ! 
 
 And it was said unto me for the last time : ' O 
 Zarathustra, thy fruits are ripe, but thou art not ripe 
 for thy fruits ! 
 
 Thus thou must again go into solitude ; for thou 
 shalt become mellow.' 
 
 And again there was laughter ; and then it fled. 
 Then there was stillness around me, as it were, with 
 a twofold stillness. But I lay on the ground, and the 
 sweat flowed down my limbs. 
 
 Now ye have heard all, and why I have to return
 
 THE STILL HOUR 213 
 
 into my solitude. Nothing I kept hidden from you, 
 my friends. 
 
 Ye have indeed heard it from me who am still the 
 most discreet of men and will be so ! 
 
 Alas, my friends ! I should have more to tell you, 
 I should have more to give you ! Why do I give it 
 not ? Am I miserly ? " 
 
 When Zarathustra had said these words the power 
 of pain and the nighness of the leavetaking from his 
 friends surprised him so that he wept aloud; and no- 
 body could comfort him. But at night he went off 
 alone and left his friends.
 
 THIRD PART 
 
 "Ye look upward when longing to be ex- 
 alted. And I look downward because I am 
 exalted. 
 
 Which of you can at the same time laugh 
 and be exalted? 
 
 He who strideth across the highest moun- 
 tains laugheth at all tragedies whether of 
 the stage or of life."* 
 
 Zarathustra, T 
 Of Reading and Writing
 
 THE WANDERER 
 
 It was about midnight that Zarathustra took his 
 way over the back of the island in order to arrive 
 early in the morning at the other shore. For there 
 he intended to go on board a ship. For there was a 
 good roadstead at which foreign ships liked to cast 
 anchor. They took with them many a one who from 
 the blissful islands desired to go over sea. Now when 
 thus mounting the hill, Zarathustra thought on his 
 way of his many lonely wanderings from his youth, 
 and how many hills and mountain ridges and summits 
 had been ascended by him. 
 
 "I am a wanderer and a mountain-climber," said 
 he unto his heart; "I like not the plains, and it 
 seemeth I cannot long sit still. 
 
 And whatever may become my fate and experi- 
 ence, a wandering and a mountain-climbing will 
 be part of it. In the end one experienceth nothing 
 but one's self. 
 
 The time is past when accidents could happen unto 
 me. And what could now fall unto my share that is 
 not already mine own ! 
 
 It merely returneth, it at last cometh home unto 
 
 217
 
 2l8 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 me mine own self, and whatever of it hath been 
 for a long time abroad and hath been dispersed 
 among all things and accidents. 
 
 And one more thing I know : now I stand before 
 my last summit and before that which hath been long- 
 est reserved for me. Alas, I must ascend my hardest 
 path ! Alas, I have begun my loneliest wandering ! 
 
 But whoever is of my kin escapeth not such an 
 hour, an hour which speaketh unto him : ' It is only 
 now that thou goest the way of thy greatness ! Sum- 
 mit and precipice these are now contained in one ! 
 
 Thou goest the way of thy greatness. Now what 
 was called hitherto thy last danger hath become thy 
 last refuge ! 
 
 Thou goest the way of thy greatness. Thy best 
 courage must now be that behind thee there is no 
 further path ! 
 
 Thou goest the way of thy greatness. Hither no 
 one shall steal after thee ! Thy foot itself extinguished 
 the path behind thee, and above it there standeth 
 written : " Impossibility." 
 
 And if thou now lackest all ladders thou must 
 know how to mount thine own head. Otherwise, how 
 couldst thou ascend ? 
 
 Thine own head, and past thine own heart ! Now 
 what is mildest in thee must become hardest 
 
 Whoever hath spared himself always, at last aileth 
 because of his sparing himself so much. Let that
 
 THE WANDERER 2l<) 
 
 which maketh hard be praised. I do not praise the 
 land where there flow butter and honey! 
 
 In order to see much it is necessary to learn to 
 forget one's self. This hardness is requisite for every 
 mountain-climber. 
 
 But whoever is forward with his eyes as a per- 
 ceiver, how could he see more than the foremost rea- 
 sons of all things ! 
 
 But thou, O Zarathustra, desiredst to see the ground 
 and background of all things. Thus thou art com- 
 pelled to mount above thyself, up, upwards, until thou 
 seest below thyself even thy stars ! ' 
 
 Ay, to look down unto one's self and even unto 
 one's stars : only that would I call my summit, that 
 hath been reserved for me as my last summit." 
 
 Thus Zarathustra spake unto himself, ascending, 
 comforting his heart with hard little sayings ; for his 
 heart was sore as it had never been. And when he 
 reached the top of the mountain ridge, lo ! the other 
 sea lay spread out before him. And he stood still 
 and kept silence for a long time. But the night was 
 cold on that height, and clear and bright with stars. 
 
 "I recognize my lot," at last he said sadly. "Up! 
 I am ready. My last loneliness hath just begun. 
 
 Oh, that black, sad sea below me ! Oh, that black, 
 night-like peevishness! Oh, fate and sea! Now I 
 have to step down unto you ! 
 
 Before my highest mountain I stand, and before
 
 22O THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 ray longest wandering. Therefore I must first de- 
 scend deeper than I ever ascended 
 
 Descend deeper into pain, than I ever ascended 
 until I reach its blackest flood. Thus my fate willeth. 
 Up ! I am ready. 
 
 'Whence spring the -highest mountains?' Thus I 
 once asked. Then I learned that they spring from 
 the sea. 
 
 This testimony is written in their stones and in the 
 walls of their summits. Out of the greatest depth 
 the highest must rise unto its height." 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra on the summit of the 
 mountain where it was cold. But when he came nigh 
 unto the sea and at last stood alone among the cliffs, 
 he had grown weary on the way and felt a deeper 
 longing than ever before. 
 
 "Now everything is asleep," said he. "The sea is 
 asleep also. Full of sleep and strange its eye gazeth 
 at me. 
 
 But warm is its breath, I feel it. And I also feel 
 that it dreameth. Dreamy it tosseth to and fro on 
 its hard pillows. 
 
 Hearken ! Hearken ! How it groaneth with evil 
 reminiscences ! Or with evil expectations ? 
 
 Oh, I am sad with thee, thou dark monster, and I 
 am angry at myself even for thy sake. 
 
 Alas, that my hand hath not strength enough ! Fain, 
 truly, would I redeem thee from evil dreams ! "
 
 THE WANDERER 221 
 
 And while thus speaking Zarathustra laughed with 
 melancholy and bitterness at himself. " What ! Zara- 
 thustra ! " said he. " Art thou about to sing comfort 
 even unto the sea? 
 
 Oh, thou kind-hearted fool Zarathustra, thou who 
 art all-too-full of confidence ! But thus thou hast 
 always been : familiarly thou hast ever approached 
 unto all that was terrible. 
 
 Thou wert about to caress every monster. A 
 breath of warm breath, a little soft shaggy hair at 
 
 the paw, and at once thou wert ready to love and 
 
 * 
 
 decoy it. 
 
 Love is the danger of the loneliest one, love unto 
 everything if it only live. Laughable, verily, is my 
 folly and my modesty in love ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra laughing withal a second 
 time. But then he remembered his friends he had 
 left, and as though he had done wrong unto them 
 with his thoughts, he was angry with himself because 
 of his thoughts. And a little later it came to pass 
 that the laughing one wept. From anger and longing 
 Zarathustra wept bitterly.
 
 OF THE VISION AND THE RIDDLE 
 
 When the rumour spread among the shipmen that 
 Zarathustra was on board the ship (for at the same 
 time with him a man had come aboard who came 
 from the blissful islands), great curiosity and expec- 
 tation arose. But Zarathustra was silent for two days 
 and was cold and deaf from sadness so that he neither 
 answered looks nor questions. But on the evening 
 of the second day he opened his ears again although 
 he still remained silent. For there were many strange 
 and dangerous things to be heard on that ship which 
 came from a far distance and went far further. But 
 Zarathustra was a friend of all such as make distant 
 voyages and like not to live without danger. And 
 lo ! from listening at last his own tongue was loosened 
 and the ice of his heart brake. Then he began to 
 speak thus : 
 
 " Unto you, ye keen searchers, tempters and who- 
 ever goeth aboard a ship for terrible seas with cun- 
 ning sails, 
 
 Unto you rejoicers in riddles, who enjoy the twi- 
 light ; whose soul is attracted by flutes unto every 
 labyrinthine chasm :
 
 OF THE VISION AND THE RIDDLE 223 
 
 (For ye care not to grope after a thread, with a 
 coward's hand ; and where ye are able to guess ye 
 hate to determine by argument?) 
 
 Unto you alone I tell this riddle which I saw 
 the vision of the loneliest one. 
 
 Mournfully I went of late through a corpse-col- 
 oured dawn, mournfully and hard with my lips 
 pressed together. Not only one sun had gone down 
 for me. 
 
 A path ascending defiantly through the boulder- 
 stones ; a wicked, lonely path unto which neither herb 
 nor bushes spake; a mountain-path gnashed its teeth 
 under the scorn of my foot. 
 
 Striding silently over the scornful rattling of pebbles, 
 crushing with its step the stone that made it slip, 
 thus my foot forced its way upwards. 
 
 Upwards in defiance of the spirit drawing it down- 
 wards, into the abyss the spirit of gravity, my devil 
 and arch-enemy. 
 
 Upwards although that spirit sat upon me, half 
 a dwarf, half a mole ; lame ; laming ; dropping lead 
 through mine ear, thoughts as heavy as drops of lead 
 into my brain. 
 
 ' O Zarathustra,' it whispered scornfully pronouncing 
 syllable by syllable. 'Thou stone of wisdom! Thou 
 threwest thyself high up, but every stone thrown must 
 -fall! 
 
 O Zarathustra, thou stone of wisdom, thou sling-
 
 224 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 stone, thou destroyer of stars ! Thyself thou threwest 
 so high, but every stone thrown must fall ! 
 
 Condemned unto thyself and thine own stoning. 
 O Zarathustra, far thou threwest the stone indeed, 
 but it will fall back upon thyself!' 
 
 Then the dwarf was silent ; and that lasted long. 
 But his silence pressed me down; and being thus by 
 twos, verily, one is lonelier than being by one! 
 
 I ascended, I ascended, I dreamt, I thought, but 
 everything pressed upon me. Like a sick one I was, 
 who is wearied by a sore torture, and who, by a sorer 
 dream, is awakened out of his falling asleep. 
 
 But a thing is within me, I call it courage. It hath 
 hitherto slain every evil mood of mine. This courage 
 bade me at last stand still and say : ' Dwarf ! Thou ! 
 Or I!' 
 
 For courage is the best murderer, courage that 
 attacketh. For in every attack there is a stirring 
 music of battle. 
 
 But man is the most courageous animal. Thereby 
 he hath conquered every animal. With stirring battle- 
 music he hath conquered every pain ; but human pain 
 is the sorest pain. 
 
 Courage even slayeth giddiness nigh abysses. And 
 where doth man not stand nigh abysses ! Is the very 
 seeing not seeing abysses ? 
 
 Courage is the best murderer ; courage murdereth 
 even pity. But pity is the deepest abyss. As deep
 
 OF THE VISION AND THE RIDDLE 225 
 
 as man looketh into life, so deep he looketh into 
 suffering. 
 
 But courage is the best murderer, courage that 
 attacketh ; it murdereth even death, for it saith : ' Was 
 that life ? Up ! Once more ! ' 
 
 In such a saying is much stirring battle-music. He 
 who hath ears to hear shall hear. 
 
 ' Halt ! Dwarf ! ' said I. ' I ! Or thou ! But I am 
 the stronger of us two. Thou knowest not mine 
 abyss-like thought ! Thou couldst not endure it ! ' 
 
 Then came to pass what made me lighter. For 
 the dwarf jumped from my shoulder, the curious one ! 
 And he squatted on a stone in front of me. There 
 happened to be a gateway where we stopped. 
 
 ' Look at this gateway ! Dwarf ! ' I said further. 
 ' It hath two faces. Two roads meet here the ends of 
 which no one hath ever reached. 
 
 This long lane back : it stretcheth out for an eter- 
 nity. And that long lane out there it is another 
 eternity. 
 
 They contradict each other, these roads ; they knock 
 each other directly on the head. And here, at this 
 gateway, they meet. The name of the gateway stand- 
 eth written above : " Moment." 
 
 But whoever would go along either of them and
 
 226 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 ever further and ever more remote : believest thou, 
 dwarf, that these roads contradict each other eter- 
 nally ? ' 
 
 ' All that is straight, lieth,' murmured the dwarf with 
 contempt. ' All truth is crooked, time itself is a circle.' 
 
 ' Thou spirit of gravity ! ' said I angrily, ' do not 
 make things too easy for thyself! Otherwise I let 
 thee squat where thou squattest, lame leg, and I 
 have carried thee high' up ! 
 
 Behold,' I continued, ' this moment ! From this 
 gateway called moment a long, eternal lane runneth 
 backward: behind us lieth an eternity. 
 
 Must not all that can run of things have run al- 
 ready through this lane ? Must not what can happen 
 of things have happened, have been done and have 
 run past here ? 
 
 And if all things have happened already : what dost 
 thou dwarf think of this moment ? Must not this gate- 
 way have existed previously also ? 
 
 And are not thus all things knotted fast together 
 that this moment draweth behind it all future things ? 
 Consequently draweth itself, as well ? 
 
 For what can run of things in that long lane out 
 there, it must run once more ! 
 
 And this slow spider creeping in the moonshine, 
 and this moonshine itself, and I and thou in the gate- 
 way whispering together, whispering of eternal things, 
 must not we all have existed once in the past ?
 
 OF THE VISION AND THE RIDDLE 22^ 
 
 And must not we recur and run in that other 
 lane, out there, before us, in that long haunted lane 
 must we not recur eternally ? ' 
 
 Thus I spake and ever more gently. For I was 
 afraid of mine own thoughts and back-thoughts. Then, 
 suddenly, I heard a dog howl nigh unto the place. 
 
 Did I ever hear a dog howl like that ? My thought 
 went back. Yea! When I was a child, in my re- 
 motest childhood. 
 
 Then I heard a dog howl like that. And I saw it 
 as well, with its hair bristled, its head turned upwards, 
 trembling, in the stillest midnight when even the dogs 
 believe in ghosts 
 
 So that I felt pity for it. For that very moment 
 the full moon in deadly silence passed the house ; 
 that very moment she stood still, a round glow, still 
 on the flat roof, as if she stood on strange property. 
 
 Thereby the dog had been terrified ; for dogs be- 
 lieve in thieves and ghosts. And when I heard that 
 howling again I felt pity once more. 
 
 Whither had the dwarf gone ? And the gateway ? 
 And the spider? And all the whispering? Did I 
 dream ? Did I awake ? Between wild cliffs I stood 
 suddenly, alone, lonely, in the loneliest moonshine. 
 
 But there lay a man ! And there ! The dog, jump- 
 ing, with its hair bristled, whimpering, now it saw 
 me come. Then it howled again, then it cried. Did 
 I ever hear a dog cry thus for help ?
 
 228 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 And, verily, what I saw, the like I had never seen. 
 A young shepherd I saw, writhing, choking, quivering, 
 with his face distorted, from whose mouth a black 
 heavy snake hung down. 
 
 Did I ever see so much loathing and pale horror 
 in one face? Had he slept? Then the serpent crept 
 into his throat and clung there biting. 
 
 My hand tore at the serpent and tore in vain ! 
 It was unable to tear the snake out of his throat. 
 Then something in myself cried out : ' Bite ! Bite ! 
 
 Off its head ! Bite ! ' Thus something in myself 
 cried out. My horror, my hate, my loathing, my pity, 
 all my good and bad cried in one cry out of me. 
 
 Ye keen ones around me ! Ye searchers, tempters, 
 and whoever of you goeth on board a ship for unex- 
 plored seas with cunning sails! Ye rejoicers in riddles! 
 
 Find out this riddle, which I beheld at that time ! 
 Interpret the vision of the loneliest one ! 
 
 For a vision it was, and a forecast. What did I 
 then behold in a parable? And who is he that must 
 come one day ? 
 
 Who is the shepherd whose throat was thus entered 
 by the snake ? Who is the man from whose throat 
 thus the hardest, blackest thing will have to creep 
 forth ? 
 
 But the shepherd bit, as my cry counselled him ; 
 and with a strong bite ! Far away he spat the snake's 
 head and leaped up.
 
 OF THE VISION AND THE RIDDLE 22Q 
 
 No longer a shepherd, no longer a man, a changed 
 one, one surrounded by light who laughed! Never 
 on earth hath a man laughed as he did. 
 
 O my brethren, I heard a laughter that was no 
 man's laughter. And now a thirst gnaweth at me, a 
 longing that is never stilled. 
 
 My longing for that laughter gnaweth at me. Oh, 
 how can I endure still to live ! and how could I en- 
 dure to die now ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF INVOLUNTARY BLISS 
 
 His heart filled with such riddles and bitterness, 
 Zarathustra went over the sea. But when he was 
 away from the blissful islands and from his friends a 
 four days' journey, he had overcome all his pain. Vic- 
 torious and with firm feet he again stood on his fate. 
 And then Zarathustra thus spake unto his rejoicing 
 conscience : 
 
 "Alone am I again and will be, alone with pure 
 sky and free sea ; and again there is afternoon round 
 me. 
 
 One afternoon I found my friends for the first 
 time ; another afternoon I found them a second time, 
 at the hour when all light groweth stiller. 
 
 For whatever of happiness is still on its way be- 
 tween heaven and earth seeketh now for its home a 
 light soul. From happiness all light hath now become 
 stiller. 
 
 Oh, afternoon of my life ! Once my happiness also 
 went down unto the valley to look for a home. Then 
 it found those open, hospitable souls. 
 
 Oh, afternoon of my life ! What did I not give 
 away in order to have one thing : this living planta- 
 
 230
 
 OF INVOLUNTARY BLISS 23! 
 
 tion of my thoughts and this morning light of my 
 highest hope ! 
 
 Companions once the creator sought for, and chil- 
 dren of his hope. And lo ! it was found that he 
 could not find them unless he would create them 
 himself. 
 
 Thus am I in the middle of my work, going unto 
 my children and returning from them. For the sake 
 of his children Zarathustra must complete himself. 
 
 For from the bottom one loveth nothing but one's 
 child and work ; and where there is great love unto 
 one's self, it is the sign of child-bearing. Thus I 
 found it. 
 
 Still my .children flourish in their first spring, 
 standing close together and shaken together by the 
 winds, the trees of my garden and of my best soil. 
 
 And, verily ! Where such trees stand close unto 
 each other, there are blissful islands ! 
 
 But one day I will take them out of their soil and 
 plant each of them alone, that he may learn loneli- 
 ness and defiance and caution. 
 
 Gnarled and crooked and with hardness that bend- 
 eth, he shall stand then by the sea, a living light- 
 house of life undestroyable. 
 
 There where the storms hustle down into the sea, 
 and the snout of the mountains drinketh water, each 
 of them shall one day have his day-watches and night- 
 watches, for the sake of his trial and recognition.
 
 232 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 Recognised and tried shall he be, to find out 
 whether he be of my kin and descent, whether he 
 be the master of a long will, silent even when he 
 speaketh, and yielding so that he taketh in giving 
 
 In order that he one day may become my compan- 
 ion and one who createth with me and ceaseth from 
 work with me ; such a one as writeth my will on my 
 tables for the sake of a fuller perfection of all things. 
 
 And for his sake and the sake of his like I must 
 complete myself. Therefore I now avoid my happi- 
 ness and offer myself unto all misfortune, for the 
 sake of my last trial and recognition. 
 
 And, verily, it was time that I went away. And 
 the wanderer's shadow, and the longest while, and the 
 stillest hour, all counselled me: 'It is high time!' 
 
 The wind blew through my key-hole saying : 
 ' Come ! ' My door cunningly opened of itself saying : 
 'Go!' 
 
 But I lay fettered by my love unto my children. 
 The desire laid this trap for me the desire for love 
 that I should become my children's booty, and lose 
 myself unto them. 
 
 Desiring that meaneth in mine opinion to have 
 lost myself. / have got you, my children J In this 
 possessing, all shall be security, and nothing desiring. 
 
 But brooding the sun of my love lay upon me ; in 
 his own juice Zarathustra stewed. Then shadows and 
 doubts flew past me.
 
 OF INVOLUNTARY BLISS 233 
 
 I longed for frost and winter : ' Would that frost 
 and winter would make me again crack and groan,' 
 I sighed. Then icy fogs rose from me. 
 
 My past hath broken its graves ; many a pain 
 buried alive hath awakened. It had merely slept its 
 fill, hidden in corpse's clothes. 
 
 Thus all reminded me by signs : 'It is time ! ' 
 But I heard not; until at last mine abyss moved 
 and my thought bit me. 
 
 Oh, abyss-like thought which art my thought ! 
 When shall I find the strength to hear thee dig, and 
 to tremble no more ? 
 
 Up to my throat throbbeth my heart when I hear 
 thee dig ! Thy silence even will throttle me, thou 
 who art silent as an abyss ! 
 
 Never yet have I dared to call thee upward. It 
 was enough that I carried thee with me ! Not yet 
 was I strong enough for the utmost overflowing spirit 
 and wantonness of the lion. 
 
 Enough of horror for me thy gravity hath ever 
 been. But one day yet shall I find the strength and 
 the voice of a lion to call thee up ! 
 
 When once I shall have overcome myself in this 
 respect, I shall also overcome myself in that greater 
 matter ; and a victory shall be the seal of my perfection ! 
 
 In the meantime, I sail about on uncertain seas ; 
 chance flattereth me with its smooth tongue ; forward 
 and backward I gaze, not yet do I see any end.
 
 234 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 Not yet hath the hour of my last struggle come. 
 Or doth it come this very moment? Verily, round 
 about with insidious beauty sea and life gaze at me. 
 
 Oh, afternoon of my life ! Oh, happiness before 
 eventide ! Oh, harbour on the open sea ! Oh, peace 
 in what is uncertain ! How I mistrust all of you ! 
 
 Verily, mistrustful am I of your insidious beauty ! I am 
 like unto the lover who mistrusteth a too velvety smile. 
 
 As he pusheth before himself the most beloved 
 woman, tender even in his hardness, the jealous 
 lover thus I push before me this blissful hour. 
 
 Away with thee, thou blissful hour ! In thee an 
 involuntary bliss came unto me ! Willing to take 
 upon me my deepest pain, here I stand. At the 
 wrong time thou earnest ! 
 
 Away with thee, thou blissful hour ! Rather settle 
 down there with my children ! Hurry, and bless 
 them before eventide with my happiness! 
 
 There eventide approacheth, the sun sinketh. Gone 
 my happiness ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra. And he waited for his 
 misfortune the whole night ; but he waited in vain. 
 The night remained clear and still, and happiness itself 
 drew nigher and nigher unto him. But towards the 
 morning Zarathustra laughed unto his heart saying 
 mockingly: "Happiness runneth after me. That re- 
 sulteth from my not running after women. Happiness 
 is a woman."
 
 . BEFORE SUNRISE 
 
 " Oh, sky above me ! Thou pure ! Thou deep ! 
 Thou abyss of light ! Gazing at thee, I quiver with 
 god-like desires. 
 
 To cast myself up unto thy height that is my 
 profundity ! To hide myself in thy purity that is 
 mine innocence ! 
 
 A God is veiled by his beauty : thus thy stars are 
 hidden by thee. Thou speakest not : thus thou show- 
 est forth thy wisdom unto me. 
 
 Silent over a roaring sea thou hast risen to-day 
 unto me ; thy love and thy shame utter a revelation 
 unto my roaring soul. 
 
 That thou earnest unto me, beautiful, veiled in thy 
 beauty ; that silent thou speakest unto me, manifest in 
 thy wisdom 
 
 Oh, how should I not guess all that is full of shame 
 in thy soul ! Before sunrise thou earnest unto me, 
 the loneliest one. 
 
 We are friends from the beginning. Sorrow and 
 horror and soil we share ; even the sun we share. 
 
 We do not speak unto each other because we know 
 too many things. We stare silently at each other; 
 smiling we declare our knowledge unto one another. 
 
 235
 
 236 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 Art them not the light unto my fire ? Hast thou 
 not the sister-soul unto mine insight ? 
 
 Together we have learnt everything ; together we 
 have learnt to ascend above ourselves unto ourselves 
 and to smile cloudless 
 
 To smile down cloudless from bright eyes and from 
 a distance of many miles, when below us compulsion 
 and purpose and guilt steam like rain. 
 
 And when I wandered alone, for what did my soul 
 hunger in nights and labyrinthine paths ? And when 
 climbing mountains, for whom did I ever search, un- 
 less for thee, on mountains ? 
 
 And all my wandering and mountain-climbing, it 
 was only a necessity and a make-shift of the helpless 
 one. Flying is the only thing my will willeth, flying 
 into thee! 
 
 And whom could I hate more than wandering 
 clouds and all that defileth thee ! And I even hated 
 mine own hatred because it defiled thee! 
 
 I bear a grudge unto wandering clouds, those 
 stealthy cats of prey. They take from thee and me 
 what we have in common, that immense, that infinite 
 saying of Yea and Amen. 
 
 We bear a grudge unto these mediators and mixers, 
 the wandering clouds ; those half-and-half-ones who 
 neither learnt how to bless nor curse from the bottom 
 of their soul. 
 
 I will rather sit in the barrel, with the sky shut
 
 BEFORE SUNRISE 237 
 
 out ; rather sit in the abyss without a sky, than see 
 thee, sky of light, defiled with wandering clouds ! 
 
 And I often longed to fix them with the jagged 
 gold-wires of lightning, in order to beat the kettle- 
 drum on their kettle-womb, like a thunder-clap, 
 
 An angry kettledrum-beater, because they bereave 
 me of thy Yea and Amen, thou sky above me ! Thou 
 pure ! Thou bright ! Thou abyss of light ! And be- 
 cause they bereave thee of my Yea and Amen ! 
 
 For rather I love noise and lightning and the curses 
 9f thunder than that deliberate doubting silence of 
 cats. And among men also I hate most all eaves- 
 droppers and half-and-half-ones and doubting, tardy, 
 wandering clouds. 
 
 And ' he who cannot bless shall learn how to curse ! ' 
 this clear doctrine fell unto me from the clear sky; 
 this star standeth on my sky even in black nights. 
 
 But I am one who blesseth and saith Yea, if thou 
 only art round me, thou pure ! Thou bright ! Thou 
 abyss of light ! Then I carry my Yea-saying with 
 its blessing even into all abysses. 
 
 I have become one who blesseth and saith Yea. 
 And for that purpose I struggled long and was a 
 struggler, in order to get one day my hands free for 
 blessing. 
 
 But this is my blessing: to stand above everything 
 as its own sky, as its round roof, its azure bell and 
 eternal security. And blessed he who blesseth thus !
 
 238 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 For all things are baptized at the well of eternity, 
 and beyond good and evil. But good and evil them- 
 selves are but inter-shadows and damp afflictions and 
 wandering clouds. 
 
 Verily, it is a blessing and not a blasphemy, when 
 I teach: 'Above all things standeth the chance sky, 
 the innocence sky, the hazard sky, the wantonness sky.' 
 
 ' Sir Hazard ' that is the earliest nobility of the 
 world, which I restored unto all things. I saved them 
 from the slavery of serving an end. 
 
 This freedom and clearness of sky I put over all 
 things like an azure bell, when I taught, that above 
 them and through them no ' eternal will ' willeth. 
 
 This wantonness and this folly I put in the place 
 of that will when I taught : ' In all things one thing 
 is impossible reasonableness ! ' 
 
 A little of reasonableness, a seed of wisdom scattered 
 from star to star, it is true, this leaven is mixed with 
 all things. For the sake of folly, wisdom is mixed 
 with all things ! 
 
 A little of wisdom is well possible. But this bliss- 
 ful security I found in all things : they rather like to 
 dance with chance's feet. 
 
 Oh, sky above me ! Thou pure ! Thou high ! 
 Therein consisteth thy purity for me, that there 
 are no eternal spider of reason and spider's nets of 
 reason 
 
 That for me thou art a dancing-ground for god-like
 
 BEFORE SUNRISE 239 
 
 chances, that for me thou art a god-like table for god- 
 like dice and dice-players ! 
 
 But thou blushest ? Spake I things unutterable ? 
 Did I revile whilst intending to bless thee ? 
 
 Or is it the shame by two which maketh thee blush ? 
 Dost thou bid me go and be silent, because now 
 the day cometh ? 
 
 The world is deep, and deeper than ever day 
 thought it might. Not everything is allowed to have 
 language in presence of the day. But the day cometh ! 
 Now therefore let us part! 
 
 T - Oh, sky above me. Thou bashful ! Thou glowing ! 
 Oh, thou my happiness before sunrise ! The day 
 cometh ! Now therefore let us part ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF VIRTUE THAT MAKETH SMALLER 
 
 Having reached the firm land again, Zarathustra did 
 not straightway go unto his mountains and his cave, 
 but walked about much and put many questions and 
 learned this and that so that he said of himself by 
 way of a joke : " Behold a river which with many 
 windings floweth back unto its source." For he wished 
 to learn what in the meantime had gone on with man, 
 whether he had become taller or smaller. And once 
 he saw a row of new houses. Then he wondered and 
 said : 
 
 " What do these houses mean ? Verily, no great 
 soul put them there to be its likeness ! 
 
 Did a silly child take them out of the toy-box? 
 Would that another child would put them back into 
 his box ! 
 
 And these public rooms and bed-rooms are men 
 able to go in and out there ? They appear unto me 
 to be made for silken dolls ; or for sweet-teeth, which 
 even allow delicacies to be stolen from them." 
 
 And Zarathustra stopped and meditated. At last 
 he said sadly: "All hath become smaller! 
 
 240
 
 OF VIRTUE THAT MAKETH SMALLER 241 
 
 Everywhere I see lower doorways. He who is of 
 my kin, can still pass through them, but he must 
 stoop ! 
 
 Oh, when shall I return unto my home where I 
 shall have to stoop no more to stoop no more before 
 the small!" And Zarathustra sighed gazing into the 
 distance. 
 
 The same day he made his speech on the virtue 
 that maketh smaller. 
 
 .t 
 
 " I pass through these folk and keep mine eyes open. 
 The folk do not forgive me for not being envious of 
 their virtues. 
 
 They bite at me because I say unto them : ' For 
 small folk small virtues are requisite ; ' and because 
 it is hard for me to understand that small folk are 
 requisite ! 
 
 Still I am like the cock in a strange farm-yard, at 
 whom even the hens bite. But for that reason I have 
 no dislike unto these hens. 
 
 I am polite unto them as I am unto all small annoy- 
 ances. To be bristly towards what is small, seemeth 
 unto me to be a wisdom for hedgehogs. 
 
 They all speak of me whenever they sit round the 
 fire at even. They speak of me, but no one thinketh 
 of me ! 
 R
 
 242 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 This is the new stillness I learned : their noise 
 around me spreadeth a mantle over my thoughts. 
 
 They make a noise among themselves : ' What doth 
 that gloomy cloud there ? Let us see unto it that it 
 bring not a pestilence unto us ! ' 
 
 And of late a woman clasped unto herself 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 are of opinion 
 that coughing is an objection unto strong winds. 
 They do not divine anything about the rushing of my 
 happiness ! 
 
 'We have not yet time for Zarathustra ' they say 
 as an objection. But what matter about a time that 
 hath 'no time' for Zarathustra? 
 
 And if they praise me, above all, how can I fall 
 asleep on their fame ? A belt of spikes is their prais- 
 ing unto me; it scratcheth me even when I take it off. 
 
 And this moreover I learned among them : the prais- 
 ing one behaveth as if he restored things; in truth, 
 however, he desireth to be given more ! 
 
 Ask my foot whether it is pleased by their melody 
 of praising and alluring ! Verily, unto such a time- 
 beat and ticking it liketh neither to dance nor to stand 
 still. 
 
 Unto small virtue they would fain allure me and 
 draw me by praising. To share the ticking of their 
 small happiness, they would fain persuade my foot.
 
 OF VIRTUE THAT MAKETH SMALLER 243 
 
 I walk through these folk and keep mine eyes open. 
 They have become smaller and are becoming ever 
 smaller. And the reason, of that is their doctrine of 
 happiness and virtue. 
 
 For they are modest even in their virtue ; for they 
 are desirous of ease. But with ease only modest 
 virtue is compatible. 
 
 True, in their fashion they learn how to stride and 
 to stride forward. That call I their hobbling. Thereby 
 they become an offence unto every one who is in a 
 hurry. 
 
 T And many a one strideth on and in doing so looketh 
 backward, with a stiffened neck. I rejoice to run 
 against the stomachs of such. 
 
 Foot and eyes shall not lie, nor reproach each other 
 for lying. But there is much lying among the small folk. 
 
 Some of them will, but most of them are willed 
 merely. Some of them are genuine, but most of them 
 are bad actors. 
 
 There are unconscious actors among them, and 
 involuntary actors. The genuine are always rare, 
 especially genuine actors. 
 
 Here is little of man ; therefore women try to make 
 themselves manly. For only he who is enough of a 
 man will save the woman in woman. 
 
 And this hypocrisy I found to be worst among 
 them, that even those who command feign the virtues 
 of those who serve.
 
 244 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 'I serve, thou servest, we serve.' Thus the hypoc- 
 risy of the rulers prayeth. And, alas, if the highest 
 lord be merely the highest servant ! 
 
 Alas ! the curiosity of mine eye strayed even unto 
 their hypocrisies, and well I divined all their fly-happi- 
 ness and their humming round window panes in the 
 sunshine. 
 
 So much kindness, so much weakness see I. So 
 much justice and sympathy, so much weakness. 
 
 Round, honest, and kind are they towards each 
 other, as grains of sand are round, honest, and kind 
 unto grains of sand. 
 
 Modestly to embrace a small happiness they call 
 ' submission ' ! And therewith they modestly look side- 
 ways after a new small happiness. 
 
 At bottom they desire plainly one thing most of 
 all : to be hurt by nobody. Thus they oblige all and 
 do well unto them. 
 
 But this is cowardice; although it be called 'virtue.' 
 
 And if once they speak harshly, these small folk, 
 7 hear therein merely their hoarseness. For every 
 draught of air maketh them hoarse. 
 
 Prudent are they ; their virtues have prudent fin- 
 gers. But they are lacking in clenched fists ; their 
 fmsrers know not how to hide themselves behind fists. 
 
 o 
 
 For them virtue is what maketh modest and tame. 
 Thereby they have made the wolf a dog and man 
 himself man's best domestic animal.
 
 OF VIRTUE THAT MAKETH SMALLER 245 
 
 ' We put our chair in the midst ' thus saith their 
 simpering unto me ' exactly as far from dying gladia- 
 tors as from happy swine.' 
 
 This is mediocrity; although it be called moderation. 
 
 I walk through these folk and let fall many a word. 
 But they know neither how to take nor how to keep. 
 
 They wonder that I have not come to revile lusts 
 and vices. Nor indeed have I come to bid them be- 
 ware of pick-pockets. 
 
 They wonder that I am not ready to sharpen and 
 point their prudence ; as if among them there were not 
 wiselings enough, whose voices grate mine ear like 
 slate-pencils. 
 
 And when I cry : ' Curse all cowardly devils within 
 yourselves who would fain whine and fold their hands 
 and adore,' they cry: ' Zarathustra is ungodly.' 
 
 And so chiefly their teachers of submission cry. 
 But unto their ears I rejoice to cry: 'Yea! I am 
 Zarathustra, the ungodly ! ' 
 
 These teachers of submission ! Like lice they creep 
 wherever things are small and sick and scabbed. It is 
 only my loathing that hindereth me from cracking them. 
 
 Up ! This is my sermon unto their ears : ' I am 
 Zarathustra, the ungodly, who ask : " Who is more 
 ungodly than I am that I may enjoy his teaching?"
 
 246 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 I am Zarathustra, the ungodly. Where find I my 
 like ? And all those are my like who give themselves 
 a will of their own and renounce all submission. 
 
 I am Zarathustra, the ungodly. I have ever boiled 
 every chance in mine own pot. And not until it hath 
 been boiled properly, do I give it welcome as my meat. 
 
 And, verily, many a chance came unto me imperi- 
 ously. But my will spake unto it still more so. Then 
 the chance at once fell beseechingly upon its knees 
 
 Beseeching to be given a home and heart with me, 
 and persuading me flatteringly : " Behold, O Zarathus- 
 tra, how ever friend cometh unto friend ! " 
 
 But what say I where no one hath mine ears ! 
 And thus I will proclaim it into all winds : 
 
 Ye become ever smaller, ye small folk ! Ye com- 
 fortable ones, ye crumble away ! One day ye will 
 perish 
 
 From your many small virtues, from your many 
 small omissions, from your much small submission ! 
 
 Too much sparing, too much yielding thus it is 
 your soil ! But for the purpose of growing higli a 
 tree will twist hard roots round hard rocks ! 
 
 Even what ye omit weaveth at the weft of all 
 manly future ; even your nothing is a spider's net 
 and a spider living upon the blood of the future. 
 
 And when ye take anything, it is as if ye stole it, 
 ye small virtuous. But even among rogues honour 
 ordereth : " One shall steal only when one cannot rob."
 
 OF VIRTUE THAT MAKETH SMALLER 247 
 
 "It is given" that is one of those doctrines of 
 submission. But I tell you, ye comfortable ones: "// 
 is taken " and evermore will be taken from you ! 
 
 Oh, that ye would renounce that half willing and 
 resolve upon idleness as one resolveth upon action ! 
 
 Oh, that ye would understand my word: "Be sure 
 to do whatever ye like, but first of all be such as 
 can will! 
 
 Be sure to love your neighbour as yourselves, 
 but first of all be such as love themselves 
 
 As love themselves with great love, with great con- 
 tempt ! " Thus speaketh Zarathustra, the ungodly. 
 
 But what say I where no one hath mine ears ! 
 Here it is still an hour too early for me. 
 
 Mine own forerunner I am among these folk, mine 
 own cock-crow through dark lanes. 
 
 But their hour will come ! And mine will come 
 also ! Every hour they become smaller, poorer, less 
 fertile. Poor pot-herbs ! Poor soil ! 
 
 And soon shall they stand there like dry grass and 
 prairie, and, verily, wearied of themselves and long- 
 ing for fire more than for water ! 
 
 Oh, blessed hour of lightning ! Oh, secret of the 
 forenoon ! Running fires shall I one day make out 
 of them and announcers with fiery tongues. 
 
 Announce shall they one day with fiery tongues : 
 ' It cometh, it is nigh, the great noon ! ' ' 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 ON THE MOUNT OF OLIVES 
 
 " The winter, an evil guest, sitteth in my home with 
 me. Blue are my hands from his friendship's hand- 
 shaking. 
 
 I honour him, this evil guest, but would gladly let 
 him alone. Gladly I run away from him. And, if one 
 runneth well one escapeth from him ! 
 
 With warm feet and warm thoughts I run thither 
 where the wind is still, unto the sunny corner of my 
 mount of olives. 
 
 There I laugh at my stern guest and yet am fond 
 of him, because at home he catcheth the flies for me 
 and stilleth many little noises. 
 
 For he doth not allow a midge to sing, or still less 
 two midges ; even the lane he maketh lonely so that 
 the moonshine at night is afraid there. 
 
 A hard guest is he, but I honour him, and I do 
 not, like the tenderlings, pray unto the fire-idol with 
 its fat womb. 
 
 Rather chatter a little with the teeth than adore 
 idols ! Thus my kin willeth. And especially I hate 
 all ardent, steaming, damp fire-idols. 
 
 Whom I love, I love better in winter than in sum- 
 
 248
 
 ON THE MOUNT OF OLIVES 249 
 
 mer. Better I now mock at mine enemies, and more 
 valiantly, now that the winter sitteth in my home. 
 
 Valiantly indeed, even when I creep into bed. Even 
 then my hidden happiness laugheth and wantoneth ; 
 then laugheth my dream with its lies. 
 
 I, a creeper ! Never in my life have I crept be- 
 fore mighty ones. And if I ever lied, I lied from love. 
 Therefore am I glad even in my wintry bed. 
 
 A poor bed warmeth me better than a rich bed; 
 for I am jealous of my poverty. And in winter it is 
 the most faithful unto me. 
 
 With a wickedness I begin every day : I mock at 
 the winter by a cold bath. Therefore grumbleth my 
 stern house-friend. 
 
 Besides -I like to tickle him with a little wax-candle 
 so that, at last, he may let the sky come out of ashen 
 gray dawn. 
 
 For particularly wicked am I in the morning. At 
 an early hour, when the pail clattereth at the well, 
 and the horses with heat whinny through gray lanes 
 
 Impatiently I wait, that, at last, the clear sky may 
 open unto me, the wintry sky with its beard of snow, 
 the old and white-headed man 
 
 The wintry sky, the silent, which often even keepeth 
 back its sun ! 
 
 Have I learnt from it the long bright silence? Or 
 hath it learnt it from me ? Or hath either of us in- 
 vented it himself?
 
 25O THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 The origin of all good things is thousandfold. From 
 lust all good wanton things spring into existence. How 
 could they do so in all cases once only ! 
 
 A good wanton thing is the long silence. Like the 
 wintry sky, to look out of a bright face with round 
 eyes, 
 
 Like it to keep back one's sun and one's inflexible 
 sun-will verily, this art and this winter-wantonness 
 learned I well! 
 
 My dearest wickedness and art is it, that my silence 
 learned not to betray itself by being silent. 
 
 Rattling with words and dice I outwit those who 
 wait solemnly. My will and end shall escape all these 
 severe watchers. 
 
 That no one might look down into my bottom and 
 last will, I have invented for myself the long bright 
 silence. 
 
 Many a prudent one I found. He veiled his face 
 and made muddy his water, that no one might look 
 through it and down into it. 
 
 But just unto him the cleverer mistrustful and nut- 
 crackers came. They fished just out of his water his 
 best hidden fish ! 
 
 But the bright, the brave, the transparent for me 
 they are the wisest silent ones ; they, whose bottom 
 is so deep that even the clearest water doth not 
 betray it. 
 
 Thou silent wintry sky with thy beard of snow !
 
 ON THE MOUNT OF OLIVES 2$ I 
 
 Thou white head above me with thy round eyes ! Oh, 
 thou heavenly likeness of my soul and its wantonness ! 
 
 And must I not hide myself like one who hath 
 swallowed gold, in order that my soul may not be cut 
 open ? 
 
 Must I not walk on stilts in order that my long 
 legs may escape the notice of all those envious and 
 malicious folk around me ? 
 
 Those souls smoky, fireside-warmed, used up, covered 
 with green, sulky how could their envy endure my 
 happiness! 
 
 r But as things are, I show them only the ice and 
 the winter on my summits and not that my mount 
 tieth around itself all the girdles of the sun ! 
 
 They hear the whistle of my wintry storms only 
 and not that I also sail over warm seas, like longing, 
 heavy, hot south winds. 
 
 They have pity on my accidents and chances. But 
 my word is : ' Let chance come unto me ! Innocent 
 it is, as a little child ! ' 
 
 How could they endure my happiness if I did not 
 put round it accidents and winter sorrows and caps 
 of polar-bear skin and covers of snowy skies ! 
 
 If I had not pity for their pity, for the pity of 
 these envious and malicious folk ! 
 
 And if I did not sigh in their presence myself and 
 chatter with cold and allow myself to be patiently 
 wrapped in their pity !
 
 252 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 This is the wise wantonness and good-will of my 
 soul, that it doth not hide its winter and its snow 
 storms ; neither doth it hide its chilblains. 
 
 The loneliness of the one is the flight of the sick 
 one ; the loneliness of the other is the flight from the 
 sick. 
 
 Let them hear me chatter and sigh with the winter 
 cold, all those poor, envious rogues round me ! With 
 such sighing and chattering I fly from their well- 
 warmed rooms. 
 
 Let them pity me and sigh with me because of 
 my chilblains. ' At the ice of perception at last he 
 will freeze unto death ! ' Thus they complain. 
 
 In the meantime with warm feet I walk crosswise 
 and crookedwise over my mount of olives. In the 
 sunny corner of my mount of olives I sing and mock 
 at all pity." 
 
 Thus suns: Zarathustra.
 
 OF PASSING 
 
 Thus slowly passing through much folk and towns 
 of many kinds by round-about ways, Zarathustra re- 
 turned unto his mountains and his cave. And, behold, 
 in doing so he came unawares unto the town-gate of 
 the great city. But there a raging fool jumped at 
 Him with his hands spread out and stood in his way. 
 And this was the same fool whom the folk called 
 "the ape of Zarathustra." For he had learnt from 
 him some things regarding the coining and melody 
 of speech, and borrowed probably not unwillingly 
 from the treasure of his wisdom. The fool thus 
 spake unto Zarathustra : 
 
 " O Zarathustra, here is the great city ! Here 
 thou hast nothing to seek and everything to lose. 
 
 Why shouldst thou wish to wade through this mud? 
 Have pity on thy foot ! Rather spit at the city-gate, 
 and turn round! 
 
 Here is the hell of hermit's-thoughts. Here great 
 thoughts are boiled alive and cooked into morsels. 
 
 Here all great feelings moulder. Here only such 
 little feelings are allowed to rattle as rattle from 
 leanness. 
 
 253
 
 254 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 Dost thou not smell already the shambles and 
 cook-shops of the spirit ? Doth not this city steam 
 with the odour of butchered spirit ? 
 
 Dost thou not see the souls hang slack like filthy 
 rags ? And they make even newspapers out of these 
 rags ! 
 
 Dost thou not hear how in this place the spirit 
 hath become a play upon words ? Loathsome word- 
 dishwater is vomited by it. And they make even 
 newspapers out of that dishwater of words. 
 
 They hunt each other they know not whither. 
 They make each other hot and know not why. They 
 jungle with their tin foil ; they tinkle with their gold. 
 
 They feel cold and seek warmth for themselves 
 in distilled waters ; they are hot and seek coolness 
 in frozen spirits ; they are all sick and full of sores 
 from public opinion. 
 
 All lusts and vices are here at home. But here 
 also are virtuous ones, here is much competent virtue 
 in service 
 
 Much competent virtue with fingers to write and 
 hard flesh to sit and wait, blessed with small stars 
 on the breast and stuffed small-haunched daughters. 
 
 Here also are much piety and much faithful spittle- 
 licking and spittle-baking before the God of hosts. 
 
 For 'from above' the star droppeth, and the gra- 
 cious spittle. Upwards every starless breast longeth. 
 
 The moon hath her court, and the court hath its
 
 OF PASSING 255 
 
 moon calves. Unto whatever cometh from the 
 court pray the beggar-folk and all competent beggar- 
 virtue. 
 
 'I serve, thou servest, we serve' thus all compe- 
 tent virtue prayeth upwards unto the prince, in order 
 that the star which hath been deserved may at last 
 be fixed on the narrow breast ! 
 
 But the moon revolveth round all that is earthly. 
 Thus the prince also turneth round what is earthliest 
 of all : that is the gold of shopkeepers. 
 
 The God of hosts is not a God of gold bars. The 
 jkince thinketh, but the shopkeeper directeth ! 
 
 By all that is light and strong and good within 
 thee, O Zarathustra! Spit on this town of shop- 
 keepers and turn round ! 
 
 Here the blood floweth rotten and lukewarm and 
 with a scum through all veins. Spit at the great city, 
 which is the great rubbish heap where all the scum 
 simmereth together! 
 
 Spit at this town of the pressed-in souls and the 
 narrow breasts, the pointed eyes and the sticky 
 fingers 
 
 At this town of obtruders, impudent ones, writers 
 and bawlers, of over-heated ambitious ones 
 
 Where all that is tainted, feigned, lustful, dust- 
 ful, over-mellow, ulcer-yellow, conspiring, ulcerateth 
 together 
 
 Spit at the great city and turn round ! "
 
 256 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 Here Zarathustra interrupted the raging fool and 
 shut his mouth. 
 
 " Stop now ! " Zarathustra cried, " I have long 
 loathed thy speech and kin ! 
 
 Why hast thou dwelt so long nigh the swamp that 
 thou wert obliged to become a frog and a toad? 
 
 Doth not a rotten scum-like swamp-blood flow 
 through thine own veins, that thou hast learnt to 
 croak and slander thus? 
 
 Why wentest thou not into the forest ? Or why 
 didst thou not plough the soil ? Is not the sea full 
 of green islands ? 
 
 I despise thy despising. And if thou warnedst me, 
 why didst thou not warn thyself ? 
 
 From love alone my despising and my warning 
 bird shall fly up ; but not out of the swamp ! 
 
 They call thee mine ape, thou raging fool, but I 
 call thee my grunting pig. Through grunting thou 
 even spoilest my praise of folly. 
 
 What then was it that made thee grunt first ? 
 Because nobody flattered thee sufficiently, therefore 
 thou sattest down at this filth in order to have reason 
 to grunt much, 
 
 In order to have reason for much revenge! For 
 revenge, thou idle fool, is all thy raging. Truly I 
 have found thee out ! 
 
 But thy foolish word doth harm unto me even 
 where thou art right ! And if Zarathustra's word
 
 OF PASSING 257 
 
 were even right a hundred times, with my word thou 
 wouldst always do wrong ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra. And long he gazed at the 
 great city, sighed, and was long silent At last he 
 spake thus : 
 
 "I loathe this great city and not merely this fool. 
 In neither is there anything to be improved, anything 
 to be made worse. 
 
 Alas, for this great city ! Would I could see now 
 the pillar of fire by which it will be burnt ! 
 
 For such pillars of fire will have to precede the 
 gfeat noon. But this hath its time and its own fate. 
 
 This wisdom I give thee, thou fool, at parting : 
 ' Where one can love no longer, one shall pass ! ' ' 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra and passed the fool and 
 the great city.
 
 OF APOSTATES 
 
 "Alas! doth everything lie withered and gray that 
 of late stood green and many-coloured on this meadow? 
 And how much honey of hope carried I hence into 
 my bee-hives ! 
 
 These young hearts have all become old and not 
 even old ! only weary, vulgar, indolent. They call it : 
 'We have become pious once more.' 
 
 Of late I saw them run out on brave feet at early 
 morning. But their feet of perception have wearied, 
 and now they even slander the bravery of their morn- 
 ing ! 
 
 Verily, many a one of them once lifted his feet 
 like a dancer, the laughter in my wisdom making 
 signs unto him. Then he changed his mind. Just 
 now I have seen him creep crooked unto the cross. 
 
 Round light and freedom they once fluttered, like 
 midges and young poets. A little older, a little colder 
 and quickly they have become obscurantists and 
 mumblers and stay-at-homes. 
 
 Did their heart lose its courage, because loneliness 
 devoured me like a whale? Did their ear hearken 
 
 258
 
 OF APOSTATES 259 
 
 longingly and long in vain for me and my trumpet- 
 peals and herald-calls ? 
 
 Alas ! There are always but few whose heart hath 
 a long courage and long overflowing spirits ; and unto 
 such the spirit remaineth patient also. But the rest 
 are cowards ! 
 
 The rest, that meaneth always the great majority, 
 the every-day folk, the superabundant, the much too 
 many all these are cowards ! 
 
 Unto him who is of my kin, experiences of my 
 kin will cross the way. Thus his first companions 
 miSst be corpses and buffoons. 
 
 But his second companions they will call them- 
 selves his faithful ones a living hive, much love, 
 . much folly, much beardless veneration. 
 
 Whoever is of my kin among men, shall not 
 tie his heart unto these faithful ones ! Whoever 
 knoweth the fleeting cowardly kind of man, shall 
 not believe in these springs and many-coloured 
 meadows ! 
 
 If they could do otherwise, they would will other- 
 wise also. Half and half ones spoil every whole. 
 That leaves wither, why lament about that! 
 
 Let them go and fall, O Zarathustra, and lament 
 not ! Rather blow among them with rustling winds ! 
 
 Blow among these leaves, O Zarathustra, that all 
 that is withered may still faster run away from 
 thee!
 
 26O THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 'We have become pious once more' these apos- 
 tates confess ; and some of them are too cowardly 
 to confess that. 
 
 Into their eye I gaze ; into their face and into the 
 blushing of their cheeks I tell it : ' You are such as 
 pray again ! ' 
 
 But it is a shame to pray ! Not for all, but for 
 thee and me and him who hath his conscience in his 
 head. For thee it is a shame to pray ! 
 
 Thou knowest it well : thy cowardly devil within 
 thee who would fain fold his hands and lay them in 
 his lap and have things made easier .this cowardly 
 devil persuadeth thee ' there is a God ' ! 
 
 Thereby thou belongest unto that kin that fear the 
 light, that cannot find rest in the light. Now daily 
 thou must put thy head deeper into night and damp ! 
 
 And, verily, thou chosest the hour well ; for just 
 now the moths have swarmed out again. The hour 
 hath come for all folk that fear the light, the hour of 
 even and rest, when they do not 'rest.' 
 
 I hear it and smell it : their hour hath come for 
 hunting and procession ; true, not for the wild hunts- 
 man, but for a hunting tame, lame, snuffling, a hunt- 
 ing of eavesdroppers and secret praying ones 
 
 For a hunting of soulbreathing sneaks. All mouse- 
 traps for hearts have been set once more ! And
 
 OF APOSTATES 26 I 
 
 wherever I lift a curtain, a little moth rusheth forth 
 from it. 
 
 Did it squat there together with another little moth ? 
 For everywhere I smell little hidden communions ; 
 and wherever there are small rooms, there are new 
 bigots and the odour of bigots. 
 
 They sit for long evenings together saying : ' Let 
 us become again like the little children and say " dear 
 God" ' ! with their mouth and stomach spoiled by the 
 pious comfit-makers. 
 
 Or for long evenings they gaze at an artful, lurk- 
 ing cross-spider, that preacheth prudence unto the 
 spiders themselves and teacheth thus : ' Below crosses 
 there is good spinning ' ! 
 
 Or they sit all day with fishing rods at the swamps, 
 and thereby believe themselves profound. But him who 
 fisheth where there are no fish I call not even superficial ! 
 
 Or they learn to play the harp piously and gaily 
 from a hymn-writer, who would fain harp himself into 
 the heart of young little women. For he hath wearied 
 of old little women and their praises. 
 
 Or they learn how to shudder with a learned half- 
 madman who waiteth in dark rooms for the spirits to 
 come unto him and the spirit runneth wholly away ! 
 
 And they listen unto an old juggler-piper and 
 snarler who hath wandered about and learnt from 
 dreary winds the affliction of tones. Now he whistleth 
 after the wind and preacheth affliction in dreary tones.
 
 262 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 And some of them have even become night watch- 
 men. They know now how to blow horns and to 
 walk about in the night and awaken old things which 
 have long ago fallen asleep. 
 
 Five words of old things I heard last night at the 
 garden wall. They came from such old, dreary, dry 
 night watchmen. 
 
 'For a father he taketh not care enough of his 
 children. Human fathers do it better ! ' 
 
 ' He is too old ! He no longer taketh care of his 
 children at all ' thus answered the other night 
 watchman. 
 
 ' Hath he got children ? No one can prove he hath, 
 if he doth not prove it himself ! I "have wished for 
 a long time he would prove it for once thoroughly.' 
 
 ' Prove ? As though he had ever proved anything ! 
 Proof is hard for him. He layeth much stress upon 
 folk believing him.' 
 
 ' Ay ! Ay ! Belief maketh him blessed, belief in 
 him. Thus is the way of old folk ! Thus it will be 
 with us too ! ' 
 
 Thus they spake unto each other, the two old 
 night watchmen and shunners of the light, and after- 
 wards drearily blew their horns. Thus it came to 
 pass yesternight at the garden wall. 
 
 But my heart writhed with laughter and was like 
 to break and knew not whither to go, and sank into 
 the midriff.
 
 OF APOSTATES 263 
 
 Verily, it will one day be my death that I choke 
 with laughter, when seeing asses drunken, and hearing 
 night watchmen thus doubt God. 
 
 Hath the time not long since passed even for all 
 such doubts ? Who may at this time of day awaken 
 such old things which have fallen asleep and shunned 
 the light? 
 
 For the old Gods came unto an end long ago. And, 
 verily, it was a good and joyful end of Gods! 
 
 They did not die lingering in the twilight, al- 
 though that lie is told ! On the contrary, they once 
 upon a time laughed themselves unto death ! 
 
 That came to pass when by a God himself the 
 most ungodly word was uttered, the word : ' There 
 is one God ! Thou shalt have no other Gods before 
 me!' 
 
 An old grim beard of a God, a jealous one, forgot 
 himself thus. 
 
 And then all Gods laughed and shook on their chairs 
 and cried : ' Is godliness not just that there are Gods, 
 but no God ? ' 
 
 Whoever hath ears let him hear." 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra in the town which he 
 loved and which is called the " Cow of Many Colours." 
 From it he had only two more days to walk in order 
 to return unto his cave and his animals. And his soul 
 rejoiced without ceasing over the nighness of his 
 return home.
 
 RETURN HOMEWARD 
 
 " Oh, loneliness ! Thou my home, loneliness ! Too 
 long have I lived wild in wild places afar off, to be 
 able to return home unto thee without tears ! 
 
 Now threaten me with the ringer, as mothers do ; 
 now smile at me, as mothers do, now speak: 'And 
 who was it that once upon a time like a stormwind 
 rushed away from me ? 
 
 Who, taking leave, called : " Too long I sat with 
 loneliness ; there I unlearned silence ! " Peradventure 
 thou hast now learnt that? 
 
 O Zarathustra ! I know all and that thou wert 
 more sorely forsaken among the many, thou one, 
 than thou ever wert with me ! 
 
 Forsakenness is one thing, loneliness is another 
 that thou hast now learnt ! And that, among men, 
 thou wilt always be wild and strange 
 
 Wild and strange even when they love thee ; for 
 above all they wish to be spared ! 
 
 But here thou art in thine own home and house ; 
 here thou canst speak out everything and pour out 
 all reasons. Nothing here is ashamed of hidden, 
 obdurate feelings. 
 
 264
 
 RETURN HOMEWARD 26$ 
 
 Here all things come fondling unto thy speech and 
 flatter thee ; for they will ride on thy back. On 
 every likeness thou ridest here unto every truth. 
 
 Upright and sincere mayest thou here speak unto 
 all things. And, verily, it soundeth like praise unto 
 their ears, that one speaketh frankly with all things ! 
 
 Another thing, however, is forsakenness. For 
 dost thou remember, O Zarathustra, when thy bird 
 shrieked above thee, when thou stoodest in the forest 
 irresolute whither to go, unknowing, nigh unto a corpse ? 
 
 When thou spakest : " Let mine animals lead me. 
 More dangerous I found it among men than among 
 animals ? " That was forsakenness ! 
 
 And dost thou remember, O Zarathustra, when 
 thou sattest on thine island ; among empty pails ; a 
 well of wine, giving and spending ; among thirsty 
 folk, granting and pouring out 
 
 Until, at last, thou sattest alone thirsty among 
 drunken folk and wailedst : " Is taking not more 
 blissful than giving ? And stealing still more bliss- 
 ful than taking?" That was forsakenness! 
 
 And dost thou remember, O Zarathustra, when 
 thy stillest hour came and drove thee away from 
 thyself, when it spake with evil whispering : " Speak 
 and break ! " 
 
 When it made thee loathe all thy waiting and 
 silence, and abashed thine humble courage ! That 
 was forsakenness ! '
 
 266 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 Oh, loneliness ! Thou my home, loneliness ! How 
 blissfully and fondly speaketh thy voice unto me! 
 
 We do not ask each other, we do not wail with each 
 other, we openly go together through open doors. 
 
 For all is open and bright with thee, and even the 
 hours run here on lighter feet. For in the dark, time 
 is a heavier burden than in the light. 
 
 Here the words of being and shrines of words of 
 being open suddenly. All being longeth here to 
 become language, all becoming longeth here to learn 
 to speak from me. 
 
 But down there all speech is in vain! There to 
 forget and to pass by are the best wisdom. That have 
 I learnt now! 
 
 He who would conceive all with men, would have 
 to touch everything. But for that my hands are too 
 clean. 
 
 I do not like to breathe even their breath. Alas, 
 that I have lived so long amid their noise and bad 
 breath ! 
 
 Oh, blissful stillness round me! Oh, pure odours 
 round me! Oh, how this stillness bringeth pure 
 breath out of a deep breast ! Oh, how it hearkeneth, 
 this blissful stillness ! 
 
 But down there everything speaketh, everything 
 is overheard. Let folk proclaim their wisdom by 
 ringing bells, the shopkeepers in the market will 
 outring them with their pennies!
 
 RETURN HOMEWARD 26/ 
 
 Everything with them speaketh, no one knoweth 
 how to understand. Everything falleth .into the water, 
 nothing falleth into deep wells any more. 
 
 Everything with them speaketh, nothing more 
 succeedeth and cometh unto an end. Everything 
 doth cackle, but who will sit still on the nest and 
 hatch eggs ? 
 
 Everything with them speaketh, everything is spoken 
 into pieces. And what yesterday was too hard for 
 time itself and its tooth, to-day hangeth out of the 
 mouths of the folk of to-day scraped and gnawed 
 into pieces. 
 
 Everything with them speaketh, everything is be- 
 trayed. And what once was called secret and a 
 secrecy of deep souls, to-day belongeth unto the 
 trumpeters of the streets and other butterflies. 
 
 Oh, human kind, how strange thou art ! Thou noise 
 in dark lanes ! Now thou again liest bShind me ! My 
 greatest danger lieth behind me! 
 
 In sparing and pity lay always my greatest danger; 
 and all human kind wisheth to be spared and endured. 
 
 With truths kept back, with a foolish hand and a 
 befooled heart, and rich with the small lies of pity 
 thus have I always lived among men. 
 
 Disguised I sat among them, ready to mistake 
 myself in order to endure them, and willingly trying 
 to persuade myself : ' Thou fool, thou dost not know 
 men 1 '
 
 268 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 One unlearneth men when living among men. Too 
 much foreground is in all men what could far-seeing, 
 far-searching eyes do there ! 
 
 And when they mistook me fool that I was, I 
 spared them on that account more than I spared 
 myself! For I was accustomed to be hard upon 
 myself, and often even took revenge on myself for 
 that sparing. 
 
 Stung all over by poisonous flies, and hollowed like 
 a stone by many drops of wickedness, I sat among 
 them and tried to persuade myself : ' Innocent of its 
 smallness is everything small ! ' 
 
 Especially those who call themselves ' the good ' 
 I found to be the most poisonous flies. They sting in 
 all innocence, they lie in all innocence. How could 
 they be just unto me! 
 
 Whoever liveth among the good, is taught to lie 
 by pity. Pity maketh the air damp unto all free souls. 
 For the stupidity of the good is unfathomable. 
 
 To hide myself and my riches that I have learnt 
 down there ; for every one I found to be poor in 
 spirit. That was the lie of my pity, that I knew 
 about every one, 
 
 That I saw and smelt at once in every one how 
 much of spirit was enough for him, and how much of 
 spirit was too much for him ! 
 
 Their stiff wise men I called them wise, not stiff. 
 Thus I learned to swallow words. Their grave-diggers
 
 RETURN HOMEWARD 269 
 
 I called them searchers and examiners. Thus I 
 learned to exchange words. 
 
 The grave-diggers get sicknesses by digging. Under 
 old rubbish there rest bad odours. One must not stir 
 up the swamp. One must live on mountains. 
 
 With blessed nostrils I breathe again mountain-free- 
 dom. Saved, at last, is my nose from the odour of all 
 human kind ! 
 
 Tickled by sharp breezes, as it were by sparkling 
 wines, my soul sneezeth. It sneezeth and in triumph 
 crieth : ' God bless me ! ' ' 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF THE THREE EVIL ONES 
 
 " In a dream, in a last dream of the morning, I stood 
 this day on a promontory, beyond the world. I held 
 a balance and weighed the world. 
 
 Alas, that the dawn came too soon unto me ! It 
 waked me by its glow, the jealous one ! Jealous is it 
 always of the glow of my morning dreams. 
 
 Measurable for him who hath time ; weighable for 
 a good weigher ; reachable by the flight of strong 
 wings ; guessable by god-like nut-crackers ; thus my 
 dream found the world to be. 
 
 My dream, a bold sailor, half ship, half whirlwind, 
 silent as butterflies, impatient as a falcon gentle . 
 why had it this day patience and leisure to weigh the 
 world ? 
 
 Did my wisdom silently speak unto it, my laughing, 
 wide-awake wisdom of daylight which mocketh at all 
 ' infinite worlds ' ? For it saith : ' Where there is force, 
 there the number becometh master ; for it hath the 
 greater force.' 
 
 How securely did my dream look on this finite 
 
 270
 
 OF THE THREE EVIL ONES 271 
 
 world, not curious, not greedy for old things, not 
 afraid, not praying. 
 
 As if a round apple was offered unto my hand, a 
 ripe, golden apple, with a cool, smooth, velvet skin 
 thus the world offered itself unto me. 
 
 As if a tree made a sign unto me, with broad 
 boughs and a strong will, bent for the weary wan- 
 derer to lean against and use as a footstool thus 
 stood the world on my promontory. 
 
 As if neat hands carried towards me a chest, a 
 chest open for the rapture of bashful revering eyes 
 'thus the world this day offered itself unto me. 
 
 Not riddle enough to frighten away human love ; 
 not solution enough to put to sleep human wisdom ; 
 a humanly good thing for me, this day, was the 
 world of which such bad things are said ! 
 
 How thankful am I unto my morning dream be- 
 cause I thus weighed the world early this morning ! 
 As a humanly good thing it came unto me, this dream 
 and comforter of the heart ! 
 
 And in order to do during the day what it did, 
 and to learn from it its best, now I will put the three 
 evilest things on the balance and weigh them in a 
 humanly good spirit ! 
 
 He who taught to bless, taught also to curse. 
 Which are the three best-cursed things in the world ! 
 These I will put on the balance. 
 
 Voluptuousness, thirst of power, selfishness these
 
 272 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 three have hitherto been cursed best and have had 
 the worst renown and been calumniated worst. These 
 three I will weigh in a humanly good spirit. 
 
 Up ! Here is my promontory, and there is the sea. 
 That rolleth nigh unto me, with shaggy hair, flatter- 
 ingly, the faithful old dog-monster with an hundred 
 heads which I love. 
 
 Up ! Here will I keep the balance over the rolling 
 sea ! And a witness I choose also, to look at my 
 weighing, thee, thou hermit-tree, which I love, with 
 thy strong odour and thy broad arching boughs. 
 
 On what bridge doth the Now go unto the One- 
 day ? By what compulsion doth what is high compel 
 itself to join what is low ? And what biddeth even 
 the highest grow upwards ? 
 
 Now the balance standeth equal and still. Three 
 heavy questions I have thrown into it; three heavy 
 answers are carried by the other scale. 
 
 Voluptuousness unto all despisers of the body who 
 wear penance-shirts, a sting and stake, and cursed as 
 a ' world ' by all back-worlds-men. For it mocketh 
 at, and maketh fools of, all teachers of confusion and 
 heresy. 
 
 Voluptuousness for the rabble the slow fire on 
 which they are burnt ; for all worm-eaten wood, for
 
 OF THE THREE EVIL ONES 2/3 
 
 all stinking rags, the ready oven of love-fire and 
 stewing. 
 
 Voluptuousness for free hearts innocent and free, 
 the garden-joy of earth, the overflowing thankfulness 
 of all the future towards the present. 
 
 Voluptuousness a sweet poison unto the withered 
 only, but the great invigoration of the heart and the 
 reverently spared wine of wines for those who have 
 the will of a lion. 
 
 Voluptuousness the great prototype of a higher 
 happiness and the highest hope. For unto many 
 things matrimony is promised and more than matri- 
 mony, 
 
 Unto many things which are stranger unto each 
 other than man and woman are. And who would 
 perceive completely how strange man and woman are 
 unto each other! 
 
 Voluptuousness but I will have railings round my 
 thoughts and even round my words, that swine and 
 enthusiasts may not break into my gardens ! 
 
 Thirst of power the glowing scourge of the hardest 
 in hardness of heart ; the horrid torture reserved for 
 the very cruellest ; the gloomy flame of living pyre. 
 
 Thirst of power the malicious gadfly which is 
 being set on the vainest peoples ; the scorner of all 
 uncertain virtue ; that which rideth on every horse 
 and on every pride. 
 
 Thirst of power the earthquake that breaketh, and
 
 274 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 by breaking openeth, all that is rotten and hollow ; 
 the rolling, grudging, punishing breaker of whited 
 sepulchres ; the shining interrogation mark beside pre- 
 mature answers. 
 
 Thirst of power before the glance of which man 
 creepeth and ducketh and slaveth and becometh lower 
 than serpent or swine, until at last the great contempt 
 crieth out of him. 
 
 Thirst of power the terrible teacher of the great 
 contempt which preacheth : ' Away with thee ! ' in 
 the very face of cities and empires, until a cry 
 cometh out of themselves : ' Away with me ! ' 
 
 Thirst of power which alluring mounteth self- 
 contented heights up unto the pure and lonely, glow- 
 ing like a love that, alluring, painteth purple blisses 
 on earthly heavens. 
 
 Thirst of power but who could call it thirst, if 
 what is high longeth to step down for power ! Verily, 
 there is nothing sick or suppurative in such a long- 
 ing and stepping down ! 
 
 That the lonely height may not for ever be lonely 
 and self-contented ; that the mount may come unto 
 the valley, and the winds of the height unto the low 
 lands ! 
 
 Oh ! who could find the right Christian name and 
 name of virtue for such a longing ! ' Giving virtue ' 
 thus the unutterable was once called by Zarathustra. 
 
 And then it also came to pass and, verily, to
 
 OF THE THREE EVIL ONES 2/5 
 
 pass for the first time, that his word praised blessed 
 selfishness, whole, healthy selfishness that springeth 
 from a mighty soul 
 
 From a mighty soul, part of which is the high 
 body, the beautiful, victorious, recreative, round which 
 everything becometh a mirror 
 
 The flexible, persuading body, the dancer whose 
 likeness and summary is the self-joyful soul. The 
 self-joy of such bodies and souls calleth itself 'virtue.' 
 
 With its words of good and bad such a self-joy 
 protecteth itself as with sacred groves. With the 
 narfies of its happiness it banisheth from itself all 
 that is contemptible. 
 
 Away from itself it banisheth all that is cowardly. 
 It saith : ' Bad that meaneth cowardly ! ' Contempti- 
 ble appeareth unto it the ever sorrowful, sighing, 
 miserable one, and whoever collecteth even the small- 
 est advantage. 
 
 It despiseth all wisdom happy in misery. For, 
 verily, there is also wisdom that flourisheth in dark- 
 ness, a wisdom of night-like shadows which ever sigh- 
 eth : ' All is vain ! ' 
 
 The shy mistrusting is regarded as inferior, and 
 whoever wanteth oaths instead of looks and hands ; 
 including all all-too-mistrustful wisdom ; for such is 
 the way of cowardly souls. 
 
 As lower still it regardeth him who is. quick to 
 oblige, dog-like, who at once lieth down on his back,
 
 2/6 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 who is submissive ; and there is also wisdom that is 
 submissive and dog-like and pious and quick to oblige. 
 
 Hateful and loathsome unto it is he who careth 
 not to defend himself, who swalloweth down poison- 
 ous spittle and evil looks, the all-too-patient one, the 
 sufferer of everything, the all-too-contented one ; for 
 that is the way of slaves. 
 
 Whether one be servile before Gods and divine 
 kicks ; whether he be so before men and silly human 
 opinions at all the slave tribe it spitteth, that blessed 
 selfishness ! 
 
 Bad thus it calleth all that is broken and nig- 
 gardly-servile, unfree blinking eyes, pressed-down hearts, 
 and that false yielding tribe that kisseth with broad 
 cowardly lips. 
 
 And spurious wisdom thus selfishness calleth all 
 the quibbles of slaves and old men and weary ones ; 
 and in particular the whole bad, mad, over-witty 
 priest-foolishness ! 
 
 The spurious wise men, however, all the priests, 
 the weary of the world, and those whose souls are 
 of the tribe of women and slaves, oh ! how well 
 hath their play ever abused selfishness ! 
 
 And this very thing, to ill-use selfishness, was pro- 
 claimed to be virtue and to be called virtue ! And 
 ' unselfish ' thus, with good reason, all those cowards 
 weary of the world and cross-spiders wished to be ! 
 
 And for all those the day now cometh, the change,
 
 OF THE THREE EVIL ONES 
 
 the sword of judgment, the great noon. Then much 
 shall become apparent ! 
 
 And he who proclaimeth the I whole and holy, and 
 selfishness blessed, a prophet indeed, saith also what 
 he knoweth : ' Behold, it cometh, it is nigh, the great 
 noon ! ' ' 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF THE SPIRIT OF GRAVITY 
 
 " My gift of the gab is of the folk. Too coarsely 
 and heartily for angora-rabbits I speak. And still 
 stranger my word soundeth unto all ink-fish and pen- 
 foxes. 
 
 My hand is a fool's hand. Woe unto all tables 
 and walls, and whatever hath space left for fools' orna- 
 ments, fools' scribbling ! 
 
 My foot is a horse foot. With it I trample and 
 trot over logs and stone, crosswise and straight over 
 the fields, and I am the devil's with lust in all my 
 fast running. 
 
 My stomach is it an eagle's stomach ? For it 
 liketh best to eat lamb's flesh. But certainly it is a 
 bird's stomach. 
 
 Fed on innocent and few things, ready and impatient 
 to fly, to fly away that is now my way. How should 
 not something of birds' ways be in it ! 
 
 And in particular, that I am an enemy unto the 
 spirit of gravity, that is a bird's way. And, verily, a 
 mortal enemy, an arch-enemy, a born fiend ! Oh ! 
 
 278
 
 OF THE SPIRIT OF GRAVITY 279 
 
 whither hath mine enmity not already flown and 
 strayed ? 
 
 Of that I could sing a song and will sing it, although 
 I am alone in an empty house and must sing it unto 
 mine own ears. 
 
 True, there are other singers, whose throat is 
 softened only, whose hand becometh talkative only, 
 whose eye expressive only, whose heart awake only, 
 when the hall is well filled. I am not like unto them. 
 
 .t 
 
 He who one day will teach men to fly, hath moved 
 all landmarks. 
 
 All landmarks will themselves fly into the air, the 
 earth will be baptized anew by that man as 'the 
 light one.' 
 
 The ostrich bird runneth faster than the swiftest 
 horse, but even it putteth its head heavily into the 
 heavy ground. So doth man who cannot yet fly. 
 
 Earth and life are called heavy by him ; thus the 
 spirit of gravity willeth ! But whoever intendeth to 
 become light and a bird, must love himself; thus 
 teach 7. 
 
 True, not with the love of the sick and suppurative. 
 For with them stinketh even love unto themselves ! 
 
 One must learn how to love one's self thus I 
 teach with a whole and healthy love, that one may
 
 28O THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 find life with one's self endurable, and not go gadding 
 about. 
 
 Such a gadding about baptizeth itself 'love unto 
 one's neighbour.' With this word folk have lied best 
 hitherto and dissembled best, and in particular those 
 whom all the world felt to be heavy. 
 
 And, verily, it is no commandment for to-day and 
 to-morrow, to learn how to love one's self. It is rather 
 the finest, cunningest, last and most patient of arts. 
 
 For unto him who possesseth it, all that is possessed 
 is well hidden ; and of all treasure pits one's own is 
 digged out last. Thus the spirit of gravity causeth it 
 to be. 
 
 Almost in the cradle we are given heavy words and 
 values. ' Good ' and ' evil ' that cradle-gift is called. 
 For its sake we are forgiven for living. 
 
 And for that end one calleth the little children unto 
 one's self, to forbid them in good time to love them- 
 selves. Thus the spirit of gravity causeth it to be. 
 
 And we we carry faithfully what we are given, 
 on hard shoulders over rough mountains ! And when 
 perspiring, we are told : ' Yea, life is hard to bear ! ' 
 
 But man himself only is hard to bear ! The reason 
 is that he carrieth too many strange things on his 
 shoulders. Like the camel he kneeleth down and 
 alloweth the heavy load to be put on his back 
 
 In particular the strong man who is able to bear 
 the load, who is possessed by reverence. Too many
 
 OF THE SPIRIT OF GRAVITY 28 1 
 
 strange, heavy words and values he taketh upon his 
 shoulders. Now life appeareth unto him to be a 
 desert. 
 
 And, verily ! Even many things that are one's own, 
 are hard to bear ! And many inward things in man are 
 like unto the oyster, i.e., loathsome and slippery and 
 difficult to catch 
 
 So that a noble shell with noble ornaments must 
 plead for it. But even this art requireth to be learnt, 
 to have a shell and beautiful semblance and cunning 
 blindness ! 
 
 Again concerning many things in man there is 
 deceit, in that many a shell is inferior and sad and 
 too much a shell. Much hidden kindness and power 
 is never found out ; the most precious dainties find 
 no tasters ! 
 
 Women, the most precious of them, know that : a 
 little fatter, a little leaner oh, how much fate lieth 
 in so little ! 
 
 Man is difficult to discover, and hardest of all unto 
 himself. Often the spirit lieth over the soul. Thus 
 the spirit of gravity causeth it to be. 
 
 But he hath discovered himself who saith : ' This is 
 my good and evil.' Thereby he hath made mute the 
 mole and dwarf who saith : ' Good for all, evil for all.' 
 
 Verily, neither like I such as call everything good 
 and this world even the best. Such I call the all- 
 contented.
 
 282 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 All-contentedness that knoweth how to taste every- 
 thing that is not the best taste ! I honour the 
 obstinate, fastidious tongues and stomachs which have 
 learnt to say : ' I ' and ' Yea ' and ' Nay.' 
 
 To chew and digest everything that is the proper 
 way of swine. To say always Hee-haw that hath 
 been learnt by the ass alone and creatures of his 
 kidney ! 
 
 Deep yellow and hot red thus my taste willeth. 
 It mixeth blood with all colours. But whoever 
 painteth his house white betrayeth unto me a soul 
 painted white. 
 
 Some fall in love with mummies, others with ghosts ; 
 both are alike enemies unto all flesh and blood. Oh, 
 how contrary are they both unto my taste ! For I 
 love blood. 
 
 And not there will I stay and dwell where every- 
 body spitteth and bespattereth ; that is my taste. 
 Rather would I live among thieves and perjured ones. 
 No one carrieth gold in his mouth. 
 
 But still more repugnant unto me are all lick- 
 spittles ; and the most repugnant beast of a man I 
 have found, I have baptized parasite. It would not 
 love and yet would live by love. 
 
 I call every one unblessed who hath only one 
 choice, to become an evil beast or evil subduer of 
 beasts. With such I would not build tabernacles. 
 
 Unblessed also call I those who must always wait.
 
 OF THE SPIRIT OF GRAVITY 283 
 
 They are contrary unto my taste all the publicans 
 and shopkeepers and kings and other keepers of 
 lands and shops. 
 
 Verily, I have also learnt to wait, and from the 
 bottom, but only to wait for myself. And I learned 
 to stand and to walk and to run and to jump and to 
 climb and to dance over all things. 
 
 But this is my teaching : whoever wisheth to learn 
 to fly one day, must first learn to stand and walk and 
 run and climb and dance. One doth not learn flying 
 
 by flying! 
 I 
 l By ladders of rope I learned to climb up unto 
 
 many a window ; with swift legs I climbed up high 
 masts. To sit on high masts of perception seemed 
 unto me no small bliss, 
 
 To flicker on high masts like small flames 
 although a small light, yet a great comfort for sailors 
 driven out of their course and for shipwrecked folk ! 
 
 By many ways and modes I have come unto my 
 truth; not on one ladder I climbed up unto the 
 height, where mine eye roveth into my distance. 
 
 And I have always asked other folk for the way 
 unwillingly. That hath ever been contrary unto my 
 taste ! Rather have I asked and tried the ways for 
 myself. 
 
 A trying and asking hath all my walking been. 
 And, verily, one must also learn how to answer such 
 questioning ! But that is my taste
 
 284 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 No good, no bad, but my taste, for which I have 
 neither shame nor concealment. 
 
 ' This is my way, where is yours ? ' I answered 
 unto those who asked me 'for the way.' 'For the 
 way existeth not ! ' ' 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 OF OLD AND NEW TABLES 
 
 " Here I sit and wait ; round me old broken tables 
 and new tables half written upon. When cometh 
 mine hour? 
 
 'The hour of my stepping down, of my destruction. 
 For once more will I go unto men. 
 
 For that wait I now ; because first of all the signs 
 must appear unto me that it is mine hour, namely 
 the laughing lion with the flock of doves. 
 
 In the meantime I speak unto myself as one who 
 hath time. Nobody telleth me new things so that I 
 tell mine own self unto myself. 
 
 When I came unto men, I found them sitting on 
 an old conceit. All of them thought they had known 
 long what was good and evil unto man. 
 
 All speech about virtue appeared unto them to be 
 an old weary thing, and he who wished to sleep well, 
 spake of ' good ' and ' evil ' before going to bed. 
 
 285
 
 286 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 This sleeping I disturbed when teaching that no 
 one knoweth yet what is good and evil, unless he 
 be a creator ! 
 
 But a creator is he who createth man's goal and 
 giveth earth its significance and its future. It is he 
 alone who createth the fact that things are good and evil. 
 
 And I bid them overthrow their old chairs, and all 
 seats on which that old conceit had sat. I bid 
 them laugh at their great masters of virtue and saints 
 and poets and world-redeemers. 
 
 I bid them laugh at their gloomy wise men, and 
 whoever had before sat warning, a black scare-crow 
 on the tree of life. 
 
 By their great street of graves I sat down, yea, 
 nigh unto carrion and vultures ; and I laughed at all 
 their past and its mellow, decaying splendour. 
 
 Verily, like preachers of penitence and fools I pro- 
 claimed wrath and slaughter against their great and 
 small things. ' Oh, that their best things are so very 
 small ! Oh, that their evilest things are so very small ! ' 
 Thus I laughed. 
 
 Thus out of me cried and laughed my wise longing, 
 which is born on mountains, a wild wisdom, verily ! 
 my great longing with its roaring wings. 
 
 And often it tore me off and upward and away, and 
 that in the midst of laughing. Then meseemed I flew 
 shuddering, an arrow through a rapture drunk with 
 sunlight
 
 OF OLD AND NEW TABLES 287 
 
 Out into remote futures, not yet seen by any dream ; 
 into hotter souths than artists ever dreamt ; thither 
 where Gods dancing are ashamed of all clothing ; 
 
 (So I say to use a simile, and poet-like halt and 
 stammer. And, verily, I am ashamed that I still need 
 to be a poet ! ) 
 
 Where all becoming seemed unto me to be a dance of 
 Gods and a wantoning of Gods, and the world to be left 
 loose and wantonly flying back unto itself, 
 
 As an eternal fleeing of many Gods from themselves 
 and seeking themselves again ; as the blessed self-con- 
 tradicting, hearing themselves again, and belonging 
 unto themselves once more of many Gods ; 
 
 Where all time seemed unto me a blissful scorn for 
 moments ; where necessity was freedom itself, playing 
 blessedly with the sting of freedom ; 
 
 Where I found again mine old devil and arch-fiend, 
 the spirit of gravity, and all created by it : compulsion, 
 institutions, exigency and consequence and purpose 
 and will and good and evil ; 
 
 (For must there not be things over which, across which 
 there can be dancing ? Must there not exist moles 
 and heavy dwarfs, for the sake of the light, the lightest ?) 
 
 There also I picked up from the way the word 
 ' beyond-man,' and the concept that man is a some- 
 thing which must be surpassed,
 
 288 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 That man is a bridge and not a goal praising him- 
 self as blessed because of his noon and evening, as a 
 way unto new morning reds 
 
 The Zarathustra-word of the great noon, and what- 
 ever else I hung up over man like second purple 
 evening reds. 
 
 Verily, new stars also I made them see, and new 
 nights ; and over clouds and day and night I spread 
 out laughter like a many-coloured tent. 
 
 I taught them all my fancying and planning : to 
 compose into one thing and carry together whatever 
 is fragmentary in man and riddle and dismal chance 
 
 As a poet, solver of riddles and redeemer of chance, 
 I taught them to work at the future and to redeem all 
 that hath been by creating. 
 
 To redeem what is past in man and to transvalue 
 every ' It was ' until will saith : ' Thus I willed ! Thus 
 shall I will ' 
 
 This I publicly called redemption, this alone I 
 taught them to call redemption. 
 
 Now I wait for my redemption, that I may go 
 unto them for the last time. 
 
 For once more will I go unto men. Among them 
 will I perish, dying will I give them my richest gift ! 
 
 I learned that from the sun when he goeth down, 
 the over-rich one. Then he poureth gold into the sea, 
 out of his unexhaustible wealth 
 
 So that the poorest fisherman even roweth with a
 
 OF OLD AND NEW TABLES 289 
 
 golden oar ! For this I saw once, and gazing upon it 
 wearied not of tears. 
 
 Like the sun Zarathustra will go down. Now he 
 sitteth here and waiteth ; round him old broken tables 
 and new tables half written upon. 
 
 Behold, here is a new table ! But where are my 
 brethren to carry it down unto the valley and into 
 hearts of flesh ? 
 
 Thus my great love unto the most remote com- 
 mandeth : ' Spare not thy neighbour! Man is a some- 
 thing that must be surpassed.' 
 
 There are numerous ways and modes of surpassing. 
 See thou unto it ! But only a buffoon thinketh : ' Man 
 can be passed over also' 
 
 Surpass thyself even in thy neighbour ! And a 
 right thou canst take as a prey thou shalt not allow 
 to be given ! 
 
 What thou dost, no one can do unto thee. Behold, 
 there is no retaliation. 
 
 Whoever cannot command himself, shall obey. And 
 many a one can command himself; but there lacketh 
 much in his obeying himself! 
 
 5 
 
 Thus willeth the tribe of noble souls : they wish 
 not to have anything for nothing, least of all, life.
 
 29O THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 Whoever is of the mob, will live for nothing. But 
 we others unto whom life gave itself, we are ever 
 wondering what we shall best give in return! 
 
 And, verily, this is a noble speech, that saith : 
 'What we are promised by life, we shall keep unto 
 life ! ' 
 
 One shall not wish to enjoy one's self where one 
 doth not give enjoyment. And one shall not wish 
 to enjoy one's self! 
 
 For enjoyment and innocence are the most bash- 
 ful things. Neither liketh to be sought. One shall 
 have them. But rather than for them, one shall seek 
 for guilt and pains ! 
 
 O my brethren, whoever is a firstling is ever sacri- 
 ficed. Now we are firstlings. 
 
 We all bleed at secret tables of sacrifice ; we all 
 burn and roast in honour of old idols. 
 
 Our best is still young. That tickleth old palates. 
 Our flesh is tender, our skin is merely a lambskin 
 how should we not excite old idol-priests ! 
 
 In ourselves he still liveth, the old idol-priest who 
 roasteth our best for his own dinner. Alas ! my 
 brethren, how could firstlings not be sacrifices ? 
 
 But thus our tribe willeth. And I love them who 
 wish not to keep themselves. The perishing I love 
 with mine entire love ; for they go beyond.
 
 OF OLD AND NEW TABLES 2QI 
 
 To be true few are able to be so! And he who 
 is able doth not want to be so. But least of all the 
 good are able. 
 
 Oh, these good ! Good men never speak the truth. 
 To be good in that way is a sickness for the mind. 
 
 They yield, these good, they submit themselves ; 
 their heart saith what is said unto it, their foundation 
 obeyeth. But whoever obeyeth doth not hear himself ! 
 
 All that is called evil by the good, must come 
 together in order that one truth be born. O my 
 brethren, are ye evil enough for this truth ? 
 
 The bold adventuring, the long mistrust, the cruel 
 Nay, satiety, the cutting into what is living how 
 rarely do all these come together ! But by such seed 
 truth is procreated ! 
 
 Beside the bad conscience hitherto all knowledge 
 hath grown ! Break, break, ye knowing, the old tables ! 
 
 8 
 
 When the water hath poles, when gangway and 
 railing jump over a stream verily, no one findeth 
 belief who saith : ' Everything is in stream.' 
 
 But even churls contradict him. 'How?' say the 
 churls, 'all is said to be in the stream? Poles and 
 railings are evidently above the stream ! '
 
 292 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 'Above the stream all is firm, all the values of 
 things, the bridges, concepts, all "good" and "evil" 
 
 all that is firm ! ' 
 
 When even the hard winter cometh, the subduer of 
 streams, then even the wittiest learn mistrust. And, 
 verily, not only churls say then : ' Should perhaps 
 everything stand still ? ' 
 
 ' At bottom everything standeth still ' that is a 
 proper winter-doctrine, a good thing for a sterile time, 
 a good comfort for winter sleepers and fireside-mopers. 
 
 ' At bottom everything standeth still.' But the 
 thaw-wind preacheth the contrary ! 
 
 The thaw-wind, a bull which is no ploughing bull, 
 
 a raging bull, a destroyer that breaketh ice with 
 wrathful horns! But ice break et/t gangways ! 
 
 O my brethren, is not now all in stream? Have 
 not all railings and gangways fallen into the water? 
 Who would still cling unto ' good ' and ' evil ' ? 
 
 ' Woe unto us ! All hail unto ourselves ! The thaw- 
 wind bloweth ! ' Thus preach, my brethren, through 
 all lanes ! 
 
 There is an old illusion, called good and evil. 
 Round fortunetellers and astrologers, hitherto the wheel 
 of that illusion hath turned. 
 
 Once the folk believed in fortunetellers and astrol-
 
 OF OLD AND NEW TABLES 293 
 
 ogers, and therefore they believed : ' All is fate. Thou 
 shalt ; for thou must ! ' 
 
 Then at another time they mistrusted all fortune- 
 tellers and astrologers, and therefore they believed : 
 'All is freedom. Thou canst; for thou wilt.' 
 
 O my brethren, as to the stars and the future 
 there hath only been illusion, not knowledge. And 
 therefore, as to good and evil, there hath also been 
 illusion only, not knowledge ! 
 
 10 
 
 'tThou shalt not rob ! ' ' Thou shalt not commit 
 manslaughter ! ' Such words were once called holy ; 
 before them the folk bent their knees and heads and 
 took off their shoes. 
 
 But I ask you : Where in the world have there 
 ever been better robbers and murderers than such 
 holy words ? 
 
 Is there not in all life robbing and manslaughter? 
 And by calling such words holy, did they not murder 
 truth itself? 
 
 Or was it a sermon of death, to call that holy which 
 contradicted all life and counselled against it? O 
 my brethren, break, break the old tables ! 
 
 ii 
 
 My pity for all that is past is in seeing that it is 
 exposed
 
 294 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 Exposed unto the mercy, the spirit, the lunacy of 
 every generation that cometh and transformeth every- 
 thing that hath been into its own bridge ! 
 
 A great lord of power could come, an artful fiend, 
 with his mercy and disgrace to compel and constrain 
 whatever is past, until for him it became a bridge 
 and an omen and a herald and a cock-crow. 
 
 But this is the other danger and mine other pity : 
 whoever is of the mob, his memory reacheth back 
 unto his grandfather; but with his grandfather time 
 ceaseth to exist. 
 
 Thus all that is past is exposed. For one day it 
 might come to pass that the mob would become mas- 
 ter, and all time would be drowned in shallow waters. 
 
 Therefore, O my brethren, a new nobility is requisite 
 which is opposed unto all mob and all that is tyrannic 
 and writeth on new tables the word 'noble.' 
 
 For many noble ones are requisite, and noble ones 
 of many kinds, in order that there be nobility ! Or, 
 as I said once in a figure : ' That exactly is godliness, 
 that there are Gods, but no God ! ' 
 
 12 
 
 O my brethren, I consecrate you to be, and show unto 
 you the way unto a new nobility. Ye shall become pro- 
 creators and breeders and sowers of the future. 
 
 Verily, ye shall not become a nobility one might
 
 OF OLD AND NEW TABLES 2Q5 
 
 buy like shopkeepers with shopkeepers' gold. For 
 all that hath its fixed price is of little value. 
 
 Not whence ye come be your honour in future, but 
 whither ye go ! Your will, and your foot that longeth 
 to get beyond yourselves, be that your new honour ! 
 
 Verily, not that ye have served a prince of what 
 concern are princes now ? or that ye have become 
 a bulwark unto that which standeth, in order that it 
 might stand firmer ! 
 
 Not that your kin hath become courtly at courts, 
 and that ye have learnt to stand long hours in shal- 
 low ponds, many-coloured, flamingo-like 
 
 (For to be able to stand is a merit with courtiers ; 
 and all courtiers believe that to be allowed to sit is 
 part of the bliss after death !) 
 
 Nor that a spirit, called holy, led your forefathers 
 into lands of promise, which / do not praise. (For 
 where there grew the evilest of all trees, the cross, 
 in that land there is nothing worthy of praise!) 
 
 And, verily, wherever this 'holy ghost' led his 
 knights, always in such expeditions goats and geese 
 and cross-heads and wrong-heads led the train ! 
 
 O my brethren, not backward shall your nobility 
 gaze, but forward! Expelled ye shall be from all 
 fathers' and forefathers' lands ! 
 
 Your children s land ye shall love, (be this love your 
 new nobility !) the land undiscovered, in the remotest 
 sea ! For it I bid your sails seek and seek !
 
 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 In your children ye shall make amends for being 
 your fathers' children. Thus ye shall redeem all that 
 is past ! This new table I put over you ! 
 
 13 
 
 ' Wherefore live ? All is vanity. To live that 
 meaneth to thrash straw. To live i.e., to burn one's 
 self and yet not become warm.' 
 
 Such ancient talk is still regarded as 'wisdom.' 
 Even because it is ancient and smelleth damp, it is 
 honoured the more. Even mould maketh noble. 
 
 Children were allowed to speak thus. They fear 
 the fire because it burned them ! There is much 
 childishness in the old books of wisdom. 
 
 And he who always thrasheth straw how could 
 he be allowed to backbite thrashing ! With such a 
 fool one would have to muzzle his mouth ! 
 
 Such folk sit down unto dinner and bring nothing 
 with them, not even a good hunger. And now they 
 backbite : ' All is vanity ! ' 
 
 But to eat well and drink well, O my brethren, is, 
 verily, no vain art ! Break, break the tables of those 
 who are never joyful ! 
 
 ' Unto the pure all things are pure ' thus say the 
 folk. But I tell you : ' unto the swine all things be- 
 come swine ! '
 
 OF OLD AND NEW TABLES 
 
 Therefore the enthusiasts and hypocrites whose 
 very heart hangeth down, preach : 'The world itself 
 is a filthy monster.' 
 
 For they are all of an unclean mind; in particular 
 those who have neither quiet nor rest ; unless it be 
 that they see the world from the back, those back- 
 worlds-men ! 
 
 I tell it to their face, although it doth not sound 
 lovely : ' Therein the world resembleth man, that it 
 hath a backside, thus much is true ! ' 
 
 There is much filth in the world, thus much is 
 trtie ! But for that reason the world itself is not yet 
 a filthy monster ! 
 
 It is wisdom therein, that much in the world 
 smelleth ill. Loathing itself createth wings and well- 
 divining powers ! 
 
 In the best one even, there is something loathsome. 
 And even the best one is a something that must be 
 surpassed ! 
 
 O my brethren, there is much wisdom in the fact 
 that there is much filth in the world ! 
 
 Such sayings I heard pious back-worlds-men say 
 unto their conscience, and, verily, without cunning or 
 deceitfulness, although there is nothing more deceit- 
 ful in the world, nor anything worse.
 
 298 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 ' Let the world be the world ! Lift not even a 
 finger against it ! ' 
 
 'Let anybody who careth to do so throttle and 
 sting and flay and scrape the folk ! Lift not even a 
 finger against it ! Thereby they shall one day learn 
 to renounce the world.' 
 
 'And thine own reason thou shalt thyself throttle 
 and choke it ; for it is a reason of this world. Thereby 
 thou thyself learnest to renounce the world.' 
 
 Break, break, O my brethren, these old tables of 
 the pious ! Break into pieces by your speech the 
 saying of the calumniators of the world ! 
 
 16 
 
 'Whoever learneth much, unlearneth all violent 
 desiring.' Men whisper that to-day into one another's 
 ears in all dark lanes. 
 
 'Wisdom maketh weary. Nothing is worth while. 
 Thou shalt not desire ! ' This new table I found 
 hanging even in open markets. 
 
 Break, O my brethren, break also this new table ! 
 The weary of the world have hung it up, and the 
 preachers of death, and the jailers also. For, behold, 
 it is moreover a sermon unto slavery ! 
 
 Because they learned badly and learned not the 
 best, and learned everything too early and everything 
 too quickly because they dined badly, they have 
 got that soured stomach.
 
 OF OLD AND NEW TABLES 2Q9 
 
 For their mind is a soured stomach. It counselleth 
 them unto death ! For, verily, my brethren, the mind 
 is a stomach ! 
 
 Life is a well of delight. But all wells are poisoned 
 for him out of whom the soured stomach speaketh, 
 the father of affliction. 
 
 To perceive that is lust unto him who hath 
 the will of a lion ! But he who hath become 
 weary, is himself 'willed' only; with him all waves 
 play. 
 
 And thus it is always the way of weak men : they 
 losfe themselves on their ways. And at last their 
 weariness asketh : ' Wherefore have we ever gone 
 ways ! All is the same ! ' 
 
 Unto their ears it soundeth lovely when there is 
 preached : ' Nothing is worth while ! Ye shall not 
 will ! ' But this is a sermon unto slavery. 
 
 O my brethren, as a fresh roaring wind Zarathustra 
 cometh unto all who are weary of the way. Many 
 noses he will make sneeze. 
 
 Even through walls bloweth my free breath, and 
 into prisons and imprisoned spirits ! 
 
 Willing delivereth ! For willing is creating. Thus 
 I teach. And only for the purpose of creating ye 
 shall learn ! 
 
 And even the learning ye shall only learn from 
 me, the learning well ! Whoever hath ears, let him 
 hear !
 
 3OO THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 17 
 
 There standeth the boat. Over there perhaps is 
 the way into great nothingness. But who will step 
 into this ' perhaps ' ? 
 
 No one of you will step into the boat of death ! 
 How then can ye be weary of the world! 
 
 Weary of the world ! And ye did not even part 
 with earth ! Longing I found you still for earth, 
 fallen in love with your own weariness of earth ! 
 
 Not in vain your lip hangeth down. A small 
 earthly desire still sitteth on it ! And in the eye 
 doth there not swim a little cloud of unforgotten 
 earthly delight ? 
 
 There are on earth many good inventions, some 
 useful, some agreeable. For their sake earth is to 
 be loved. 
 
 And all kinds of things so well invented are there, 
 that they are like a woman's breast, alike useful and 
 pleasing. 
 
 But ye weary ones of the world ! Ye lazy ones of 
 earth ! Ye should be lashed with whips ! With whip 
 lashes your legs should be made brisk again. 
 
 For if ye are not sick and worn out wretches of 
 whom earth is weary, ye are sly tardigrades or 
 dainty-mouthed, hidden lust-cats. And if ye wish 
 not to run again gaily, ye shall pass away ! 
 
 Unto the incurable, one shall not go to be physi-
 
 OF OLD AND NEW TABLES 3<DI 
 
 cian. Thus teacheth Zarathustra. Thus ye shall pass 
 away ! 
 
 But more courage is requisite for making an end 
 than for making a new verse. That is known unto 
 all physicians and poets. 
 
 18 
 
 O my brethren, there are tables created by weari- 
 ness, and tables created by laziness, rotten laziness. 
 And although they speak equally, they will not be 
 heard equally. 
 
 Look here at this languishing one ! Only a span 
 is he distant from his goal, but from weariness he 
 hath defiantly put himself down into the dust, the 
 courageous one ! 
 
 From weariness he yawneth at his way, and at earth, 
 and at his goal, and at himself. No further step will 
 he take, this courageous one ! 
 
 Now the sun gloweth down on him, and the dogs 
 lick his sweat. But he lieth there in his defiance and 
 will rather die of thirst. 
 
 A span distant from his goal will he die of thirst ! 
 Verily, by his hair ye will have to pull him into his 
 heaven, this hero ! 
 
 Better it is, ye let him lie where he hath laid him- 
 self, that sleep unto him may come, the comforter 
 with a cool, murmuring rain. 
 
 Let him lie until he awake himself, until he him-
 
 3O2 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 self gainsay all weariness and all that weariness taught 
 him to teach ! 
 
 Only, my brethren, drive the dogs away from him, 
 the lazy sneaks, and all the swarming flies 
 
 All the swarming flies, the 'educated,' who feast 
 luxuriously on the sweat of every hero ! 
 
 19 
 
 I draw around me circles and holy boundaries. 
 Ever fewer mount with me ever higher mountains. I 
 build a mountain chain out of ever holier mountains. 
 
 But wherever ye mount with me, O my brethren, 
 see to it that no parasite mount with you ! 
 
 Parasite that is a worm, a creeping, bent one that 
 wisheth to fatten upon your hidden sores and wounds. 
 
 And this is its art, that it findeth out ascending 
 souls, where they are weary. In your sorrow and bad 
 mood, in your tender shame, he buildeth his loathsome 
 nest. 
 
 Wherever the strong is weak, and the noble much- 
 too-mild there he buildeth his loathsome nest. The 
 parasite dwelleth where the great one hath small 
 hidden wounds. 
 
 What is the highest kind of all that is, and what 
 is the lowest ? The parasite is the lowest kind. But 
 whoever is of the highest kind feedeth the most 
 parasites.
 
 OF OLD AND NEW TABLES 303 
 
 For that soul which hath the longest ladder and 
 can step down deepest how should not the most 
 parasites sit on it? 
 
 The most comprehensive soul which can within itself 
 go furthest and stray and rove ; the most necessary 
 one which from lust precipitateth itself into chance ; 
 
 The being soul which diveth down into becoming ; 
 the having one that longeth to get into willing and 
 desiring ; 
 
 The soul fleeing from itself and catching itself in 
 the widest circle; the wisest soul, unto which foolish- 
 ndss speaketh sweetest ; 
 
 The soul that loveth itself most, in which all things 
 have their streaming and back streaming and ebb and 
 flood ! Oh ! how should the highest soul not have the 
 worst parasites ? 
 
 20 
 
 O my brethren, say, am I cruel ? But I say : ' What 
 is falling already, shall be struck down.' 
 
 The All of to-day it falleth, it decayeth. Who 
 would keep it ? But I, I will strike down it be- 
 sides ! 
 
 Know ye the voluptuousness that rolleth stones into 
 steep depths? These men of to-day look at them, 
 how they roll into my depths ! 
 
 A prelude I am of better players, O my brethren ! 
 An example ! Act after mine example !
 
 304 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 And him whom ye do not teach to fly, teach how 
 to fall quicker! 
 
 21 
 
 I love the brave. But it is not enough to be a 
 swordsman, one must also know against whom to use 
 the sword ! 
 
 And often there is more bravery in one's keeping 
 quiet and going past, in order to spare one's self for 
 a worthier enemy ! 
 
 Ye shall have only enemies who are to be hated, 
 but not enemies who are to be despised. Ye must 
 be proud of your enemy. Thus I taught you once 
 before. 
 
 Ye shall reserve yourselves for the worthier enemy, 
 O my friends ! Therefore ye have to pass by many 
 things. 
 
 In particular ye have to pass by much rabble that 
 maketh a din of people and peoples in your ears. 
 
 Keep your eye pure from their For and Against ! 
 Much right is there and much wrong. Whoever 
 looketh on, waxeth angry. 
 
 To look on, to use one's sword in that case it is 
 one and the same thing. Therefore depart into the 
 forests and put your sword to sleep ! 
 
 Go your ways. And let people and peoples go 
 theirs ! Verily, dark ways, on which not a single hope 
 lighteneth any longer!
 
 OF OLD AND NEW TABLES 305 
 
 Let the shopkeeper rule there where everything 
 that still shineth, is shopkeepers' gold. It is no 
 longer the time of kings. For what to-day calleth 
 itself a people, deserveth no kings. 
 
 Behold, how these peoples now themselves act like 
 shopkeepers. They seek the smallest profits out of 
 every sort of rubbish. 
 
 They lie in ambush for each other ; they obtain 
 things from each other by lying in wait. That is 
 called by them 'good neighbourliness.' Oh, blessed 
 remote time, when a people said unto itself : ' I will 
 be* master over peoples ! ' 
 
 For, my brethren, what is best, shall rule ; what is 
 best, will rule ! And where the teaching soundeth 
 different, the best is lacking. 
 
 22 
 
 If they had bread for nothing, alas ! for what 
 would they cry ! Their maintenance that is their 
 proper entertainment. And they shall have a hard 
 life! 
 
 Beasts of prey they are. In their ' working ' there 
 is even preying, in their ' earning ' there is even 
 outwitting ! Therefore they shall have a hard life ! 
 
 Thus they shall become better beasts of prey, finer, 
 cleverer, more like man. For man is the best beast 
 of prey.
 
 306 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 From all animals man hath plundered their virtues. 
 The reason is that man hath had the hardest life of 
 all animals. 
 
 Only the birds surpass him. And if man would 
 learn to fly in addition, alas, whither would his lust 
 of prey fly upwards ! 
 
 23 
 
 Thus would I have man and woman : fit for warfare 
 the one, fit for giving birth the other, but both fit 
 for dancing with head and legs. 
 
 And be that day reckoned lost on which we did 
 not dance once ! And be every truth called false 
 with which no laughter was connected ! 
 
 24 
 
 Your concluding of marriages see to it that it 
 be not a bad concluding! Ye have concluded too 
 quickly ; thus followeth therefrom adultery ! 
 
 And yet better is adultery than bending marriage, 
 lying in marriage ! Thus spake a woman unto me : 
 ' True, I brake marriage, but first marriage brake 
 me ! ' 
 
 Ill-coupled ones I always found to be the worst 
 revengeful. They take revenge on the whole world, 
 because they no longer walk about singly. 
 
 Therefore I will that honest ones speak unto each
 
 OF OLD AND NEW TABLES 307 
 
 other : ' We love each other. Let us see to it that we 
 keep ourselves in love ! Or shall our mutual promise 
 be a mistake ? ' 
 
 ' Give us a term and a small marriage, that we 
 may see to it whether we are fit for the great mar- 
 riage ! It is a great thing to be always in pairs ! ' 
 
 Thus I counsel all honest ones. And what would 
 be my love unto beyond-man and unto all that is to 
 come, if I should counsel and speak differently ! 
 
 Not only shall ye propagate yourselves, but ye 
 shall propagate upivards. Thereto, O my brethren, 
 let' the garden of marriage aid you ! 
 
 25 
 
 Lo! he who became wise concerning old origins, 
 will at last seek for the fountains of the future and 
 for new origins. 
 
 O my brethren, it will not be long that new peoples 
 will arise and new springs gush down into new 
 depths. 
 
 For the earthquake encumbereth many wells, and 
 createth much languishing. That will also bring to 
 light inner powers and hidden things. 
 
 The earthquake maketh new springs appear. In 
 the earthquake of old peoples new springs gush 
 forth. 
 
 And whoever crieth : ' Behold, here is one well for
 
 3O8 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 many thirsty ones, one heart for many longing ones, 
 one will for many tools ' round him gathereth a 
 people, i.e., many trying. 
 
 Who is able to command, who is obliged to obey 
 that is tested there ! Alas, with what long seeking 
 and guessing and failing and learning and testing 
 anew ! 
 
 Human society it is an attempt ; thus I teach, 
 it is a long seeking. But it seeketh the commander! 
 
 An attempt, O my brethren ! And no ' contract ' ! 
 Break, break such a word of soft-hearts and half and 
 half ones ! 
 
 26 
 
 O my brethren! With whom is the greatest 
 danger for the whole human future ? Is it not with 
 the good and just ? 
 
 Because they are those who speak and feel in their 
 heart: 'We know already what is good and just; we 
 have it in addition. Alas, for those who still seek 
 for it!' 
 
 And whatever harm the wicked may do, the harm 
 of the good is the most harmful harm ! 
 
 And whatever harm the calumniators of the world 
 may do, the harm of the good is the most harmful 
 harm ! 
 
 O my brethren, once upon a time a man looked into
 
 OF OLD AND NEW TABLES 309 
 
 the heart of the good and just and said : ' They are 
 the Pharisees.' But he was not understood. 
 
 The good and just themselves were not allowed 
 to understand him. Their mind was imprisoned in 
 their good conscience. The stupidity of the good is 
 unfathomably clever. 
 
 But this is the truth : the good must be Pharisees. 
 They have no choice ! 
 
 The good must crucify him who inventeth his own 
 virtue ! That is the truth ! 
 
 But the second one who discovered their land, the 
 land, heart, and soil of the good and just he it was 
 who asked : ' Whom do they hate most ? ' 
 
 The creator they hate most, him who breaketh tables 
 and old values, the breaker. They call him a criminal. 
 
 For the good 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, understood ye this word ? And 
 what once I said of the last man ? 
 
 With whom is the greatest danger for the whole 
 human future ? Is it not with the good and just ?
 
 3IO THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 Break, break the good and just ! O my brethren, 
 understood ye this word ? 
 
 28 
 
 Ye flee from me ? Ye are terrified ? Ye tremble in 
 the presence of this word? 
 
 O my brethren, when I bade you break the good 
 and the tables of the good it was then only that I 
 put man on board ship for his high sea. 
 
 Only now cometh the great terror unto him, the 
 great look round, the great illness, the great loathing, 
 the great sea-sickness. 
 
 False shores and false securities ye were taught by 
 the good. In the lies of the good ye were born and 
 hidden. Through the good everything hath become 
 deceitful and crooked from the bottom. 
 
 But he who discovered the land 'man/ discovered 
 also the land : ' human future.' Now ye shall be unto 
 me sailors, brave, patient ones ! 
 
 Walk upright in time, O my brethren, learn how 
 to walk upright ! The sea stormeth. Many wish to 
 raise themselves with your help. 
 
 The sea stormeth. Everything is in the sea. Up ! 
 Upwards ! Ye old sailor hearts ! 
 
 What ? A fatherland ? Thither striveth our rudder, 
 where our children's land is. Out thither, stormier 
 than the sea, our great longing stormeth !
 
 OF OLD AND NEW TABLES 3! I 
 
 2 9 
 
 ' Why so hard ? ' said once the charcoal unto the 
 diamond, ' are we not near relations ? ' 
 
 Why so soft ? O my brethren, thus I ask you. 
 Are ye not my brethren ? 
 
 Why so soft, so unresisting, and yielding ? Why 
 is there so much disavowal and abnegation in your 
 hearts ? Why is there so little fate in your looks ? 
 
 And if ye are unwilling to be fates, and inexorable, 
 how could ye conquer with me someday ? 
 
 And if your hardness would not glance, and cut, and 
 chip into pieces how could ye create with me someday? 
 
 For all creators are hard. And it must seem blessed- 
 ness unto 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. 
 The noblest only is perfectly hard. 
 
 This new table, O my brethren, I put over you : 
 Become hard ! 
 
 30 
 
 O, thou my will ! Thou change of all needs, thou, 
 my necessity ! Save me from all small victories ! 
 
 Thou decree of my soul called fate by myself! 
 Thou within-me ! Thou above-me ! Save and spare 
 me for one great fate !
 
 312 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 And thy last greatness, O my will, spare for thy 
 last, in order to be inexorable in thy victory ! Alas, 
 who was not conquered by his victory ! 
 
 Alas ! whose eye did not grow dim in this drunken 
 dawn ? Alas ! whose foot did not stagger and forget 
 how to stand in victory ! 
 
 That one day I may be ready and ripe in the great 
 noon ; ready and ripe like glowing ore, like a cloud 
 pregnant with a lightning, and a swelling milk-udder; 
 
 Ready unto myself and unto my most secret will ; 
 a bow eager for its arrow ; an arrow eager for its 
 star; 
 
 A star, ready and ripe in its noon, glowing, perfo- 
 rated, blessed with destroying arrows of the sun. 
 
 A sun himself and an inexorable will of a sun, ready 
 for destroying in victory ! 
 
 O will, thou change of all needs, thou my necessity ! 
 Reserve me for one great victory ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 THE CONVALESCENT ONE 
 
 One morning, not long after his return unto the 
 cave, Zarathustra jumped up from his couch like a 
 madman. He cried with a terrible voice, and behaved 
 9 if some one else was lying on the couch and would 
 not get up from it. And so sounded Zarathustra's 
 voice that his animals ran unto him in terror, and that 
 from all caves and hiding-places which were nigh unto 
 Zarathustra's cave, all animals hurried away, flying, 
 fluttering, creeping, jumping, according to the kind of 
 foot or wing they had been given. But Zarathustra 
 spake these words : 
 
 " Up, abyss-like thought, from my depth ! I am thy 
 cock and morning-dawn, O sleepy worm ! Up ! up ! 
 My voice shall crow thee awake ! 
 
 Untie the fetter of thine ears ! hearken ! For I will 
 hear thee ! Up ! up ! Here is thunder enough so that 
 even graves learn to listen ! 
 
 And wipe the sleep and all that is dim and blind 
 from thine eyes ! Listen unto me with thine eyes 
 also ! My voice is a medicine even for the born blind.
 
 314 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTKA, III 
 
 And if thou art once awake, thou shalt remain 
 awake for ever. Not my way is it to awaken great- 
 grandmothers from sleep in order to ask them to sleep 
 on ! 
 
 Thou mo vest, thou stretchest thyself, thou rattiest ? 
 Up ! Up ! Not rattle speak thou shalt unto me ! 
 Zarathustra, the ungodly, calleth thee ! 
 
 I, Zarathustra, the advocate of life, the advocate of 
 suffering, the advocate of the circle I call thee, my 
 most abyss-like thought ! 
 
 Hail unto me ! Thou comest ; I hear thee ! Mine 
 abyss speaketh. My last depth have I turned round 
 unto the light ! 
 
 Hail unto me! Come nigh! Shake hands ha! 
 Leave me, hahaha ! Loathing, loathing, loathing ! 
 Alas, for me!" 
 
 No sooner had Zarathustra said these words than 
 he fell down like one dead, and remained long like 
 one dead. But when he again became conscious, 
 he was pale and trembled and remained lying, and for 
 a long while would neither eat nor drink. This state 
 of his lasted seven days. But his animals left him not, 
 day or night, unless that the eagle flew off to get food. 
 And whatever prey he fetched and caught, he laid on 
 Zarathustra's couch, so that at last Zarathustra was 
 buried under yellow and red berries, grapes, rose
 
 THE CONVALESCENT ONE 315 
 
 apples, sweet-smelling pot-herbs, and pine-cones. But 
 at his feet two lambs were spread which the eagle had, 
 with much trouble, carried off from their shepherd. 
 
 At last, after seven days, Zarathustra rose on his 
 couch, took a rose apple in his hand, smelt it and 
 found its odour sweet. Then his animals thought the 
 time had come for speaking unto him. 
 
 " O Zarathustra," said they, " now thou hast lain like 
 that for seven days, with heavy eyes. Wilt thou not 
 now stand again on thy feet ? 
 
 Step out from thy cave ; the world waiteth for thee 
 like a garden. The wind playeth with heavy odours 
 longing for thee ; and all brooklets would fain run 
 after thee. 
 
 All things long for thee, because thou remainedst 
 seven days alone. Step out from thy cave ! All 
 things wish to be thy physicians ! 
 
 Hath a new perception come unto thee, a sour, hard 
 one ? Like a dough mixed with leaven thou didst 
 lie there. Thy soul rose and overflowed all its 
 margins." 
 
 "O mine animals," answered Zarathustra, "talk on 
 like that and let me listen ! It refresheth me to hear 
 talking like that. Where there is talk, the world lieth 
 like a garden unto me. 
 
 How lovely it is that words and tunes exist ! Are 
 not words and tunes rainbows and seeming bridges 
 between things eternally separated ?
 
 3l6 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 Unto each soul belongeth a different world; for 
 each soul, every other soul is a back-world. 
 
 Between things most like unto each other, semblance 
 telleth the most beautiful lies. For the smallest gap 
 is the most difficult to bridge over. 
 
 For me how could there be an out-of-me ? There 
 is no outside ! But we forget that when hearing any 
 tunes. How lovely it is that we forget ! 
 
 Are things not given names and tunes, in order 
 that man may find recreation in things ? Speech is a 
 beautiful folly. Thereby man danceth over all things. 
 
 How lovely is all speech and all lying of tunes ! 
 With tunes our love danceth on many-coloured rain- 
 bows." 
 
 "O Zarathustra," then said the animals, "unto 
 such as think like us, all things themselves dance. 
 They come and shake hands and laugh and flee and 
 return. 
 
 Everything goeth, everything returneth. For ever 
 rolleth the wheel of existence. Everything dieth, 
 everything blossometh again. For ever runneth the 
 year of existence. 
 
 Everything breaketh, everything is joined anew. 
 For ever the same house of existence buildeth itself. 
 All things separate, all things greet each other again. 
 For ever faithful unto itself, the ring of existence 
 remaineth. 
 
 At every moment existence beginneth. Round
 
 THE CONVALESCENT ONE 317 
 
 every Here rolleth the ball There. The midst is 
 everywhere. Crooked is the path of eternity." 
 
 " O ye buffoons and barrel-organs," answered Zara- 
 thustra and smiled again, "how well ye know what 
 had to be done in seven days 
 
 And how that monster crept into my throat and 
 choked me ! But I bit its head off and spat it away 
 from me. 
 
 And ye ye have already made out of it a barrel- 
 organ song ? But now I lie here, weary from that 
 biting and spitting away, sick still with mine own 
 salvation. 
 
 And ye were the spectators of all that? O mine 
 animals, are even ye cruel ? Did ye like to look at my 
 great pain, as men do ? For man is the cruellest animal. 
 
 When gazing at tragedies, bull-fights and crucifix- 
 ions, he hath hitherto felt happier than at any other 
 time on earth. And when he invented hell for him- 
 self, lo, hell was his heaven upon earth. 
 
 When the great man crieth, swiftly the small man 
 runneth thither. And his tongue hangeth out of his 
 throat from lustfulness. But he calleth it his 'pity.' 
 
 The small man, in particular the poet, how eagerly 
 doth he in words accuse life ! Hearken unto him, but 
 fail not to hear the lust which is contained in all that 
 accusing ! 
 
 Such accusers of life they are overcome by life 
 with a blinking of the eye. ' Thou lovest me ? ' saith
 
 318 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 the impudent one. ' Wait a little ; I have no time 
 yet for thee.' 
 
 Man is the cruellest animal towards himself. And 
 in all who call themselves 'sinners' and 'bearers of 
 the cross ' and ' penitents,' ye shall not fail to hear 
 the lust contained in that complaining and accusing ! 
 
 And myself ? will I thereby be the accuser of 
 man? Alas, mine animals, that alone I have learnt 
 hitherto, that the wickedest in man is necessary for 
 the best in him 
 
 That all that is wicked, is his best power and the 
 hardest stone unto the highest creator ; and that man 
 must become better and more wicked. 
 
 Not unto that stake of torture was I fixed, that I 
 know : man is wicked. But I cried, as no one hath 
 ever cried : 
 
 ' Alas, that his wickedest is so very small ! Alas, 
 that his best is so very small ! ' 
 
 The great loathing of man, it choked me, it had 
 crept into my throat ; and what the fortuneteller 
 foretold : ' All is equal, nothing is worth while, know- 
 ledge choketh.' 
 
 A long dawn limped in front of me, a sadness weary 
 unto death, drunken from death, and speaking with a 
 yawning mouth. 
 
 Eternally he recurreth, man, of whom thou weariest, 
 the small man. Thus yawned my sadness and dragged 
 its foot and could not fall asleep.
 
 THE CONVALESCENT ONE 319 
 
 A cave became the human earth for me, its chest 
 fell in, all that liveth became unto me mould of men 
 and bones and a rotten past. 
 
 My sighing sat on all human graves and could no 
 longer get up ; my sighing and questioning cried like 
 a toad and choked and gnawed and complained by 
 day and night : 
 
 'Alas, man recurreth eternally! The small man 
 recurreth eternally ! ' 
 
 Once I had seen both naked, the greatest man and 
 the smallest man all-too-like unto each other all- 
 to6-human even the greatest man ! 
 
 All-too-small the greatest one ! That was my 
 satiety of man ! And eternal recurrence even of 
 the smallest one ! That was my satiety of all 
 existence. 
 
 Alas ! loathing ! loathing ! loathing ! " thus spake 
 Zarathustra and sighed and shuddered ; for he re- 
 membered his illness. But his animals would not 
 allow him to speak further. 
 
 " Speak not further, thou convalescent one ! " thus 
 his animals answered. "But go out where the world 
 waiteth for thee like a garden. 
 
 Go out unto the roses and bees and flocks of doves ! 
 But especially unto the singing birds, that thou may- 
 est learn singing from them ! 
 
 For singing is good for the convalescent ; the 
 healthy one may speak. And when the healthy one
 
 32O THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 wanteth songs also, he wanteth other songs than the 
 convalescent one." 
 
 " O ye buffoons and barrel-organs, be silent ! " Zara- 
 thustra answered and smiled at his animals. "How 
 will ye know what comfort I invented for myself in 
 seven days ! 
 
 That I was compelled to sing again that comfort 
 I invented for myself and that convalescence. Are 
 ye going to make at once a barrel-organ song even 
 out of that?" 
 
 " Speak no further," his animals answered once more. 
 " Rather, thou convalescent one, make first a lyre, a 
 new lyre ! 
 
 For, behold, O Zarathustra! For thy new songs 
 new lyres are requisite. 
 
 Sing and foam over, O Zarathustra, heal thy soul 
 with new songs, that thou mayest carry thy great 
 fate that hath not yet been any man's fate ! 
 
 For thine animals know well, O Zarathustra, who 
 thou art and must become. Behold, thou art the 
 teacher of eternal recurrence. That is now thy fate ! 
 
 That thou hast to be the first to teach this doc- 
 trine how should this great fate not also be thy 
 greatest danger and illness ? 
 
 Behold, we know what thou teachest ; that all 
 things recur eternally, ourselves included ; and that 
 we have been there infinite times before, and all 
 things with us.
 
 THE CONVALESCENT ONE 321 
 
 Thou teachest that there is a great year of becoming, 
 a monstrous, great year. It must, like an hourglass, 
 ever turn upside down again in order to run down 
 and run out 
 
 So that all these years are like unto each other, 
 in the greatest and in the smallest things ; so that in 
 every great year we are like unto ourselves, in the 
 greatest and in the smallest things. 
 
 And if thou wouldst now die, O Zarathustra be- 
 hold, we even know what thou wouldst then say unto 
 thyself. But thine animals pray thee not to die yet ! 
 'Thou wouldst speak, and without trembling, on the 
 contrary breathing deeply with happiness. For a great 
 burden and sultriness would be taken from thee, thou 
 most patient one ! 
 
 'Now I die and vanish,' thou wouldst say, 'and 
 in a moment I shall be nothing. Souls are as mortal 
 as bodies. * 
 
 But the knot of causes recurreth in which I am 
 twined. It will create me again ! I myself belong 
 unto the causes of eternal recurrence. 
 
 I come back, with this sun, with this earth, with 
 this eagle, with this serpent not for a new life, or a 
 better life, or an eternal life. 
 
 I come eternally back unto this one and the same 
 life, in the greatest things and in the smallest things, 
 in order to teach once more the eternal recurrence of 
 all things ; 
 
 Y
 
 322 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 In order to speak again the word of the great noon 
 of earth and man ; in order to proclaim again beyond- 
 man unto man. 
 
 I have spoken my word ; I break from my word. 
 Thus willeth mine eternal fate. As a proclaimer I 
 perish ! 
 
 The hour hath come now, when the perishing one 
 blesseth himself. Thus endeth Zarathustra's de- 
 struction.' ' 
 
 The animals having said these words, were silent 
 and waited to see whether Zarathustra would say 
 anything unto them. But Zarathustra did not hear 
 that they were silent. On the contrary: he lay still, 
 with his eyes closed, like one asleep, although he did 
 not sleep. For he was communing with his soul. But 
 the serpent and the eagle finding him thus silent 
 respected the great stillness round him and cautiously 
 withdrew.
 
 OF GREAT LONGING 
 
 "O my soul, I taught thee to say 'to-day,' as well 
 as 'once' and 'long ago,' and to dance thy jig over all 
 Here and There and Elsewhere. 
 
 O my soul, I redeemed thee from all corners ! I 
 brushed down from thee dust, spiders, and twilight. 
 * O my soul, I washed the small shame and corner 
 virtue down from thee, and persuaded thee to stand 
 naked before the eyes of the sun ! 
 
 With the storm which is called 'spirit,' I blew over 
 thine undulating sea. All clouds I blew away and 
 throttled even the throttler called 'sin.' 
 
 O my soul, I gave thee the right to say Nay like 
 the storm, and to say Yea as the open sky doth ! Still 
 like light, now thou standest and walkest through 
 denying storms. 
 
 O my soul, I gave thee back freedom over created 
 and not created things ! And who knoweth, as thou 
 dost, the lust of what is to come? 
 
 O my soul, I taught thee the despising that cometh 
 not like the gnawing of worms, the great, loving de- 
 spising that loveth most where it despiseth most. 
 
 O my soul, I taught thee thus to persuade, so that 
 
 323
 
 324 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 thou even persuadedst the reasons unto thy side like 
 the sun which even persuadeth the sea to ascend unto 
 his height! 
 
 O my soul, I took from thee all obeying, bending 
 of knees, and saying lord ! I myself gave thee the 
 names 'change of needs' and 'fate.' 
 
 O my soul, I gave thee new names and many- 
 coloured toys ! I called thee ' fate ' and ' orbit of orbits ' 
 and 'navel-cord of time' and 'azure bell.' 
 
 O my soul, unto thy soil gave I all wisdom to drink, 
 all new wines, and also all beyond-memory old, strong 
 wines of wisdom ! 
 
 O my soul, every sun I poured out over thee, and 
 every night, and every silence, and every longing ! 
 Then thou grewest up unto me like a vine plant. 
 
 O my soul, over-rich and heavy thou standest there, a 
 vine plant with swelling udders and close brown grapes 
 
 Close and pressed from thy happiness, waiting 
 because of abundance, and bashful even because of 
 thy waiting. 
 
 O my soul, there is certainly now here a soul more 
 full of love, readier to embrace and more comprehen- 
 sive ! Where could the future and what is past be 
 closer together than with thee ? 
 
 O my soul, I gave thee all, and all my hands have 
 become empty through giving unto thee ! And now ! 
 now thou sayest unto me, smiling and full of melan- 
 choly : ' Which of us hath to thank the other ?
 
 OF GREAT LONGING 32$ 
 
 Hath the giver not to thank the taker for taking ? 
 Is giving not a necessity ? Is taking not pity ? ' 
 
 O my soul, I understand the smile of thy melan- 
 choly. Thine over-great riches themselves now stretch 
 out longing hands ! 
 
 Thy fulness gazeth over roaring seas and seeketh 
 and waiteth. The longing of over-abundance gazeth 
 from the smiling heaven of thine eyes ! 
 
 And, verily, O my soul ! who could see thy smile 
 and not melt into tears ? Angels themselves melt into 
 tears because of the over-kindness of thy smile. 
 
 Thy kindness and over-kindness wanteth not to 
 complain and cry ! And yet, O my soul, thy smile 
 longeth for tears, and thy trembling mouth longeth 
 to sob. 
 
 ' Is not all crying a complaining ? And all com- 
 plaining an accusing ? ' Thus thou speakest unto thy- 
 self, and therefore, O my soul, thou likest better to 
 smile than to pour out thy sorrow 
 
 To pour out in gushing tears all thy sorrow over 
 thine abundance, and over all the longing of the vine 
 plant for vine-dressers and vine-knives ! 
 
 But if thou wilt not cry, nor give forth in tears 
 thy purple melancholy, thou wilt have to sing, O my 
 soul ! Behold, I myself smile who foretell such things 
 unto thee. 
 
 Thou wilt have to sing with a roaring song, until all 
 seas are stilled in order to hearken unto thy longing
 
 326 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 Until over still, longing seas the boat glideth, the 
 golden wonder, round the gold of which all good, bad, 
 strange things hop 
 
 Also many large and small animals, and whatever 
 hath light, strange feet, so that it can run on paths 
 of violet blue. 
 
 Until it reacheth the golden wonder, the voluntary 
 boat and its master. But he is the vine-dresser who 
 waiteth with diamond vine-knife 
 
 Thy greater liberator, O my soul, the nameless one 
 for whom future songs only will find names ! And, 
 verily, already thy breath smelleth of future songs. 
 
 Already thou glowest and dreamest ; already thou 
 drinkest thirstily from all deep, sounding wells of 
 comfort ; already thy melancholy resteth in the bliss 
 of future songs ! 
 
 O my soul, now I have given thee all, and even 
 my last, and all my hands have been emptied by 
 giving unto thee ! My bidding thee sing, lo, that was 
 the last thing I had ! 
 
 My bidding thee sing say, say: which of us hath 
 now to thank the other ? But still better : sing unto 
 me, sing, O my soul ! And let me thank ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 THE SECOND DANCE-SONG 
 
 "Into thine eye I gazed of late, O life! Gold I saw 
 shine in thy night-like eye. My heart stood still 
 because of that lust. 
 
 t A golden boat saw I shine on night-like waters, 
 a golden, swinging boat, sinking, drinking, shining 
 again. 
 
 At my foot which is frantic to dance thou castest thy 
 glance, a swinging glance, laughing, asking, melting. 
 
 Twice only thou movedst thy rattle with small hands. 
 There my foot already swung frantic to dance. 
 
 To understand thee, my toes did hearken, my heels 
 did rear. For the dancer weareth in his toes his ear ! 
 
 Unto thy side I jumped. Then thou fleddest back 
 from my bound. And towards me played the tongue 
 of thy hair fleeing, flying round ! 
 
 Away from thee and from thy serpents, I made 
 my dances. Then thou stoodest there, half turned 
 round, the eye full of longing glances. 
 
 With crooked blinking, thou teachest me crooked 
 courses. On crooked courses my foot learneth artful 
 thinking. 
 
 327
 
 328 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 I love thee when thou art far ; I fear thee when 
 thou art nigh. Thy flight decoyeth me; thy seeking 
 annoyeth me. I suffer; but for thee what suffer 
 gaily would not I ! 
 
 Her coldness inflameth ; her hatred seduceth ; her 
 flight tameth ; sympathy her mocking produceth. 
 
 Who would not hate thee, thou great binder, twiner, 
 tempter, seeker, finder ! Who would not love thy 
 ways, thou innocent, impatient, storm-like hurrying 
 sinner with a child's gaze ! 
 
 Where dost thou now draw me, thou unruly para- 
 gon ? And now thou fleest from me again, thou sweet 
 tomboy and thankless one ! 
 
 I dance after thee. Even on slight traces I follow 
 thee. Where art thou ? Give me thy hand ! Or even 
 a single finger give me ! 
 
 Here are caves and thickets. We shall go astray ! 
 Halt ! Stand still ! Seest thou not owls and bats flutter 
 their way ? 
 
 Thou bat ! Thou art going to fool me ? Thou owl ! 
 Where are we ? From dogs thou learnedst thus to 
 bark and howl ! 
 
 With little white teeth thou grinnest at me in thy 
 sweet wise. From thy little curly mane spring forth 
 against me thine evil eyes ! 
 
 This is a dance over stone and log ! I am the 
 huntsman. Wilt thou be my chamois or my dog ? 
 
 Now beside me ! Thou wicked springer, and quick !
 
 THE SECOND DANCE-SONG 329 
 
 Now up ! Now over it ! Alas ! In springing I fell 
 myself over the stick ! 
 
 Oh, look at me lying here, thou tomboy, how for 
 grace I pray ! Fain would I go with thee on a much 
 sweeter way ! 
 
 The way of love through bushes many-coloured, 
 still, and dim ! Or there along the lake, where the 
 goldfish dance and swim ! 
 
 Thou art weary now? Yonder there are evening 
 reds and sheep ! When the shepherds play the flute, 
 js it not goodly then to sleep ? 
 
 Thou art sore wearied ? I carry thee there. Let 
 thine arms now sink ! And if thou art thirsty, I 
 have something. But thy mouth liketh it not to drink ! 
 
 Oh, this cursed swift pliant snake and witch hiding 
 at every turn ! Whither art thou gone ? But in my 
 face I feel from thy hand red spots and double 
 blotches burn ! 
 
 I am weary indeed of being ever a stupid shepherd 
 for thee ? Thou witch, if I have hitherto sung unto 
 thee, thou shalt now cry unto me ! 
 
 Unto the rhythm of my whip shalt thou now dance 
 and cry ! Did I remember my whip ? Ay ! ' 
 
 Then life answered me thus, keeping both her neat 
 ears shut :
 
 33O THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 ' O Zarathustra ! Do not crack thy whip so terribly ! 
 For thou knowest : noise murdereth thought. And 
 even now very tender thoughts come unto me. 
 
 We are the proper pair of good-for-evil things 
 and good-for-good things. Beyond good and evil we 
 found our island and our green meadow we two 
 alone ! Therefore we have to be fond of each other ! 
 
 And although we do not love each other from 
 the bottom must folk quarrel, if they love not each 
 other from the bottom? 
 
 And that I am fond of thee, and often too fond, 
 that thou knowest. And the reason is that I am 
 jealous of thy wisdom. Alas, this mad, old fool, 
 wisdom ! 
 
 If one day thy wisdom should run away from 
 thee, alas ! my love also would then quickly run away 
 from thee.' 
 
 Then life looked thoughtfully behind herself and 
 round herself, and said gently : ' O Zarathustra, thou 
 art not faithful enough unto me ! 
 
 Thou lovest me not so much by far as thou sayest. 
 I know, thou thinkest of leaving me soon. 
 
 There is an old heavy humming bell ; it hummeth 
 in the night upwards unto thy cave. 
 
 If thou hearest that clock at midnight strike the 
 hour, thou thinkest of it between one and twelve. 
 
 Thou thinkest, O Zarathustra, I know it, of soon 
 leaving me ! '
 
 THE SECOND DANCE-SONG 33! 
 
 'Yea,' I answered hesitating, 'but thou also know- 
 est ' And I told her something into her ear, in 
 the midst of all the confused, yellow, stupid tresses 
 of her hair. 
 
 ' Thou knowest that, O Zarathustra ? That no one 
 knoweth.' 
 
 And we gazed at each other, and looked at the 
 green meadow over which the cool even was spread- 
 ing, and wept together. Then life was dearer unto 
 me than all my wisdom had ever been unto me." 
 v Thus spake Zarathustra. 
 
 3 
 
 One! 
 
 man ! Lose not sight ! 
 
 Two! 
 What saith the deep midnight ? 
 
 Three ! 
 
 1 lay in sleep, in sleep ; 
 
 Four! 
 From deep dream I woke to light. 
 
 Five! 
 The world is deep, 
 
 Six! 
 And deeper than ever day thought it might.
 
 332 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 Seven ! 
 Deep is its woe, 
 
 Eight ! 
 And deeper still than woe delight 
 
 Nine! 
 Saith woe : " Pass, go ! 
 
 Ten! 
 Eternity is sought by all delight, 
 
 Eleven ! 
 Eternity deep by all delight!" 
 
 Twelve !
 
 THE SEVEN SEALS 
 
 (OR THE SONG OF YEA AND AMEN) 
 I 
 
 " If I am a fortuneteller and full of that foretelling 
 spirit that wandereth on a high mountain ridge between 
 two seas, 
 
 3That wandereth between what is past and what is 
 to come, as a heavy cloud, an enemy unto sultry 
 low lands and all that is weary and can neither die 
 nor live 
 
 Ready for the lightning in the dark bosom, and for 
 the redeeming beam of light, charged with lightnings, 
 that say Yea ! that laugh Yea ! ready for foretelling 
 lightnings 
 
 (But blessed is he who is thus charged ! And, 
 verily, a long time must he hang as a heavy thunder- 
 storm on the mountain, he who shall one day kindle 
 the light of the future !) 
 
 Oh ! how could I fail to be eager for eternity, and 
 for the marriage ring of rings, the ring of recurrence ? 
 
 Never yet have I found the woman by whom I 
 should have liked to have children, unless it be this 
 woman I love. For I love thee, O Eternity ! 
 
 For I love thee, O Eternity ! 
 
 333
 
 334 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 If my wrath hath ever broken graves, removed land- 
 marks, and rolled down into steep depths old tables 
 broken ; 
 
 If my scorn hath ever blown into pieces mouldered 
 words, and I have ever come as a brush unto cross- 
 spiders, and as a roaring wind unto old dampish grave- 
 chambers ; 
 
 If I have ever sat rejoicing where old Gods lie 
 buried ; if I have ever sat blessing the world, loving 
 the world, beside the monuments of old calumniators 
 of the world ; 
 
 (For even churches and graves of Gods I love, when 
 once the sky gazeth with its pure eye through their 
 broken ceilings. I love to sit on broken churches, 
 like the grass and the red poppy.) 
 
 Oh ! how could I fail to be eager for eternity, and 
 for the marriage ring of rings, the ring of recurrence ? 
 
 Never yet have I found the woman by whom I 
 should have liked to have children, unless it be this 
 woman I love. For I love thee, O Eternity! 
 
 For I love thee, O Eternity ! 
 
 3 
 
 If there hath ever come unto me a breath of creative 
 breath, and of that heavenly necessity that compelleth 
 chance itself to dance star dances ;
 
 THE SEVEN SEALS 335 
 
 If I have ever laughed with the laughter of creative 
 lightning, that is followed by the long thunder of the 
 deed, rumbling though willingly ; 
 
 If I have ever played at dice with Gods at the god- 
 like table of earth, so that the earth trembled and 
 brake and hissed up streams of fire; 
 
 (For a god-like table is earth, and trembling from 
 creative new words and dice-casts of Gods.) 
 
 Oh ! how could I fail to be eager for eternity, and 
 for the marriage ring of rings, the ring of recurrence ? 
 
 Never yet have I found the woman by whom I 
 should have liked to have children, unless it be this 
 woman I love. For I love thee, O Eternity ! 
 
 For I love thee, O Eternity ! 
 
 If I have ever drunk a full draught from that foam- 
 ing spice-mixture-vessel in which all things are mixed ; 
 
 If my hand hath ever poured what is remotest into 
 what is nighest, and fire into spirit, and lust into 
 woe, and wickedest into kindest ; 
 
 If I myself am a grain of that redeeming salt that 
 maketh all things mix well in the vessel of mixture; 
 
 (For there is a salt that bringeth together what is 
 good and what is evil ; and even the wickedest is 
 worthy of serving as seasoning, and as a means for 
 the last foaming over.)
 
 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 Oh ! how could I fail to be eager for eternity, 
 and for the marriage ring of rings, the ring of recur- 
 rence ? 
 
 Never yet have I found the woman by whom I 
 should have liked to have children, unless it be this 
 woman I love. For I love thee, O Eternity! 
 
 For I love thee, O Eternity ! 
 
 5 
 
 If I am fond of the sea, and of all that is of the 
 sea's kin ; and if I am fondest if it contradicteth me 
 angrily ; 
 
 If that seeking lust is within me, that driveth the 
 sails after the undiscovered ; if there is a sailor's lust 
 in my lust; 
 
 If my rejoicing hath ever cried: 'The shore hath 
 disappeared ! Now the last chain hath fallen down 
 from me! 
 
 The limitless roareth round me ! Far, far away 
 shine unto me space and time ! Up ! upwards ! old 
 heart ! ' 
 
 Oh ! how could I fail to be eager for eternity, and 
 for the marriage ring of rings, the ring of recurrence ? 
 
 Never yet have I found the woman by whom I 
 should have liked to have children, unless it be this 
 woman I love. For I love thee, O Eternity ! 
 
 For I love thee, O Eternity !
 
 THE SEVEN SEALS 337 
 
 If my virtue is a dancer's virtue, and I have often 
 leaped with both feet into golden-emerald rapture ; 
 
 If my wickedness is a laughing wickedness, feeling 
 at home under rose slopes and lily-hedges ; 
 
 (For in laughter there is gathered all that is 
 wicked, but proclaimed holy and free through its own 
 bliss.) 
 
 And if it be mine Alpha and mine Omega that all 
 that is heavy should become light, all that is body 
 become a dancer, all that is spirit become a bird. And, 
 verily, that is mine A and mine O ! 
 
 Oh ! how could I fail to be eager for eternity, and 
 for the marriage ring of rings, the ring of recurrence ? 
 
 Never yet have I found the woman by whom I 
 should have liked to have children, unless it be this 
 woman I love. For I love thee, O Eternity ! 
 
 For I love thee, O Eternity ! 
 
 If I have ever spread out above me still skies, and 
 have ever flown into mine own skies by mine own 
 wings ; 
 
 If I have hovered playfully in deep light-distances 
 and there hath come the bird-wisdom of my freedom ; 
 
 (Thus speaketh bird-wisdom : ' Behold, here is
 
 338 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III 
 
 no above, no below ! Throw thyself to and fro, out, 
 back, thou light one ! Sing ! Speak no more ! 
 
 Are not all words made for the heavy ? Lie not 
 all words unto the light one ! Sing ! Speak no 
 more ! ' 
 
 Oh ! how could I fail to be eager for eternity, and 
 for the marriage ring of rings, the ring of recurrence ? 
 
 Never yet have I found the woman by whom I 
 should have liked to have children, unless it be this 
 woman I love. For I love thee, O Eternity ! 
 
 For I love thee, O Eternity!"
 
 FOURTH AND LAST PART 
 
 "Alas! where in the world have greater follies 
 happened than with the pitiful ? And what in the world 
 hath done more harm than the follies of the pitifttl ? 
 
 Woe unto all loving ones who do not possess an eleva- 
 tion which is above their pity ! 
 
 Thus the devil once said unto me : ' Even God hath his 
 own hell: that is his love unto men.'' 
 
 And recently I heard the word said: l God is dead; he 
 hath died of his pity for men." 1 " 
 
 Zarathustra, II 
 Of The Pitiful
 
 
 THE HONEY-OFFERING 
 
 And again months and years passed over Zara- 
 thustra's soul, and he took no notice of it. But his 
 hair grew white. One day, when he sat on a stone 
 before his cave and silently gazed (there one looketh 
 out on the sea and away over winding abysses) his 
 animals went thoughtfully round him and at last stood 
 in front of him. 
 
 " O Zarathustra," they said, " dost thou peradventure 
 look out for thy happiness ? " " What is happiness 
 worth ? " he answered. " For a long time I have not 
 ceased to strive for my happiness ; now I strive for my 
 work." "O Zarathustra," the animals said once more, 
 "thou sayest so as one who hath more than enough 
 of what is good. Dost thou not lie in a sky-blue lake 
 of happiness ? " "Ye buffoons," answered Zarathustra 
 smiling, " how well ye chose that simile ! But ye also 
 know that my happiness is heavy, and is not like a 
 liquid wave of water. It presseth me and will not 
 part from me and behaveth like melted pitch." 
 
 Then the animals again went thoughtfully round 
 him and once more stood in front of him. " O Zara- 
 thustra," they said, "we see, it is for that reason that
 
 342 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 thou growest ever yellower and darker, though thy 
 hair will soon look white and flaxy? Behold, thou 
 sittest in thy pitch ! " " What say ye now, mine ani- 
 mals?" said Zarathustra laughing. "Verily, I reviled 
 when speaking of pitch. What I experience is experi- 
 enced by all fruits which grow ripe. The honey in my 
 veins thickeneth my blood and stilleth my soul also." 
 " Thus it will be, O Zarathustra ! " answered the ani- 
 mals and thronged round him. "But art thou not 
 going up a high mountain to-day ? The air is pure, 
 and this day one seeth more of the world than ever 
 before." "Yea, mine animals," he answered, "ye 
 guess well and according to my wishes. This day I 
 am going up a high mountain. But take care that 
 there be honey at my disposal, yellow, white, good, 
 golden comb-honey as cool as ice. For learn, at the 
 top I am going to make the honey-offering." 
 
 But when Zarathustra had reached the summit, 
 he sent home his animals which had led him, and 
 found that now he was alone. Then he laughed 
 from the bottom of his heart, looked round and 
 spake thus : 
 
 " That I spake of offering and of honey-offerings, 
 was merely my stratagem of speech, and, verily, a 
 useful stupidity ! On this summit one is allowed to 
 speak a little freer than before hermit-caves and an 
 hermit's domestic animals. 
 
 Why sacrifice ! I waste what I am given. A waster
 
 THE HONEY-OFFERING 343 
 
 with a thousand hands am I. How could I dare to 
 call that offering ! 
 
 And when I asked for honey, I merely wanted to have a 
 bait and sweet slime and phlegm, for which even growling 
 bears and strange, morose, evil birds smack their lips 
 
 To have the best bait that is requisite for hunts- 
 men and fishers. For if the world is like a dark 
 forest of animals, and a pleasure-ground of all wild 
 huntsmen, it seemeth unto me to be still more, and 
 preferably, a bottomless, rich sea 
 
 A sea full of many-coloured fish and crabs, by which 
 even Gods might be tempted to become fishers there 
 and throw out their nets. So rich is the world in 
 strange things, great and small ! 
 
 In particular the world of men, the sea of men ! 
 For that I now throw out my golden fishing rod, say- 
 ing : ' Open, O thou abyss of men ! 
 
 Open and throw into my hands thy fish and glitter- 
 ing crabs ! With my best bait this day I bait the 
 strangest human fish ! 
 
 My happiness itself I throw out into all distances 
 and remote places, between east, south, and west, to 
 try whether on the hook of my happiness many human 
 fish will learn to pull and wriggle. 
 
 Until they, biting on my pointed hidden hooks, are 
 forced to come up unto my height, the most many- 
 coloured abyss-groundlings, unto the most malicious 
 one of all catchers of human fish.'
 
 344 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 For this I am from the bottom and from the be- 
 ginning, pulling, pulling unto me, pulling up unto me, 
 bringing up a puller, breeder, and governor, who not 
 in vain once counselled himself: 'Become what thou 
 art!' 
 
 Thus men may now come up unto me. For I am 
 still waiting for the signs indicating that it is time 
 for my going down. Not yet do I perish among men, 
 as I must do. 
 
 For that I wait here, artful and mocking on high 
 mountains, not impatient, not patient ; on the con- 
 trary, one who hath among other things unlearnt 
 patience, because he suffereth no more. 
 
 For my fate alloweth me plenty of time. Did it 
 forget me? Or doth it sit behind a large stone in 
 the shadow catching flies ? 
 
 And, verily, I am well disposed towards it, towards 
 mine eternal fate, for that reason that it doth not 
 hunt and press me, but leaveth me time for fibs and 
 tricks ; so that this day I have gone up this high 
 mountain to catch fish. 
 
 Hath ever a man caught fish on high mountains ? 
 And though what I seek and do up here be a folly, 
 it is better to do this than by waiting down there to 
 become solemn and green and yellow 
 
 To become by waiting a sprawling one who panteth 
 for wrath, a holy howling storm from the mountains, 
 an impatient one who shouteth down into the valleys :
 
 THE HONEY-OFFERING 345 
 
 'Listen, otherwise I shall whip you with the scourge 
 of God!' 
 
 Not that I waxed angry with such wrathful ones. 
 As an occasion of laughter, they are good enough 
 unto me ! Impatient they must be, the big noise- 
 drums, who find language to-day or never ! 
 
 But I and my fate, we speak not unto To-day. 
 Nor do we speak unto Never. For speaking we 
 have patience and time and too-much-time. For one 
 day it must come and will not be allowed to pass 
 
 by. 
 
 Who must come one day and will not be allowed 
 to pass by? Our great Hazar, i.e., our great far-off 
 kingdom of man, the Zarathustra-kingdom of a thou- 
 sand years. 
 
 How far may that 'far' be? What doth it concern 
 me ? But on that account it is no less sure unto me. 
 With both feet I stand safely on that ground 
 
 On an eternal ground, on hard primary rock, on 
 these highest, hardest primitive mountains, unto which, 
 as unto a point of separation for thunder-clouds, the 
 winds come asking : Where ? and Whence ? and 
 Whither? 
 
 Here laugh, laugh, O my bright, unscathed wicked- 
 ness ! Down from high mountains throw thy glitter- 
 ing mocking laughter ! Bait for me with thy glitter- 
 ing the finest human fish ! 
 
 And whatever belongeth unto me in all seas, my
 
 346 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 in-and-for-me in all things fish tJtat out for me, 
 bring that up unto me! For it I wait, the most 
 malicious of all fish-catchers. 
 
 Out, out, my hook ! In, down, bait of my happi- 
 ness ! Drop thy sweetest dew, honey of my heart ! 
 Bite, my hook, into the womb of all black affliction! 
 
 Out, out, mine eye! Oh, how many seas round 
 about me, what dawning futures of men ! And above 
 me what rose-red stillness ! What cloudless silence ! "
 
 THE CRY FOR HELP 
 
 The following day Zarathustra sat again on his 
 stone before the cave, while the animals strayed out- 
 side in the world in order to bring home fresh food, 
 including fresh honey. For the old honey had been 
 Spent and wasted unto the last drop by Zarathustra. 
 But when he thus sat there with a stick in his hand, 
 and copied the shadow of his figure on the ground, 
 meditating (and, verily, not upon himself and his 
 shadow), suddenly he was terrified and gave a start. 
 For beside his shadow he saw another shadow. And 
 when he looked round quickly and arose, behold, there 
 the fortune-teller stood beside him, the same unto 
 whom he once had given food and drink at his table, 
 the announcer of the great weariness, who taught : 
 " Everything is equal ; nothing is worth while ; the 
 world is without sense ; knowledge choketh." But in 
 the meantime his face had changed. And when Zara- 
 thustra looked into his eyes, his heart was terrified 
 once more. So many evil prophecies and ashen-gray 
 lightnings passed over that face. 
 
 The fortune-teller, who had noticed what was going 
 on in Zarathustra's soul, wiped his face with his hand, 
 
 347
 
 348 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 as if he were going to wipe it out. The same did 
 Zarathustra. And when both of them had in silence 
 recovered and reassured themselves, they shook hands 
 to show that they wished to recognise each other. 
 
 "Welcome unto me," said Zarathustra, " thou 
 prophet of the great weariness ! Not in vain shalt 
 thou have once been the friend of my table and 
 house. Eat and drink in the same way this day with 
 me and forgive a happy old man for sitting down to 
 dinner with thee ! " "A happy old man ? " answered 
 the fortune-teller, shaking his head. "Whatever thou 
 art or desirest to be, O Zarathustra, that thou hast 
 been up here the largest part of thy sojourn. Thy 
 boat shall in a little while sit no longer on dry 
 ground ! " " Do I sit on the dry ground ? " asked 
 Zarathustra laughing. " The waves round thy hill," 
 answered the fortune-teller, " rise and rise, the waves 
 of great need and affliction. They will soon raise thy 
 boat like others and carry thee off." After that 
 Zarathustra was silent and wondered. "Dost thou 
 not hear anything yet ? " the fortune-teller continued. 
 " Is there not a rustling and roaring up from the 
 depth ? " Zarathustra was silent again and hearkened. 
 Then he heard a long, long cry, which the abysses 
 threw and passed on from the one unto the other. 
 For none had any desire to keep it ; so horrid it 
 sounded. 
 
 "Thou evil announcer," at last Zarathustra said,
 
 THE CRY FOR HELP 349 
 
 "that is a cry for help, and the cry of a man. It may 
 well spring from a black sea. But what doth human 
 danger concern me ! My last sin, the sin that was 
 kept for me, peradventure thou knowest what is its 
 name ? " 
 
 "Pity!" answered the fortune-teller with over- 
 flowing heart and lifted both his hands. "O Zara- 
 thustra, I have come to seduce thee unto thy last 
 sin ! " 
 
 And scarce had these words been uttered when 
 the cry sounded again, and longer and more anxious 
 than before, and also much nigher. " Hearest thou ? 
 Hearest thou, O Zarathustra ? " the fortune-teller 
 cried. " The cry is meant to be heard by thee ; thee 
 it calleth. Come, come, come ! It is time, it is high 
 time !" 
 
 Then Zarathustra was silent and confused and 
 agitated. At last he asked like one hesitating : " And 
 who is it who there calleth me ? " 
 
 "Thou knowest well," answered the fortune-teller 
 hotly. "Why dost thou hide thyself? The higher 
 man it is who calleth for thee ! " 
 
 " The higher man ? " shouted Zarathustra, horror- 
 stricken. "What wanteth he? What wanteth he? 
 The higher man! What wanteth he here?" And 
 sweat brake out over his skin. 
 
 But the fortune-teller answered not the anxious 
 cries uttered by Zarathustra, but hearkened and
 
 35O THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 hearkened towards the depth. But when all was still 
 there for a long while, he turned his look back and 
 saw Zarathustra stand trembling. 
 
 "O Zarathustra," he began with a sad voice, "thou 
 dost not stand there like one made giddy by his happi- 
 ness. Thou wilt have to dance in order not to fall down ! 
 
 But even if thou wert to dance in my presence 
 and leap all thy side-leaps, nobody shall be allowed 
 to say : ' Behold, here danceth the last gay man ! ' 
 
 In vain would he come unto this height who would 
 seek such a one here. True, he would find caves and 
 back caves, hiding-places for hidden ones, but not 
 mines of happiness and treasure-chambers and new 
 golden veins of happiness. 
 
 Happiness how could one find happiness with 
 such interred ones and hermits ? Must I yet seek the 
 last happiness on blissful islands, and far away among 
 forgotten seas ? 
 
 But everything is equal ; nothing is worth while ; 
 no seeking is any good ; there are no longer any 
 blissful islands besides ! " 
 
 Thus sighed the fortune-teller; but with his last 
 sigh Zarathustra became once more bright and as- 
 sured, like one who cometh unto the light out of a 
 deep gulf. " Nay ! Nay ! Three times Nay ! " he 
 cried with a strong voice and stroked his beard. "I 
 know better ! There are still blissful islands ! Speak 
 not of such things, thou sighing sack of sadness !
 
 THE CRY FOR HELP 35! 
 
 Cease to splash about that, thou rain -cloud in the 
 forenoon ! Stand I not already here, wet with thine 
 affliction, and moistened like a dog ? 
 
 Now I shake myself and run away from thee, in 
 order to become dry again. At that thou must not 
 be astonished ! Do I seem to be discourteous unto 
 thee ? But here is my court. 
 
 And concerning thy higher man up! I shall seek 
 him quickly in those forests. From them came his 
 cry. Perhaps an evil beast harasseth him. 
 
 He is in my sphere. There he shall not meet with 
 any accident ! And, verily, there are many evil ani- 
 mals with me." 
 
 With these words Zarathustra turned himself unto 
 his journey. Then the fortune-teller said : " O Zara- 
 thustra, thou art a rogue ! 
 
 I know it well : thou wouldst fain be rid of me ! 
 Rather than tarry with me, thou runnest into the 
 forests and liest in wait for evil animals ! 
 
 But of what good is it for thee ? In the evening 
 thou wilt have me back ; in thine own cave shall I 
 sit, patient and heavy like a block, and wait for thee ! " 
 
 "Thus shall it be!" Zarathustra cried back in 
 departing, " and what is my property in my cave, is 
 thy property also, my friend and guest ! 
 
 But if thou shouldst find there any honey, up! lick 
 it up, thou growling bear, and sweeten thy soul ! For 
 in the evening we two will be gay together-
 
 352 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 Gay and happy, because this day hath come unto 
 an end ! And thou thyself shalt dance unto my songs, 
 as my dancing bear. 
 
 Thou dost not believe it? Thou shakest thy head? 
 Up ! Up ! Old bear, I also am a fortune-teller." 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 CONVERSATION WITH THE KINGS 
 
 Zarathustra had not yet been an hour on his way 
 through his mountains and forests, when all at once 
 he saw a strange procession. Even on the way by 
 which he was going down, there came two kings, 
 adorned with crowns and purple belts, and many- 
 coloured, like flamingo-birds. The kings drove in front 
 of them an ass with a burden. "What do these 
 kings want in my kingdom ? " Zarathustra in aston- 
 ishment said unto his heart, and hid quickly behind 
 a bush. But when the kings came close unto him, 
 he said with a half voice, like one who speaketh only 
 unto himself : " Strange ! Strange ! How accordeth 
 this ? Two kings I see, and one ass only ! " 
 
 Then the two kings stopped, smiled, gazed in the 
 direction of the spot whence the voice came, and then 
 looked into each other's faces. "Such things are 
 thought among us also, it is true," said the king on 
 the right side, "but one doth not say them." 
 
 But the king on the left side shrugging his shoulders 
 said : " He will probably be a goat-herd. Or a hermit 
 2 A 353
 
 354 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 who hath lived too long among rocks and trees. For 
 no society at all spoileth good manners also." 
 
 " Good manners ? " the other king replied angrily 
 and bitterly. " Out of whose way have we gone ? Is 
 it not 'good manners,' our 'good society'? 
 
 Verily, rather would I dwell among hermits and 
 goat-herds than with our mob gilded over, false, with 
 painted cheeks, although it call itself ' good society ' 
 
 Although it call itself 'nobility.' But there all is 
 false and rotten, above all the blood, owing unto old 
 evil diseases and still worse physicians. 
 
 He who is best for me and dearest unto me to-day, 
 is a healthy peasant, coarse, artful, hard-necked, endur- 
 ing. That is to-day the noblest tribe. 
 
 To-day the peasant is the best. And the peasant's 
 tribe should dominate ! But it is the kingdom of the 
 mob; I no longer allow any imposition. But mob 
 that meaneth mishmash. 
 
 Mob-like mishmash therein is all mixed up with 
 all, saint and rogue and gentleman and Jew and 
 every animal from Noah's ark. 
 
 Good manners ! With us, all is false and rotten. 
 Nobody knoweth any longer how to revere. It is from 
 this exactly that we seek to escape. They are over- 
 sweet, forward dogs, they gild palm-leaves. 
 
 I choke with loathing that even we kings have 
 become false, dressed up and disguised with the old 
 withered pomp of our grandfathers, medals for the.
 
 CONVERSATION WITH THE KINGS 355 
 
 most stupid and the most cunning, and whoever to-day 
 chaffereth with power ! 
 
 We are not the first ; and yet have to represent 
 them. Of this cheatery at last we have grown weary 
 and disgusted. 
 
 We have gone out of the way of the rabble, those 
 brawlers and blue-bottles of writing, the stench of shop- 
 keepers, the wriggling of ambition, the evil breath. 
 Ugh ! to live among the rabble ! 
 
 Ugh ! to represent the first among the rabble ! 
 Oh ! loathing ! loathing ! loathing ! What do we 
 kings matter any longer ? " 
 
 "Thine old disease attacketh thee," said here the 
 king on the left. " Loathing attacketh thee, my poor 
 brother. But thou knowest well, somebody hearkeneth 
 unto us." 
 
 Zarathustra, whose ears and eyes had opened with 
 surprise at these speeches, rose from his hiding-place, 
 stepped towards the kings and began thus : 
 
 " He who hearkeneth unto you, he who willingly 
 hearkeneth unto you, ye kings, is called Zarathustra. 
 
 I am Zarathustra who once said : ' What do kings 
 any longer matter ? ' Forgive me, I was happy when 
 ye said unto each other : ' What do we kings matter ? ' 
 
 But here is my kingdom and my dominion. I 
 wonder what ye seek in my kingdom ? Perhaps ye 
 have found on the way what / seek, namely the 
 higher man."
 
 356 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 When the kings heard this, they beat their breast 
 and said as with one mouth : " We have been recog- 
 nised ! 
 
 With the sword of this word thou severedst the 
 thickest darkness of our hearts. Thou hast discovered 
 our need. For, behold ! we are on the way, in order 
 to find the higher man 
 
 The man who is higher than we are, although 
 we be kings. Unto him we lead this ass. For 
 the highest man shall also be the highest lord on 
 earth. 
 
 There is no harder lot in all human fate, than when 
 the powerful of the earth are not at the same time 
 the first men. There everything becometh false and 
 warped and monstrous. 
 
 And when, worst of all, they are the last men, 
 and more beast than man there the price of the 
 mob riseth and riseth, and at last the virtue of the 
 mob saith : ' Behold, I alone am virtue ! ' ' 
 
 "What did I hear just now?" answered Zarathustra. 
 " What wisdom with kings ! I am ravished, and, verily, 
 this very moment I feel the desire to make a stanza. 
 
 Even if it should become a stanza that is not good 
 for everybody's ears. Long ago I have unlearnt to 
 pay heed unto long ears. Up ! Up ! " 
 
 (Here it came to pass that the ass also could make 
 a remark. And it said distinctly and maliciously 
 Hee-haw !)
 
 CONVERSATION WITH THE KINGS 
 
 " Once in the year of the Lord one, I opine, 
 The Sibyl spake thus, she was drunk, without wine : 
 ' Alas ! Now all goeth wrong on its way ! 
 Ne'er so deep sank the world ! Decay ! Decay ! 
 Rome grew a whore, a brothel she grew, 
 Rome's Caesar a beast, and God a Jew ! ' " 
 
 At these lines of Zarathustra the kings rejoiced. 
 But the king on the right said : " O Zarathustra, how 
 \$ell it was that we went out to see thee ! 
 
 For thine enemies showed us thy picture in their 
 looking-glass. There thou lookedst with a devil's 
 grimace and scornful laughter, so that we were afraid 
 of thee. 
 
 But of what good was it ! Ever again thou stungest 
 us in ear and heart with thy sayings. Then at last 
 we said : ' What matter how he may look ! ' 
 
 We must hear him, him who teacheth : ' Ye shall 
 love peace as a means for new wars, and a short 
 peace better than a long ! ' 
 
 Nobody hath ever said such war-like words : ' What 
 is good ? To be brave is good ! It is the good war 
 that halloweth every cause/ 
 
 O Zarathustra, hearing such words, our fathers' 
 blood moved in our body. That was like the speech 
 of spring unto old wine barrels.
 
 358 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 When the swords crossed each other like serpents 
 with red spots, our fathers grew fond of life. The sun 
 of all peace seemed unto them to be weak and luke- 
 warm, and long peace caused them shame. 
 
 How they sighed, our fathers, when seeing at the 
 walls, swords glittering but dry as dry ! Like unto 
 them they thirsted for war. For a sword desireth to 
 drink blood and sparkleth with desire." 
 
 When thus the kings spake eagerly and gossiped of 
 their fathers' happiness, Zarathustra was seized by no 
 small desire to mock at their eagerness. For appar- 
 ently very peaceful kings they were whom he saw 
 before him, kings with old and refined faces. But he 
 mastered himself. "Up!" he said, "in that direc- 
 tion leadeth the way. There lieth the cave of Zara- 
 thustra. And this day shall have a long evening! 
 But now a cry for help calleth me in haste away from 
 you. 
 
 It will honour my cave if kings come to sit and 
 wait in it. But, it is true, ye will have to wait for 
 long. 
 
 Heed not ! What matter ! Where doth one to- 
 day learn better to wait than at courts ? And the 
 whole virtue of kings, the whole virtue that is left 
 unto them, is it not called to-day to be able to 
 wait?" 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 THE LEECH 
 
 And deliberately Zarathustra went further and 
 deeper through forests and past moory vales. But, 
 as cometh to pass with all who meditate on hard 
 things, he stepped on a man unawares. And, behold, 
 a^l at once a cry of pain and two curses and twenty 
 evil abusive words splashed into his face, so that, in 
 his terror, he lifted his stick and beat him on whom 
 he had trodden. But immediately afterwards he re- 
 covered his senses, his heart laughing at the folly 
 just done by him. 
 
 " Forgive," said he unto the trodden one, who had 
 got up angrily and sat down again. " Forgive, and, 
 above all, listen unto a parable. 
 
 As a wanderer who dreameth of distant things on 
 a lonely road, striketh unawares against a sleeping 
 dog, a dog which is lying in the sun ; 
 
 As both of these, terrified unto death, start and 
 snap at each other, like unto mortal enemies, thus it 
 came to pass unto us. 
 
 And yet ! And yet ! How little was lacking for 
 them to fondle each other, that dog and that lonely 
 one ! For both are lonely ! " 
 
 359
 
 360 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 " Whoever thou mayest be," said the trodden one 
 still angrily, "thou tramplest upon me, with thy parable 
 as well as with thy foot ! 
 
 Behold, am I a dog ? " And thereupon the sitting 
 one got up and drew his naked arm out of the 
 swamp. For previously he had lain on the ground, 
 stretched out, hidden and not recognisable like such 
 as lie in wait for swamp deer. 
 
 " But what dost thou ? " cried Zarathustra terrified. 
 For he saw that much blood streamed over the naked 
 arm. " What hath happened unto thee ? Did an evil 
 beast bite thee, thou unhappy one ? " 
 
 The bleeding one laughed, still in anger. "What 
 doth that concern thee ? " he said and was about to 
 go his way. " Here am I at home, and in mine own 
 province. Ask me whoever liketh, but I shall scarcely 
 answer a boor." 
 
 "Thou art mistaken," said Zarathustra with pity, 
 and held him tight. " Thou art mistaken. Here thou 
 art not at home, but in my kingdom, and there 
 nobody shall suffer any damage. 
 
 But heed not, call me as thou choosest, I am he 
 that I must be. But I call myself Zarathustra. 
 
 Up ! Up there goeth the way unto Zarathustra's 
 cave. It is not far. Wilt thou not in my home take 
 care of thy wounds ? 
 
 Thou hast been ill off, thou unhappy one, in this life. 
 First a beast bit thee, and then a man trod on thee."
 
 THE LEECH 361 
 
 But when the trodden one heard the name of 
 Zarathustra, he changed. " Oh ! what happeneth unto 
 me ! " he exclaimed. " Who else is of any account 
 unto me in this life but this one man, Zarathustra, 
 and that one beast which liveth on blood, the leech ? 
 
 For the sake of the leech I lay here at this swamp, 
 like a fisherman ; and mine arm thrown out had 
 already been bitten ten times. A still more beautiful 
 leech biteth me for my blood, Zarathustra himself! 
 
 Oh, happiness ! Oh, wonder ! Praised be this day 
 which allured me into this swamp ! Praised be the 
 best live cupping-glass alive this day! Praised be 
 the great leech of conscience, Zarathustra ! " 
 
 Thus spake the trodden one ; and Zarathustra re- 
 joiced at his words and their fine respectful style. 
 "Who art thou?" he asked and shook his hand. 
 " Between us many things remain to be cleared up 
 and brightened. But already, methinketh, it becometh 
 pure, broad daylight." 
 
 " I am the conscientious one of the spirit," answered 
 he who had been asked, " and in matters of the spirit, 
 scarcely any one taketh things more severely, more 
 narrowly, and harder than I, except thee from whom 
 I learned it, Zarathustra himself. 
 
 Rather know nothing than know many things by 
 halves ! Rather be a fool on one's own account than 
 a wise man on other folk's approbation ! I examine 
 things down unto the ground.
 
 362 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 What matter whether it be great or small? Whether 
 it be called swamp or sky? A hand's breadth of 
 ground is enough for me ; if it only be actually a 
 ground and bottom ! 
 
 A hand's breadth of ground thereon one can stand. 
 In the proper conscientiousness of knowledge there 
 is nothing great and nothing small." 
 
 "Thus thou art perhaps the perceiver of the 
 leech?" asked Zarathustra; "and thou followest 
 the leech unto its last ground, thou conscientious 
 one ? " 
 
 " O Zarathustra," answered he who had been trodden 
 on, " that would be something immense ! How could 
 I dare to undertake that ? 
 
 The thing whose master and knower I am that 
 is the leech's brain. That is my world ! 
 
 And it is a world as others are ! But forgive my 
 pride finding expression here. For here I have not 
 my like. Therefore I said : ' Here am I at home.' 
 
 How long have I followed out that one thing, the 
 leech's brain, that the slippery truth might no more 
 escape me here ! Here is my kingdom ! 
 
 To get at that, I have thrown away everything 
 else ; for the sake of it, everything else hath become 
 indifferent unto me ; and close unto my knowledge 
 dwelleth my dense ignorance. 
 
 The conscience of my spirit demandeth from me 
 that I should know one thing and not know every-
 
 THE LEECH 363 
 
 thing else that is. I loathe all the half ones of the 
 spirit, all the vaporous, hovering, enthusiastic. 
 
 Where mine* honesty ceaseth, I am blind and will 
 be blind. But where I intend to know, I will also be 
 honest, i.e., hard, severe, narrow, cruel, inexorable. 
 
 Because thou once saidest, O Zarathustra : ' Spirit 
 is the life that cutteth itself into life,' I was led and 
 seduced unto thy doctrine. And, verily, with mine 
 own blood have I increased mine own knowledge ! " 
 
 "As appearance teacheth," Zarathustra interrupted 
 hjm. For the blood was still streaming down from 
 the naked arm of the conscientious one. For ten 
 leeches had bit themselves into it. 
 
 "O thou strange fellow, how much am I taught 
 by this appearance, i.e., by thyself! And perhaps I 
 might not dare to pour all that into thy strict ears ! 
 
 Up ! let us part ! But I should like to find thee 
 again. Up there leadeth the way unto my cave. This 
 night thou shalt be my dear guest there ! 
 
 Fain would I also make amends on thy body, for 
 Zarathustra treading on thee with his feet. On that 
 I meditate. But now a cry for help calleth me in 
 haste away from thee." 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 THE WIZARD 
 
 But when Zarathustra had gone round a rock he 
 saw not far below him on the same road as himself 
 a man who threw his limbs about like a madman, and 
 at last fell down to the ground upon his stomach. 
 "Halt!" then said Zarathustra unto his heart. "The 
 man there seemeth to be the higher man ; from him 
 came that horrid cry for help. I will see whether I 
 can be of any help." But when he came unto the 
 place where the man lay on the ground, he found a 
 trembling old man with his eyes fixed. And although 
 Zarathustra took all the pains he could to get him up 
 and put him on his legs again, it was in vain. The 
 unhappy one seemed not to notice that anybody was 
 by his side. On the contrary, he continually looked 
 round with moving gestures, like one forsaken and 
 left solitary by all the world. But at last, with much 
 trembling, twitching, and curling himself up, he began 
 thus to lament : 
 
 " Who warmeth me, who loveth me still ? 
 Give hot hands ! 
 Give heart's coal-pans ! 
 364
 
 THE WIZARD 365 
 
 Stretched out, shivering, 
 
 Like one half dead whose feet are warmed, 
 
 Shaken, alas ! by unknown fevers, 
 
 Trembling from the icy, pointed arrows of 
 
 frost, 
 
 Hunted, thought, by thee! 
 Unutterable ! Veiled ! Horrid one ! 
 
 Thou huntsman behind the clouds ! 
 Struck to the ground by thee, 
 Thou mocking eye that gazeth at me from 
 
 the dark ! 
 Thus I lie, 
 
 Bend, writhe, tortured 
 By all eternal tortures, 
 
 Smitten 
 
 By thee, cruellest of huntsmen, 
 Thou unknown God . . . 
 
 Smite harder! 
 
 Smite once more ! 
 
 Sting, break to pieces this heart ! 
 
 What meaneth this torturing 
 
 With its blunt-toothed arrows? 
 
 Why gazest thou again, 
 
 Never weary of human pain, 
 
 With the malicious lightening eyes of a God? 
 
 Thou wilt not kill, 
 
 Only torture, torture ?
 
 366 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 Wherefore torture me, 
 
 Thou malicious, unknown God? 
 
 Ha! Ha! 
 Thou creepest nigh 
 In such a midnight ? 
 What wilt thou? 
 Speak ! 
 
 Thou crushest me, thou pressest me, 
 Ha ! already much too nigh ! 
 Thou hearest me breathe, 
 Thou hearkenest unto my heart, 
 Thou jealous one! 
 Jealous of what ? 
 Away, away ! 
 The ladder for what? 
 Wilt thou step in, 
 Step into my heart, 
 Step into the loneliest 
 Of my thoughts ? 
 
 Shameless one ! Unknown one ! Thief ! 
 What wilt thou steal for thyself? 
 What wilt thou hearken for thyself ? 
 What wilt thou get by torturing, 
 Thou torturer ! 
 Thou hangman's God ! 
 Or shall I roll myself before thee 
 Like the dog,
 
 THE WIZARD 367 
 
 Wag love unto thee with the tail, 
 Giving myself, in eager franzy? 
 
 In vain ! 
 
 Sting on ! 
 
 Cruellest of stings ! 
 
 Not a dog thy game merely am I, 
 
 Cruellest of huntsmen ! 
 
 Thy proudest prisoner, 
 
 Thou robber behind the clouds . . . 
 
 Speak at last ! 
 
 Thou who art veiled in lightnings ! Unknown ! 
 
 Speak ! 
 What wilt thou, waylayer, from me ? 
 
 What ? 
 A ransom ? 
 
 What wilt thou ransom ? 
 Demand much ! Thus my pride counselleth ! 
 And be brief ! Thus mine other pride coun- 
 selleth ! 
 
 Ha! Ha! 
 
 Myself wilt thou ? myself ? 
 Myself ? the whole of me ? 
 
 Ha! Ha! 
 
 And thou torturest me, fool that thou art !
 
 368 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 Torturest my pride to pieces ? 
 
 Give love unto me ! Who still warmeth me ? 
 
 Who still loveth me? 
 Give hot hands, 
 Give heart's coal-pans ! 
 Give me, the loneliest, 
 Who by ice, alas ! by sevenfold ice, 
 Am taught to thirst for enemies, 
 For enemies themselves, 
 Give, yea, give thyself up, 
 Cruellest enemy, 
 Unto me! 
 
 Away ! 
 
 There he fled himself, 
 
 My sole companion, 
 
 My great enemy, 
 
 Mine unknown one, 
 
 My hangman's God ! . . . 
 
 Nay! 
 
 Come back ! 
 
 With all thy tortures! 
 
 Oh, come back 
 
 Unto the last of all lonely ones ! 
 
 All my tears run 
 
 Their course unto thee!
 
 THE WIZARD 369 
 
 And the last flame of my heart 
 Up it gloweth unto thee ! 
 Oh, come back, 
 Mine unknown God, my pain! 
 My last happiness ! . . ." 
 
 But then Zarathustra could no longer restrain him- 
 self, but took his stick and, with all his might, struck 
 the wailing one. " Stop," he cried unto him, with 
 wrathful laughter. "Stop, thou actor! Thou false 
 coiner ! Thou liar from the bottom ! I know thee 
 well! 
 
 I shall make thy legs hot, thou evil wizard ! I 
 understand well how to make it hot for such as thou 
 art ! " 
 
 " Cease," said the old man, and leaped from the 
 ground ; " strike no more, O Zarathustra ! I did it 
 merely for fun ! 
 
 Such things are part of mine art. Thyself I in- 
 tended to try, when I gave thee this sample ! And, 
 verily, thou hast well found me out ! 
 
 But even thou hast given me no small sample of 
 thyself. Thou art hard, thou wise Zarathustra! Hard 
 thou strikest with thy 'truths.' Thy stick forceth this 
 truth to come out of me ! " 
 
 " Flatter not," said Zarathustra, still excited and
 
 37O THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 looking sullen, " thou actor from the bottom ! Thou 
 art false. Why speakest thou of truth ? 
 
 Thou peacock of peacocks, thou sea of vanity, what 
 didst thou play before me, thou evil wizard ? In whom 
 was it purposed to make me believe, when thou wail- 
 edst in such a shape ? " 
 
 " The penitent of spirit" said the old man. "He it 
 was whom I played; (thou didst once thyself invent 
 this word) 
 
 The poet and wizard who at last turneth his spirit 
 against himself, the changed one who freezeth to 
 death because of his evil knowledge and his evil 
 conscience. 
 
 And now confess it ! It took thee a long time, O 
 Zarathustra, to find out mine art and lie ! Thou be- 
 lievedst in my need, when thou heldest my head with 
 both hands. 
 
 I heard thee wail : ' They have loved him too 
 little, they have loved him too little ! ' In deceiving 
 thee so far, my wickedness rejoiced within me." 
 
 " Probably thou hast deceived more acute ones than 
 I am," said Zarathustra sternly. " I am not on the 
 watch for deceivers, I must be without prudence. 
 Thus my lot willeth. 
 
 But thou must deceive. So far I know thee. Thou 
 must always have two, three, four or five meanings! 
 Even what thou hast now confessed, was not nearly 
 true enough or false enough for me !
 
 THE WIZARD 
 
 3/r 
 
 Thou evil false coiner, how couldst thou do other- 
 wise ! The very cheeks of thy disease thou wouldst 
 paint, when thou wouldst show thyself naked unto 
 thy physician. 
 
 Thus thou hast now in my presence painted the 
 cheeks of thy lie, when thou saidest : 'I did it merely 
 for fun ! ' There was also some seriousness in it. 
 Thou art somewhat of a penitent of spirit ! 
 
 Indeed I have found thee out. Thou hast become 
 the enchanter of all ; but for use against thyself thou 
 
 hast no lie and no artfulness left. Thou art disen- 
 
 
 chanted in thine own eyes ! 
 
 Thou hast reaped loathing as thine one truth. No 
 word in thee is genuine any more. But thy mouth is 
 i.e., the loathing is that cleaveth unto thy mouth." 
 
 " Who art thou ! " then cried the old wizard with a 
 defiant voice. " Who dareth to speak thus unto me, the 
 greatest one, who liveth this day?" And a green 
 lightning shot from his eye at Zarathustra. But im- 
 mediately thereafter he changed and said sadly : 
 
 " O Zarathustra, I am weary of it, I loathe mine 
 arts. I am not great. Why do I dissemble? But 
 thou knowest well : I sought for greatness ! 
 
 I desired to seem a great man and persuaded many. 
 But that lie went beyond my power. On it I go to 
 pieces. 
 
 O Zarathustra, everything in me is a lie. But that 
 I go to pieces this my going to pieces \sgenuinet"
 
 3/2 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 " It doth honour unto thee," said Zarathustra looking 
 down sullenly aside. " It doth thee honour that thou 
 soughtest for greatness, but it also betrayeth thee. 
 Thou art not great. 
 
 Thou bad old wizard, that is the best and most 
 honest thing I honour in thee, that thou becamest weary 
 of thyself and hast pronounced it : ' I am not great.' 
 
 Therein I honour thee as a penitent of spirit. And 
 if thou wert genuine only for a breath and a twinkle, 
 for this one moment thou wert so. 
 
 But say, what seekest thou here in my forests and 
 rocks ? And if thou hast put thyself in my way, in 
 what didst thou desire to try me ? Wherein didst 
 thou tempt me?" 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra, his eyes sparkling. But 
 the old wizard was silent for a while. Then he said : 
 " Did I tempt thee ? I seek only. 
 
 O Zarathustra, I seek one who is genuine, one right, 
 one simple, who hath only one meaning, a man of 
 entire honesty, a vessel of wisdom, a saint of per- 
 ception, a great man ! 
 
 Knowest thou not, O Zarathustra ? I seek Zara- 
 thustra" 
 
 Then a long silence arose between the two. But 
 Zarathustra sank deep into himself so that he shut 
 his eyes. Thereafter, returning unto him with whom 
 he had spoken, he seized the hand of the wizard and 
 spake full of politeness and artfulness :
 
 THE WIZARD 
 
 373 
 
 "Up! Up there leadeth the way, there lieth the 
 cave of Zarathustra. In it thou raayest seek him 
 whom thou wouldst find. 
 
 And ask mine animals for their counsel, mine 
 eagle and my serpent ! They shall help thee to seek. 
 My cave is large. 
 
 Myself, it is true, I have not yet seen a great 
 man. What is great, for that to-day the eye of the 
 finest is crude. It is the kingdom of the mob. 
 
 Many a one I have found, who strained himself 
 and puffed himself up. And the folk cried : ' Behold 
 there, a great man ! ' But of what good are any 
 bellows ! At last the wind escapeth from them. 
 
 At last the frog bursteth which puffed itself up 
 over-long. Then the wind escapeth from it. To stab 
 the womb of a swollen one, that I call good pas- 
 time. Hearken unto that, ye boys ! 
 
 To-day is of the mob. Who knoweth any longer 
 what is great, what is small? Who could have good 
 luck seeking for greatness there ? A fool only. Fools 
 have good luck. 
 
 Thou seekest for great men, thou strange fool? 
 Who taught thee that ? Is to-day the time for it ? 
 Oh, thou evil seeker, why dost thou tempt me?" 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra, comforted in his heart, 
 and went his way onwards, laughing.
 
 OFF DUTY 
 
 But not long after Zarathustra had rid himself of 
 the wizard, he again saw some one sitting by the 
 way he went, namely a black tall man with a lean, 
 pale face. He annoyed him sorely. " Alas ! " said he 
 unto his heart, " there sitteth affliction disguised. That 
 seemeth unto me to be of the tribe of priests. What 
 want tJiey in my kingdom ? 
 
 What ! Scarce have I escaped from that wizard, 
 until another necromancer is fated to cross my path, 
 some sorcerer with laying on of hands ; an obscure 
 wonderworker by the grace of God ; an anointed 
 calumniator of the world whom the devil seize ! 
 
 But the devil is never on the spot proper for him. 
 He always cometh too late, that cursed dwarf and 
 club-foot ! " 
 
 Thus Zarathustra impatiently swore in his heart 
 and meditated how, with his face turned away, he 
 might pass unseen by the black man. But behold, it 
 came to pass otherwise. For in the same moment 
 the sitting one had seen him, and not unlike one who 
 meeteth with an unlooked-for happiness, he jumped 
 up and walked towards Zarathustra. 
 
 "Whosoever thou art, thou wanderer," he said, 
 
 374
 
 OFF DUTY 375 
 
 "help one who hath gone astray, a seeker, an old 
 man who may easily suffer injury here ! 
 
 This world is strange and remote from me. Be- 
 sides I heard wild beasts howl. And he who could 
 have given me protection, liveth no more. 
 
 I was in search of the last pious man, a saint and 
 hermit, who alone had not heard in his forest what 
 all the world knoweth to-day." 
 
 " What knoweth all the world to-day ? " asked 
 Zarathustra. " Is it that the old God liveth no more, 
 in whom all the world once believed ? " 
 
 "Thou sayest it," answered the old man sadly. 
 "And I served this old God until his last hour. 
 
 But now I am off duty, without a master, and yet 
 neither free nor happy for a single hour, except in 
 memory. 
 
 I have ascended these mountains, to arrange at 
 last a festival for myself once more, as behoveth an 
 old pope and church-father (for be it known unto 
 thee : I am the last pope ! ) a festival of pious 
 memories and services. 
 
 But now even he is dead, the most pious man, 
 that saint in the forest who constantly praised his 
 God with singing and humming. 
 
 Himself I found no more when I found his hut. 
 But I found two wolves therein which howled because 
 of his death. For all animals loved him. Then I 
 hasted away.
 
 3/6 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 Had I come in vain into these forests and moun- 
 tains ? Then my heart resolved to seek another, the 
 most pious of all those who believe not in God, to 
 seek Zarathustra ! " 
 
 Thus said the old man and gazed with keen eyes 
 on him who stood in front of him. But Zarathustra 
 seized the hand of the old pope and contemplated it 
 a long while with admiration. 
 
 Then he said : " See there, thou venerable one, what 
 a beautiful long hand ! It is the hand of one that 
 hath always given the benediction. But now it 
 holdeth him tight whom thou seekest, myself, Zara- 
 thustra. 
 
 It is I, ungodly Zarathustra, who say : ' Who is 
 ungodlier than I, that I may enjoy his teaching?" 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra and pierced with his glance 
 the thoughts and back-thoughts of the old pope, who 
 at last began : 
 
 " He who loved Him and possessed him most, hath 
 now lost him most ! 
 
 Behold, I myself am probably at present of us two 
 the ungodlier one ? But who could rejoice over 
 that ? " 
 
 " Thou servedst him unto the very last ? " asked 
 Zarathustra thoughtfully after a deep silence, " thou 
 knowest, how he died ? Is it true what folk say, that 
 he was suffocated by pity ? 
 
 That he saw how man hung on the cross, and could
 
 OFF DUTY 377 
 
 not endure that his love unto man should become his 
 hell and at last his death ? " 
 
 But the old pope answered not, but gazed aside shyly 
 and with sullen cheer. 
 
 "Let him go," said Zarathustra after long medita- 
 tion, still gazing straight into the old man's eye. 
 
 "Let him go, he is gone. And although it doth 
 honour unto thee that thou speakest well of this dead 
 one, thou knowest, as I do, who he was, and that he 
 went strange ways." 
 
 # " Spoken under three eyes," said the old pope cheer- 
 fully (for he was blind of an eye) ; " in matters of God 
 I am more enlightened than Zarathustra himself, and 
 may well be so. 
 
 My love served him long years ; my will followed 
 all his will. And a good servant knoweth everything 
 and even many things which his master hideth from 
 himself. 
 
 He was a hidden God, full of secrecy. Verily, even 
 his son he begat not otherwise than by a secret way. 
 At the door of belief in him standeth adultery. 
 
 Whoever praiseth him as a God of love, thinketh 
 not highly enough of love itself. Did that God not 
 also wish to be a judge ? But the loving one loveth 
 beyond reward and retaliation. 
 
 When he was young, that God from the East, he 
 was hard and revengeful, and built up his hell for the 
 delight of those he loved best.
 
 3/8 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 But at last he grew old and soft and mellow and 
 full of pity, more like a grandfather than a father, but 
 most like a shaky, old grandmother. 
 
 There he sat, withered, at his fireside, grieved be- 
 cause of his weak legs, weary of the world, weary 
 of will, and one day suffocated by his all-too-great 
 pity." 
 
 "Thou old pope," said Zarathustra interrupting, 
 " hast thou seen that with thine own eyes ? It might 
 have come to pass like that ; like that, and otherwise 
 as well. When Gods die, they always die divers kinds 
 of death. 
 
 But up! This way or that, this way and that; he 
 is gone ! He was contrary unto the taste of mine ears 
 and eyes. Worse I should not like to say of him. 
 
 I love everything that gazeth brightly and speak- 
 eth honestly. But he thou knowest well, thou old 
 priest, there was something of thy tribe in him, of 
 the priestly tribe. He had many meanings. 
 
 Besides, he was indistinct. How angry he was with 
 us, this out-breather of wrath, because he thought we 
 understood him ill. But why did he not speak more 
 cleanly ? 
 
 And if the fault was of our ears, why did he give 
 us ears that heard badly ? And if there was mud in 
 our ears, go to ! who had put it there ? 
 
 In too many things he failed, this potter who had 
 not served his apprenticeship ! But in taking revenge
 
 OFF DUTY 
 
 379 
 
 on his pots and creations, for having turned out ill, 
 he committed a sin against good taste. 
 
 There is good taste in piety also. And at last 
 that good taste said : ' Away with such a God ! Rather 
 have no God, rather be a fate for one's self, rather be 
 a fool, rather be God one's self ! ' ' 
 
 "What do I hear!" said then the old pope pricking 
 up his ears ; " O Zarathustra, thou art more pious than 
 thou believest, with such an unbelief ! Some God 
 within thee hath converted thee unto ungodliness. 
 
 Is it not thy piety itself that letteth thee no longer 
 Relieve in a God ? And thine over-great honesty will 
 one day lead thee even beyond good and evil ! Lo, 
 what hath been reserved for thee ? Thou hast eyes 
 and hand and mouth. They have been predestined 
 from eternity for bestowing benedictions. One be- 
 stoweth benedictions not with the hand alone. 
 
 Although thou wouldst have thyself the ungodliest 
 one, I perceive, when thou art nigh, a secret, holy, and 
 goodly smell of long benedictions. From it I feel weal 
 and woe. 
 
 Let me be thy guest, O Zarathustra, for a single 
 night ! Nowhere on earth do I now feel better than 
 with thee ! " 
 
 " Amen ! So let it be ! " said Zarathustra in great 
 astonishment. "Up there leadeth the way; there 
 lieth the cave of Zarathustra. 
 
 Verily, with joy would I lead thee there myself,
 
 380 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 thou venerable one ; for I love all pious men. But 
 now a cry for help calleth me in haste away from 
 thee. 
 
 In my province no one shall suffer injury. My cave 
 is a good harbour. And best of all would I like to 
 set every sad one on firm land and on firm legs once 
 more. 
 
 But who would take thy melancholy off thy shoul- 
 ders ? For that I am too weak. A long time, verily, 
 we should have to wait before one would re-awaken 
 thy God. 
 
 For this old God liveth no more. He is quite 
 dead." 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 THE UGLIEST MAN 
 
 And again Zarathustra's feet traversed the hills and 
 mountains, and his eyes sought and sought, but no- 
 where could they find him whom they longed to see, 
 the great sufferer and crier for help. But all the 
 way he rejoiced in his heart and was grateful. "What 
 good things," said he, "have been given unto me by 
 this day, to make up for it beginning so ill. What 
 strange speech-makers I found ! 
 
 Over their words I will now chew for a long 
 time, as over good corn. Into morsels shall my tooth 
 grind them and crush them, until they flow into my 
 soul like milk ! " 
 
 But when the road again went round a rock, at 
 once the landscape changed, and Zarathustra entered 
 a kingdom of death. Here black and red cliffs faced 
 sternly upwards. No grass, no tree, no voice of bird. 
 For it was a valley, shunned by all animals, even by 
 the beasts of prey. Only a kind of ugly, thick, green 
 snakes came thither, when they grew old, in order to 
 die. Therefore that valley was called by the herds- 
 men " Death of Snakes." 
 
 But Zarathustra sank into dark recollections, for
 
 382 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 he felt as though he had stood in this valley once 
 before. And many heavy things lay upon his mind, 
 so that he walked slowly and even more slowly, and 
 finally stood still. Then, suddenly, opening his eyes, 
 he saw sitting on the wayside a something shaped 
 like a man, but scarcely like a man, a something 
 
 * 
 
 unutterable. And straightway Zarathustra was seized 
 by a great shame for having cast his eyes upon such 
 a thing. Blushing up unto his white hair he turned 
 his look aside and lifted his foot to leave that evil 
 spot. But then the dead desert took voice. For from 
 the ground something gushed up gurgling and rattling, 
 as water in the night gurgleth and rattleth through 
 stopped water-pipes. And at last that something de- 
 veloped into a human voice and a human speech which 
 sounded thus : 
 
 " Zarathustra ! Zarathustra ! read my riddle ! Speak, 
 speak ! What is the revenge on the witness ! 
 
 I tempt thee to return. Here is smooth ice! See 
 unto it, see unto it, that thy pride do not here break 
 its legs ! 
 
 Thou seemest wise unto thyself, O proud Zara- 
 thustra ! Read the riddle, read it, thou hard cracker 
 of nuts, the riddle which I am! Say, say: who 
 am I?" 
 
 But when Zarathustra had heard these words, 
 what think ye happened then unto his soul ? Pity 
 attacked him. And all at once he fell down like an
 
 THE UGLIEST MAN 383 
 
 oak tree that hath long resisted many wood cutters, 
 heavily, suddenly, unto the terror even of those about 
 to fell it. But forthwith he rose from the ground, 
 and his face grew hard. 
 
 "I know thee well," he said with a brazen voice. 
 "Thou art the miirderer of God! Let me go! 
 
 Thou didst not endure him who saw thee, who saw 
 thee always, and through and through, thou ugliest 
 man ! Thou tookest revenge on this witness ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra and was departing. But 
 tjie unutterable one grasped after the tail of his coat 
 and began again to gurgle and seek after words. 
 " Stay ! " he said at last. 
 
 " Stay ! Pass not by ! I have found out what axe 
 hath laid thee low. All hail unto thee, O Zarathustra, 
 because thou standest again ! 
 
 Thou foundest out, I know v/ell enough, the mood 
 of His slayer, the mood of the murderer of God. 
 Stay ! Sit down beside me. It is not in vain. 
 
 Unto whom did I intend to go, if not unto thee? 
 Stay, sit down ! But look not at me ! Honour in that 
 way my ugliness ! 
 
 They persecute me. Thou art now my last refuge. 
 Not with their hatred, not with their catchpoll. Oh, 
 I would scoff at such a persecution ! I would be 
 proud and rejoice at it ! 
 
 Hath not all success hitherto been with the well 
 persecuted ? And whoever persecuteth well, learneth
 
 384 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 easily how to follow. For he is behind somebody! 
 But it is their pity 
 
 It is their pity from which I flee and flee unto 
 thee. O Zarathustra, protect me, thou my last refuge, 
 thou only one who didst find me out ! 
 
 Thou didst find out the mood of His slayer. Stay ! 
 And if thou wilt depart, thou impatient one, take 
 not the way I have come. That way is bad. 
 
 Art thou angry with me, because I have minced my 
 words too long ? because I have counselled thee already ? 
 Be it known unto thee : it is I, the ugliest man, 
 
 Who have also the largest, heaviest feet. Where 
 / have gone, the road is bad. I trample unto death, 
 and ruin all roads. 
 
 But that thou didst pass me by, silent ; that thou 
 didst blush, I saw well. Thereby I knew thee to be 
 Zarathustra. 
 
 Any other man would have thrown his alms unto 
 me, his pity, with look and speech. But for that I 
 am not beggar enough, as thou didst find out. 
 
 For that I am too rich, rich in great things, in 
 terrible things, in the most ugly things, in the most 
 unutterable things ! Thy blushing, O Zarathustra, 
 honoured me ! 
 
 With much trouble I have got away from the 
 thronging of the pitiful, in order to find the only 
 one who teacheth to-day : ' Pity is an intruder.' To 
 find thyself, O Zarathustra !
 
 THE UGLIEST MAN 385 
 
 Be it a God's, be it men's pity : pity is contrary 
 unto shame. And not to will to help may be nobler 
 than that virtue which readily giveth assistance. 
 
 But that is to-day called virtue indeed by all petty 
 folk : viz., pity. They feel no reverence for great mis- 
 fortune, for great ugliness, for great failure. 
 
 Over all these I gaze into the distance, as a 
 dog gazeth over the backs of dense flocks of sheep. 
 They are petty gray folk with good wool and good 
 will. 
 
 As a heron gazeth scornfully over shallow ponds, 
 with its head laid back, thus I gaze on the dense 
 crowd of gray small waves and wills and souls. 
 
 Too long have they been admitted to be right, 
 these petty folk. Thus at last they have also been 
 given power. Now they teach : ' Good is only what 
 the petty folk approve.' 
 
 And it is to-day called truth what that preacher 
 hath said, who sprung from themselves, that strange 
 saint and advocate of the petty folk who proclaimed 
 of himself: 'I I am the truth.' 
 
 This immodest one hath now for a long time reared 
 the crest of the petty folk he who taught no small 
 error when he taught : ' I am the truth.' 
 
 Hath an immodest one ever been answered more 
 politely ? But thou, O Zarathustra, didst pass him by 
 and say : ' Nay ! Nay ! Three times Nay ! ' 
 
 Thou didst warn folk of his error, thou wert the
 
 386 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 first to warn against pity not all, not none, but 
 thyself and thy tribe. 
 
 Thou art ashamed of the shame of the great 
 sufferer. And, verily, when thou sayest : ' From pity 
 there cometh a great cloud, ye men beware ; ' 
 
 When thou teachest : ' All creators are hard, all 
 great love is raised above their pity ; ' O Zara- 
 thustra, how well read thou seemest unto me in 
 weather-omens ! 
 
 But thyself, warn also thyself against thy pity ! 
 For many are on the way unto thee, many suffering, 
 doubting, despairing, drowning, cold folk. 
 
 I also warn thee against myself. Thou hast found 
 out my best, my worst riddle, myself and what I had 
 done. I know the axe that layeth thee low. 
 
 But He was compelled to die. He looked at things 
 with eyes that saw everything. He saw the depths 
 and abysses of man, all his hidden shame and 
 ugliness. 
 
 His pity knew no shame. He crept into my foulest 
 corners. This most curious, over-officious, over-pitiful 
 one was compelled to die. 
 
 He always saw myself. On such a witness I wished 
 to take revenge, or rather not to live at all ! 
 
 The God who saw everything, including man this 
 God was compelled to die ! Man endureth not that 
 such a witness should live." 
 
 Thus spake the ugliest man. But Zarathustra got
 
 THE UGLIEST MAN 387 
 
 up and prepared to depart. For he was shuddering 
 unto his very bowels. 
 
 "Thou unutterable one," said he, "thou didst warn 
 me against thy road. In thanks for that I praise 
 mine unto thee. Behold, up that way lieth Zara- 
 thustra's cave. 
 
 My cave is large and deep and hath many corners. 
 There the best hidden one findeth a hiding-place. 
 And close unto it are an hundred things to slip under 
 and creep past, for creeping, fluttering, and leaping 
 animals. 
 
 Thou outcast who castest thyself out, thou wilt not 
 stay among men and human pity ? Up, act like me ! 
 Thus thou learnest even from me. The doer alone 
 learneth. 
 
 And speak first, and first of all, with mine animals ! 
 The proudest animal and the wisest animal they 
 might be the proper counsellors for us both ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra and went his way, still 
 more thoughtful and slow than before. For he asked 
 himself many things and did not easily know the 
 answer. 
 
 " How poor is man after all ! " he thought in his 
 heart. "How ugly, how rattling, how full of hidden 
 shame ! 
 
 I am told that man loveth himself. Alas, how 
 great must that self-love be ! How much contempt 
 hath it opposed unto it !
 
 388 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 Even that man there loved himself even as he 
 despised himself. A great lover is he, methinketh, 
 and a great despiser. 
 
 Never yet have I found any one who did despise 
 himself more deeply. Even that is height. Alas ! can 
 he have been the higher man whose cry I heard ? 
 
 I love the great despisers. But man is a some- 
 thing that must be surpassed."
 
 THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR 
 
 When Zarathustra had left the ugliest man, he felt 
 cold and he felt lonely. For many cold and lonely 
 things passed through his mind, chilling even his limbs. 
 But when walking on and on, upwards, downwards, 
 now passing green meadows, then over wild stony 
 Strata where once peradventure an impatient brook 
 had lain down to sleep, he felt all at once warmer 
 and heartier again. 
 
 " What hath happened unto me ? " he asked himself. 
 " Something warm and living refresheth me. It must 
 be nigh unto me. 
 
 Already I am less alone. Unconscious companions 
 and brethren hover round me; their warm breath 
 toucheth my soul." 
 
 But when he looked round him and searched for 
 the comforters of his loneliness, behold, there were 
 cows standing on a hill together. Their nearness 
 and smell had warmed his heart. But these cows 
 seemed to listen eagerly unto a speaker, and took 
 no notice of him who approached them. But when 
 Zarathustra was quite nigh unto them, he heard dis- 
 tinctly a human voice out of the midst of the cows. 
 
 389
 
 39O THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 And apparently all of them had turned their heads 
 unto the speaker. 
 
 Then Zarathustra eagerly hurried up and pushed 
 the animals aside. For he feared that unto some one 
 harm had been done, which could scarcely be cured 
 by the pity of cows. But therein he erred. For, 
 behold, there sat a man on the ground and seemed 
 to persuade the animals not to be shy of him, a 
 peaceful man and mount -preacher, out of whose eyes 
 kindness itself preached. "What seekest thou here?" 
 exclaimed Zarathustra astonished. 
 
 "What I seek here?" the man answered. "The 
 same thing as thou seekest, thou disturber ! I.e., 
 happiness on earth ! 
 
 For that purpose I would fain learn from these 
 cows. For dost thou know ? Already half the morn- 
 ing I have been addressing them ; and now they were 
 on the point of giving me their answer. Why dis- 
 turbest thou them ? 
 
 If we do not turn and become like the cows, we 
 shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven. For we 
 should learn from them one thing : to ruminate. 
 
 And, verily, if man were to gain "the whole world 
 and would not learn the one thing, to ruminate of 
 what good would it be ? He would not get rid of his 
 affliction ! 
 
 Of his great affliction. But that to-day is called 
 loathing- ! Whose heart, mouth, and eyes are not
 
 THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR 39! 
 
 filled to-day with loathing ? Thou also ! Thou also ! 
 But behold these cows ! " 
 
 Thus spake the mount-preacher, and then turned 
 his own look unto Zarathustra. For until then it 
 had clung lovingly unto the cows. Then he suddenly 
 changed. " Unto whom do I speak ? " he exclaimed 
 terrified, and leaped up from the ground. 
 
 " This is the man without loathing, this is Zara- 
 thustra himself, the overcomer of the great loathing. 
 This is the eye, this is the mouth, this is the heart of 
 .Zarathustra himself." 
 
 And speaking thus he kissed the hands of him 
 unto whom he spake, with his eyes overflowing, and 
 behaved like unto one for whom a valuable gift 
 and treasure hath fallen from heaven unawares. But 
 the cows gazed at all that and wondered. 
 
 " Speak not of me, thou strange one, sweet one ! " 
 said Zarathustra restraining his affection. "Speak 
 first of thyself! Art thou not the voluntary beggar 
 who once threw away vast riches, 
 
 Who was ashamed of his riches and of the rich, 
 and fled unto the poorest in order to give them his 
 abundance and his heart? But they accepted him 
 not." 
 
 "But they accept him not," said the voluntary 
 beggar, " thou knowest it, I see. Thus at last I have 
 come unto the animals and unto these cows." 
 
 "There thou learnedst," said Zarathustra interrupt-
 
 39 2 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 ing the speaker, "how much harder it is, to give 
 properly than to take properly, and that to give well 
 is an art and the last and cunningest master-art of 
 kindness." 
 
 " In particular, nowadays," answered the voluntary 
 beggar, " i.e., to-day, when all that is low hath become 
 rebellious and shy and high-minded in its own way, 
 i.e., in the way of the mob. 
 
 For the hour hath come, thou knowest it, for the 
 great, bad, long, slow rebellion of the mob and the 
 slaves. It groweth and groweth ! 
 
 Now all almsgiving and petty giving make the low 
 rebellious. And the over-rich ought to be on their 
 guard ! 
 
 Whoever to-day letteth drops fall, as doth a big- 
 bellied bottle, out of an all-too-narrow neck the neck 
 of such a bottle is gladly broken to-day. 
 
 Voluptuous greediness, bilious envy, angry revenge, 
 pride of the mob, all these things leaped into my 
 face. It is no longer true that the poor are blessed. 
 But the kingdom of heaven is with the cows." 
 
 " And why is it not with the rich ? " asked Zara- 
 thustra tempting, while keeping back the cows which 
 familiarly sniffed at the peaceful one. 
 
 " Why dost thou tempt me ? " answered he. "Thou 
 knowest it thyself still better than I do. What drove 
 me unto the poorest, O Zarathustra ? Was it not my 
 loathing of our richest ones ?
 
 THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR 393 
 
 Of the convicts guilty of riches, who collect their 
 profit out of all rubbish heaps, with cool eyes and 
 voluptuous thoughts of that rabble that stinketh 
 unto heaven, 
 
 Of that gilded-over, falsified mob, whose fathers 
 were thieves or birds of carrion, or rag-gatherers with 
 wives complaisant, voluptuous, and forgetful (for none 
 of them hath a far way to go to become a whore). 
 
 Mob at the top, mob below ! What are to-day 
 ' poor ' and ' rich ' ! this distinction have I unlearnt. 
 Then I fled away, further, ever further, until I came 
 unto these cows." 
 
 Thus spake the peaceful one and snuffed himself 
 and perspired over his words, so that the cows won- 
 dered again. But Zarathustra, all the time the man 
 was speaking so bitterly, gazed with a smile into his 
 face, and silently shook his head. 
 
 "Thou dost violence unto thyself, thou mount- 
 preacher, in using such bitter words. For such bit- 
 terness neither thy mouth nor eye was made. 
 
 Nor, methinketh, even thy stomach. Unto it all 
 such anger and hatred and overflowing are repugnant. 
 Thy stomach desireth gentler things. Thou art not 
 a butcher. 
 
 Thou rather seemest unto me to be an eater of 
 plants and roots. Perhaps thou grindest corn. But 
 certainly thou art averse from the pleasures of the 
 flesh and thou lovest honey."
 
 394 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 " Thou hast well found me out," answered the 
 voluntary beggar with his heart lightened. " I love 
 honey, I also grind corn, for I sought what tasteth 
 sweetly and maketh the breath pure. 
 
 I sought also what needeth a long time, namely 
 a day's work and a month's work for gentle idlers 
 and sluggards. 
 
 The highest point, it is true, hath been reached 
 by these cows. They invented ruminating and lying 
 in the sunshine. They also abstain from all heavy 
 thoughts that cause flatulence in the heart." 
 
 "Go to!" said Zarathustra. "Thou shouldst see 
 mine animals as well, mine eagle and my serpent. 
 Their like doth not exist on earth this day. 
 
 Behold, in this direction leadeth the way unto my 
 cave. Be this night its guest ! And speak with mine 
 animals of the happiness of animals, 
 
 Until I return home myself. For now a cry for 
 help calleth me away from thee in haste. Thou also 
 wilt find fresh honey with me, golden honey with 
 comb, as cold as ice. Eat it. 
 
 But now take swift farewell of thy cows, thou 
 strange one, thou sweet one ! although it may be 
 hard unto thee. For they are thy dearest friends 
 and teachers ! " 
 
 " One excepted whom I love still more," answered 
 the voluntary beggar. "Thou art thyself good, and 
 better even than a cow, O Zarathustra ! "
 
 THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR 395 
 
 " Away, away with thee, thou evil flatterer ! " cried 
 Zarathustra mischievously. " Why dost thou spoil me 
 with such praise and honey of flattery ? 
 
 Away, away from me ! " he cried once more and 
 swung his stick after the affectionate beggar, who ran 
 hastily away.
 
 THE SHADOW 
 
 When the voluntary beggar had hasted away and 
 Zarathustra was again alone with himself, behind him 
 he heard a new voice crying : " Halt ! Zarathustra ! 
 Wait ! wait ! It is I, O Zarathustra, I, thy shadow ! " 
 But Zarathustra waited not ; for a sudden annoyance 
 seized him because of the great crowding and throng- 
 ing in his mountains. "Whither hath my loneliness 
 gone ?" he said. 
 
 "This, verily, is becoming too much for me. These 
 mountains are overcrowded ; my kingdom is no longer 
 of this world ; I need new mountains. 
 
 My shadow calleth me ? What matter for my 
 shadow ? Let it run after me ! I run away from it." 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra unto his heart and ran 
 away. But he who was behind him, followed him, 
 so that very soon three runners were on the way, 
 one behind the other. For in the front was the volun- 
 tary beggar, then followed Zarathustra, and the third 
 and last was his shadow. Not long had they run, 
 until Zarathustra came out of his folly and back unto 
 reason, and of a sudden he shook off all annoyance 
 and disgust. 
 
 396
 
 THE SHADOW 
 
 397 
 
 "What!" said he, "have not at all times the most 
 ridiculous things happened unto us old hermits and 
 saints ? 
 
 Verily, my folly hath grown high in the mountains ! 
 Now I hear rattle behind each other six legs of 
 old fools ! 
 
 But is it allowed unto Zarathustra to be afraid of 
 his shadow ? Besides methinketh in the long run, it 
 hath longer legs than I." 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra, laughing with eyes and 
 intestines. He stopped and turned quickly round. 
 And, behold, in so doing he almost threw his follower 
 and shadow unto the ground. So close did the latter 
 follow at his heels, and so weak he was. When he 
 looked intently upon him, Zarathustra was terrified as 
 by a sudden ghost. So thin, black, hollow, and worn- 
 out looked that follower. 
 
 "What art thou?" asked Zarathustra violently; 
 " what dost thou here ? And why callest thou thy- 
 self my shadow? Thou pleasest me not." 
 
 " Forgive me," answered the shadow, " that it is I. 
 And if I please thee not well, O Zarathustra, in that 
 respect I praise thee and thy good taste. 
 
 A wanderer am I who hath already gone far at 
 thy heels ; ever on the way, but without a goal and 
 without a' home, so that, verily, I fall little short of 
 being the eternal, wandering Jew, except that I am 
 neither eternal nor a Jew.
 
 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 What ? Must I be ever on the way ? Whirled 
 about by every wind, unstable, driven away ? O earth, 
 thou hast grown too round for me ! 
 
 On every surface I have sat. Like the wearied 
 dust, I have fallen asleep on looking-glasses and 
 window-panes. Everything taketh from me, nothing 
 giveth ; I become thin, I am almost like a shadow. 
 
 But after thee, O Zarathustra, I have flown and 
 travelled longest. And though I hid myself from 
 thee, yet have I been thy best shadow. Wherever 
 thou hast sat, there sat I. 
 
 With thee I have haunted the remotest, coldest 
 worlds, like a ghost that voluntarily walketh over 
 wintry roofs and snow. 
 
 With thee have I striven for everything forbidden, 
 the worst and remotest. And if anything in me is 
 virtue, it is that I had no fear in the presence of 
 any prohibition. 
 
 With thee have I broken whatever my heart re- 
 vered ; all landmarks and pictures I threw down ; I 
 pursued the most dangerous wishes. Verily, I have 
 traversed every crime once. 
 
 With thee I unlearned the belief in words and 
 values and great names. When the devil casteth his 
 skin, doth not his name fall off as well ? For that 
 is also skin. Perhaps the devil himself is skin. 
 
 ' Nothing is true, everything is lawful,' thus I spake 
 unto myself. Into the coldest waters I threw myself
 
 THE SHADOW 
 
 399 
 
 with head and heart. Oh, how often have I stood 
 naked, red like a crab through so doing ! 
 
 Alas, whither hath gone all that is good and all 
 shame and all belief in the good ! Alas, whither hath 
 gone that deceitful innocence I once possessed, the 
 innocence of the good and of their noble falsehoods ! 
 
 Too often, verily, I followed truth close on its heel. 
 Then it kicked me on the forehead. Sometimes I 
 thought I lied, and behold ! only then did I hit upon 
 truth ! 
 
 Too many things were made clear unto me. Now 
 it concerneth me no more. Nothing of what I love 
 liveth any longer, why should I love myself still ? 
 
 'To live, as I like, or to live not at all,' thus I 
 will, thus even the holiest one willeth. But alas ! 
 how do / still like ? 
 
 Have / still a goal ? A harbour for which my 
 sail is trimmed ? 
 
 A good wind ? Alas, only he who knoweth whither 
 he saileth, knoweth also what wind is good, and what 
 is his fair wind. 
 
 What is left unto me ? A heart weary and insolent ; 
 an unstable will ; fluttering wings ; a broken back-bone. 
 
 This seeking after my home, O Zarathustra, knowest 
 thou ? this seeking was my punishment, it eateth me up. 
 
 ' Where is my home ? ' Thus I ask and seek and 
 have sought. I have found it not. Oh, eternal Every- 
 where ! Oh, eternal Nowhere ! Oh, eternal In-vain ! "
 
 4OO THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 Thus spake the shadow, and Zarathustra's face 
 grew longer when he heard his words. "Thou art 
 my shadow ! " he said sadly at last. 
 
 "Thy danger is not small, thou free spirit and wan- 
 derer ! Thou hast had a bad day. See unto it, that a 
 worse evening be not added. 
 
 Unto such unstable ones, as thou art, at last even 
 a prison seemeth bliss. Sawest thou ever how capt- 
 ured criminals sleep ? They sleep quietly ; they enjoy 
 their new security. 
 
 Beware lest at last a narrow creed catch thee, a 
 hard, severe illusion ! For thou art now seduced and 
 tempted by everything narrow and firm. 
 
 Thou hast lost thy goal. Alas ! how wilt thou bear 
 and brook that loss ? By it thou hast also lost the 
 way! 
 
 Thou poor wandering one, thou fleeting one, thou 
 weary butterfly ! Wilt thou have this night a place 
 of rest and home ? If so, go up unto my cave ! 
 
 Yonder goeth the way unto my cave. And now 
 I will quickly run away from thee. Already some- 
 thing lieth on me like a shadow. 
 
 I will run alone, so that it may again grow light 
 around me. For that purpose I must be yet a long 
 while gaily on my legs. But in the evening at my 
 home there will be a dance ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 AT NOON 
 
 And Zarathustra ran, and still ran, finding no one 
 else, and was alone ever finding himself again. And 
 he enjoyed and sipped his loneliness, thinking of 
 good things, through many hours. But about the 
 hour of noon, when the sun stood exactly over Zara- 
 thustra's head, he passed by an old crooked and knaggy 
 tree which was embraced round about by the rich love 
 of a vine-plant and hidden from itself. From it an 
 abundance of yellow grapes hung down, offering them- 
 selves unto the wanderer. Then he felt a desire to 
 quench a little thirst and to break off a grape. When 
 he had stretched out his arm for it, he felt a still 
 stronger desire for something else, to lie down beside 
 the tree, about the hour of perfect noon, and to 
 sleep. 
 
 Zarathustra did so. And no sooner did he lie down 
 on the ground, in the stillness and secrecy of the 
 many-coloured grass, than he forgot his little thirst 
 and fell asleep. For, as Zarathustra's saying hath it: 
 "One thing is more necessary than the other." Only 
 his eyes remained open. For they could not satisfy 
 themselves with looking at the tree, and at the love 
 
 2D 401
 
 4O2 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 of the vine-plant, and in praising them. But when 
 falling asleep, Zarathustra spake thus unto his heart : 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! Hath the world not this moment 
 become perfect ? Oh, what happeneth unto me ? 
 
 As a neat wind unseen danceth on the panelled 
 sea, light, light as a feather, thus danceth sleep on me. 
 
 Nor doth it shut mine eye ; it leaveth my soul 
 awake. Light it is, verily, as light as a feather. 
 
 It persuadeth me, I know not how. It toucheth 
 me from the inside with a flattering hand. It com- 
 pelleth me. Yea, compelleth me, so that my soul 
 stretcheth itself out. 
 
 How long and weary it groweth unto me, my 
 strange soul ! Did the evening of a seventh day 
 come unto it just at noon? Hath it already walked 
 too long happy among good and ripe things ? 
 
 It stretcheth itself out, long, long, longer ! It lieth 
 still, my strange soul. Too many good things it hath 
 tasted before. This golden sadness presseth upon it ; 
 it maketh a wry mouth. 
 
 Like a ship that hath entered her calmest bay ; 
 (Now she leaneth towards the land, weary of the 
 long voyages and the uncertain seas. Is not the 
 land more faithful ? 
 
 As such a ship putteth to the shore and goeth close 
 in ; then it is enough that a spider spin its thread 
 unto it from the land. No stronger ropes are re- 
 quired there.)
 
 AT NOON 
 
 403 
 
 Like such a weary ship in the calmest bay, I now 
 rest nigh unto the land, faithful, trusting, waiting, 
 moored unto it with the gentlest threads. 
 
 O happiness ! O happiness ! Wilt thou sing, O my 
 soul ? Thou liest in the grass. But this is the 
 secret, solemn hour, when no herdsman playeth on 
 his flute. 
 
 Keep off! Hot noon sleepeth on the fields. Sing 
 not ! Hush ! The world is perfect. 
 
 Sing not, thou grass-bird, O my soul ! Whisper 
 not even ! Behold ! Hush ! the old noon sleepeth, 
 it moveth its mouth. Doth it not this moment drink 
 a drop of happiness 
 
 An old brown drop of golden happiness, of golden 
 wine ? Something glideth across it, its happiness 
 laugheth. Thus laugheth a God. Hush ! 
 
 'For happiness how little is required for happi- 
 ness ! ' Thus I said once and thought myself wise. 
 But it was a blasphemy. I have now learnt that. 
 Wise fools speak better. 
 
 Just what is least, gentlest, lightest, the rustling 
 of a lizard, a breath, a moment, a twinkling of the 
 eye little maketh the quality of the best happiness. 
 Hush! 
 
 What hath befallen me ? Hearken ! Did time fly 
 away? Do I not fall? Did I not fall hearken !- 
 into the well of eternity ? 
 
 What befalleth me ? Hush ! It stingeth me alas !
 
 404 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 unto the heart? Unto the heart! Oh, break, break, 
 heart, after such happiness, after such a sting! 
 
 What ? Hath the world not just become perfect ? 
 Round and ripe ? Oh, for the golden round ring ! 
 Whither doth it fly? Run after it! Away! 
 
 Hush ! " (And here Zarathustra stretched himself 
 out, feeling that he slept.) 
 
 " Up ! " he said unto himself, " thou sleeper ! Thou 
 sleeper at noon ! Up ! up ! ye old legs ! Time it 
 is and only too much time. Many a long stretch of 
 road is still reserved for you ! 
 
 Now ye have slept your fill. How long ? Half an 
 eternity ! Up ! up ! now, mine old heart ! How long 
 wilt thou, after such a sleep, be allowed to have thy 
 fill of wakefulness ? " 
 
 But then he fell asleep afresh, and his soul spake 
 against him, and defended itself, and lay down again. 
 "Oh, let me alone! Hush! Hath not the world be- 
 come perfect this moment ? Oh, for the golden, round 
 ball! 
 
 Get up," said Zarathustra, "thou little thief, thou 
 thief of days ! What ! Still longer wilt thou stretch 
 thyself out, yawn, sigh, fall down into deep wells ? 
 
 Who art thou ? O my soul ! " (And here he was 
 terrified ; for a sun-beam fell down from the sky 
 upon his face.) 
 
 "O sky above me!" said he sighing and sat up- 
 right. "Thou gazest at me? Thou hearkenest unto 
 my strange soul ?
 
 AT NOON 405 
 
 When drinkest thou this drop of dew that hath 
 fallen down on all things earthly? When drinkest 
 thou this strange soul? 
 
 When, well of eternity ? Thou gay, shuddering 
 abyss of noon ! When drinkest thou my soul back 
 into thyself?" 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra and arose from his resting- 
 place nigh unto the tree, as from a strange drunken- 
 ness. And behold ! there the sun still stood exactly 
 above his head. And from that, some one might duly 
 suppose that Zarathustra had not slept long. 
 t
 
 SALUTATION 
 
 Late in the afternoon it was, when Zarathustra, 
 after having searched and strayed about for a long 
 time in vain, returned unto his cave. But when he 
 stood over against unto it, no longer twenty steps 
 distant from it, that thing came to pass which he ex- 
 pected least. Anew he heard the great cry for help. 
 And, astounding! this time it came from his own 
 cave. And it was a long, manifold, strange cry. 
 And Zarathustra distinguished clearly that it was 
 composed of many voices, though, when heard from 
 a distance, it might sound like a cry from a single 
 mouth. 
 
 Then Zarathustra hasted unto his cave, and be- 
 hold ! what spectacle awaited him there after that 
 concert ! For there they all sat together whom he 
 had passed by during the day : the king on the right 
 and the king on the left ; the old wizard ; the pope ; 
 the voluntary beggar ; the shadow ; the conscientious 
 one of the spirit ; the sad fortune-teller ; and the ass. 
 And the ugliest man had put a crown on his head 
 and tied round himself two purple belts. For, like 
 all ugly folk, he liked to disguise himself and play 
 
 406
 
 SALUTATION 407 
 
 the gallant. But in the midst of that sad company 
 stood Zarathustra's eagle, its feathers ruffled and 
 itself disquieted. For it had been asked to answer 
 many questions for which its pride knew no answer. 
 And the wise serpent hung round its neck. 
 
 At all this Zarathustra looked with great astonish- 
 ment. Then he examined each of his guests with 
 gracious curiosity, read the contents of their souls, and 
 
 
 
 was once more astonished. In the meantime they who 
 had gathered there, had arisen from their seats and 
 waited with reverence till Zarathustra should speak. 
 And Zarathustra spake thus : 
 
 " Ye despairing ones ! Ye strange ones ! Then it 
 was your cry for help I heard ? And now also I know 
 where he is to be sought whom I this day sought for 
 in vain : the higher man. 
 
 In mine own cave sitteth he, the higher man ! But 
 why am I astonished ? Have not I myself allured him 
 unto myself, by honey offerings, and cunning, enticing 
 calls of my happiness? 
 
 But methinketh, ye are not very suitable to form 
 a company, ye make each other's hearts angry, ye criers 
 for help, when sitting together here ! One must first 
 come 
 
 One who will make you laugh again, a good, gay 
 clown, a dancer and a wind and romp, some old fool. 
 What think ye? 
 
 Forgive me, ye despairing ones, that in your pres-
 
 4O8 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 ence I speak with such small words, unworthy, verily ! 
 of such guests ! But ye find not out what maketh my 
 heart wanton. 
 
 Ye yourselves do so, and your look, forgive me ! 
 For every one becometh brave who looketh at a de- 
 spairing one. To encourage a despairing one for 
 that every one thinketh himself strong enough. 
 
 Unto myself ye have given this power, a good gift, 
 my lofty guests ! An honest guest's gift ! Well then, 
 be not angry at me now offering you something of 
 what is mine also. 
 
 This here is my kingdom and my dominion. But 
 whatever is mine shall be yours for this evening and 
 this night. Mine animals shall serve you. My cave 
 shall be your resting-place ! 
 
 In mine own home and house no one shall despair. 
 In my province I protect every one from his own wild 
 beasts. And this is the first thing I offer you : se- 
 curity ! 
 
 But the second thing is my little finger. And if ye 
 once have it, take the whole hand in addition, yea, and 
 the heart with it ! Welcome here, welcome, my guests 
 and friends ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra, laughing with love and 
 wickedness. After this salutation his guests bowed 
 again and were silent in reverence. And the king on 
 the right answered him in their name. 
 
 " From the way, O Zarathustra, that thou offeredst
 
 SALUTATION 
 
 409 
 
 us thy hand and greeting, we know thee to be Zara- 
 thustra. Thou didst humble thyself in our presence. 
 Thou didst almost wound our reverence for thee. 
 
 But who could, like thee, humble himself with such 
 pride ? That uplifteth even us ; a refreshment is it 
 unto our eyes and hearts. 
 
 To behold this alone, we would gladly ascend higher 
 mounts than this mount is. For we have come as 
 eager sight-seers, we longed to see what maketh dim 
 eyes bright. 
 
 And behold, all our crying for help is past. Our 
 sense and heart stand open and are enraptured. Little 
 is lacking for our courage to become wanton. 
 
 Nothing more agreeable, O Zarathustra, groweth on 
 earth than a high, strong will. It is the most beautiful 
 product of earth. A whole landscape is refreshed by 
 one tree like that. 
 
 With the pine, O Zarathustra, I compare him who 
 groweth up like thee : tall, silent, hard, alone, of the 
 best and most flexible wood, magnificent 
 
 And who at last graspeth with strong, green boughs 
 after his own dominion, asking strong questions in 
 presence of winds and thunderstorms, and whatever is 
 at home on heights 
 
 And who giveth stronger answers, a commander, a 
 victorious one ! Oh ! who would not ascend high 
 mounts in order to see such products ? 
 
 In thy tree, O Zarathustra, even the gloomy one,
 
 4IO THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 the ill-constituted one, rejoiceth ; at sight of thee even 
 the restless one becometh sure and healeth his heart. 
 
 And, verily, unto thy mount and thy tree this day 
 many eyes direct themselves ; a great longing hath 
 arisen, and many folk learned to ask : ' Who is Zara- 
 thustra ? ' 
 
 And they into whose ear thou hast ever dropped thy 
 song and thy honey, all the hidden, the hermits, and 
 hermits in pairs, spake all at once unto their hearts 
 thus : 
 
 ' Liveth Zarathustra still ? It is no longer worth 
 while to live. Everything is equal, everything is in vain. 
 If that is to be not so, we must live with Zarathustra ! 
 
 Why cometh not he who hath announced himself so 
 long ? ' thus many ask. ' Did loneliness devour him ? 
 Or peradventure we meant to come unto him ? ' 
 
 Now it cometh to pass that loneliness itself waxeth 
 mellow and breaketh like a grave, which breaketh and 
 can no longer keep its dead. Everywhere one seeth 
 risen ones. 
 
 Now rise and rise the waves around thy mount, O 
 Zarathustra ! And however high be thy height, many 
 must ascend unto thee. Thy boat shall not long sit on 
 the dry ground! 
 
 And that we despairers have now come into thy 
 cave, and already despair no more it is merely a sign 
 and omen that better ones are on the way unto thee. 
 
 For itself is on the way unto thee, the last relic
 
 SALUTATION 41 1 
 
 of God among men, *.<?., all the men of the great 
 longing, of the great loathing, of the great satiety 
 
 All those who do not wish to live, unless they 
 learn to hope again ; unless they learn from thee, O 
 Zarathustra, the great hope ! " 
 
 Thus spake the king on the right, and seized Zara- 
 thustra's hand in order to kiss it. But Zarathustra 
 hindered his doing reverence and stepped back terri- 
 fied, as silent and suddenly as though he fled into 
 far distances. But in a little while he was once more 
 with his guests, gazed at them with bright questioning 
 eyes, and said : 
 
 " My guests, ye higher men, I will speak in German 
 and clearly unto you. Not for you have I waited here 
 in these mounts." 
 
 (" In German and clearly t God-a-mercy ! " said then 
 the king on the left, secretly. "One seeth that he 
 knoweth not the dear Germans, this sage from the East ! 
 
 But he meaneth ' In German and coarsely.' Well ! 
 that is nowadays not quite the worst taste ! ") 
 
 "Verily, all of you may be higher men," continued 
 Zarathustra. " But for me, ye are not high and 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 belong unto me, ye do so not as my right 
 arm doth. 
 
 For whoever standeth himself on sick and weak
 
 412 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 legs, like you, wisheth above all (whether he knoweth 
 it or hideth it from himself) to be spared. 
 
 But mine arms and my legs I spare not, my warriors 
 I spare not. How could ye be fit for my warfare ? 
 
 By you I should spoil every victory of mine. And 
 many a one of you would fall unto the ground on 
 hearing the loud noise of my drums. 
 
 Besides ye are not beautiful and well-born enough 
 for me. I need pure, smooth mirrors for my doctrines. 
 On your surface even mine own image is distorted. 
 
 Your shoulders are pressed by many a burden, 
 many a memory. Many an evil dwarf squatteth in 
 your corners. There is hidden mob within even 
 you. 
 
 And though ye be high and of a higher tribe, 
 many things in you are crooked and misshapen. 
 There is no blacksmith in the world to hammer you 
 into shape and straightness. 
 
 Ye are only bridges. Would that higher ones would 
 stride over you unto the other side ! Ye signify stairs. 
 Then be not angry with him who riseth above you 
 unto his own height ! 
 
 From your seed one day there may spring unto 
 me a genuine son and perfect heir. But that is 
 remote. Ye yourselves are not those unto whom 
 belong mine heirship and name. 
 
 Not for you wait I in these mounts ; not with you 
 am I allowed to step down for the last time. Ye have
 
 SALUTATION 
 
 come unto me merely as omens, that higher ones are 
 on the way unto me. 
 
 Not the men of the great longing, of the great loathing, 
 of the great satiety, and what you called the relic of God. 
 
 Nay ! Nay ! Three times Nay ! For others I wait 
 here in these mounts, and will not lift my feet to 
 depart without them. 
 
 I wait for higher ones, stronger ones, more victorious 
 ones, more cheerful ones, such as are built square in 
 body and soul. Laughing lions must come ! 
 , O my friends and guests, ye strange ones! Heard 
 ye nothing of my children ? And that they are on the 
 way unto me ? 
 
 Speak, speak of my gardens, of my blissful islands, 
 of my new beautiful kin. Why speak ye not of them 
 unto me ? 
 
 This guest-gift I request from your love, that ye 
 speak of my children. Therefore am I rich, therefore 
 become I poor. What have I not given away ? 
 
 What would I not give away, in order to have one 
 thing : these children, this living plantation, these trees 
 of life of my will and of my highest hope ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra and suddenly stopped in 
 his speech. For he was seized by his longing, and 
 he closed his eyes and mouth against the movement 
 of his heart. And all his guests were silent also and 
 stood still and confounded. Only the old fortune-teller 
 made signs with hands, and gestures.
 
 THE SUPPER 
 
 For at that point the fortune-teller interrupted the 
 salutation between Zarathustra and his guests. He 
 pressed forward like one who hath no time to lose, 
 seized Zarathustra's hand and cried : " But, Zara- 
 thustra ! 
 
 ' One thing is more necessary than another,' thus 
 thou thyself sayest. Go to ! One thing is now more 
 necessary for me than any other. 
 
 A word at the proper time : didst thou not invite 
 me to a meal ? And here are many who have made 
 long journeys. I suppose, thou meanest not to feed 
 us with speeches merely ? 
 
 Besides all of you have thought far too much for 
 my taste about dying of cold, by drowning, by suf- 
 focation, and about other sorts of bodily danger. But 
 no one thought of my sort of danger, i.e., of dying of 
 hunger." 
 
 (Thus spake the fortune-teller. But when Zara- 
 thustra's animals heard these words, they ran away 
 with terror. For they saw that all they had brought 
 in during the day, would not be sufficient to fill even 
 this one fortune-teller's stomach.) 
 
 414
 
 THE SUPPER 415 
 
 " Including dying from thirst," the fortune-teller 
 went on. "And although I hear water gurgle here, 
 like speeches of wisdom, i.e., abounding and never 
 tired I want wine ! 
 
 Not every one is a born water-drinker like Zarathus- 
 tra. Neither is water good for weary and withered 
 ones. For us wine is proper. Only it giveth us a 
 sudden vigour and health there and then ! " 
 
 Whereupon, when the fortune-teller asked for wine, 
 it came to pass that the king on the left, the silent 
 one, for once had a chance to speak. "Wine," he 
 Said, "hath been provided by us, by myself and my 
 brother, the king on the right. We have enough of 
 wine, a whole ass-ful. So nothing is lacking but 
 bread." 
 
 " Bread ! " answered Zarathustra laughing. " It is 
 just bread that hermits lack. But man liveth not by 
 bread alone, but also by the flesh of good lambs, of 
 which I have two. 
 
 They shall be killed swiftly and cooked spicily, with 
 sage. That is my taste. Neither are roots nor fruits 
 lacking. There is enough of them even for gorman- 
 disers and epicures. Nor are nuts lacking, or other 
 riddles to crack. 
 
 Thus in a little while we will have a good meal. 
 But he who meaneth to eat with us, must also put 
 his hand unto the work, the kings included. For in 
 Zarathustra's home even a king may be a cook."
 
 4l6 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 This proposal met the wishes of the hearts of all ; 
 only that the voluntary beggar was against meat and 
 wine and spices. 
 
 " Now listen unto this glutton Zarathustra ! " he 
 said jesting. " Doth one go into caves and high 
 mounts to have such meals ? 
 
 It is true, I understand now what we were once 
 taught by him : ' Let petty poverty be praised ! ' 
 And why he seeketh to abolish beggars." 
 
 "Be of good cheer," answered Zarathustra, "as I 
 am so. Be true unto thine own custom, thou excel- 
 lent man, grind thy corn, drink thy water, praise 
 thine own cookery, if it only make thee gay ! 
 
 I am a law only for those who are mine, I am not 
 a law for all. But whoever belongeth unto me, must 
 be of strong bones, and of light feet, 
 
 Gay for warfare and festivals, no obscurantist, no 
 dreamer, one ready for what is hardest, like unto his 
 festival, healthy and whole. 
 
 What is best, belongeth unto my folk and myself. 
 And if we are not given it, we take it, the best food, 
 the purest sky, the strongest thoughts, the most 
 beautiful women ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra. But the king on the right 
 answered : 
 
 " Strange ! Have such clever things ever been 
 heard from the mouth of a wise man ? 
 
 And, verily, that is the strangest thing in a wise
 
 THE SUPPER 417 
 
 man, if over and above he is clever and not an 
 ass." 
 
 Thus spake the king on the right, and wondered. 
 But the ass spitefully said Hee-Haw unto his speech. 
 Thus began that long meal which is called "The 
 Supper" in history- books. And during that meal 
 nothing was spoken of but higher man. 
 
 2E
 
 OF HIGHER MAN 
 
 " When, for the first time, I went unto men, I com- 
 mitted the hermit folly, the great folly. I stood in 
 the marketplace. 
 
 And speaking unto all, I spake unto none. But in 
 the evening, rope-dancers were my companions, and 
 corpses ; and I myself was almost a corpse. 
 
 But with the new morning a new truth came unto 
 me. Then I learned to say : \ What matter for me 
 market and mob, and mob's noise and the mob's long 
 ears ! ' 
 
 Ye higher men, learn this from me. In the market 
 no one believeth in higher men. And if ye are going 
 to speak there, it is well ! But the mob blink : ' We 
 are all equal ! ' 
 
 ' Ye higher men,' thus the mob blink ' there are 
 no higher men ; we are all equal ; man is man ; in the 
 presence of God we are all equal ! ' 
 
 In the presence of God ! But now that God hath 
 died. But in the presence of the mob we do not wish 
 to be equal. Ye higher men, depart from the market ! 
 
 418
 
 OF HIGHER MAN 
 
 419 
 
 In the presence of God! But now hath that God 
 died ! Ye higher men, this God hath been your 
 greatest danger. 
 
 Only since he hath lain in the grave, ye have 
 arisen. Now only cometh the great noon, now only 
 higher man becometh master! 
 
 Understood ye this word, O my brethren ? Ye 
 are terrified. Do your hearts grow giddy ? Yawneth 
 here an abyss for you? Barketh unto you here the 
 hell-dog? 
 
 Up ! up ! ye higher men ! It is only now that 
 the mount of man's future giveth birth unto anything. 
 God hath died. Now we wish beyond-man to live. 
 
 3 
 
 The most careful ask to-day : 'How is man pre- 
 served ? ' But Zarathustra asketh as the only and 
 first one: 'How is man surpassed?' 
 
 Beyond-man is my care ; with me, he and not man 
 is the first and only thing. Not the neighbour, not 
 the poorest one, not the greatest sufferer, not the 
 best one. 
 
 O my brethren, what I can love in man, is that he 
 is a transition and a destruction. And even in you 
 there are many things which make me love and hope.
 
 42O THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 That ye had scorn, ye higher men, that maketh me 
 hope. For the great scorners are the great reverers. 
 
 That ye despaired, therein is much to honour. For 
 ye did not learn how to give yourselves up; ye did 
 not learn petty policies. 
 
 For to-day the petty folk have become master. 
 They all preach submission and resignation and policy 
 and diligence and regard and the long etcetera of 
 petty virtues. 
 
 Whatever is of the women's tribe, whatever de- 
 scendeth from the slaves' tribe, and especially from 
 the mishmash of the mob these will now become 
 master of all human fate. Oh, loathing ! loathing ! 
 loathing ! 
 
 These ask and ask and weary not with asking : 
 ' How cloth man preserve himself best, longest, and 
 most agreeably ? ' Thereby they are the masters of 
 to-day. 
 
 Surpass these masters of to-day, O my brethren, 
 the petty folk. They are the greatest danger for 
 beyond-man ! 
 
 Surpass, ye higher men, the petty virtues, the 
 petty policies, the grains-of-sand-regards, the swarm- 
 ing of ants, the miserable ease, the ' happiness of the 
 greatest number ! ' 
 
 And rather despair than give in ! And, verily, I 
 love you for the very reason that ye know not how 
 to live to-day, ye higher men ! For thus ye live best !
 
 OF HIGHER MAN 421 
 
 Have ye courage, O my brethren ? Are ye stout- 
 hearted ? I do not mean courage in the presence of 
 witnesses, but the courage of hermits and eagles, on 
 which not even a God looketh any more. 
 
 Cold souls, mules, blind folk, drunk folk I do not 
 call stout-hearted. Courage hath he who knoweth 
 fear, but subdueth fear; he who seeth the abyss, but 
 with pride. 
 
 He who seeth the abyss, but with an eagle's eyes ; 
 he who grasp eth the abyss with an eagle's claws ; he 
 hath courage. 
 
 5 
 
 ' Man is evil ' thus all the wisest men said unto 
 me, as a comfort. Alas, if that be still true to-day ! 
 For what is evil, is man's best power. 
 
 'Man must become better and more evil,' thus 
 / teach. The evilest is necessary for the best of 
 beyond-man. 
 
 It may have been well for that petty folk's preacher 
 to suffer and bear the burden of man's sin. But I 
 rejoice in the great sin as in my great comfort. 
 
 But such things are not said for long ears. Every 
 word hath not its proper place in every mouth. 
 These are fine, remote things. For them sheep's 
 claws must not grasp !
 
 422 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 Ye higher men, think ye that I live to make well 
 what ye made badly ? 
 
 Or think ye that I meant to pillow you sufferers 
 more comfortably for the future ? Or to show new 
 and easier footpaths unto you restless, gone astray 
 on roads and mountains ? 
 
 Nay ! Nay ! Three times Nay ! Ever more, ever 
 better ones of your tribe shall perish. For ye shall 
 have ever a worse and harder life. Only thus 
 
 Only thus man groweth up unto that height where 
 the lightning striketh and breaketh him ; high enough 
 for the lightning ! 
 
 Towards few things, towards long things, towards 
 remote things, my mind and my longing turn. What 
 concern hath your petty, manifold short misery for 
 me ! 
 
 Ye do not yet suffer enough ! For ye suffer from 
 yourselves, ye have never yet suffered from man. Ye 
 would lie, did ye say otherwise ! None of you suffereth 
 from what / have suffered. 
 
 7 
 
 It is not enough for me that the lightning causeth 
 no more damage. I do not want to conduct it into 
 the ground. It shall learn to work for me.
 
 OF HIGHER MAN 433 
 
 My wisdom hath for long gathered like a cloud; 
 it becometh stiller and darker. So doth every wisdom 
 that shall one day give birth unto lightnings. 
 
 Unto these men of to-day I do not seek to be a light, 
 nor to be called a light by them. Them I will blind. 
 O lightning of my wisdom ! Gouge their eyes out ! 
 
 8 
 
 Will nothing beyond your capacity. There is an 
 evil falsehood in such as will beyond their capacity. 
 
 In particular if they will great things ! For they 
 cause mistrust towards great things, these fine false 
 coiners and actors 
 
 Until at last they are deceivers in their own eyes, 
 have squinting eyes, and are a whited worm-eatenness, 
 hidden under strong words, under show-off-virtues, 
 under shining false actions. 
 
 Take great care with such, ye higher men ! For 
 nothing is to-day regarded by me as more valuable 
 and rare than honesty. 
 
 Is this To-day not of the mob ? But the mob know 
 not what is great, small, straight, and honest. They 
 are innocently crooked, they always lie. 
 
 9 
 
 Have to-day a good mistrust, ye higher men, ye 
 courageous ! Ye with open hearts ! And keep your 
 reasons secret ! For to-day is of the mob.
 
 424 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 But what the mob did not learn to believe without 
 reason, who could upset that for them by reason ? 
 
 In the marketplace one convinceth by gestures. 
 But reasons make the mob mistrustful. 
 
 And when in that field truth hath once won a 
 victory, ask yourselves with good mistrust : ' What 
 powerful error hath fought the battle for it ? ' 
 
 Take care also of scholars ! They hate you. For 
 they are sterile ! They have cold, dried-out eyes. 
 Before them every bird lieth unfeathered. 
 
 Such folk boast that they do not lie. But impo- 
 tence to lie is by no means love unto truth. Take 
 care ! 
 
 Freedom from fever is by no means perception ! 
 I do not credit anything from minds chilled through 
 and through. He who cannot lie, knoweth not what 
 truth is. 
 
 10 
 
 If ye want to rise high, use your own legs ! Do 
 not let yourselves be carried upwards, sit not down 
 on strange backs and heads ! 
 
 But thou didst mount a horse? Now thou swiftly 
 ridest up unto thy goal ? Up ! my friend. But thy 
 lame leg sitteth with thee on horseback ! 
 
 When thou hast reached thy goal ; when thou 
 alightest from thy horse ; exactly on thy height, thou 
 higher man ; thou wilt stumble !
 
 OF HIGHER MAN 425 
 
 II 
 
 Ye creators, ye higher men ! One is pregnant 
 only of one's own child. 
 
 Let nothing be said in your presence, be not per- 
 suaded by anything ! Who then is your neighbour ? 
 And even suppose ye act 'for the neighbour,' ye 
 do not create for him ! 
 
 Unlearn this ' for,' I pray, ye creators ! Your very 
 virtue wanteth you to do nothing with 'for' and 'for 
 tjie sake of ' and ' because.' To protect yourselves from 
 these deceitful little words, ye shall glue up your ear. 
 
 That 'for the neighbour' is the virtue merely of 
 the petty folk. They say : ' like and like ' and ' hand 
 washeth hand.' They have neither the right nor the 
 power for your self-interest ! 
 
 In your self-interest, ye creators, is the caution 
 and providence of the childbearing ones ! What no 
 one hath ever seen with his eyes, the fruit, is pro- 
 tected and spared and nourished with all your love. 
 
 Where all your love is, with your child, there also 
 is all your virtue ! Your work, your will is your 
 'neighbour.' Allow not yourselves to be talked into 
 false values. 
 
 12 
 
 Ye creators, ye higher men! He who must give 
 birth is ill. But he who hath given birth is impure.
 
 426 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 Ask women ! One giveth not birth because the 
 giving of birth causeth pleasure. The pain causeth 
 hens and poets to cackle. 
 
 Ye creators, in you is much impure. The reason 
 is that ye were compelled to be mothers. 
 
 A new child ! Oh, how much new dirt hath with 
 it been born into the world ! Go unto one side ! 
 He who hath given birth shall wash his soul pure ! 
 
 13 
 
 Be not virtuous beyond your ability ! And demand 
 nothing from yourselves contrary unto probability ! 
 
 Walk in the footsteps in which your fathers' virtue 
 hath gone ! How could ye rise high, if your fathers' 
 will riseth not with you ? 
 
 But he who desireth to be a firstling, may see unto 
 it, that he may not become a lastling also ! And 
 where the vices of your fathers are, therein ye shall 
 not strive to be saints. 
 
 He whose fathers liked women and strong wines 
 and wild boars what, if he were to demand chastity 
 of himself ? 
 
 It would be a folly ! It is much, verily, methinketh, 
 for such an one, if he be the husband of one, or two, 
 or three women. 
 
 And if he would found monasteries and write over 
 their gates : ' The way unto what is holy,' yet I 
 would say : ' Wherefore ? It is a new folly !
 
 OF HIGHER MAN 
 
 427 
 
 He hath founded for himself a penitentiary and 
 refuge. Much good may it do him ! But I do not 
 believe in it.' 
 
 In loneliness groweth whatever is brought by one 
 into it, including the inner beast also. On account 
 of that, many are counselled against loneliness ! 
 
 Hath there ever been anything dirtier on earth 
 than the saints of the desert ? Round them not only 
 the devil was set free, but the swine also. 
 
 14 
 
 Shy, ashamed, clumsy, like the tiger foiled in his 
 leap thus, ye higher men, I have seen you often 
 steal aside. A cast of yours had failed. 
 
 But what matter ye dice-players ? Ye learned not 
 play and mockery, as one must play and mock! Sit 
 we not ever at a great table of mocking and playing ? 
 
 And if ye have failed in great things, are ye, for 
 that reason, yourselves a failure ? But if man is a 
 failure up ! up ! 
 
 15 
 
 The higher its kin is, the seldomer doth a thing 
 succeed. Ye higher men here, are ye not all failures ? 
 
 Be of good cheer ! What matter ? How many 
 things are still possible! Learn to laugh at your- 
 selves, as one must laugh !
 
 428 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 What wonder that ye have failed and half-failed, 
 ye half-broken ones ! In yourselves, doth not man's 
 future throng and push ? 
 
 Man's remotest, deepest, star-highest essence, his 
 immense power do they not all seethe against each 
 other in your pot ? 
 
 What wonder that many a pot breaketh ! Learn 
 to laugh at each other, as one must laugh ! Ye 
 higher men, how many things are still possible ! 
 
 And, verily ! how many things have already suc- 
 ceeded. How rich is this earth in small, good, perfect 
 things, in well-constituted things ! 
 
 Put small, good, perfect things round yourselves, 
 ye higher men ! Their golden ripeness healeth the 
 heart. Perfect things teach hope. 
 
 16 
 
 What hath hitherto been the greatest sin on earth ? 
 Was it the word of him who said : ' Woe unto those 
 who laugh here?' 
 
 Did he himself find no reasons for laughing on 
 earth ? If so, he sought but ill. A child even findeth 
 reasons here. 
 
 He did not love enough. Otherwise he would have 
 loved us also, the laughers ! But he hated and mocked 
 at us. Howling and gnashing of teeth we were prom- 
 ised by him.
 
 OF HIGHER MAN 439 
 
 Must one curse outright, where one doth not love ? 
 That, meseemeth, is bad taste. But thus he did, this 
 unconditioned one. He sprang from the mob. 
 
 And he himself merely loved not enough. Other- 
 wise he would have been less angry because he was 
 not loved. All great love wanteth not love, it wanteth 
 more. 
 
 Go out of the way of all such unconditioned ones ! 
 That is a poor, sick tribe, a mob-tribe. They look 
 with ill-will on this life ; they have the evil eye for 
 this earth. 
 
 Go out of the way of all such unconditioned ones ! 
 They have heavy feet and sultry hearts. They know 
 not how to dance. How could earth be light unto 
 such ! 
 
 17 
 
 Crookedly all good things draw nigh unto their 
 goal. Like cats they arch their backs, they purr 
 inside with their near happiness. All good things 
 laugh. 
 
 The step betray eth whether one walketh already 
 on his own road. See me walk ! But whoever draw- 
 eth nigh unto his goal, danceth. 
 
 And, verily, I have not become a statue. Not yet 
 I stand, benumbed, blunt, like a stone, as a pillar. I 
 love quick running. 
 
 And although earth hath moors and thick affliction,
 
 43O THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 he who hath light feet, runneth even over mud, and 
 danceth as on well-swept ice. 
 
 Raise your hearts, my brethren, high, higher ! And 
 forget not your legs ! Raise also your legs, ye good 
 dancers ! Moreover it is better still, if ye stand on 
 your heads ! 
 
 18 
 
 This crown of the laugher, the crown of rose-wreaths 
 I myself have put this crown on my head ; I myself 
 have proclaimed my laughter holy. No other one I 
 found to-day strong enough for that. 
 
 Zarathustra, the dancer, Zarathustra, the light one 
 who waveth with his wings, a preparer of flight, waving 
 unto all birds, prepared and ready, a blissful-frivolous 
 one ; 
 
 Zarathustra, the fortune-teller, Zarathustra, the true 
 laugher, not impatient, not unconditioned ; one who 
 loveth leaps and leaps aside I myself have put this 
 crown on my head ! 
 
 19 
 
 Raise your hearts, my brethren, high ! higher ! 
 And forget not your legs ! Raise also your legs, ye 
 good dancers. Moreover it is better still, if ye stand 
 on your heads ! 
 
 There are heavy animals in happiness, as in other 
 things. There are club-feet from the beginning.
 
 OF HIGHER MAN 
 
 431 
 
 Queerly they exert themselves, like an elephant which 
 exerteth itself to stand on its head. 
 
 But it is better still to be foolish with happiness 
 than foolish with misfortune ; better to dance clumsily 
 than to walk lame. Learn my wisdom from me, I 
 pray. But even the worst thing hath two good reverse 
 sides. 
 
 Even the worst thing hath good dancing legs. 
 Learn, I pray, ye higher men, how to put yourselves 
 on your right legs ! 
 
 , Unlearn, I pray, all the horn-blowing of affliction, 
 and all mob-sadness ! Oh, how sad seem unto me 
 to-day the mob's buffoons ! But to-day is of the mob. 
 
 20 
 
 Do like the wind when it rusheth forth from its 
 mountain caves. Unto its own pipe it will dance. 
 The seas tremble and leap beneath its footsteps. 
 
 Praised be that good unruly spirit which giveth 
 wings unto asses ; which milketh lionesses ; which 
 cometh like a stormblast unto all To-day and all mob ; 
 
 Which is an enemy unto all heads of thistles, and 
 minds that pry into things, and unto all withered leaves 
 and tares ! Praised be that wild, good, free spirit of 
 the storm which danceth on moors and afflictions as 
 on meadows ; 
 
 Which hateth the dwindling dogs of the mob, and
 
 432 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 all the ill-constituted gloomy brood ! Praised be this 
 spirit of all free spirits, the laughing storm which 
 bloweth dust into the eyes of all black-sighted, sup- 
 purative ones ! 
 
 Ye higher men, what is worst in you, is that none 
 of you hath learnt to dance, as one must dance to 
 dance beyond yourselves ! What matter that ye are 
 failures ? 
 
 How many things are still possible ! Learn, I pray, 
 to laugh beyond yourselves ! Raise your hearts, ye 
 good dancers, high ! higher ! And forget not the 
 good laughter ! 
 
 This crown of the laugher, this crown of rose- 
 wreaths unto you, my brethren, I throw this crown ! 
 The laughter I have proclaimed holy. Ye higher men, 
 learn how to laugh ! "
 
 THE SONG OF MELANCHOLY 
 
 When making these speeches, Zarathustra stood 
 close unto the entrance of his cave. But when utter- 
 ing the last words, he escaped from his guests and fled 
 for a short while into the open air. 
 
 "Oh, pure odours round me!" he exclaimed; "oh, 
 blessed stillness round me ! But where are mine 
 animals ? Come nigh, come nigh, mine eagle and my 
 serpent ! 
 
 Tell me, mine animals. These higher men alto- 
 gether think ye, do they not smell well ? Oh, pure 
 odours round me ! Now only I know and feel how I 
 love you, mine animals ! " 
 
 And Zarathustra repeated : " I love you, mine ani- 
 mals ! " But the eagle and the serpent pressed round 
 him, when he spake these words, and looked up unto 
 him. In this way they were all three together at 
 peace, and snuffed and drew in the good air together. 
 For outside the air was better than among the higher 
 men. 
 
 2F 433
 
 434 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 But scarce had Zarathustra left his cave, when the 
 old wizard got up, looked round cunningly and said : 
 " He is gone out ! 
 
 And straightway, ye higher men, (let me like him 
 tickle you with this name of praise and flattery), 
 straightway mine evil spirit of deceitfulness and en- 
 chantment attacketh me, my melancholy devil ; 
 
 Who is a fiend from the bottom unto this Zara- 
 thustra. Forgive him ! Now he will practise magic 
 in your presence ; it is exactly his hour. In vain I 
 struggle with this evil spirit. 
 
 Unto all of you, whatever honours ye may attribute 
 unto yourselves in words, whether ye call yourselves 
 'the free spirits,' or 'the truthful,' or 'the penitent 
 of spirit* or 'the freed from fetters,' or 'the great 
 longers ' 
 
 Unto all of you who, like myself, suffer from the 
 great loathingy for whom the old God hath died and 
 no new God yet lieth in cradles and napkins unto 
 all of you is mine evil spirit and magic devil friendly. 
 
 I know you, ye higher men ; I know him. I also 
 know that fiend whom I love involuntarily, this 
 Zarathustra. He himself seemeth often unto me to 
 be like a beautiful mask of a saint 
 
 Like a new strange masquerade in which mine 
 evil spirit, the melancholy devil, is pleased. I love
 
 THE SONG OF MELANCHOLY 435 
 
 Zarathustra thus it seemeth often unto me for the 
 sake of mine evil spirit. 
 
 But even now he attacketh me and constraineth 
 me, this spirit of melancholy, this devil of the evening. 
 And, verily, ye higher men, he longeth 
 
 Open your eyes in astonishment ! he longeth, to 
 appear naked, whether masculine, or feminine, I know 
 not yet. But he cometh, he constraineth me, alas ! 
 Open your senses ! 
 
 The sound of the day dieth away. Unto all things 
 
 now cometh the evening, even unto the best things. 
 
 Listen now and look, ye higher men, what devil he 
 
 is, this spirit of evening melancholy, whether man or 
 woman ! " 
 
 Thus spake the old wizard, looked round cunningly, 
 and then seized his harp. 
 
 " When the air hath become clear, 
 When the comfort of the dew 
 Gusheth down upon earth, 
 Unseen, unheard, 
 (For tender shoes are worn 
 By the dew, the comforter, as by all who shed mild 
 
 comfort) 
 Rememberest thou, then, rememberest thou, O hot 
 
 heart,
 
 436 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 How once thou thirstedst 
 
 For heavenly tears and the dropping of dew, 
 
 How thou thirstedst, scorched and weary, 
 
 Whilst on yellow grass-paths 
 
 Wicked evening-like sun-glances 
 
 Ran round thee through black trees, 
 
 Blinding malicious glances of sun-glow ? 
 
 ' The suitor of truth ? Thou ? ' Thus they mocked. 
 
 ' Nay ! Merely a poet ! 
 
 An animal, a cunning, preying, stealing one, 
 
 Which must lie, 
 
 Which must lie, consciously, voluntarily, 
 
 Longing for prey, 
 
 Disguised in many colours, 
 
 A mask unto itself, 
 
 A prey unto itself. 
 
 That the suitor of truth? 
 
 Only a fool ! a poet ! 
 
 Only a speaker in many colours, 
 
 Speaking in many colours out of fools' masks, 
 
 Stalking about on deceitful word bridges, 
 
 On deceitful rain-bows, 
 
 Between false heavens 
 
 Wandering, stealing about 
 
 Only a fool ! a poet ! 
 
 That the suitor of truth? 
 Not still, numb, smooth, cold,
 
 THE SONG OF MELANCHOLY 437 
 
 Not become an image, 
 A statue of a God ; 
 Not set up in front of temples, 
 A God's usher. 
 
 Nay ! an enemy unto such statues of virtue, 
 More at home in any wilderness than in temples, 
 Full of a cat's wantonness, 
 Leaping through every window, 
 Swiftly, into every chance, 
 Led by its scent into every primeval forest, 
 In order to roam about in primeval forests, 
 Among many-coloured shaggy beasts of prey, 
 Sinfully-healthy and beautiful and many-coloured, 
 To run about with longing lips, 
 Blissfully-mocking, blissfully-hellish, blissfully-blood- 
 thirsty, 
 Preying, stealing, lying. 
 
 Or like the eagle that long, 
 
 Long gazeth benumbed into abysses, 
 
 Into its own abysses ! 
 
 Oh, how they here wriggle downwards, 
 
 Down, down 
 
 Into ever deeper depths ! 
 
 Then, 
 
 Suddenly, 
 
 With straight flight, 
 
 With a sharp attack,
 
 438 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 Swoop down on lambs, 
 
 Head foremost, greedy, 
 
 Longing for lambs, 
 
 Angry with all lamb-souls, 
 
 In sore anger with whatever gazeth 
 
 Virtuous, sheep-like, with curly wool, 
 
 Stupid with the benevolence of lamb's milk ! 
 
 Thus, 
 
 Like eagles, like panthers, 
 
 Are the poet's longings, 
 
 Are thy longings under a thousand masks, 
 
 Thou fool ! Thou poet ! 
 
 Who sawest man 
 As a God and a sheep, 
 To tear the God in man, 
 Like the sheep in man, 
 And to laugh in tearing. 
 
 That, that is thy bliss, 
 A panther's and an eagle's bliss, 
 A poet's and a fool's bliss ! 
 When the air hath become clear, 
 And the sickle of the moon, 
 Green between purple reds 
 And envious stealeth along, 
 An enemy unto day, 
 Sweeping her sickle secretly
 
 THE SONG OF MELANCHOLY 439 
 
 Along hammocks of roses, 
 
 At every step, until they sink, 
 
 Sink down, pale, down into the night 
 
 Thus I once fell downwards, 
 
 Out of mine insanity of truth, 
 
 Out of my longing of the day, 
 
 Weary of the day, sick from the light, 
 
 Fell, downwards, towards the night, towards the 
 
 shadow, 
 
 Burnt by, and thirsty for 
 One truth. 
 
 Rememberest thou, rememberest thou, hot heart, 
 How then thou thirstedst ? 
 
 In order to be excluded 
 
 From all truth! 
 
 Only a fool! Only a poet ! ' "
 
 OF SCIENCE 
 
 Thus sang the wizard. And all who were there 
 assembled, fell unawares like birds into the net of 
 his cunning and melancholy lust. Only the con- 
 scientious one of the spirit had not been caught. 
 He quickly took the harp from the wizard, crying : 
 " Air ! Let good air come in ! Let Zarathustra come 
 in ! Thou makest this cave sultry and poisonous, thou 
 bad old wizard ! 
 
 Thou seducest, thou false one, thou refined one, 
 unto unknown desires and wilderness. And, alas, that 
 folk like thee should make much' trouble and many 
 words with truth! 
 
 Alas, for all free spirits, who are not on their 
 guard against such wizards ! Gone is their freedom. 
 Thou teachest and thereby allurest back into prisons ! 
 
 Thou old melancholy devil, in thy wailing soundeth 
 an alluring pipe. Thou art like unto such as with 
 their praise of chastity secretly invite unto lust ! " 
 
 Thus spake the conscientious one. But the old 
 wizard looked round him, rejoicing in his victory, and 
 swallowed the anger caused him by the conscientious 
 one. "Be quiet!" he said with modest voice. "Good 
 
 440
 
 OF SCIENCE 
 
 441 
 
 songs want good echo. After good songs one shall 
 be silent long. 
 
 Thus do all these, the higher men. But thou 
 seemest to have understood little of my song. In 
 thee is little of an enchanting spirit." 
 
 "Thou praisest me," answered the conscientious 
 one, " by separating me from thee. Go to ! But ye 
 others, what do I see? Ye all still sit there with 
 lustful eyes. 
 
 Ye free souls, whither is your freedom gone ! 
 Methinketh, ye are almost like such as have long 
 looked at evil, dancing, naked girls. Your souls them- 
 selves dance ! 
 
 In you, ye higher men, there must be more of 
 what the wizard calleth his evil spirit of enchantment 
 and deceit. We seem to be very different. 
 
 And, verily, we spake and thought enough together, 
 before Zarathustra came home unto his cave, to enable 
 me to know : we are different. 
 
 We seek different things, even up here, ye and I. 
 For I seek more security. Therefore have I come unto 
 Zarathustra. For he is the firmest tower and will 
 
 To-day when everything is shaken, when the whole 
 earth trembleth. But, when I see the eyes ye make, 
 methinketh almost, ye seek more insecurity, 
 
 More shuddering, more danger, more earthquake.- 
 Methinketh almost, ye long (forgive my haughtiness, 
 ye higher men),
 
 44 2 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 Ye long after the evilest, most dangerous life, that 
 causeth me the most fear, after the life of wild beasts, 
 after forests, caves, steep mountains and labyrinthine 
 abysses. 
 
 And ye are not pleased best by those who lead 
 you out of a danger, but by those who lead you 
 away from all paths, by seducers. But if such a 
 longing is truth in you, it nevertheless seemeth unto 
 me impossible. 
 
 For fear that is man's hereditary and fundamental 
 feeling. By fear everything is explained, original sin 
 and original virtue. Out of fear also hath grown my 
 virtue, which is called Science. 
 
 For the fear of wild beasts hath been bred in 
 man for the longest time, including the beast he con- 
 taineth and feareth in himself. Zarathustra calleth it 
 'the beast inside.' 
 
 Such long, old fear, at last become refined, spiritual, 
 intellectual, to-day, methinketh, it is called Science" 
 
 Thus spake the conscientious one. But Zarathustra 
 who had just returned into his cave and had heard 
 the last speech and guessed its sense, threw a hand- 
 ful of roses at the conscientious one, laughing at his 
 "truths." "What?" he called. "What did I hear 
 just now? Verily, methinketh, thou art a fool, or I 
 am one myself. And thy 'truth' I turn upside down 
 with one blow, and that quickly. 
 
 For fear is our exception. But courage and ad-
 
 OF SCIENCE 443 
 
 venture, and the joy of what is uncertain, what hath 
 never been dared courage, methinketh, is the whole 
 prehistoric development of man. 
 
 From the wildest, most courageous beasts he hath, 
 by his envy and his preying, won all their virtues. 
 Only thus hath he become a man. 
 
 This courage, at last become refined, spiritual, in- 
 tellectual, this human courage with an eagle's wings 
 and a serpent's wisdom it, methinketh, is called 
 to-day " 
 
 " Zarathustra ! " cried all who sat together there, as 
 from one mouth, making a great laughter withal. But 
 a something was lifted from them like a heavy cloud. 
 The wizard also laughed and said shrewdly : " Up ! 
 He is gone, mine evil spirit ! 
 
 And did not I myself warn you of him, when I 
 said that he was a deceiver, a spirit of lying and 
 deceit ? 
 
 And quite especially, if he show himself naked. 
 But are his intrigues my fault ? Did / create him 
 and the world? 
 
 Up ! Let us be good again and of good cheer ! 
 And although Zarathustra gazeth angrily, look at 
 him ! He is angry with me. 
 
 Before night come, he will once more learn how 
 to love and praise me. He cannot live long without 
 doing such follies. 
 
 He loveth his enemies. This art he knoweth best
 
 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 of all whom I have seen. But he taketh revenge for 
 that on his friends ! " 
 
 Thus spake the old wizard, and the higher men 
 applauded him, so that Zarathustra went about and 
 shook hands with his friends, mischievously and lov- 
 ingly, as though he were one with amends to make 
 unto every one for something, who hath to obtain for- 
 giveness from all. But when he thus doing reached 
 once more the door of his cave, behold, he felt again 
 a desire for the good air out there and for his animals, 
 and tried to steal outside again.
 
 AMONG DAUGHTERS OF THE DESERT 
 
 " Go not away ! " said then the wanderer who called 
 himself Zarathustra's shadow. " Remain with us ; 
 otherwise we might be attacked again by the old 
 gloomy affliction. 
 
 That wizard hath already shown us something of 
 his worst, and, behold, the good pious pope there 
 hath tears in his eyes, and hath again set full sail 
 for the sea of melancholy. 
 
 These things there, it is true, will in our presence 
 still display good humour, which they have learnt to- 
 day better than any of us ! But if they had no wit- 
 ness, I wager, with them also the evil game would 
 begin anew. 
 
 The evil game of wandering clouds, of damp melan- 
 choly, of veiled heavens, of stolen suns, of howling 
 autumn-storms ; 
 
 The evil game of our howling and crying for help ! 
 Stay with us, O Zarathustra ! Here is much hidden 
 misery that will speak, much evening, much cloud, 
 much damp air ! 
 
 445
 
 446 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 Thou hast nourished us with strong men's food and 
 powerful sayings. Do not let us at dessert be attacked 
 again by tender, effeminate spirits! 
 
 Thou alone makest the air round thee strong and 
 clear ! Have I ever found on earth air so good as with 
 thee, in thy cave ? 
 
 Many different lands have I seen, my nose hath 
 learnt to examine and estimate many kinds of air ; 
 but with thee my nostrils taste their highest delight ! 
 
 Unless it be, unless it be oh, forgive an old 
 reminiscence ! Forgive me an old desert song I once 
 composed among daughters of the desert. 
 
 For with them there was the same good bright 
 oriental air ! There was I furthest from cloudy, damp, 
 melancholy Old-Europe ! 
 
 Then I loved oriental girls of that tribe, and other 
 blue kingdoms of heaven, over which hung no clouds 
 and no thoughts. 
 
 Ye will not believe how prettily they sat there, 
 when they did not dance ; deep, but without thoughts ; 
 like little secrets ; like riddles with ribbons ; like nuts 
 at dessert ; 
 
 Many-coloured and strange, verily ! but without 
 clouds ; riddles that can be read. To please such 
 girls I then invented my dessert psalm." 
 
 Thus spake the wanderer who called himself Zara- 
 thustra's shadow. And before anybody could answer 
 him, he had seized the old wizard's harp, crossed his
 
 AMONG DAUGHTERS OF THE DESERT 447 
 
 legs, and looked round, worthy and wise. And with 
 his nostrils he slowly and questioningly drew in the 
 air, like one who tasteth new air in new countries. 
 Then he began to sing with a kind of roar. 
 
 " The desert groweth. Woe unto him who containeth 
 deserts / 
 
 Ha! 
 
 . Solemn ! 
 
 A worthy beginning! 
 
 In African solemnity! 
 
 Worthy of a lion, 
 
 Or of a moral howling monkey, 
 
 But nothing for you, 
 
 Ye sweetest girl-friends, 
 
 At the feet of whom 
 
 I am permitted to sit, 
 
 An European under palm-trees. Sela. 
 
 Wonderful, verily ! 
 There sit I now 
 
 Nigh unto the desert, and already 
 So far away from the desert, 
 Not yet ruined in anything. 
 For I am swallowed down- 
 By this smallest oasis.
 
 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 It hath just opened yawning 
 
 Its sweet mouth, 
 
 The best smelling of all little mouths. 
 
 Then I fell into it, 
 
 Down, through it, among you, 
 
 Ye sweetest girl-friends ! Sela. 
 
 Hail ! hail ! unto that whale, 
 
 If it made life for its guest 
 
 So pleasant ! (Ye understand 
 
 My learned allusion ?) 
 
 Hail unto its belly, 
 
 If it was thus 
 
 A sweet belly of an oasis, 
 
 Like this one ! (which I doubt however). 
 
 The reason is : I come from Europe, 
 
 Which is more sceptical than any little wife. 
 
 May God mend things ! 
 
 Amen! 
 
 There sit I now, 
 
 In this smallest oasis, 
 
 Like a date 
 
 Brown, sweetened through, suppurative with gold, 
 
 Desirous for the round mouth of a girl, 
 
 But still more for girl-like, 
 
 Ice-cold, snow-white, cutting, 
 
 Biting teeth. For after these pine 
 
 The hearts of all hot dates. Sela.
 
 AMONG DAUGHTERS OF THE DESERT 449 
 
 Like, all-too-like, 
 
 Unto the southern fruits mentioned, 
 
 Here I lie. 
 
 Round about dance and play 
 
 Little winged beetles, 
 
 And in the same way still smaller, 
 
 Still more foolish and wicked 
 
 Wishes and fancies. 
 
 Round about lie ye, 
 
 Ye mute, ye prophetic 
 
 Girl-cats, 
 
 Dudu and Suleika. 
 
 Ye sphinx round me (to stuff 
 
 Into one word many feelings. 
 
 May God forgive me 
 
 This sin against grammar!). 
 
 Here sit I smelling the best air, 
 
 Verily, the air of paradise, 
 
 Bright, light air with golden stripes, 
 
 As good air as ever fell down 
 
 From the moon, 
 
 Be it by chance, 
 
 Or befell it by wantonness ? 
 
 As the old poets tell the tale. 
 
 But I, a doubter, doubt it. 
 
 The reason is : I come 
 
 From Europe 
 
 Which is more sceptical than any little wife. 
 
 2G
 
 45O THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 May God mend things! 
 Amen ! 
 
 Breathing this finest air, 
 
 My nostrils expanded like cups, 
 
 Without a future, without memories, 
 
 Here sit I, ye 
 
 Sweetest girl-friends, 
 
 And look at this palm-tree, 
 
 How it, like a dancer, 
 
 Boweth and bendeth and swingeth its hips 
 
 (One doth the same, if one look at it too long) 
 
 Like a dancer, who, (it would seem unto me,) 
 
 Too long already, dangerously long, 
 
 Had always, always stood on one little leg ! 
 
 Then so doing she forgot (it would seem unto me) 
 
 The other little leg ! 
 
 At least in vain 
 
 Sought I the missing 
 
 Twin-jewel 
 
 I.e., the other little leg 
 
 In the holy nearness 
 
 Of her very sweetest, very neatest 
 
 Little skirt with its fanning, fluttering, and shining. 
 
 Yea, if ye will believe me wholly, 
 
 Ye beautiful girl-friends : 
 
 She hath lost it ! 
 
 Hu! hu! hu! hu! hu!
 
 AMONG DAUGHTERS OF THE DESERT 451 
 
 It is gone, 
 
 Gone for ever, 
 
 The other little leg! 
 
 Oh, what a pity for this other sweet little leg 
 
 Where doth it dwell and mourn forsaken, 
 
 This lonely little leg? 
 
 Perhaps in fear of a ferocious, 
 
 Yellow, fair-haired, curly, 
 
 Lion-monster? Or perhaps even 
 
 Gnawed at and nibbled at 
 
 Miserable, alas ! alas ! Nibbled at ! Sela. 
 
 Oh, weep not, 
 
 Soft hearts ! 
 
 Weep not, ye 
 
 Date-hearts ! Milk-bosoms ! 
 
 Ye little licorice-heart's 
 
 Purses! 
 
 Be a man, Suleika ! Courage, courage ! 
 
 Weep no more, 
 
 Pale Dudu! 
 
 Or might peradventure 
 
 Something strengthening, heart-strengthening 
 
 Be in the right place ? 
 
 Some anointed saying? 
 
 Some solemn persuasion ? 
 
 Ha! 
 
 Up, dignity!
 
 452 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 Blow, blow again, 
 Bellows of virtue ! 
 Ha! 
 
 Brawl once more, 
 Brawl morally, 
 
 Brawl as a moral lion in the presence of daugh- 
 ters of the desert ! 
 For virtue-brawling, 
 Ye sweetest girls, 
 Is more than all else 
 European fervency, European voracity! 
 And there I stand already, 
 As an European, 
 
 I cannot do differently. So help me God! 
 Amen ! 
 
 The desert groweth. Woe unto him who containeth 
 deserts f "
 
 THE AWAKENING 
 i 
 
 After the song of the wanderer and shadow the 
 cave became all at once full of noise and laughter, 
 and the guests assembled speaking all at the same 
 time, and the ass in the face of such an encour- 
 agement no longer remaining silent, Zarathustra was 
 seized by some displeasure and ridicule of his visitors, 
 although he rejoiced in their gaiety. For it seemed 
 unto him to be a token of convalescence. Thus he 
 stole out into the open air and spake unto his animals. 
 
 " Whither now hath their trouble gone ? " said he, 
 and immediately he breathed again after his little 
 displeasure. "In my dwelling, methinketh, they have 
 unlearnt to cry for help ! 
 
 Although, I grieve to say, not yet to cry altogether." 
 And Zarathustra shut his ears with his hands, for 
 just then the Hee-haw of the donkey mixed strangely 
 with the joyous noise of these higher men. 
 
 "They are gay," he began again, "and who know- 
 eth ? perhaps at the expense of their host. And if 
 they have learnt from me how to laugh, it is not yet 
 my laughter they have learnt. 
 
 453
 
 454 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 But what matter ! They are old folk. They re- 
 cover in their way, they laugh in their way. Mine 
 ears have before suffered worse things and have not 
 been angered. 
 
 This day is a victory. He yieldeth, he flieth, the 
 spirit of gravity, mine old archfiend ! How well is this 
 day going unto an end, which began so ill and heavily ! 
 
 And it is going unto an end. Already the evening 
 cometh. It rideth over the sea unto us, the good 
 rider ! How he swingeth, the blessed one, the return- 
 ing one, in his purple saddles ! 
 
 The sky looketh bright on it, the world lieth 
 deep. O all ye strange ones who came unto me, it 
 is well worth while to live with me ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra. And then again the cry- 
 ing and laughter of the higher men came from the 
 cave. Then he began anew. 
 
 "They bite at it. My bait hath its effect. From 
 them also parteth their enemy, the spirit of gravity. 
 Already they learn to laugh at themselves. Hear I 
 aright ? 
 
 My men's food hath its effect, my saying of power 
 and vigour ! And, verily, I fed them not with flatu- 
 lent vegetables ! But with warriors' food, with con- 
 querors' food. New desires I awakened. 
 
 New hopes are in their arms and legs. Their 
 heart stretcheth itself out. They find new words, 
 soon will their spirit breathe wantonness.
 
 THE AWAKENING 455 
 
 Such a food may, it is true, not be for children, 
 nor for longing little women old and young. Their 
 intestines are persuaded differently. I am not their 
 physician and teacher. 
 
 The loathing leaveth these higher men. Up! that 
 is my victory. In my kingdom they grow secure. 
 All stupid shame fleeth away. They pour themselves 
 out. 
 
 They pour out their heart. Good hours return 
 unto them. They cease from labour and ruminate. 
 ,They grow thankful. 
 
 This I take as the best sign : they grow thankful. 
 Ere long, they will invent festivals and put up stones 
 in memoriam of their old enjoyments. 
 
 They are convalescent ! " Thus spake Zarathustra 
 gaily unto his heart and gazed out. But his animals 
 thronged round him and honoured his happiness and 
 his silence. 
 
 But suddenly Zarathustra's ear was terrified. For 
 the cave, which had hitherto been full of noise and 
 laughter, became all at once as still as death. And 
 his nose smelt the sweet-scenting smoke and frank- 
 incense, as if it sprang from burning pine-cones. 
 
 "What happeneth ? What do they? " he asked him- 
 self and stole unto the entrance in order to be able 
 to look at his guests, unobserved. But wonder over
 
 456 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 wonder! What had he then to look at with his own 
 eyes ! 
 
 " All of them have become pious again, they pray, 
 they are insane ! " he said and was extremely aston- 
 ished. And, verily, all these higher men, the two 
 kings, the pope off duty, the evil wizard, the voluntary 
 beggar, the wanderer and shadow, the old fortune- 
 teller, the conscientious one of the spirit, and the 
 ugliest man they were all, like children and faith- 
 ful old women, down on their knees adoring the ass. 
 And that very moment the ugliest man began to 
 gargle and snort, as if something unutterable was 
 about to come forth from him. But when he had 
 actually reached the point of speaking, behold, it was 
 a pious, strange litany in praise of the adored and 
 incense-sprinkled ass. And this litany sounded thus : 
 
 " Amen ! And praise and honour and wisdom and 
 thanks and glory and strength be given unto our 
 God, from everlasting unto everlasting ! " 
 
 But the ass cried Hee-haw ! 
 
 " He carrieth our burden, he hath taken the form 
 of a slave, he is patient in his heart, and never saith 
 Nay. And he who loveth his God, chastiseth him." 
 
 But the ass cried Hee-haw! 
 
 " He speaketh not, unless it be that he for ever 
 saith ' Yea ' unto the world he created. Thus he 
 praiseth his world. His policy it is not to speak. 
 Thus he is rarely declared to be wrong."
 
 THE AWAKENING 457 
 
 But the ass cried Hee-haw! 
 
 "Without splendour he goeth through the world. 
 Gray is the colour of his body, in which he wrappeth 
 his virtue. If he hath spirit, he hideth it. But 
 every one believeth in his long ears." 
 
 But the ass cried Hee-haw ! 
 
 "What hidden wisdom is in his wearing long ears 
 and ever saying only ' Hee-haw ' and never ' Nay ' ! 
 Hath he not created the world after his own image, 
 i.e., as stupid as possible?" 
 ^ But the ass cried Hee-haw! 
 
 "Thou goest straight and crooked ways. It con- 
 cern eth thee little what exactly appeareth straight or 
 crooked unto us men. Beyond good and evil is thy 
 kingdom. It is thine innocence not to know what 
 innocence is." 
 
 But the ass cried Hee-haw ! 
 
 "Behold, how thou pushest away none from thee, 
 neither beggars nor kings. The little children thou 
 lettest come unto thee, and when the bad boys allure 
 thee, thou simply sayest ' Hee-haw.' " 
 
 But the ass cried Hee-haw ! 
 
 "Thou lovest she-asses and fresh figs, thou art no 
 despiser of food. A thistle tickleth thy heart, when 
 thou chancest to be hungry. Therein lieth a God's 
 wisdom." 
 
 But the ass cried Hee-haw!
 
 THE ASS-FESTIVAL 
 
 At this point of the litany Zarathustra could no 
 longer master himself. He himself cried Hee-haw 
 still louder than the ass and leaped into the midst of 
 his guests who had gone mad. " What do ye here, 
 ye children of men ? " he called, tearing up from the 
 ground the praying ones. " Alas, if anybody else 
 should look at you save Zarathustra! 
 
 Every one would judge that, with your new belief, 
 ye were the worst blasphemers or the most foolish of 
 all little old women ! 
 
 And thou thyself, thou old pope, how agreeth it 
 with thee thus to adore an ass as God ? " 
 
 "O Zarathustra," answered the pope, "forgive me! 
 But in matters of God I am more enlightened than 
 thou. And it is right it should be thus. 
 
 Rather adore God in this shape than in no shape ! 
 Meditate over this saying, my lofty friend ! Thou find- 
 est out quickly : there is wisdom in such a saying. 
 
 He who said : ' God is a spirit,' hath hitherto made 
 the greatest step and leap unto unbelief on earth. It 
 
 458
 
 THE ASS-FESTIVAL 459 
 
 is not easy to make on earth amends for such a 
 word ! 
 
 Mine old heart leapeth and hoppeth because there 
 is still something to be adored on earth. Forgive that, 
 O Zarathustra, unto the old pious heart of a pope ! " 
 
 "And thou," said Zarathustra unto the wanderer 
 and shadow, "thou callest and thinkest thyself a free 
 spirit? And thou dost here such idolatry and service 
 of priests ? 
 
 Worse, verily, thou dost here than with thine evil 
 brown girls, thou evil new believer ! " 
 
 "It is bad enough," answered the wanderer and 
 shadow, " thou art right. But how is it my fault ? The 
 old God liveth again, O Zarathustra, thou mayest say 
 whatever thou likest. 
 
 All this is the fault of the ugliest man. He hath 
 awakened him again. And if -he saith that he hath 
 slain him, with Gods death is always only a preju- 
 dice." 
 
 " And thou," said Zarathustra, " thou evil old wizard, 
 what didst thou ? Who shall, in this time of freedom, 
 believe any more in thee, if thou believest in such 
 God-doltishnesses ? 
 
 It was a stupidity thou didst. How couldst thou, 
 thou prudent one, do such a stupidity ! " 
 
 " O Zarathustra," answered the prudent wizard, " thou 
 art right, it was a stupidity. Besides, it hath been 
 hard enough upon me."
 
 460 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 "And even thou," said Zarathustra unto the con- 
 scientious one of the spirit, " meditate and put thy 
 finger unto thy nose ! Doth nothing here go contrary 
 unto thy conscience ? Is thy spirit not too cleanly for 
 this praying and the smell of these bigots ? " 
 
 "There is something in that," answered the con- 
 scientious one, putting his finger unto his nose, " there 
 is something in this spectacle that gratifieth even my 
 conscience. 
 
 Perhaps I may not be allowed to believe in God. 
 But certain it is that in this shape God seemeth unto 
 me to be the most credible of all. 
 
 God is said to be eternal according unto the testi- 
 mony of the most pious. He who hath much time, 
 taketh his time. As slow and as stupid as possible. 
 TJiereby such an one can nevertheless go very far. 
 
 And he who hath too much of the spirit, might 
 well be infatuated with stupidity and folly. Meditate 
 on thyself, O Zarathustra ! 
 
 Thyself, verily ! even thou mightest become an ass 
 out of abundance and wisdom. 
 
 Doth not a perfect wise man prefer to walk by 
 the most crooked roads ? Appearances teach thus, O 
 Zarathustra, thine appearances ! " 
 
 "And last of all thou," said Zarathustra, turning 
 towards the ugliest man, who still lay on the ground rais- 
 ing his arm unto the ass (for he gave it wine to drink). 
 " Say, thou unutterable one, what didst thou there !
 
 THE ASS-FESTIVAL 461 
 
 Thou seemest unto me to be changed ; thine eye 
 gloweth; the mantle of what is sublime lieth round 
 thine ugliness. What didst thou? 
 
 Is it really true, what these say, that thou awaken- 
 edst Him again ? And wherefore ? Was He not slain 
 and put aside with good reason ? 
 
 Thou thyself seemest unto me to be awakened. 
 What didst thou ? What didst thon turn round ? Why 
 wert thou converted ? Say, thou unutterable one ! " 
 
 "O Zarathustra," answered the ugliest man, "thou 
 aft a villain ! 
 
 Whether He is still alive, or liveth again, or is 
 thoroughly dead, which of us two knoweth that best ? 
 I ask thee. 
 
 But one thing I know. From thyself I once learned 
 it, O Zarathustra. He who wanteth to kill most thor- 
 oughly, laugheth. 
 
 'Not through wrath, but through laughter one 
 slayeth,' thus saidest thou once. O Zarathustra, thou 
 hidden one, thou destroyer without wrath, thou danger- 
 ous saint, thou art a villain ! " 
 
 Then it came to pass that Zarathustra, astonished 
 at such mere villains' answers, leaped back unto the 
 door of his cave and, turning towards all his guests, 
 cried with a strong voice :
 
 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 " O ye buffoons assembled, O ye clowns ! Why do 
 ye dissemble and hide in my presence? 
 
 How the hearts of all of you bounded with delight 
 and wickedness, because ye at last became once more 
 like the little children, i.e., pious, 
 
 That at last ye did again as children do, i.e., prayed, 
 folded your hands, and said ' dear God ! ' 
 
 But now leave unto me this nursery, mine own cave, 
 where to-day all childishness is at home. Cool down 
 here outside your hot children's wantoning and noise 
 of hearts ! 
 
 True, if ye become not like the little children, ye 
 will not go into that kingdom of heaven." (And Zara- 
 thustra pointed upwards with his hands.) 
 
 " But we do not want to go into the kingdom of 
 heaven ! We have become men. Thus we will the 
 kingdom of earth." 
 
 And once more began Zarathustra to speak. "O 
 my new friends," said he, "ye strange ones, ye higher 
 men, how well am I pleased by you, 
 
 Since ye have become gay again ! Verily, ye all 
 have begun to blossom. Methinketh, for such flowers 
 as ye are, new festivals are required, 
 
 Some little downright nonsense, some God-service 
 and ass-festival, some old gay Zarathustra fool, a 
 whirlwind that fanneth your souls into brightness.
 
 THE ASS-FESTIVAL 463 
 
 Forget not this night and this ass-festival, ye higher 
 men ! That was invented by you in my home ; that is 
 taken by me as a good omen. Such things are in- 
 vented solely by convalescent ones ! 
 
 And if ye celebrate it again, this ass-festival, do it 
 for the sake of your own love, do it also for the sake 
 of my love ! And unto my memory ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra.
 
 THE DRUNKEN SONG 
 
 In the meantime one after the other had stepped 
 out into the open air and into the cool, thoughtful 
 night. Zarathustra himself led the ugliest man by 
 the hand, in order to show him his night-world and 
 the great round moon and the silvery waterfalls nigh 
 unto his cave. There at last they stood silently to- 
 gether, all old men, but with comforted, brave hearts, 
 and astonished at themselves, because they felt so well 
 on earth. But the secrecy of night came nigher and 
 nigher unto their hearts. And once more Zarathustra 
 thought in his mind : " Oh, how well am I now pleased 
 with them, these higher men ! " But he did not say 
 it aloud, for he honoured their happiness and their 
 silence. 
 
 Then a thing came to pass, the most astonishing 
 of that astonishing long day. The ugliest man began 
 once more, and for the last time, to gargle and snort. 
 And when he had found words, behold, a question 
 sprang round and clean from his mouth, a good, deep, 
 clear question, which moved the heart in the body of 
 all who listened. 
 
 464
 
 THE DRUNKEN SONG 465 
 
 "Mine assembled friends," said the ugliest man, 
 "what think ye? For the sake of this day, / am 
 for the first time content to have lived the whole of 
 life. 
 
 And to bear witness for so much is not yet enough 
 for me. It is worth while to live on earth. One day, 
 one festival with Zarathustra, taught me to love earth. 
 
 'Hath that been life?' I shall say unto death. 
 ' Up ! Once more ! ' 
 
 My friends, what think ye? Will ye not, like me, 
 say unto death : ' Hath that been life ? For Zara- 
 thustra's sake, up ! Once more ! '" 
 
 Thus spake the ugliest man. But it was not far 
 from midnight. And what think ye then befell ? As 
 soon as the higher men had heard his question, all at 
 once they became conscious of their change and con- 
 valescence and who occasioned them. Then they 
 leaped towards Zarathustra, thanking, revering, fon- 
 dling, kissing his hands, each in his own peculiar way, 
 so that some laughed and some cried. But the old 
 wizard danced with pleasure. And though he then, as 
 some tale-tellers think, was full of sweet wine, he was 
 certainly still fuller of sweet life and had renounced all 
 weariness. There are even such as tell that then even 
 the ass danced. For not in vain had the ugliest man 
 (it is said) given it wine to drink before. This may 
 be so, or it may be otherwise. And if in truth the ass 
 did not dance that night, greater and stranger wonders 
 
 2H
 
 466 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 happened, than the dancing of an ass would have 
 been. In short, as Zarathustra's saying goeth, " What 
 matter ! " 
 
 When this came to pass with the ugliest man, 
 Zarathustra stood there like one drunken. His look 
 was dimmed, his tongue stammered, his feet staggered. 
 And who could guess what thoughts then passed over 
 Zarathustra's soul ? But his spirit apparently retreated 
 and fled before him, and was in far distances, and, as 
 it were, " walking like a heavy cloud on a high ridge," 
 as it is written, 
 
 "Between two seas, between what is past and 
 what is to come." But by and by, while the higher 
 men held him in their arms, he came back somewhat 
 unto himself, and with his hands hindered the throng 
 of the revering and anxious ones. But he spake not. 
 All at once he swiftly turned his head, for he seemed 
 to hear something. Then he laid his finger on his 
 mouth and said : " Come ! " 
 
 And immediately it grew still and home-like round 
 about. But from the depth there rose slowly the 
 sound of a bell. Zarathustra listened unto it, like the 
 higher men. But then, for a second time, he laid his 
 finger on his mouth and said again : " Come ! come ! 
 It is nigJi unto midnight!" And his voice had 
 changed. But not yet did he move from the spot.
 
 THE DRUNKEN SONG 467 
 
 Then it grew still quieter and more home-like, and 
 everything hearkened, including the ass and Zarathus- 
 tra's animals of honour, the eagle and the serpent; 
 and likewise Zarathustra's cave, and the great cool 
 moon, and the night itself. But Zarathustra, for a 
 third time, laid his hand on his mouth and said : 
 
 "Come ! Come ! Come ! Let us walk now ! It is 
 the hour! Let us walk into the night! 
 
 3 
 
 Ye higher men, it is nigh unto midnight. Now I 
 will say something into your ears, as that old bell 
 telleth it into mine; 
 
 As familiarly, as terribly, as heartily, as speaketh 
 unto me that midnight-bell which hath seen more 
 than any man ; 
 
 Which hath long ago counted the pulses of your 
 fathers' heart-beat, and pain. Alas ! alas ! how it sigh- 
 eth ! how it laugheth in dream ! the old, deep, deep 
 midnight ! 
 
 Hush! hush! Then many things are heard which 
 are not permitted to become audible in daytime. 
 But now, in the cool air, after even all noise of your 
 hearts hath been stilled ; 
 
 Now they speak, now they are heard, now they 
 steal into night-like over-wakeful souls. Alas ! alas ! 
 how midnight sigheth, how it laugheth in dream!
 
 468 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 Hearest thou not, how it familiarly, terribly, heart- 
 ily speaketh unto thee old, deep, deep midnight? 
 man, lose not sight ! 
 
 Woe unto me ! Whither is time gone ? Sank I 
 not into deep wells ? The world sleepeth. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! The dog howleth, the moon shineth. 
 Rather will I die, die than tell you what my midnight- 
 heart thinketh this moment. 
 
 Now I have died. It is gone. Spider, why spinnest 
 thou round me ? Wouldst thou have blood ? Alas ! 
 alas ! The dew falleth, the hour cometh ! 
 
 The hour when I feel cool and cold, which asketh 
 and asketh and asketh : ' Who hath courage enough ? 
 
 Who shall be the master of earth ? Who will say : 
 " Thus shall ye flow, ye great and small streams ! " 
 
 The hour approacheth ! O man, thou higher man, 
 lose not sight ! This speech is for fine ears, for thine 
 ears. What saith the deep midnight? 
 
 5 
 
 I am carried away. My soul danceth. Work of 
 the day ! Work of the day ! Who shall be the 
 master of earth ? 
 
 The moon is cool, the wind is silent. Alas ! alas ! 
 Have ye hitherto flown high enough ? Ye danced. 
 But ye see, a leg is not a wing.
 
 THE DRUNKEN SONG 469 
 
 Ye good dancers, now all lust is gone. Wine be- 
 came lees, every cup became mellow, the graves 
 stammer. 
 
 Ye have not flown high enough. Now the graves 
 stammer : ' Redeem the dead ! Why is it night so 
 long ? Doth the moon not make us drunken ? ' 
 
 Ye higher men, redeem the graves, awaken the 
 corpses ! Alas ! Why diggeth the worm ? The hour 
 approacheth, approacheth. 
 
 The bell hummeth, even the heart purreth, even 
 the wood-worm, the heart-worm, diggeth. Alas ! alas ! 
 The world is deep! 
 
 6 
 
 Sweet lyre ! Sweet lyre ! I love thy tone, thy 
 drunken tone of toads ! From what time, from what 
 distance, come thy tones unto me, from a far distance, 
 from the ponds of love ? 
 
 Thou old bell, thou sweet lyre ! Every pain made 
 a gap in thy heart, the pain of the father, the pain of 
 the fathers, the pain of the forefathers. Thy speech 
 hath become ripe ; 
 
 Ripe as a golden autumn and afternoon, as my 
 hermit-heart. Now speakest thou: 'The world itself 
 hath become ripe, the grape becometh brown. 
 
 Now it wanteth to die, to die of happiness.' Ye 
 higher men, do ye not smell it? Secretly an odour 
 springeth up.
 
 47 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 A smell and odour of eternity, a smell blissful as roses, 
 brown, like golden wine, an odour of old happiness ! 
 
 An odour of the drunken happiness of midnight- 
 death, that singeth : ' The world is deep, and deeper 
 than ever day thought it might!' 
 
 Leave me ! Leave me ! I am too pure for thee ! 
 Touch me not ! Hath my world not this moment 
 become perfect ? 
 
 My skin is too pure for thy hands. Leave me, thou 
 stupid, doltish, sultry day ! Is midnight not brighter ? 
 
 The purest shall be the lords of earth ; the least 
 recognised, the strongest, the midnight-souls, which 
 are brighter and deeper than any day. 
 
 O day, thou graspest after me ? Thou gropest for 
 my happiness ? For thee I am rich, lonely, a treasure 
 pit, a gold chamber ? 
 
 O world, thou wantest me? Am I of the world 
 for thee ? Am I spiritual for thee ? Am I divine 
 for thee ? But day and world, ye are too bulky. 
 
 Have cleverer hands ; grasp for deeper happiness, 
 for deeper misfortune ; grasp for any God, grasp not 
 for me ! 
 
 My misfortune and my happiness are deep, thou 
 strange day, and yet I am no God, no God's hell. 
 Deep is its woe.
 
 THE DRUNKEN SONG 471 
 
 8 
 
 God's woe is deeper, thou strange world ! Grasp 
 for God's woe, not for me ! What am I ? A drunken 
 sweet lyre. 
 
 A midnight-lyre, a bell-toad, understood by no 
 one, but compelled to speak, before deaf ones, ye 
 higher men ! For ye understand me not ! 
 
 Gone ! Gone ! Oh, youth ! Oh, noon ! Oh, after- 
 noon ! Now evening and night and midnight have 
 cgme. The dog howleth, the wind. 
 
 Is the wind not a dog? It whimpereth, barketh, 
 howleth. Alas ! alas ! How midnight sigheth ! How 
 it laugheth, how it rattleth and panteth, midnight ! 
 
 How it now speaketh soberly, this drunken poet ! 
 Did it overdrink its drunkenness? Did it become 
 over-wakeful ? Doth it ruminate ? 
 
 It ruminateth upon its woe in dream, the old deep 
 midnight. And it still more ruminateth upon its de- 
 light. For delight, if woe be deep, be deep already 
 deeper is still than woe delight. 
 
 9 
 
 Thou vine-plant! Why praisest thou me? Did 
 I not cut thee? I am cruel, thou bleedest. What 
 meaneth thy praise of my drunken cruelty ? 
 
 'Whatever hath become perfect, all that is ripe,
 
 47-2 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 wanteth to die ! ' thou sayest. Be the vine-knife 
 blessed, blessed ! But all that is unripe, wanteth to 
 live ! Alas ! 
 
 Saith woe : ' Pass, go ! Away, thou woe ! ' But 
 everything that suffereth wanteth to live in order to 
 become ripe and gay and longing, 
 
 Longing for what is more distant, higher, brighter. 
 'I want heirs,' thus saith everything that suffereth, 
 ' I want children, I want not myself? 
 
 But delight wanteth not heirs, not children. Delight 
 wanteth itself, wanteth eternity, wanteth recurrence, 
 wanteth everything to be eternally equal unto itself. 
 
 Saith woe : ' Break, bleed, heart ! Walk, leg ! Wing, 
 fly! Up! Upward! Pain!' Up! Up! Oh, mine 
 old heart ! Saith woe : ' Pass, go ! ' 
 
 10 
 
 Ye higher men, what appeareth unto you ? Am I 
 a prophet ? A dreamer ? A drunken one ? An inter- 
 preter of dreams ? A midnight-bell ? 
 
 A drop of dew ? A smell and odour of eternity ? 
 Hear ye not ? Smell ye not ? This moment hath my 
 world become perfect. Midnight is noon also ! 
 
 Pain is a delight also ! Curse is a blessing also. 
 Night is a sun also. Go off! Otherwise ye will 
 learn : A wise man is a fool also. 
 
 Said ye ever Yea unto one delight ? O my
 
 THE DRUNKEN SONG 473 
 
 friends, if ye did, ye have also said Yea unto all woe. 
 All things are chained, knotted, in love. 
 
 If ye ever wanted to have one time twice, if ye 
 ever said : ' Thou pleasest me, O happiness, O in- 
 stant, O moment ! ye wished everything to come back ! ' 
 
 Everything anew, everything eternal, everything 
 chained, knotted, in love. Oh ! thus ye loved the 
 world ! 
 
 Ye eternal ones, ye love it eternally and for all 
 time. And even unto woe ye say : ' Pass, go, but 
 return ! For eternity s sought by all delight ! ' 
 
 II 
 
 Eternity of all things is sought by all delight. 
 Honey, lees, drunken midnight, graves, comfort of tears 
 at graves, gilded evening red, are sought by it. 
 
 What is not sought by delight ! It is thirstier, 
 heartier, hungrier, more dreadful, more familiar than 
 all woe. It seeketh itself, it biteth into itself. The 
 will of the ring struggleth in it. 
 
 It seeketh love ; it seeketh hatred ; it is over-rich ; 
 it giveth ; it throweth away ; it beggeth, that one may 
 take it ; it thanketh him who taketh ; it would fain be 
 hated. 
 
 So rich is delight, that it thirsteth for me, for. hell, 
 for hatred, for shame, for the cripple, for world, for 
 this world ! Oh, ye know it !
 
 4/4 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 Ye higher men, for yourselves it longeth, delight, 
 the unruly, blissful one, for your woe, ye ill-con- 
 stituted ! For failures all eternal delight longeth ! 
 
 For all delight seeketh itself. Therefore it also 
 seeketh woe ! Oh, happiness ! Oh, pain ! Oh, 
 break, heart ! Ye higher men, learn that eternity is 
 sought by delight. 
 
 Eternity of all things is sought by delight, eternity 
 deep by all delight! 
 
 12 
 
 Have ye now learnt my song? Guessed ye what 
 it seeketh ? Up ! up ! Ye higher men, sing now 
 my roundelay ! 
 
 Sing now yourselves the song whose name is 
 ' Once more,' whose sense is ' For all eternity ! ' 
 Sing, ye higher men, Zarathustra's roundelay ! 
 
 O man ! Lose not sight ! 
 
 What saith the deep midnight? 
 
 '/ lay in sleep, in sleep ; 
 
 From deep dream I woke to light. 
 
 The world is deep, 
 
 And deeper than ever day thought it might. 
 
 Deep is its woe, 
 
 And deeper still than woe delight.' 
 
 Saith woe : ' Pass, go ! 
 
 Eternity ' j souglit by all delight, 
 
 Eternity deep by all delight ! ' '
 
 But the morning after that night Zarathustra 
 jumped up from his couch, girded his loins, and 
 stepped out of his cave, glowing and strong, like a 
 morning sun coming from dark mountains. 
 
 "Thou great star," he said, as he had said once, 
 !"thou deep eye of happiness, what would be all thy 
 happiness, if thou hadst not those for whom thou 
 shinest ! 
 
 And if they would remain in their chambers, 
 while thou art awake and comest and givest and 
 distributest, how angry would thy proud shame be 
 at that! 
 
 Up ! They sleep still, these higher men, whilst / 
 am awake. They are not my proper companions! 
 Not for them wait I here in my mountains. 
 
 Unto my work will I go, unto my day. But they 
 understand not what are the signs of my morning. 
 My step is for them not a call that awaketh them 
 from sleep ! 
 
 They sleep still in my cave. Their dream drinketh 
 still at my drunken songs. The ear that hearkeneth 
 for me, the obeying ear, is lacking in their limbs." 
 
 475
 
 4/6 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 This had Zarathustra said unto his heart, when 
 the sun rose. Then he asking looked upward, for he 
 heard above him the sharp cry of his eagle. " Up ! " 
 he shouted upward, "thus it pleaseth me and is due 
 unto me. Mine animals are awake, for I am awake. 
 
 Mine eagle is awake and, like me, honoureth the 
 sun. With an eagle's claws he graspeth for the new 
 light. Ye are my proper animals. I love you. 
 
 But my proper men are still lacking unto me ! " 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra. Then it came to pass 
 that he heard of a sudden that he was surrounded by 
 numberless birds that swarmed and fluttered. But 
 the whizzing of so many wings, and the thronging 
 round his head were so great that he shut his eyes. 
 And, verily, like a cloud something fell upon him, 
 like a cloud of arrows discharged over a new enemy. 
 But, behold, here it was a cloud of love, and it 
 hovered over a new friend. 
 
 "What happeneth unto me?" Zarathustra thought 
 in his astonished heart, and slowly sat down on the 
 big stone which lay beside the exit of his cave. But 
 while he grasped with his hands round himself, and 
 above himself, and below himself, and kept back the 
 tender birds, behold, something still stranger hap- 
 pened unto him. He unawares laid hold of dense 
 warm shaggy hair. At the same time a roaring was 
 heard before him, a gentle, long roaring of a lion. 
 
 " The sign conieth" said Zarathustra, and his heart
 
 THE SIGN 477 
 
 changed. And, in truth, when it grew light before 
 him, there lay a yellow powerful animal at his feet, 
 and clung with its head at his knees, and would not 
 leave him, and did thus out of love, and did as a 
 dog doth when he findeth his old master again. But 
 the doves with their love were no less eager than the 
 lion. And every time when a dove flew quickly across 
 the nose of the lion, the lion shook its head and won- 
 dered and laughed. 
 
 Whilst all this went on, Zarathustra said but one 
 thing : " My children are nigh) my children" Then 
 ne became quite mute. But his heart was loosened, 
 and from his eyes tears dropped and fell upon his 
 hands. And he no more took notice of anything 
 and sat there unmoved, and without keeping the 
 animals back any more. Then the doves flew to and 
 fro and sat down on his shoulder, and fondled his 
 white hair, and wearied not with tenderness and 
 rejoicing. But the strong lion always licked the 
 tears which fell down on Zarathustra's hands, and 
 roared and hummed shyly. Thus did these animals. 
 
 This all took a long time or a short time. For, 
 properly speaking, for such things there is no time 
 on earth. But in the meantime the higher men had 
 awakened in Zarathustra's cave and arranged them- 
 selves into a procession in order to go to meet Zara- 
 thustra and to offer him their morning greeting. 
 For they had found, when they awoke, that he no
 
 4/8 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV 
 
 more dwelt among them. But when they came unto 
 the door of the cave, and the sound of their steps 
 went before them, the lion, terribly startled, turned 
 all at once away from Zarathustra, and leaped, 
 wildly roaring, towards the cave. But the higher 
 men, when they heard him roar, all cried out as with 
 one mouth, and fled back and vanished in a moment. 
 
 But Zarathustra himself, stunned and strange, rose 
 from his seat, looked round, stood there astonished, 
 asked his heart, remembered, and was alone. "What 
 heard I ? " he at last said slowly. " What happened 
 unto me this moment?" 
 
 And immediately his memory came back, and with 
 one look he understood all that had happened be- 
 tween yesterday and to-day. " Here is the stone," he 
 said and stroked his beard. " On it I sat yester-morn- 
 ing. And here the fortune-teller stepped unto me; 
 and here for the first time I heard the cry I heard 
 this moment, the great cry for help. 
 
 Oh, ye higher men, of your need it was that 
 yester-morning that old fortune-teller told me his 
 tale. 
 
 Unto your need he tried to seduce me and tempt 
 me. ' O Zarathustra,' he said unto me, ' I come to 
 seduce thee unto thy last sin.' 
 
 Unto my last sin ? " cried Zarathustra, and angrily 
 laughed at his own word. " What hath been reserved 
 for me as my last sin ? "
 
 THE SIGN 
 
 479 
 
 And once more Zarathustra sank into himself and 
 again sat down on the great stone and meditated. 
 Suddenly he jumped up. 
 
 " Pity ! Pity for the higher man ! " he cried out, 
 and his face turned into brass. "Up! That hath 
 had its time ! 
 
 My woe and my pity, what matter? Do I seek for 
 happiness? I seek for my work! 
 
 Up ! the lion hath come. My children are nigh. 
 Zarathustra hath ripened. Mine hour hath come ! 
 
 i 
 
 - This is my morning. My day beginneth ! Come up, 
 then, come up, thou great noon!" 
 
 Thus spake Zarathustra and left his cave, glowing 
 and strong, like a morning sun which cometh from 
 dark mountains. 
 
 THE END
 
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