Thus Spake Zarathustra

[VoraX]

 51. On Passing-by

  THUS slowly wandering through many peoples and divers cities, did
Zarathustra return by round-about roads to his mountains and his cave.
And behold, thereby came he unawares also to the gate of the great
city. Here, however, a foaming fool, with extended hands, sprang
forward to him and stood in his way. It was the same fool whom the
people called "the ape of Zarathustra:" for he had learned from him
something of the expression and modulation of language, and perhaps
liked also to borrow from the store of his wisdom. And the fool talked
thus to Zarathustra:
  O Zarathustra, here is the great city: here hast thou nothing to
seek and everything to lose.
  Why wouldst thou wade through this mire? Have pity upon thy foot!
Spit rather on the gate of the city, and- turn back!
  Here is the hell for anchorites' thoughts: here are great thoughts
seethed alive and boiled small.
  Here do all great sentiments decay: here may only rattle-boned
sensations rattle!
  Smellest thou not already the shambles and cookshops of the
spirit? Steameth not this city with the fumes of slaughtered spirit?
  Seest thou not the souls hanging like limp dirty rags?- And they
make newspapers also out of these rags!
  Hearest thou not how spirit hath here become a verbal game?
Loathsome verbal swill doth it vomit forth!- And they make
newspapers also out of this verbal swill.
  They hound one another, and know not whither! They inflame one
another, and know not why! They tinkle with their pinchbeck, they
jingle with their gold.
  They are cold, and seek warmth from distilled waters: they are
inflamed, and seek coolness from frozen spirits; they are all sick and
sore through public opinion.
  All lusts and vices are here at home; but here there are also the
virtuous; there is much appointable appointed virtue:-
  Much appointable virtue with scribe-fingers, and hardy sitting-flesh
and waiting-flesh, blessed with small breast-stars, and padded,
haunchless daughters.
  There is here also much piety, and much faithful spittle-licking and
spittle-backing, before the God of Hosts.
  "From on high," drippeth the star, and the gracious spittle; for the
high, longeth every starless bosom.
  The moon hath its court, and the court hath its moon-calves: unto
all, however, that cometh from the court do the mendicant people pray,
and all appointable mendicant virtues.
  "I serve, thou servest, we serve"- so prayeth all appointable virtue
to the prince: that the merited star may at last stick on the
slender breast!
  But the moon still revolveth around all that is earthly: so
revolveth also the prince around what is earthliest of all- that,
however, is the gold of the shopman.
  The God of the Hosts of war is not the God of the golden bar; the
prince proposeth, but the shopman- disposeth!
  By all that is luminous and strong and good in thee, O
Zarathustra! Spit on this city of shopmen and return back!
  Here floweth all blood putridly and tepidly and frothily through all
veins: spit on the great city, which is the great slum where all the
scum frotheth together!
  Spit on the city of compressed souls and slender breasts, of pointed
eyes and sticky fingers-
  -On the city of the obtrusive, the brazen-faced, the
pen-demagogues and tongue-demagogues, the overheated ambitious:-
  Where everything maimed, ill-famed, lustful, untrustful,
over-mellow, sickly-yellow and seditious, festereth perniciously:-
  -Spit on the great city and turn back!-

  Here, however, did Zarathustra interrupt the foaming fool, and
shut his mouth.-
  Stop this at once! called out Zarathustra, long have thy speech
and thy species disgusted me!
  Why didst thou live so long by the swamp, that thou thyself hadst to
become a frog and a toad?
  Floweth there not a tainted, frothy, swamp-blood in thine own veins,
when thou hast thus learned to croak and revile?
  Why wentest thou not into the forest? Or why didst thou not till the
ground? Is the sea not full of green islands?
  I despise thy contempt; and when thou warnedst me- why didst thou
not warn thyself?
  Out of love alone shall my contempt and my warning bird take wing;
but not out of the swamp!-
  They call thee mine ape, thou foaming fool: but I call thee my
grunting-pig,- by thy grunting, thou spoilest even my praise of folly.
  What was it that first made thee grunt? Because no one
sufficiently flattered thee:- therefore didst thou seat thyself beside
this filth, that thou mightest have cause for much grunting,-
  -That thou mightest have cause for much vengeance! For vengeance,
thou vain fool, is all thy foaming; I have divined thee well!
  But thy fools'-word injureth me, even when thou art right! And
even if Zarathustra's word were a hundred times justified, thou
wouldst ever- do wrong with my word!

  Thus spake Zarathustra. Then did he look on the great city and
sighed, and was long silent. At last he spake thus:
  I loathe also this great city, and not only this fool. Here and
there- there is nothing to better, nothing to worsen.
  Woe to this great city!- And I would that I already saw the pillar
of fire in which it will be consumed!
  For such pillars of fire must precede the great noontide. But this
hath its time and its own fate.-
  This precept, however, give I unto thee, in parting, thou fool:
Where one can no longer love, there should one- pass by!-

  Thus spake Zarathustra, and passed by the fool and the great city.

[VoraX]

52. The Apostates

                            1.

  AH, LIETH everything already withered and grey which but lately
stood green and many-hued on this meadow! And how much honey of hope
did I carry hence into my beehives!
  Those young hearts have already all become old- and not old even!
only weary, ordinary, comfortable:- they declare it: "We have again
become pious."
  Of late did I see them run forth at early morn with valorous
steps: but the feet of their knowledge became weary, and now do they
malign even their morning valour!
  Verily, many of them once lifted their legs like the dancer; to them
winked the laughter of my wisdom:- then did they bethink themselves.
Just now have I seen them bent down- to creep to the cross.
  Around light and liberty did they once flutter like gnats and
young poets. A little older, a little colder: and already are they
mystifiers, and mumblers and mollycoddles.
  Did perhaps their hearts despond, because lonesomeness had swallowed
me like a whale? Did their ear perhaps hearken yearningly-long for
me in vain, and for my trumpet-notes and herald-calls?
  -Ah! Ever are there but few of those whose hearts have persistent
courage and exuberance; and in such remaineth also the spirit patient.
The rest, however, are cowardly.
  The rest: these are always the great majority, the common-place, the
superfluous, the far-too many- those all are cowardly!-
  Him who is of my type, will also the experiences of my type meet
on the way: so that his first companions must be corpses and buffoons.
  His second companions, however- they will call themselves his
believers,- will be a living host, with much love, much folly, much
unbearded veneration.
  To those believers shall he who is of my type among men not bind his
heart; in those spring-times and many-hued meadows shall he not
believe, who knoweth the fickly faint-hearted human species!
  Could they do otherwise, then would they also will otherwise. The
half-and-half spoil every whole. That leaves become withered,- what is
there to lament about that!
  Let them go and fall away, O Zarathustra, and do not lament!
Better even to blow amongst them with rustling winds,-
  -Blow amongst those leaves, O Zarathustra, that everything
withered may run away from thee the faster!-

                            2.

  "We have again become pious"- so do those apostates confess; and
some of them are still too pusillanimous thus to confess.
  Unto them I look into the eye,- before them I say it unto their face
and unto the blush on their cheeks: Ye are those who again pray!
  It is however a shame to pray! Not for all, but for thee, and me,
and whoever hath his conscience in his head. For thee it is a shame to
pray!
  Thou knowest it well: the faint-hearted devil in thee, which would
fain fold its arms, and place its hands in its bosom, and take it
easier:- this faint-hearted devil persuadeth thee that "there is a
God!"
  Thereby, however, dost thou belong to the light-dreading type, to
whom light never permitteth repose: now must thou daily thrust thy
head deeper into obscurity and vapour!
  And verily, thou choosest the hour well: for just now do the
nocturnal birds again fly abroad. The hour hath come for all
light-dreading people, the vesper hour and leisure hour, when they
do not- "take leisure."
  I hear it and smell it: it hath come- their hour for hunt and
procession, not indeed for a wild hunt, but for a tame, lame,
snuffling, soft-treaders', soft-prayers' hunt,-
  -For a hunt after susceptible simpletons: all mouse-traps for the
heart have again been set! And whenever I lift a curtain, a night-moth
rusheth out of it.
  Did it perhaps squat there along with another night-moth? For
everywhere do I smell small concealed communities; and wherever
there are closets there are new devotees therein, and the atmosphere
of devotees.
  They sit for long evenings beside one another, and say: "Let us
again become like little children and say, 'good God!'"- ruined in
mouths and stomachs by the pious confectioners.
  Or they look for long evenings at a crafty, lurking cross-spider,
that preacheth prudence to the spiders themselves, and teacheth that
"under crosses it is good for cobweb-spinning!"
  Or they sit all day at swamps with angle-rods, and on that account
think themselves profound; but whoever fisheth where there are no
fish, I do not even call him superficial!
  Or they learn in godly-gay style to play the harp with a
hymn-poet, who would fain harp himself into the heart of young girls:-
for he hath tired of old girls and their praises.
  Or they learn to shudder with a learned semi-madcap, who waiteth
in darkened rooms for spirits to come to him- and the spirit runneth
away entirely!
  Or they listen to an old roving howl- and growl-piper, who hath
learned from the sad winds the sadness of sounds; now pipeth he as the
wind, and preacheth sadness in sad strains.
  And some of them have even become night-watchmen: they know now
how to blow horns, and go about at night and awaken old things which
have long fallen asleep.
  Five words about old things did I hear yesternight at the
garden-wall: they came from such old, sorrowful, arid night-watchmen.
  "For a father he careth not sufficiently for his children: human
fathers do this better!"-
  "He is too old! He now careth no more for his children,"- answered
the other night-watchman.
  "Hath he then children? No one can prove it unless he himself
prove it! I have long wished that he would for once prove it
thoroughly."
  "Prove? As if he had ever proved anything! Proving is difficult to
him; he layeth great stress on one's believing him."
  "Ay! Ay! Belief saveth him; belief in him. That is the way with
old people! So it is with us also!"-
  -Thus spake to each other the two old night-watchmen and
light-scarers, and tooted thereupon sorrowfully on their horns: so did
it happen yesternight at the garden-wall.
  To me, however, did the heart writhe with laughter, and was like
to break; it knew not where to go, and sunk into the midriff.
  Verily, it will be my death yet- to choke with laughter when I see
asses drunken, and hear night-watchmen thus doubt about God.
  Hath the time not long since passed for all such doubts? Who may
nowadays awaken such old slumbering, light-shunning things!
  With the old Deities hath it long since come to an end:- and verily,
a good joyful Deity-end had they!
  They did not "begloom" themselves to death- that do people
fabricate! On the contrary, they- laughed themselves to death once
on a time!
  That took place when the ungodliest utterance came from a God
himself- the utterance: "There is but one God! Thou shalt have no
other gods before me!"-
  -An old grim-beard of a God, a jealous one, forgot himself in such
wise:-
  And all the gods then laughed, and shook upon their thrones, and
exclaimed: "Is it not just divinity that there are gods, but no God?"
  He that hath an ear let him hear.-

  Thus talked Zarathustra in the city he loved, which is surnamed "The
Pied Cow." For from here he had but two days to travel to reach once
more his cave and his animals; his soul, however, rejoiced unceasingly
on account of the nighness of his return home.

[VoraX]

 53. The Return Home

  O LONESOMENESS! My home, lonesomeness! Too long have I lived
wildly in wild remoteness, to return to thee without tears!
  Now threaten me with the finger as mothers threaten; now smile
upon me as mothers smile; now say just: "Who was it that like a
whirlwind once rushed away from me?-
  -Who when departing called out: 'Too long have I sat with
lonesomeness; there have I unlearned silence!' That hast thou
learned now- surely?
  O Zarathustra, everything do I know; and that thou wert more
forsaken amongst the many, thou unique one, than thou ever wert with
me!
  One thing is forsakenness, another matter is lonesomeness: that hast
thou now learned! And that amongst men thou wilt ever be wild and
strange:
  -Wild and strange even when they love thee: for above all they
want to be treated indulgently!
  Here, however, art thou at home and house with thyself; here canst
thou utter everything, and unbosom all motives; nothing is here
ashamed of concealed, congealed feelings.
  Here do all things come caressingly to thy talk and flatter thee:
for they want to ride upon thy back. On every simile dost thou here
ride to every truth.
  Uprightly and openly mayest thou here talk to all things: and
verily, it soundeth as praise in their ears, for one to talk to all
things- directly!
  Another matter, however, is forsakenness. For, dost thou remember, O
Zarathustra? When thy bird screamed overhead, when thou stoodest in
the forest, irresolute, ignorant where to go, beside a corpse:-
  -When thou spakest: 'Let mine animals lead me! More dangerous have I
found it among men than among animals:'- That was forsakenness!
  And dost thou remember, O Zarathustra? When thou sattest in thine
isle, a well of wine giving and granting amongst empty buckets,
bestowing and distributing amongst the thirsty:
  -Until at last thou alone sattest thirsty amongst the drunken
ones, and wailedst nightly: 'Is taking not more blessed than giving?
And stealing yet more blessed than taking?'- That was forsakenness!
  And dost thou remember, O Zarathustra? When thy stillest hour came
and drove thee forth from thyself, when with wicked whispering it
said: 'Speak and succumb!'-
  -When it disgusted thee with all thy waiting and silence, and
discouraged thy humble courage: That was forsakenness!"-
  O lonesomeness! My home, lonesomeness! How blessedly and tenderly
speaketh thy voice unto me!
  We do not question each other, we do not complain to each other;
we go together openly through open doors.
  For all is open with thee and clear; and even the hours run here
on lighter feet. For in the dark, time weigheth heavier upon one
than in the light.
  Here fly open unto me all beings' words and word-cabinets: here
all being wanteth to become words, here all becoming wanteth to
learn of me how to talk.
  Down there, however- all talking is in vain! There, forgetting and
passing-by are the best wisdom: that have I learned now!
  He who would understand everything in man must handle everything.
But for that I have too clean hands.
  I do not like even to inhale their breath; alas! that I have lived
so long among their noise and bad breaths!
  O blessed stillness around me! O pure odours around me! How from a
deep breast this stillness fetcheth pure breath! How it hearkeneth,
this blessed stillness!
  But down there- there speaketh everything, there is everything
misheard. If one announce one's wisdom with bells, the shopmen in
the market-place will out-jingle it with pennies!
  Everything among them talketh; no one knoweth any longer how to
understand. Everything falleth into the water; nothing falleth any
longer into deep wells.
  Everything among them talketh, nothing succeedeth any longer and
accomplisheth itself. Everything cackleth, but who will still sit
quietly on the nest and hatch eggs?
  Everything among them talketh, everything is out-talked. And that
which yesterday was still too hard for time itself and its tooth,
hangeth today, outchamped and outchewed, from the mouths of the men of
today.
  Everything among them talketh, everything is betrayed. And what
was once called the secret and secrecy of profound souls, belongeth
to-day to the street-trumpeters and other butterflies.
  O human hubbub, thou wonderful thing! Thou noise in dark streets!
Now art thou again behind me:- my greatest danger lieth behind me!
  In indulging and pitying lay ever my greatest danger; and all
human hubbub wisheth to be indulged and tolerated.
  With suppressed truths, with fool's hand and befooled heart, and
rich in petty lies of pity:- thus have I ever lived among men.
  Disguised did I sit amongst them, ready to misjudge myself that I
might endure them, and willingly saying to myself: "Thou fool, thou
dost not know men!"
  One unlearneth men when one liveth amongst them: there is too much
foreground in all men- what can far-seeing, far-longing eyes do there!
  And, fool that I was, when they misjudged me, I indulged them on
that account more than myself, being habitually hard on myself, and
often even taking revenge on myself for the indulgence.
  Stung all over by poisonous flies, and hollowed like the stone by
many drops of wickedness: thus did I sit among them, and still said to
myself: "Innocent is everything petty of its pettiness!"
  Especially did I find those who call themselves "the good," the most
poisonous flies; they sting in all innocence, they lie in all
innocence; how could they- be just towards me!
  He who liveth amongst the good- pity teacheth him to lie. Pity
maketh stifling air for all free souls. For the stupidity of the
good is unfathomable.
  To conceal myself and my riches- that did I learn down there: for
every one did I still find poor in spirit. It was the lie of my
pity, that I knew in every one.
  -That I saw and scented in every one, what was enough of spirit
for him, and what was too much!
  Their stiff wise men: I call them wise, not stiff- thus did I
learn to slur over words.
  The grave-diggers dig for themselves diseases. Under old rubbish
rest bad vapours. One should not stir up the marsh. One should live on
mountains.
  With blessed nostrils do I again breathe mountain-freedom. Freed
at last is my nose from the smell of all human hubbub!
  With sharp breezes tickled, as with sparkling wine, sneezeth my
soul- sneezeth, and shouteth self-congratulatingly: "Health to thee!"

  Thus spake Zarathustra.

[VoraX]

54. The Three Evil Things

                            1.

  IN MY dream, in my last morning-dream, I stood today on a
promontory- beyond the world; I held a pair of scales, and weighed the
world.
  Alas, that the rosy dawn came too early to me: she glowed me
awake, the jealous one! Jealous is she always of the glows of my
morning-dream.
  Measurable by him who hath time, weighable by a good weigher,
attainable by strong pinions, divinable by divine nutcrackers: thus
did my dream find the world:-
  My dream, a bold sailor, half-ship, half-hurricane, silent as the
butterfly, impatient as the falcon: how had it the patience and
leisure to-day for world-weighing!
  Did my wisdom perhaps speak secretly to it, my laughing,
wide-awake day-wisdom, which mocketh at all "infinite worlds"? For
it saith: "Where force is, there becometh number the master: it hath
more force."
  How confidently did my dream contemplate this finite world, not
new-fangledly, not old-fangledly, not timidly, not entreatingly:-
  -As if a big round apple presented itself to my hand, a ripe
golden apple, with a coolly-soft, velvety skin:- thus did the world
present itself unto me:-
  -As if a tree nodded unto me, a broad-branched, strong-willed
tree, curved as a recline and a foot-stool for weary travellers:
thus did the world stand on my promontory:-
  -As if delicate hands carried a casket towards me- a casket open for
the delectation of modest adoring eyes: thus did the world present
itself before me today:-
  -Not riddle enough to scare human love from it, not solution
enough to put to sleep human wisdom:- a humanly good thing was the
world to me to-day, of which such bad things are said!
  How I thank my morning-dream that I thus at today's dawn, weighed
the world! As a humanly good thing did it come unto me, this dream and
heart-comforter!
  And that I may do the like by day, and imitate and copy its best,
now will I put the three worst things on the scales, and weigh them
humanly well.-
  He who taught to bless taught also to curse: what are the three best
cursed things in the world? These will I put on the scales.
  Voluptuousness, passion for power, and selfishness: these three
things have hitherto been best cursed, and have been in worst and
falsest repute- these three things will I weigh humanly well.
  Well! Here is my promontory, and there is the sea- it rolleth hither
unto me, shaggily and fawningly, the old, faithful, hundred-headed
dog-monster that I love!-
  Well! Here will I hold the scales over the weltering sea: and also a
witness do I choose to look on- thee, the anchorite-tree, thee, the
strong-odoured, broad-arched tree that I love!-
  On what bridge goeth the now to the hereafter? By what constraint
doth the high stoop to the low? And what enjoineth even the highest
still- to grow upwards?-
  Now stand the scales poised and at rest: three heavy questions
have I thrown in; three heavy answers carrieth the other scale.

                            2.

  Voluptuousness: unto all hair-shirted despisers of the body, a sting
and stake; and, cursed as "the world," by all backworldsmen: for it
mocketh and befooleth all erring, misinferring teachers.
  Voluptuousness: to the rabble, the slow fire at which it is burnt;
to all wormy wood, to all stinking rags, the prepared heat and stew
furnace.
  Voluptuousness: to free hearts, a thing innocent and free, the
garden-happiness of the earth, all the future's thanks-overflow to the
present.
  Voluptuousness: only to the withered a sweet poison; to the
lion-willed, however, the great cordial, and the reverently saved wine
of wines.
  Voluptuousness: the great symbolic happiness of a higher happiness
and highest hope. For to many is marriage promised, and more than
marriage,-
  -To many that are more unknown to each other than man and woman:-
and who hath fully understood how unknown to each other are man and
woman!
  Voluptuousness:- but I will have hedges around my thoughts, and even
around my words, lest swine and libertine should break into my
gardens!-
  Passion for power: the glowing scourge of the hardest of the
heart-hard; the cruel torture reserved for the cruellest themselves;
the gloomy flame of living pyres.
  Passion for power: the wicked gadfly which is mounted on the vainest
peoples; the scorner of all uncertain virtue; which rideth on every
horse and on every pride.
  Passion for power: the earthquake which breaketh and upbreaketh
all that is rotten and hollow; the rolling, rumbling, punitive
demolisher of whited sepulchres; the flashing interrogative-sign
beside premature answers.
  Passion for power: before whose glance man creepeth and croucheth
and drudgeth, and becometh lower than the serpent and the swine:-
until at last great contempt crieth out of him-,
  Passion for power: the terrible teacher of great contempt, which
preacheth to their face to cities and empires: "Away with thee!"-
until a voice crieth out of themselves: "Away with me!"
  Passion for power: which, however, mounteth alluringly even to the
pure and lonesome, and up to self-satisfied elevations, glowing like a
love that painteth purple felicities alluringly on earthly heavens.
  Passion for power: but who would call it passion, when the height
longeth to stoop for power! Verily, nothing sick or diseased is
there in such longing and descending!
  That the lonesome height may not forever remain lonesome and
self-sufficing; that the mountains may come to the valleys and the
winds of the heights to the plains:-
  Oh, who could find the right prenomen and honouring name for such
longing! "Bestowing virtue"- thus did Zarathustra. once name the
unnamable.
  And then it happened also,- and verily, it happened for the first
time!- that his word blessed selfishness, the wholesome, healthy
selfishness, that springeth from the powerful soul:-
  -From the powerful soul, to which the high body appertaineth, the
handsome, triumphing, refreshing body, around which everything
becometh a mirror:
  -The pliant, persuasive body, the dancer, whose symbol and epitome
is the self-enjoying soul. Of such bodies and souls the self-enjoyment
calleth itself "virtue."
  With its words of good and bad doth such self-enjoyment shelter
itself as with sacred groves; with the names of its happiness doth
it banish from itself everything contemptible.
  Away from itself doth it banish everything cowardly; it saith: "Bad-
that is cowardly!" Contemptible seem to it the ever-solicitous, the
sighing, the complaining, and whoever pick up the most trifling
advantage.
  It despiseth also all bitter-sweet wisdom: for verily, there is also
wisdom that bloometh in the dark, a night-shade wisdom, which ever
sigheth: "All is vain!"
  Shy distrust is regarded by it as base, and every one who wanteth
oaths instead of looks and hands: also all over-distrustful wisdom,-
for such is the mode of cowardly souls.
  Baser still it regardeth the obsequious, doggish one, who
immediately lieth on his back, the submissive one; and there is also
wisdom that is submissive, and doggish, and pious, and obsequious.
  Hateful to it altogether, and a loathing, is he who will never
defend himself, he who swalloweth down poisonous spittle and bad
looks, the all-too-patient one, the all-endurer, the all-satisfied
one: for that is the mode of slaves.
  Whether they be servile before gods and divine spurnings, or
before men and stupid human opinions: at all kinds of slaves doth it
spit, this blessed selfishness!
  Bad: thus doth it call all that is spirit-broken, and
sordidly-servile- constrained, blinking eyes, depressed hearts, and
the false submissive style, which kisseth with broad cowardly lips.
  And spurious wisdom: so doth it call all the wit that slaves, and
hoary-headed and weary ones affect; and especially all the cunning,
spurious-witted, curious-witted foolishness of priests!
  The spurious wise, however, all the priests, the world-weary, and
those whose souls are of feminine and servile nature- oh, how hath
their game all along abused selfishness!
  And precisely that was to be virtue and was to be called virtue-
to abuse selfishness! And "selfless"- so did they wish themselves with
good reason, all those world-weary cowards and cross-spiders!
  But to all those cometh now the day, the change, the sword of
judgment, the great noontide: then shall many things be revealed!
  And he who proclaimeth the ego wholesome and holy, and selfishness
blessed, verily, he, the prognosticator, speaketh also what he
knoweth: "Behold, it cometh, it is night, the great noontide!"

  Thus spake Zarathustra.

[VoraX]

 55. The Spirit of Gravity

                            1.

  MY MOUTHPIECE- is of the people: too coarsely and cordially do I
talk for Angora rabbits. And still stranger soundeth my word unto
all ink-fish and pen-foxes.
  My hand- is a fool's hand: woe unto all tables and walls, and
whatever hath room for fool's sketching, fool's scrawling!
  My foot- is a horse-foot; therewith do I trample and trot over stick
and stone, in the fields up and down, and am bedevilled with delight
in all fast racing.
  My stomach- is surely an eagle's stomach? For it preferreth lamb's
flesh. Certainly it is a bird's stomach.
  Nourished with innocent things, and with few, ready and impatient to
fly, to fly away- that is now my nature: why should there not be
something of bird-nature therein!
  And especially that I am hostile to the spirit of gravity, that is
bird-nature:- verily, deadly hostile, supremely hostile, originally
hostile! Oh, whither hath my hostility not flown and misflown!
  Thereof could I sing a song- - and will sing it: though I be alone
in an empty house, and must sing it to mine own ears.
  Other singers are there, to be sure, to whom only the full house
maketh the voice soft, the hand eloquent, the eye expressive, the
heart wakeful:- those do I not resemble.-

                            2.
  He who one day teacheth men to fly will have shifted all
landmarks; to him will all landmarks themselves fly into the air;
the earth will he christen anew- as "the light body."
  The ostrich runneth faster than the fastest horse, but it also
thrusteth its head heavily into the heavy earth: thus is it with the
man who cannot yet fly.
  Heavy unto him are earth and life, and so willeth the spirit of
gravity! But he who would become light, and be a bird, must love
himself:- thus do I teach.
  Not, to be sure, with the love of the side and infected, for with
them stinketh even self-love!
  One must learn to love oneself- thus do I teach- with a wholesome
and healthy love: that one may endure to be with oneself, and not go
roving about.
  Such roving about christeneth itself "brotherly love"; with these
words hath there hitherto been the best lying and dissembling, and
especially by those who have been burdensome to every one.
  And verily, it is no commandment for today and tomorrow to learn
to love oneself. Rather is it of all arts the finest, subtlest, last
and patientest.
  For to its possessor is all possession well concealed, and of all
treasure-pits one's own is last excavated- so causeth the spirit of
gravity.
  Almost in the cradle are we apportioned with heavy words and worths:
"good" and "evil"- so calleth itself this dowry. For the sake of it we
are forgiven for living.
  And therefore suffereth one little children to come unto one, to
forbid them betimes to love themselves- so causeth the spirit of
gravity.
  And we- we bear loyally what is apportioned unto us, on hard
shoulders, over rugged mountains! And when we sweat, then do people
say to us: "Yea, life is hard to bear!"
  But man himself only is hard to bear! The reason thereof is that
he carrieth too many extraneous things on his shoulders. Like the
camel kneeleth he down, and letteth himself be well laden.
  Especially the strong load-bearing man in whom reverence resideth.
Too many extraneous heavy words and worths loadeth he upon himself-
then seemeth life to him a desert!
  And verily! Many a thing also that is our own is hard to bear! And
many internal things in man are like the oyster- repulsive and
slippery and hard to grasp;-
  So that an elegant shell, with elegant adornment, must plead for
them. But this art also must one learn: to have a shell, and a fine
appearance, and sagacious blindness!
  Again, it deceiveth about many things in man, that many a shell is
poor and pitiable, and too much of a shell. Much concealed goodness
and power is never dreamt of; the choicest dainties find no tasters!
  Women know that, the choicest of them: a little fatter a little
leaner- oh, how much fate is in so little!
  Man is difficult to discover, and unto himself most difficult of
all; often lieth the spirit concerning the soul. So causeth the spirit
of gravity.
  He, however, hath discovered himself who saith: This is my good
and evil: therewith hath he silenced the mole and the dwarf, who
say: "Good for all, evil for all."
  Verily, neither do I like those who call everything good, and this
world the best of all. Those do I call the all-satisfied.
  All-satisfiedness, which knoweth how to taste everything,- that is
not the best taste! I honour the refractory, fastidious tongues and
stomachs, which have learned to say "I" and "Yea" and "Nay."
  To chew and digest everything, however- that is the genuine
swine-nature! Ever to say YE-A- that hath only the ass learned, and
those like it!-
  Deep yellow and hot red- so wanteth my taste- it mixeth blood with
all colours. He, however, who whitewasheth his house, betrayeth unto
me a whitewashed soul.
  With mummies, some fall in love; others with phantoms: both alike
hostile to all flesh and blood- oh, how repugnant are both to my
taste! For I love blood.
  And there will I not reside and abide where every one spitteth and
speweth: that is now my taste,- rather would I live amongst thieves
and perjurers. Nobody carrieth gold in his mouth.
  Still more repugnant unto me, however, are all lick-spittles; and
the most repugnant animal of man that I found, did I christen
"parasite": it would not love, and would yet live by love.
  Unhappy do I call all those who have only one choice: either to
become evil beasts, or evil beast-tamers. Amongst such would I not
build my tabernacle.
  Unhappy do I also call those who have ever to wait,- they are
repugnant to my taste- all the toll-gatherers and traders, and
kings, and other landkeepers and shopkeepers.
  Verily, I learned waiting also, and thoroughly so,- but only waiting
for myself. And above all did I learn standing and walking and running
and leaping and climbing and dancing.
  This however is my teaching: he who wisheth one day to fly, must
first learn standing and walking and running and climbing and
dancing:- one doth not fly into flying!
  With rope-ladders learned I to reach many a window, with nimble legs
did I climb high masts: to sit on high masts of perception seemed to
me no small bliss;-
  -To flicker like small flames on high masts: a small light,
certainly, but a great comfort to cast-away sailors and ship-wrecked
ones!
  By divers ways and wendings did I arrive at my truth; not by one
ladder did I mount to the height where mine eye roveth into my
remoteness.
  And unwillingly only did I ask my way- that was always counter to my
taste! Rather did I question and test the ways themselves.
  A testing and a questioning hath been all my travelling:- and
verily, one must also learn to answer such questioning! That,
however,- is my taste:
  -Neither a good nor a bad taste, but my taste, of which I have no
longer either shame or secrecy.
  "This- is now my way,- where is yours?" Thus did I answer those
who asked me "the way." For the way- it doth not exist!
  Thus spake Zarathustra.

[VoraX]

56. Old and New Tables

                            1.

  HERE do I sit and wait, old broken tables around me and also new
half-written tables. When cometh mine hour?
  -The hour of my descent, of my down-going: for once more will I go
unto men.
  For that hour do I now wait: for first must the signs come unto me
that it is mine hour- namely, the laughing lion with the flock of
doves.
  Meanwhile do I talk to myself as one who hath time. No one telleth
me anything new, so I tell myself mine own story.

                            2.

  When I came unto men, then found I them resting on an old
infatuation: all of them thought they had long known what was good and
bad for men.
  An old wearisome business seemed to them all discourse about virtue;
and he who wished to sleep well spake of "good" and "bad" ere retiring
to rest.
  This somnolence did I disturb when I taught that no one yet
knoweth what is good and bad:- unless it be the creating one!
  -It is he, however, who createth man's goal, and giveth to the earth
its meaning and its future: he only effecteth it that aught is good or
bad.
  And I bade them upset their old academic chairs, and wherever that
old infatuation had sat; I bade them laugh at their great moralists,
their saints, their poets, and their saviours.
  At their gloomy sages did I bid them laugh, and whoever had sat
admonishing as a black scarecrow on the tree of life.
  On their great grave-highway did I seat myself, and even beside
the carrion and vultures- and I laughed at all their bygone and its
mellow decaying glory.
  Verily, like penitential preachers and fools did I cry wrath and
shame on all their greatness and smallness. Oh, that their best is
so very small! Oh, that their worst is so very small! Thus did I
laugh.
  Thus did my wise longing, born in the mountains, cry and laugh in
me; a wild wisdom, verily!- my great pinion-rustling longing.
  And oft did it carry me off and up and away and in the midst of
laughter; then flew I quivering like an arrow with sun-intoxicated
rapture:
  -Out into distant futures, which no dream hath yet seen, into warmer
souths than ever sculptor conceived,- where gods in their dancing
are ashamed of all clothes:
  (That I may speak in parables and halt and stammer like the poets:
and verily I am ashamed that I have still to be a poet!)
  Where all becoming seemed to me dancing of gods, and wantoning of
gods, and the world unloosed and unbridled and fleeing back to
itself:-
  -As an eternal self-fleeing and re-seeking of one another of many
gods, as the blessed self-contradicting, recommuning, and
refraternising with one another of many gods:-
  Where all time seemed to me a blessed mockery of moments, where
necessity was freedom itself, which played happily with the goad of
freedom:-
  Where I also found again mine old devil and arch-enemy, the spirit
of gravity, and all that it created: constraint, law, necessity and
consequence and purpose and will and good and evil:-
  For must there not be that which is danced over, danced beyond? Must
there not, for the sake of the nimble, the nimblest,- be moles and
clumsy dwarfs?-

                            3.

  There was it also where I picked up from the path the word
"Superman," and that man is something that must be surpassed.
  -That man is a bridge and not a goal- rejoicing over his noontides
and evenings, as advances to new rosy dawns:
  -The Zarathustra word of the great noontide, and whatever else I
have hung up over men like purple evening-afterglows.
  Verily, also new stars did I make them see, along with new nights;
and over cloud and day and night, did I spread out laughter like a
gay-coloured canopy.
  I taught them all my poetisation and aspiration: to compose and
collect into unity what is fragment in man, and riddle and fearful
chance;-
  -As composer, riddle-reader, and redeemer of chance, did I teach
them to create the future, and all that hath been- to redeem by
creating.
  The past of man to redeem, and every "It was" to transform, until
the Will saith: "But so did I will it! So shall I will it-"
  -This did I call redemption; this alone taught I them to call
redemption.- -
  Now do I await my redemption- that I may go unto them for the last
time.
  For once more will I go unto men: amongst them will my sun set; in
dying will I give them my choicest gift!
  From the sun did I learn this, when it goeth down, the exuberant
one: gold doth it then pour into the sea, out of inexhaustible
riches,-
  -So that the poorest fisherman roweth even with golden oars! For
this did I once see, and did not tire of weeping in beholding it.- -
  Like the sun will also Zarathustra go down: now sitteth he here
and waiteth, old broken tables around him, and also new tables-
half-written.

                            4.

  Behold, here is a new table; but where are my brethren who will
carry it with me to the valley and into hearts of flesh?-
  Thus demandeth my great love to the remotest ones: be not
considerate of thy neighbour! Man is something that must be surpassed.
  There are many divers ways and modes of surpassing: see thou
thereto! But only a buffoon thinketh: "man can also be overleapt."
  Surpass thyself even in thy neighbour: and a right which thou
canst seize upon, shalt thou not allow to be given thee!
  What thou doest can no one do to thee again. Lo, there is no
requital.
  He who cannot command himself shall obey. And many a one can command
himself, but still sorely lacketh self-obedience!

                            5.

  Thus wisheth the type of noble souls: they desire to have nothing
gratuitously, least of all, life.
  He who is of the populace wisheth to live gratuitously; we others,
however, to whom life hath given itself- we are ever considering
what we can best give in return!
  And verily, it is a noble dictum which saith: "What life promiseth
us, that promise will we keep- to life!"
  One should not wish to enjoy where one doth not contribute to the
enjoyment. And one should not wish to enjoy!
  For enjoyment and innocence are the most bashful things. Neither
like to be sought for. One should have them,- but one should rather
seek for guilt and pain!-

                            6.

  O my brethren, he who is a firstling is ever sacrificed. Now,
however, are we firstlings!
  We all bleed on secret sacrificial altars, we all burn and broil
in honour of ancient idols.
  Our best is still young: this exciteth old palates. Our flesh is
tender, our skin is only lambs' skin:- how could we not excite old
idol-priests!
  In ourselves dwelleth he still, the old idol-priest, who broileth
our best for his banquet. Ah, my brethren, how could firstlings fail
to be sacrifices!
  But so wisheth our type; and I love those who do not wish to
preserve themselves, the down-going ones do I love with mine entire
love: for they go beyond.-

                            7.

  To be true- that can few be! And he who can, will not! Least of all,
however, can the good be true.
  Oh, those good ones! Good men never speak the truth. For the spirit,
thus to be good, is a malady.
  They yield, those good ones, they submit themselves; their heart
repeateth, their soul obeyeth: he, however, who obeyeth, doth not
listen to himself!
  All that is called evil by the good, must come together in order
that one truth may be born. O my brethren, are ye also evil enough for
this truth?
  The daring venture, the prolonged distrust, the cruel Nay, the
tedium, the cutting-into-the-quick- how seldom do these come together!
Out of such seed, however- is truth produced!
  Beside the bad conscience hath hitherto grown all knowledge! Break
up, break up, ye discerning ones, the old tables!

                            8.

  When the water hath planks, when gangways and railings o'erspan
the stream, verily, he is not believed who then saith: "All is in
flux."
  But even the simpletons contradict him. "What?" say the
simpletons, "all in flux? Planks and railings are still over the
stream!
  "Over the stream all is stable, all the values of things, the
bridges and bearings, all 'good' and 'evil': these are all stable!"-
  Cometh, however, the hard winter, the stream-tamer, then learn
even the wittiest distrust, and verily, not only the simpletons then
say: "Should not everything- stand still?"
  "Fundamentally standeth everything still"- that is an appropriate
winter doctrine, good cheer for an unproductive period, a great
comfort for winter-sleepers and fireside-loungers.
  "Fundamentally standeth everything still"-: but contrary thereto,
preacheth the thawing wind!
  The thawing wind, a bullock, which is no ploughing bullock- a
furious bullock, a destroyer, which with angry horns breaketh the ice!
The ice however- - breaketh gangways!
  O my brethren, is not everything at present in flux? Have not all
railings and gangways fallen into the water? Who would still hold on
to "good" and "evil"?
  "Woe to us! Hail to us! The thawing wind bloweth!"- Thus preach,
my brethren, through all the streets!

                            9.

  There is an old illusion- it is called good and evil. Around
soothsayers and astrologers hath hitherto revolved the orbit of this
illusion.
  Once did one believe in soothsayers and astrologers; and therefore
did one believe, "Everything is fate: thou shalt, for thou must!"
  Then again did one distrust all soothsayers and astrologers; and
therefore did one believe, "Everything is freedom: thou canst, for
thou willest!"
  O my brethren, concerning the stars and the future there hath
hitherto been only illusion, and not knowledge; and therefore
concerning good and evil there hath hitherto been only illusion and
not knowledge!

                            10.

  "Thou shalt not rob! Thou shalt not slay!"- such precepts were
once called holy; before them did one bow the knee and the head, and
take off one's shoes.
  But I ask you: Where have there ever been better robbers and slayers
in the world than such holy precepts?
  Is there not even in all life- robbing and slaying? And for such
precepts to be called holy, was not truth itself thereby- slain?
  -Or was it a sermon of death that called holy what contradicted
and dissuaded from life?- O my brethren, break up, break up for me the
old tables!

                            11.

  It is my sympathy with all the past that I see it is abandoned,-
  -Abandoned to the favour, the spirit and the madness of every
generation that cometh, and reinterpreteth all that hath been as its
bridge!
  A great potentate might arise, an artful prodigy, who with
approval and disapproval could strain and constrain all the past,
until it became for him a bridge, a harbinger, a herald, and a
****-crowing.
  This however is the other danger, and mine other sympathy:- he who
is of the populace, his thoughts go back to his grandfather,- with his
grandfather, however, doth time cease.
  Thus is all the past abandoned: for it might some day happen for the
populace to become master, and drown all time in shallow waters.
  Therefore, O my brethren, a new nobility is needed, which shall be
the adversary of all populace and potentate rule, and shall inscribe
anew the word "noble" on new tables.
  For many noble ones are needed, and many kinds of noble ones, for
a new nobility! Or, as I once said in parable: "That is just divinity,
that there are gods, but no God!"

                            12.

  O my brethren, I consecrate you and point you to a new nobility:
ye shall become procreators and cultivators and sowers of the future;-
  -Verily, not to a nobility which ye could purchase like traders with
traders' gold; for little worth is all that hath its price.
  Let it not be your honour henceforth whence ye come, but whither
ye go! Your Will and your feet which seek to surpass you- let these be
your new honour!
  Verily, not that ye have served a prince- of what account are
princes now!- nor that ye have become a bulwark to that which
standeth, that it may stand more firmly.
  Not that your family have become courtly at courts, and that ye have
learned- gay-coloured, like the flamingo- to stand long hours in
shallow pools:
  (For ability-to-stand is a merit in courtiers; and all courtiers
believe that unto blessedness after death pertaineth-
permission-to-sit!)
  Nor even that a Spirit called Holy, led your forefathers into
promised lands, which I do not praise: for where the worst of all
trees grew- the cross,- in that land there is nothing to praise!-
  -And verily, wherever this "Holy Spirit" led its knights, always
in such campaigns did- goats and geese, and wry-heads and guy-heads
run foremost!-
  O my brethren, not backward shall your nobility gaze, but outward!
Exiles shall ye be from all fatherlands and forefather-lands!
  Your children's land shall ye love: let this love be your new
nobility,- the undiscovered in the remotest seas! For it do I bid your
sails search and search!
  Unto your children shall ye make amends for being the children of
your fathers: all the past shall ye thus redeem! This new table do I
place over you!

                            13.

  "Why should one live? All is vain! To live- that is to thresh straw;
to live- that is to burn oneself and yet not get warm.-
  Such ancient babbling still passeth for "wisdom"; because it is old,
however, and smelleth mustily, therefore is it the more honoured. Even
mould ennobleth.-
  Children might thus speak: they shun the fire because it hath
burnt them! There is much childishness in the old books of wisdom.
  And he who ever "thresheth straw," why should he be allowed to
rail at threshing! Such a fool one would have to muzzle!
  Such persons sit down to the table and bring nothing with them,
not even good hunger:- and then do they rail: "All is vain!"
  But to eat and drink well, my brethren, is verily no vain art! Break
up, break up for me the tables of the never-joyous ones!

                            14.

  "To the clean are all things clean"- thus say the people. I,
however, say unto you: To the swine all things become swinish!
  Therefore preach the visionaries and bowed-heads (whose hearts are
also bowed down): "The world itself is a filthy monster."
  For these are all unclean spirits; especially those, however, who
have no peace or rest, unless they see the world from the backside-
the backworldsmen!
  To those do I say it to the face, although it sound unpleasantly:
the world resembleth man, in that it hath a backside,- so much is
true!
  There is in the world much filth: so much is true! But the world
itself is not therefore a filthy monster!
  There is wisdom in the fact that much in the world smelleth badly:
loathing itself createth wings, and fountain-divining powers!
  In the best there is still something to loathe; and the best is
still something that must be surpassed!-
  O my brethren, there is much wisdom in the fact that much filth is
in the world!-

                            15.

  Such sayings did I hear pious backworldsmen speak to their
consciences, and verily without wickedness or guile,- although there
is nothing more guileful in the world, or more wicked.
  "Let the world be as it is! Raise not a finger against it!"
  "Let whoever will choke and stab and skin and scrape the people:
raise not a finger against it! Thereby will they learn to renounce the
world."
  "And thine own reason- this shalt thou thyself stifle and choke; for
it is a reason of this world,- thereby wilt thou learn thyself to
renounce the world."-
  -Shatter, shatter, O my brethren, those old tables of the pious!
Tatter the maxims of the world-maligners!-

[VoraX]

(Continue from 56. Old and New Tables)

     16.

  "He who learneth much unlearneth all violent cravings"- that do
people now whisper to one another in all the dark lanes.
  "Wisdom wearieth, nothing is worth while; thou shalt not crave!"-
this new table found I hanging even in the public markets.
  Break up for me, O my brethren, break up also that new table! The
weary-o'-the-world put it up, and the preachers of death and the
jailer: for lo, it is also a sermon for slavery:-
  Because they learned badly and not the best, and everything too
early and everything too fast; because they ate badly: from thence
hath resulted their ruined stomach;-
  -For a ruined stomach, is their spirit: it persuadeth to death!
For verily, my brethren, the spirit is a stomach!
  Life is a well of delight, but to him in whom the ruined stomach
speaketh, the father of affliction, all fountains are poisoned.
  To discern: that is delight to the lion-willed! But he who hath
become weary, is himself merely "willed"; with him play all the waves.
  And such is always the nature of weak men: they lose themselves on
their way. And at last asketh their weariness: "Why did we ever go
on the way? All is indifferent!"
  To them soundeth it pleasant to have preached in their ears:
"Nothing is worth while! Ye shall not will!" That, however, is a
sermon for slavery.
  O my brethren, a fresh blustering wind cometh Zarathustra unto all
way-weary ones; many noses will he yet make sneeze!
  Even through walls bloweth my free breath, and into prisons and
imprisoned spirits!
  Willing emancipateth: for willing is creating: so do I teach. And
only for creating shall ye learn!
  And also the learning shall ye learn only from me, the learning
well!- He who hath ears let him hear!

                            17.

  There standeth the boat- thither goeth it over, perhaps into vast
nothingness- but who willeth to enter into this "Perhaps"?
  None of you want to enter into the death-boat! How should ye then be
world-weary ones!
  World-weary ones! And have not even withdrawn from the earth!
Eager did I ever find you for the earth, amorous still of your own
earth-weariness!
  Not in vain doth your lip hang down:- a small worldly wish still
sitteth thereon! And in your eye- floateth there not a cloudlet of
unforgotten earthly bliss?
  There are on the earth many good inventions, some useful, some
pleasant: for their sake is the earth to be loved.
  And many such good inventions are there, that they are like
woman's breasts: useful at the same time, and pleasant.
  Ye world-weary ones, however! Ye earth-idlers! You, shall one beat
with stripes! With stripes shall one again make you sprightly limbs.
  For if ye be not invalids, or decrepit creatures, of whom the
earth is weary, then are ye sly sloths, or dainty, sneaking
pleasure-cats. And if ye will not again run gaily, then shall ye- pass
away!
  To the incurable shall one not seek to be a physician: thus teacheth
Zarathustra:- so shall ye pass away!
  But more courage is needed to make an end than to make a new
verse: that do all physicians and poets know well.-

                            18.

  O my brethren, there are tables which weariness framed, and tables
which slothfulness framed, corrupt slothfulness: although they speak
similarly, they want to be heard differently.-
  See this languishing one! Only a span-breadth is he from his goal;
but from weariness hath he lain down obstinately in the dust, this
brave one!
  From weariness yawneth he at the path, at the earth, at the goal,
and at himself: not a step further will he go,- this brave one!
  Now gloweth the sun upon him, and the dogs lick at his sweat: but he
lieth there in his obstinacy and preferreth to languish:-
  -A span-breadth from his goal, to languish! Verily, ye will have
to drag him into his heaven by the hair of his head- this hero!
  Better still that ye let him lie where he hath lain down, that sleep
may come unto him, the comforter, with cooling patter-rain.
  Let him lie, until of his own accord he awakeneth,- until of his own
accord he repudiateth all weariness, and what weariness hath taught
through him!
  Only, my brethren, see that ye scare the dogs away from him, the
idle skulkers, and all the swarming vermin:-
  -All the swarming vermin of the "cultured," that- feast on the sweat
of every hero!-

                            19.

  I form circles around me and holy boundaries; ever fewer ascend with
me ever higher mountains: I build a mountain-range out of ever
holier mountains.-
  But wherever ye would ascend with me, O my brethren, take care
lest a parasite ascend with you!
  A parasite: that is a reptile, a creeping, cringing reptile, that
trieth to fatten on your infirm and sore places.
  And this is its art: it divineth where ascending souls are weary, in
your trouble and dejection, in your sensitive modesty, doth it build
its loathsome nest.
  Where the strong are weak, where the noble are all-too-gentle- there
buildeth it its loathsome nest; the parasite liveth where the great
have small sore-places.
  What is the highest of all species of being, and what is the lowest?
The parasite is the lowest species; he, however, who is of the highest
species feedeth most parasites.
  For the soul which hath the longest ladder, and can go deepest down:
how could there fail to be most parasites upon it?-
  -The most comprehensive soul, which can run and stray and rove
furthest in itself; the most necessary soul, which out of joy flingeth
itself into chance:-
  -The soul in Being, which plungeth into Becoming; the possessing
soul, which seeketh to attain desire and longing:-
  -The soul fleeing from itself, which overtaketh itself in the widest
circuit; the wisest soul, unto which folly speaketh most sweetly:-
  -The soul most self-loving, in which all things have their current
and counter-current, their ebb and their flow:- oh, how could the
loftiest soul fail to have the worst parasites?

                            20.

  O my brethren, am I then cruel? But I say: What falleth, that
shall one also push!
  Everything of today- it falleth, it decayeth; who would preserve it!
But I- I wish also to push it!
  Know ye the delight which rolleth stones into precipitous depths?-
Those men of today, see just how they roll into my depths!
  A prelude am I to better players, O my brethren! An example! Do
according to mine example!
  And him whom ye do not teach to fly, teach I pray you- to fall
faster!-

                            21.

  I love the brave: but it is not enough to be a swordsman,- one
must also know whereon to use swordsmanship!
  And often is it greater bravery to keep quiet and pass by, that
thereby one may reserve oneself for a worthier foe!
  Ye shall only have foes to be hated; but not foes to be despised: ye
must be proud of your foes. Thus have I already taught.
  For the worthier foe, O my brethren, shall ye reserve yourselves:
therefore must ye pass by many a one,-
  -Especially many of the rabble, who din your ears with noise about
people and peoples.
  Keep your eye clear of their For and Against! There is there much
right, much wrong: he who looketh on becometh wroth.
  Therein viewing, therein hewing- they are the same thing:
therefore depart into the forests and lay your sword to sleep!
  Go your ways! and let the people and peoples go theirs!- gloomy
ways, verily, on which not a single hope glinteth any more!
  Let there the trader rule, where all that still glittereth is-
traders' gold. It is the time of kings no longer: that which now
calleth itself the people is unworthy of kings.
  See how these peoples themselves now do just like the traders:
they pick up the smallest advantage out of all kinds of rubbish!
  They lay lures for one another, they lure things out of one
another,- that they call "good neighbourliness." O blessed remote
period when a people said to itself: "I will be- master over peoples!"
  For, my brethren, the best shall rule, the best also willeth to
rule! And where the teaching is different, there- the best is lacking.

                            22.

  If they had- bread for nothing, alas! for what would they cry! Their
maintainment- that is their true entertainment; and they shall have it
hard!
  Beasts of prey, are they: in their "working"- there is even
plundering, in their "earning"- there is even over-reaching! Therefore
shall they have it hard!
  Better beasts of prey shall they thus become, subtler, cleverer,
more man-like: for man is the best beast of prey.
  All the animals hath man already robbed of their virtues: that is
why of all animals it hath been hardest for man.
  Only the birds are still beyond him. And if man should yet learn
to fly, alas! to what height- would his rapacity fly!

                            23.

  Thus would I have man and woman: fit for war, the one; fit for
maternity, the other; both, however, fit for dancing with head and
legs.
  And lost be the day to us in which a measure hath not been danced.
And false be every truth which hath not had laughter along with it!

                            24.

  Your marriage-arranging: see that it be not a bad arranging! Ye have
arranged too hastily: so there followeth therefrom- marriage-breaking!
  And better marriage-breaking than marriage-bending, marriage-lying!-
Thus spake a woman unto me: "Indeed, I broke the marriage, but first
did the marriage break- me!
  The badly paired found I ever the most revengeful: they make every
one suffer for it that they no longer run singly.
  On that account want I the honest ones to say to one another: "We
love each other: let us see to it that we maintain our love! Or
shall our pledging be blundering?"
  -"Give us a set term and a small marriage, that we may see if we are
fit for the great marriage! It is a great matter always to be twain."
  Thus do I counsel all honest ones; and what would be my love to
the Superman, and to all that is to come, if I should counsel and
speak otherwise!
  Not only to propagate yourselves onwards but upwards- thereto, O
my brethren, may the garden of marriage help you!

                            25.

  He who hath grown wise concerning old origins, lo, he will at last
seek after the fountains of the future and new origins.-
  O my brethren, not long will it be until new peoples shall arise and
new fountains shall rush down into new depths.
  For the earthquake- it choketh up many wells, it causeth much
languishing: but it bringeth also to light inner powers and secrets.
  The earthquake discloseth new fountains. In the earthquake of old
peoples new fountains burst forth.
  And whoever calleth out: "Lo, here is a well for many thirsty
ones, one heart for many longing ones, one will for many
instruments":- around him collecteth a people, that is to say, many
attempting ones.
  Who can command, who must obey- that is there attempted! Ah, with
what long seeking and solving and failing and learning and
re-attempting!
  Human society: it is an attempt- so I teach- a long seeking: it
seeketh however the ruler!-
  -An attempt, my brethren! And no "contract"! Destroy, I pray you,
destroy that word of the soft-hearted and half-and-half!

                            26.

  O my brethren! With whom lieth the greatest danger to the whole
human future? Is it not with the good and just?-
  -As those who say and feel in their hearts: "We already know what is
good and just, we possess it also; woe to those who still seek
thereafter!
  And whatever harm the wicked may do, the harm of the good is the
harmfulest harm!
  And whatever harm the world-maligners may do, the harm of the good
is the harmfulest harm!
  O my brethren, into the hearts of the good and just looked some
one once on a time, who said: "They are the Pharisees." But people did
not understand him.
  The good and just themselves were not free to understand him;
their spirit was imprisoned in their good conscience. The stupidity of
the good is unfathomably wise.
  It is the truth, however, that the good must be Pharisees- they have
no choice!
  The good must crucify him who deviseth his own virtue! That is the
truth!
  The second one, however, who discovered their country- the
country, heart and soil of the good and just,- it was he who asked:
"Whom do they hate most?"
  The creator, hate they most, him who breaketh the tables and old
values, the breaker,- him they call the law-breaker.
  For the good- they cannot create; they are always the beginning of
the end:-
  -They crucify him who writeth new values on new tables, they
sacrifice unto themselves the future- they crucify the whole human
future!
  The good- they have always been the beginning of the end.-

                            27.

  O my brethren, have ye also understood this word? And what I once
said of the "last man"?- -
  With whom lieth the greatest danger to the whole human future? Is it
not with the good and just?
  Break up, break up, I pray you, the good and just!- O my brethren,
have ye understood also this word?

                            28.

  Ye flee from me? Ye are frightened? Ye tremble at this word?
  O my brethren, when I enjoined you to break up the good, and the
tables of the good, then only did I embark man on his high seas.
  And now only cometh unto him the great terror, the great outlook,
the great sickness, the great nausea, the great seasickness.
  False shores and false securities did the good teach you; in the
lies of the good were ye born and bred. Everything hath been radically
contorted and distorted by the good.
  But he who discovered the country of "man," discovered also the
country of "man's future." Now shall ye be sailors for me, brave,
patient!
  Keep yourselves up betimes, my brethren, learn to keep yourselves
up! The sea stormeth: many seek to raise themselves again by you.
  The sea stormeth: all is in the sea. Well! Cheer up! Ye old
seaman-hearts!
  What of fatherland! Thither striveth our helm where our children's
land is! Thitherwards, stormier than the sea, stormeth our great
longing!-

                            29.

  "Why so hard!"- said to the diamond one day the charcoal; "are we
then not near relatives?"-
  Why so soft? O my brethren; thus do I ask you: are ye then not- my
brethren?
  Why so soft, so submissive and yielding? Why is there so much
negation and abnegation in your hearts? Why is there so little fate in
your looks?
  And if ye will not be fates and inexorable ones, how can ye one day-
conquer with me?
  And if your hardness will not glance and cut and chip to pieces, how
can ye one day- create with me?
  For the creators are hard. And blessedness must it seem to you to
press your hand upon millenniums as upon wax,-
  -Blessedness to write upon the will of millenniums as upon brass,-
harder than brass, nobler than brass. Entirely hard is only the
noblest.
  This new table, O my brethren, put I up over you: Become hard!-

                            30.

  O thou, my Will! Thou change of every need, my needfulness! Preserve
me from all small victories!
  Thou fatedness of my soul, which I call fate! Thou In-me! Over-me!
Preserve and spare me for one great fate!
  And thy last greatness, my Will, spare it for thy last- that thou
mayest be inexorable in thy victory! Ah, who hath not succumbed to his
victory!
  Ah, whose eye hath not bedimmed in this intoxicated twilight! Ah,
whose foot hath not faltered and forgotten in victory- how to stand!-
  -That I may one day be ready and ripe in the great noon-tide:
ready and ripe like the glowing ore, the lightning-bearing cloud,
and the swelling milk-udder:-
  -Ready for myself and for my most hidden Will: a bow eager for its
arrow, an arrow eager for its star:-
  -A star, ready and ripe in its noontide, glowing, pierced,
blessed, by annihilating sun-arrows:-
  -A sun itself, and an inexorable sun-will, ready for annihilation in
victory!
  O Will, thou change of every need, my needfulness! Spare me for
one great victory!- -

  Thus spake Zarathustra.

[VoraX]

57. The Convalescent

                            1.

  ONE morning, not long after his return to his cave, Zarathustra
sprang up from his couch like a madman, crying with a frightful voice,
and acting as if some one still lay on the couch who did not wish to
rise. Zarathustra's voice also resounded in such a manner that his
animals came to him frightened, and out of all the neighbouring
caves and lurking-places all the creatures slipped away- flying,
fluttering, creeping or leaping, according to their variety of foot or
wing. Zarathustra, however, spake these words:

  Up, abysmal thought out of my depth! I am thy **** and morning dawn,
thou overslept reptile: Up! Up! My voice shall soon crow thee awake!
  Unbind the fetters of thine ears: listen! For I wish to hear thee!
Up! Up! There is thunder enough to make the very graves listen!
  And rub the sleep and all the dimness and blindness out of thine
eyes! Hear me also with thine eyes: my voice is a medicine even for
those born blind.
  And once thou art awake, then shalt thou ever remain awake. It is
not my custom to awake great-grandmothers out of their sleep that I
may bid them- sleep on!
  Thou stirrest, stretchest thyself, wheezest? Up! Up! Not wheeze,
shalt thou,- but speak unto me! Zarathustra calleth thee,
Zarathustra the godless!
  I, Zarathustra, the advocate of living, the advocate of suffering,
the advocate of the circuit- thee do I call, my most abysmal thought!
  Joy to me! Thou comest,- I hear thee! Mine abyss speaketh, my lowest
depth have I turned over into the light!
  Joy to me! Come hither! Give me thy hand- - ha! let be! aha!- -
Disgust, disgust, disgust- - - alas to me!

                            2.

  Hardly, however, had Zarathustra spoken these words, when he fell
down as one dead, and remained long as one dead. When however he again
came to himself, then was he pale and trembling, and remained lying;
and for long he would neither eat nor drink. This condition
continued for seven days; his animals, however, did not leave him
day nor night, except that the eagle flew forth to fetch food. And
what it fetched and foraged, it laid on Zarathustra's couch: so that
Zarathustra at last lay among yellow and red berries, grapes, rosy
apples, sweet-smelling herbage, and pine-cones. At his feet,
however, two lambs were stretched, which the eagle had with difficulty
carried off from their shepherds.
  At last, after seven days, Zarathustra raised himself upon his
couch, took a rosy apple in his hand, smelt it and found its smell
pleasant. Then did his animals think the time had come to speak unto
him.

  "O Zarathustra," said they, "now hast thou lain thus for seven
days with heavy eyes: wilt thou not set thyself again upon thy feet?
  Step out of thy cave: the world waiteth for thee as a garden. The
wind playeth with heavy fragrance which seeketh for thee; and all
brooks would like to run after thee.
  All things long for thee, since thou hast remained alone for seven
days- step forth out of thy cave! All things want to be thy
physicians!
  Did perhaps a new knowledge come to thee, a bitter, grievous
knowledge? Like leavened dough layest thou, thy soul arose and swelled
beyond all its bounds.-"
  -O mine animals, answered Zarathustra, talk on thus and let me
listen! It refresheth me so to hear your talk: where there is talk,
there is the world as a garden unto me.
  How charming it is that there are words and tones; are not words and
tones rainbows and seeming bridges 'twixt the eternally separated?
  To each soul belongeth another world; to each soul is every other
soul a back-world.
  Among the most alike doth semblance deceive most delightfully: for
the smallest gap is most difficult to bridge over.
  For me- how could there be an outside-of-me? There is no outside!
But this we forget on hearing tones; how delightful it is that we
forget!
  Have not names and tones been given unto things that man may refresh
himself with them? It is a beautiful folly, speaking; therewith
danceth man over everything.
  How lovely is all speech and all falsehoods of tones! With tones
danceth our love on variegated rainbows.-
  -"O Zarathustra," said then his animals, "to those who think like
us, things all dance themselves: they come and hold out the hand and
laugh and flee- and return.
  Everything goeth, everything returneth; eternally rolleth the
wheel of existence. Everything dieth, everything blossometh forth
again; eternally runneth on the year of existence.
  Everything breaketh, everything is integrated anew; eternally
buildeth itself the same house of existence. All things separate,
all things again greet one another; eternally true to itself remaineth
the ring of existence.
  Every moment beginneth existence, around every 'Here' rolleth the
ball 'There.' The middle is everywhere. Crooked is the path of
eternity."-
  -O ye wags and barrel-organs! answered Zarathustra, and smiled
once more, how well do ye know what had to be fulfilled in seven
days:-
  -And how that monster crept into my throat and choked me! But I
bit off its head and spat it away from me.
  And ye- ye have made a lyre-lay out of it? Now, however, do I lie
here, still exhausted with that biting and spitting-away, still sick
with mine own salvation.
  And ye looked on at it all? O mine animals, are ye also cruel? Did
ye like to look at my great pain as men do? For man is the cruellest
animal.
  At tragedies, bull-fights, and crucifixions hath he hitherto been
happiest on earth; and when he invented his hell, behold, that was his
heaven on earth.
  When the great man crieth-: immediately runneth the little man
thither, and his tongue hangeth out of his mouth for very lusting. He,
however, calleth it his "pity."
  The little man, especially the poet- how passionately doth he accuse
life in words! Hearken to him, but do not fail to hear the delight
which is in all accusation!
  Such accusers of life- them life overcometh with a glance of the
eye. "Thou lovest me?" saith the insolent one; "wait a little, as
yet have I no time for thee."
  Towards himself man is the cruellest animal; and in all who call
themselves "sinners" and "bearers of the cross" and "penitents," do
not overlook the voluptuousness in their plaints and accusations!
  And I myself- do, I thereby want to be man's accuser? Ah, mine
animals, this only have I learned hitherto, that for man his baddest
is necessary for his best,-
  -That all that is baddest is the best power, and the hardest stone
for the highest creator; and that man must become better and badder:-
  Not to this torture-stake was I tied, that I know man is bad,- but I
cried, as no one hath yet cried:
  "Ah, that his baddest is so very small! Ah, that his best is so very
small!"
  The great disgust at man- it strangled me and had crept into my
throat: and what the soothsayer had presaged: "All is alike, nothing
is worth while, knowledge strangleth."
  A long twilight limped on before me, a fatally weary, fatally
intoxicated sadness, which spake with yawning mouth.
  "Eternally he returneth, the man of whom thou art weary, the small
man"- so yawned my sadness, and dragged its foot and could not go to
sleep.
  A cavern, became the human earth to me; its breast caved in;
everything living became to me human dust and bones and mouldering
past.
  My sighing sat on all human graves, and could no longer arise: my
sighing and questioning croaked and choked, and gnawed and nagged
day and night:
  -"Ah, man returneth eternally! The small man returneth eternally!"
  Naked had I once seen both of them, the greatest man and the
smallest man: all too like one another- all too human, even the
greatest man!
  All too small, even the greatest man!- that was my disgust at man!
And the eternal return also of the smallest man!- that was my
disgust at all existence!
  Ah, Disgust! Disgust! Disgust!- - Thus spake Zarathustra, and sighed
and shuddered; for he remembered his sickness. Then did his animals
prevent him from speaking further.
  "Do not speak further, thou convalescent!"- so answered his animals,
"but go out where the world waiteth for thee like a garden.
  Go out unto the roses, the bees, and the flocks of doves!
Especially, however, unto the singing-birds, to learn singing from
them!
  For singing is for the convalescent; the sound ones may talk. And
when the sound also want songs, then want they other songs than the
convalescent."

  -"O ye wags and barrel-organs, do be silent!" answered
Zarathustra, and smiled at his animals. "How well ye know what
consolation I devised for myself in seven days!
  That I have to sing once more- that consolation did I devise for
myself, and this convalescence: would ye also make another lyre-lay
thereof?"
  -"Do not talk further," answered his animals once more; "rather,
thou convalescent, prepare for thyself first a lyre, a new lyre!
  For behold, O Zarathustra! For thy new lays there are needed new
lyres.
  Sing and bubble over, O Zarathustra, heal thy soul with new lays:
that thou mayest bear thy great fate, which hath not yet been any
one's fate!
  For thine animals know it well, O Zarathustra, who thou art and must
become: behold, thou art the teacher of the eternal return,- that is
now thy fate!
  That thou must be the first to teach this teaching- how could this
great fate not be thy greatest danger and infirmity!
  Behold, we know what thou teachest: that all things eternally
return, and ourselves with them, and that we have already existed
times without number, and all things with us.
  Thou teachest that there is a great year of Becoming, a prodigy of a
great year; it must, like a sand-glass, ever turn up anew, that it may
anew run down and run out:-
  -So that all those years are like one another in the greatest and
also in the smallest, so that we ourselves, in every great year, are
like ourselves in the greatest and also in the smallest.
  And if thou wouldst now die, O Zarathustra, behold, we know also how
thou wouldst then speak to thyself:- but thine animals beseech thee
not to die yet!
  Thou wouldst speak, and without trembling, buoyant rather with
bliss, for a great weight and worry would be taken from thee, thou
patientest one!-
  'Now do I die and disappear,' wouldst thou say, 'and in a moment I
am nothing. Souls are as mortal as bodies.
  But the plexus of causes returneth in which I am intertwined,- it
will again create me! I myself pertain to the causes of the eternal
return.
  I come again with this sun, with this earth, with this eagle, with
this serpent- not to a new life, or a better life, or a similar life:
  -I come again eternally to this identical and selfsame life, in
its greatest and its smallest, to teach again the eternal return of
all things,-
  -To speak again the word of the great noontide of earth and man,
to announce again to man the Superman.
  I have spoken my word. I break down by my word: so willeth mine
eternal fate- as announcer do I succumb!
  The hour hath now come for the down-goer to bless himself. Thus-
endeth Zarathustra's down-going.'"- -

  When the animals had spoken these words they were silent and waited,
so that Zarathustra might say something to them; but Zarathustra did
not hear that they were silent. On the contrary, he lay quietly with
closed eyes like a person sleeping, although he did not sleep; for
he communed just then with his soul. The serpent, however, and the
eagle, when they found him silent in such wise, respected the great
stillness around him, and prudently retired.

[VoraX]

58. The Great Longing

  O MY soul, I have taught thee to say "today" as "once on a time" and
"formerly," and to dance thy measure over every Here and There and
Yonder.
  O my soul, I delivered thee from all by-places, I brushed down
from thee dust and spiders and twilight.
  O my soul, I washed the petty shame and the by-place virtue from
thee, and persuaded thee to stand naked before the eyes of the sun.
  With the storm that is called "spirit" did I blow over thy surging
sea; all clouds did I blow away from it; I strangled even the
strangler called "sin."
  O my soul, I gave thee the right to say Nay like the storm, and to
say Yea as the open heaven saith Yea: calm as the light remainest
thou, and now walkest through denying storms.
  O my soul, I restored to thee liberty over the created and the
uncreated; and who knoweth, as thou knowest, the voluptuousness of the
future?
  O my soul, I taught thee the contempt which doth not come like
worm-eating, the great, the loving contempt, which loveth most where
it contemneth most.
  O my soul, I taught thee so to persuade that thou persuadest even
the grounds themselves to thee: like the sun, which persuadeth even
the sea to its height.
  O my soul, I have taken from thee all obeying and knee-bending and
homage-paying; I have myself given thee the names, "Change of need"
and "Fate."
  O my soul, I have given thee new names and gay-coloured
playthings, I have called thee "Fate" and "the Circuit of circuits"
and "the Navel-string of time" and "the Azure bell."
  O my soul, to thy domain gave I all wisdom to drink all new wines,
and also all immemorially old strong wines of wisdom.
  O my soul, every sun shed I upon thee, and every night and every
silence and every longing:- then grewest thou up for me as a vine.
  O my soul, exuberant and heavy dost thou now stand forth, a vine
with swelling udders and full clusters of brown golden grapes:-
  -Filled and weighted by thy happiness, waiting from
superabundance, and yet ashamed of thy waiting.
  O my soul, there is nowhere a soul which could be more loving and
more comprehensive and more extensive! Where could future and past
be closer together than with thee?
  O my soul, I have given thee everything, and all my hands have
become empty by thee:- and now! Now sayest thou to me, smiling and
full of melancholy: "Which of us oweth thanks?-
  -Doth the giver not owe thanks because the receiver received? Is
bestowing not a necessity? Is receiving not- pitying?"
  O my soul, I understand the smiling of thy melancholy: thine
over-abundance itself now stretcheth out longing hands!
  Thy fulness looketh forth over raging seas, and seeketh and waiteth:
the longing of over-fulness looketh forth from the smiling heaven of
thine eyes!
  And verily, O my soul! Who could see thy smiling and not melt into
tears? The angels themselves melt into tears through the
over-graciousness of thy smiling.
  Thy graciousness and over-graciousness, is it which will not
complain and weep: and yet, O my soul, longeth thy smiling for
tears, and thy trembling mouth for sobs.
  "Is not all weeping complaining? And all complaining, accusing?"
Thus speakest thou to thyself; and therefore, O my soul, wilt thou
rather smile than pour forth thy grief-
  -Than in gushing tears pour forth all thy grief concerning thy
fulness, and concerning the craving of the vine for the vintager and
vintage-knife!
  But wilt thou not weep, wilt thou not weep forth thy purple
melancholy, then wilt thou have to sing, O my soul!- Behold, I smile
myself, who foretell thee this:
  -Thou wilt have to sing with passionate song, until all seas turn
calm to hearken unto thy longing,-
  -Until over calm longing seas the bark glideth, the golden marvel,
around the gold of which all good, bad, and marvellous things frisk:-
  -Also many large and small animals, and everything that hath light
marvellous feet, so that it can run on violet-blue paths,-
  -Towards the golden marvel, the spontaneous bark, and its master:
he, however, is the vintager who waiteth with the diamond
vintage-knife,-
  -Thy great deliverer, O my soul, the nameless one- for whom future
songs only will find names! And verily, already hath thy breath the
fragrance of future songs,-
  -Already glowest thou and dreamest, already drinkest thou
thirstily at all deep echoing wells of consolation, already reposeth
thy melancholy in the bliss of future songs!- -
  O my soul, now have I given thee all, and even my last possession,
and all my hands have become empty by thee:- that I bade thee sing,
behold, that was my last thing to give!
  That I bade thee sing,- say now, say: which of us now- oweth
thanks?- Better still, however: sing unto me, sing, O my soul! And let
me thank thee!-

  Thus spake Zarathustra.

[VoraX]

 59. The Second Dance Song

                            1.

  "INTO thine eyes gazed I lately, O Life: gold saw I gleam in thy
night-eyes,- my heart stood still with delight:
  -A golden bark saw I gleam on darkened waters, a sinking,
drinking, reblinking, golden swing-bark!
  At my dance-frantic foot, dost thou cast a glance, a laughing,
questioning, melting, thrown glance:
  Twice only movedst thou thy rattle with thy little hands- then did
my feet swing with dance-fury.-
  My heels reared aloft, my toes they hearkened,- thee they would
know: hath not the dancer his ear- in his toe!
  Unto thee did I spring: then fledst thou back from my bound; and
towards me waved thy fleeing, flying tresses round!
  Away from thee did I spring, and from thy snaky tresses: then
stoodst thou there half-turned, and in thine eye caresses.
  With crooked glances- dost thou teach me crooked courses; on crooked
courses learn my feet- crafty fancies!
  I fear thee near, I love thee far; thy flight allureth me, thy
seeking secureth me:- I suffer, but for thee, what would I not
gladly bear!
  For thee, whose coldness inflameth, whose hatred misleadeth, whose
flight enchaineth, whose mockery- pleadeth:
  -Who would not hate thee, thou great bindress, in-windress,
temptress, seekress, findress! Who would not love thee, thou innocent,
impatient, wind-swift, child-eyed sinner!
  Whither pullest thou me now, thou paragon and tomboy? And now
foolest thou me fleeing; thou sweet romp dost annoy!
  I dance after thee, I follow even faint traces lonely. Where art
thou? Give me thy hand! Or thy finger only!
  Here are caves and thickets: we shall go astray!- Halt! Stand still!
Seest thou not owls and bats in fluttering fray?
  Thou bat! Thou owl! Thou wouldst play me foul? Where are we? From
the dogs hast thou learned thus to bark and howl.
  Thou gnashest on me sweetly with little white teeth; thine evil eyes
shoot out upon me, thy curly little mane from underneath!
  This is a dance over stock and stone: I am the hunter,- wilt thou be
my hound, or my chamois anon?
  Now beside me! And quickly, wickedly springing! Now up! And over!-
Alas! I have fallen myself overswinging!
  Oh, see me lying, thou arrogant one, and imploring grace! Gladly
would I walk with thee- in some lovelier place!
  -In the paths of love, through bushes variegated, quiet, trim! Or
there along the lake, where gold-fishes dance and swim!
  Thou art now a-weary? There above are sheep and sun-set stripes:
is it not sweet to sleep- the shepherd pipes?
  Thou art so very weary? I carry thee thither; let just thine arm
sink! And art thou thirsty- I should have something; but thy mouth
would not like it to drink!-
  -Oh, that cursed, nimble, supple serpent and lurking-witch! Where
art thou gone? But in my face do I feel through thy hand, two spots
and red blotches itch!
  I am verily weary of it, ever thy sheepish shepherd to be. Thou
witch, if I have hitherto sung unto thee, now shalt thou- cry unto me!
  To the rhythm of my whip shalt thou dance and cry! I forget not my
whip?- Not I!"-

                            2.

  Then did Life answer me thus, and kept thereby her fine ears closed:
  "O Zarathustra! Crack not so terribly with thy whip! Thou knowest
surely that noise killeth thought,- and just now there came to me such
delicate thoughts.
  We are both of us genuine ne'er-do-wells and ne'er-do-ills. Beyond
good and evil found we our island and our green meadow- we two
alone! Therefore must we be friendly to each other!
  And even should we not love each other from the bottom of our
hearts,- must we then have a grudge against each other if we do not
love each other perfectly?
  And that I am friendly to thee, and often too friendly, that knowest
thou: and the reason is that I am envious of thy Wisdom. Ah, this
mad old fool, Wisdom!
  If thy Wisdom should one day run away from thee, ah! then would also
my love run away from thee quickly."-

  Thereupon did Life look thoughtfully behind and around, and said
softly: "O Zarathustra, thou art not faithful enough to me!
  Thou lovest me not nearly so much as thou sayest; I know thou
thinkest of soon leaving me.
  There is an old heavy, heavy, booming-clock: it boometh by night
up to thy cave:-
  -When thou hearest this clock strike the hours at midnight, then
thinkest thou between one and twelve thereon-
  -Thou thinkest thereon, O Zarathustra, I know it- of soon leaving
me!"-
  "Yea," answered I, hesitatingly, "but thou knowest it also"- And I
said something into her ear, in amongst her confused, yellow,
foolish tresses.
  "Thou knowest that, O Zarathustra? That knoweth no one- -"

  And we gazed at each other, and looked at the green meadow o'er
which the cool evening was just passing, and we wept together.-
Then, however, was Life dearer unto me than all my Wisdom had ever
been.-

  Thus spake Zarathustra.

                            3.

                           One!

  O man! Take heed!

                           Two!

  What saith deep midnight's voice indeed?

                          Three!

  "I slept my sleep-

                          Four!

  "From deepest dream I've woke and plead:-

                          Five!

  "The world is deep,

                           Six!

  "And deeper than the day could read.

                          Seven!

  "Deep is its woe-

                          Eight!

  "Joy- deeper still than grief can be:

                          Nine!

  "Woe saith: Hence! Go!

                           Ten!

  "But joys all want eternity-

                         Eleven!

  "Want deep profound eternity!"

                         Twelve!

[VoraX]

 60. The Seven Seals
                 (OR THE YEA AND AMEN LAY.)

                            1.

  IF I be a diviner and full of the divining spirit which wandereth on
high mountain-ridges, 'twixt two seas,-
  Wandereth 'twixt the past and the future as a heavy cloud- hostile
to sultry plains, and to all that is weary and can neither die nor
live:
  Ready for lightning in its dark bosom, and for the redeeming flash
of light, charged with lightnings which say Yea! which laugh Yea!
ready for divining flashes of lightning:-
  -Blessed, however, is he who is thus charged! And verily, long
must he hang like a heavy tempest on the mountain, who shall one day
kindle the light of the future!-
  Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity and for the marriage-ring
of rings- the ring of the return?
  Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have
children, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O
Eternity!
  For I love thee, O Eternity!

                            2.

  If ever my wrath hath burst graves, shifted landmarks, or rolled old
shattered tables into precipitous depths:
  If ever my scorn hath scattered mouldered words to the winds, and if
I have come like a besom to cross-spiders, and as a cleansing wind
to old charnel-houses:
  If ever I have sat rejoicing where old gods lie buried,
world-blessing, world-loving, beside the monuments of old
world-maligners:-
  -For even churches and gods'-graves do I love, if only heaven
looketh through their ruined roofs with pure eyes; gladly do I sit
like grass and red poppies on ruined churches-
  Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the
marriage-ring of rings- the ring of the return?
  Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have
children, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O
Eternity!
  For I love thee, O Eternity!

                            3.

  If ever a breath hath come to me of the creative breath, and of
the heavenly necessity which compelleth even chances to dance
star-dances:
  If ever I have laughed with the laughter of the creative
lightning, to which the long thunder of the deed followeth,
grumblingly, but obediently:
  If ever I have played dice with the gods at the divine table of
the earth, so that the earth quaked and ruptured, and snorted forth
fire-streams:-
  -For a divine table is the earth, and trembling with new active
dictums and dice-casts of the gods:
  Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the
marriage-ring of rings- the ring of the return?
  Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have
children, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O
Eternity!
  For I love thee, O Eternity!

                            4.

  If ever I have drunk a full draught of the foaming spice- and
confection-bowl in which all things are well mixed:
  If ever my hand hath mingled the furthest with the nearest, fire
with spirit, joy with sorrow, and the harshest with the kindest:
  If I myself am a grain of the saving salt which maketh everything in
the confection-bowl mix well:-
  -For there is a salt which uniteth good with evil; and even the
evilest is worthy, as spicing and as final over-foaming:-
  Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the
marriage-ring of rings- the ring of the return?
  Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have
children, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O
Eternity!
  For I love thee, O Eternity!

                            5.

  If I be fond of the sea, and all that is sealike, and fondest of
it when it angrily contradicteth me:
  If the exploring delight be in me, which impelleth sails to the
undiscovered, if the seafarer's delight be in my delight:
  If ever my rejoicing hath called out: "The shore hath vanished,- now
hath fallen from me the last chain-
  The boundless roareth around me, far away sparkle for me space and
time,- well! cheer up! old heart!"-
  Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the
marriage-ring of rings- the ring of the return?
  Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have
children, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O
Eternity!
  For I love thee, O Eternity!

                            6.

  If my virtue be a dancer's virtue, and if I have often sprung with
both feet into golden-emerald rapture:
  If my wickedness be a laughing wickedness, at home among
rose-banks and hedges of lilies:
  -or in laughter is all evil present, but it is sanctified and
absolved by its own bliss:-
  And if it be my Alpha and Omega that everything heavy shall become
light, everybody a dancer, and every spirit a bird: and verily, that
is my Alpha and Omega!-
  Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the
marriage-ring of rings- the ring of the return?
  Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have
children, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O
Eternity!
  For I love thee, O Eternity!

                            7.

  If ever I have spread out a tranquil heaven above me, and have flown
into mine own heaven with mine own pinions:
  If I have swum playfully in profound luminous distances, and if my
freedom's avian wisdom hath come to me:-
  -Thus however speaketh avian wisdom:- "Lo, there is no above and
no below! Throw thyself about,- outward, backward, thou light one!
Sing! speak no more!
  -Are not all words made for the heavy? Do not all words lie to the
light ones? Sing! speak no more!"-
  Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the
marriage-ring of rings- the ring of the return?
  Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have
children, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O
Eternity!
  For I love thee, O Eternity!

[VoraX]

FOURTH AND LAST PART.

  Ah, where in the world have there been greater follies than with the
pitiful? And what in the world hath caused more suffering than the
follies of the pitiful?
  Woe unto all loving ones who have not an elevation which is above
their pity!
  Thus spake the devil unto me, once on a time: "Ever God hath his
hell: it is his love for man."
  And lately did I hear him say these words: "God is dead: of his pity
for man hath God died."- ZARATHUSTRA, II., "The Pitiful."

                 61. The Honey Sacrifice

  -AND again passed moons and years over Zarathustra's soul, and he
heeded it not; his hair, however, became white. One day when he sat on
a stone in front of his cave, and gazed calmly into the distance-
one there gazeth out on the sea, and away beyond sinuous abysses,-
then went his animals thoughtfully round about him, and at last set
themselves in front of him.
  "O Zarathustra," said they, "gazest thou out perhaps for thy
happiness?"- "Of what account is my happiness!" answered he, "I have
long ceased to strive any more for happiness, I strive for my
work."- "O Zarathustra," said the animals once more, "that sayest thou
as one who hath overmuch of good things. Liest thou not in a
sky-blue lake of happiness?"- "Ye wags," answered Zarathustra, and
smiled, "how well did ye choose the simile! But ye know also that my
happiness is heavy, and not like a fluid wave of water: it presseth me
and will not leave me, and is like molten pitch."-
  Then went his animals again thoughtfully around him, and placed
themselves once more in front of him. "O Zarathustra," said they,
"it is consequently for that reason that thou thyself always
becometh yellower and darker, although thy hair looketh white and
flaxen? Lo, thou sittest in thy pitch!"- "What do ye say, mine
animals?" said Zarathustra, laughing; "verily I reviled when I spake
of pitch. As it happeneth with me, so is it with all fruits that
turn ripe. It is the honey in my veins that maketh my blood thicker,
and also my soul stiller."- "So will it be, O Zarathustra," answered
his animals, and pressed up to him; "but wilt thou not today ascend
a high mountain? The air is pure, and today one seeth more of the
world than ever."- "Yea, mine animals," answered he, "ye counsel
admirably and according to my heart: I will today ascend a high
mountain! But see that honey is there ready to hand, yellow, white,
good, ice-cool, golden-comb-honey. For know that when aloft I will
make the honey-sacrifice."-
  When Zarathustra, however, was aloft on the summit, he sent his
animals home that had accompanied him, and found that he was now
alone:- then he laughed from the bottom of his heart, looked around
him, and spake thus:

  That I spake of sacrifices and honey-sacrifices, it was merely a
ruse in talking and verily, a useful folly! Here aloft can I now speak
freer than in front of mountain-caves and anchorites' domestic
animals.
  What to sacrifice! I squander what is given me, a squanderer with
a thousand hands: how could I call that- sacrificing?
  And when I desired honey I only desired bait, and sweet mucus and
mucilage, for which even the mouths of growling bears, and strange,
sulky, evil birds, water:
  -The best bait, as huntsmen and fishermen require it. For if the
world be as a gloomy forest of animals, and a pleasure-ground for
all wild huntsmen, it seemeth to me rather- and preferably- a
fathomless, rich sea;
  -A sea full of many-hued fishes and crabs, for which even the gods
might long, and might be tempted to become fishers in it, and
casters of nets,- so rich is the world in wonderful things, great
and small!
  Especially the human world, the human sea:- towards it do I now
throw out my golden angle-rod and say: Open up, thou human abyss!
  Open up, and throw unto me thy fish and shining crabs! With my
best bait shall I allure to myself today the strangest human fish!
  -My happiness itself do I throw out into all places far and wide
'twixt orient, noontide, and occident, to see if many human fish
will not learn to hug and tug at my happiness;-
  Until, biting at my sharp hidden hooks, they have to come up unto my
height, the motleyest abyss-groundlings, to the wickedest of all
fishers of men.
  For this am I from the heart and from the beginning- drawing,
hither-drawing, upward-drawing, upbringing; a drawer, a trainer, a
training-master, who not in vain counselled himself once on a time:
"Become what thou art!"
  Thus may men now come up to me; for as yet do I await the signs that
it is time for my down-going; as yet do I not myself go down, as I
must do, amongst men.
  Therefore do I here wait, crafty and scornful upon high mountains,
no impatient one, no patient one; rather one who hath even unlearnt
patience,- because he no longer "suffereth."
  For my fate giveth me time: it hath forgotten me perhaps? Or doth it
sit behind a big stone and catch flies?
  And verily, I am well-disposed to mine eternal fate, because it doth
not hound and hurry me, but leaveth me time for merriment and
mischief; so that I have to-day ascended this high mountain to catch
fish.
  Did ever any one catch fish upon high mountains? And though it be
a folly what I here seek and do, it is better so than that down
below I should become solemn with waiting, and green and yellow-
  -A posturing wrath-snorter with waiting, a holy howl-storm from
the mountains, an impatient one that shouteth down into the valleys:
"Hearken, else I will scourge you with the scourge of God!"
  Not that I would have a grudge against such wrathful ones on that
account: they are well enough for laughter to me! Impatient must
they now be, those big alarm-drums, which find a voice now or never!
  Myself, however, and my fate- we do not talk to the Present, neither
do we talk to the Never: for talking we have patience and time and
more than time. For one day must it yet come, and may not pass by.
  What must one day come and may not pass by? Our great Hazar, that is
to say, our great, remote human-kingdom, the Zarathustra-kingdom of
a thousand years- -
  How remote may such "remoteness" be? What doth it concern me? But on
that account it is none the less sure unto me-, with both feet stand I
secure on this ground;
  -On an eternal ground, on hard primary rock, on this highest,
hardest, primary mountain-ridge, unto which all winds come, as unto
the storm-parting, asking Where? and Whence? and Whither?
  Here laugh, laugh, my hearty, healthy wickedness! From high
mountains cast down thy glittering scorn-laughter! Allure for me
with thy glittering the finest human fish!
  And whatever belongeth unto me in all seas, my in-and-for-me in
all things- fish that out for me, bring that up to me: for that do I
wait, the wickedest of all fish-catchers.
  Out! out! my fishing-hook! In and down, thou bait of my happiness!
Drip thy sweetest dew, thou honey of my heart! Bite, my
fishing-hook, into the belly of all black affliction!
  Look out, look out, mine eye! Oh, how many seas round about me, what
dawning human futures! And above me- what rosy red stillness! What
unclouded silence!

[VoraX]

 62. The Cry of Distress

  THE next day sat Zarathustra again on the stone in front of his
cave, whilst his animals roved about in the world outside to bring
home new food,- also new honey: for Zarathustra had spent and wasted
the old honey to the very last particle. When he thus sat, however,
with a stick in his hand, tracing the shadow of his figure on the
earth, and reflecting- verily! not upon himself and his shadow,- all
at once he startled and shrank back: for he saw another shadow
beside his own. And when he hastily looked around and stood up,
behold, there stood the soothsayer beside him, the same whom he had
once given to eat and drink at his table, the proclaimer of the
great weariness, who taught: "All is alike, nothing is worth while,
the world is without meaning, knowledge strangleth." But his face
had changed since then; and when Zarathustra looked into his eyes, his
heart was startled once more: so much evil announcement and
ashy-grey lightnings passed over that countenance.
  The soothsayer, who had perceived what went on in Zarathustra's
soul, wiped his face with his hand, as if he would wipe out the
impression; the same did also Zarathustra. And when both of them had
thus silently composed and strengthened themselves, they gave each
other the hand, as a token that they wanted once more to recognise
each other.
  "Welcome hither," said Zarathustra, "thou soothsayer of the great
weariness, not in vain shalt thou once have been my messmate and
guest. Eat and drink also with me to-day, and forgive it that a
cheerful old man sitteth with thee at table!"- "A cheerful old man?"
answered the soothsayer, shaking his head, "but whoever thou art, or
wouldst be, O Zarathustra, thou hast been here aloft the longest
time,- in a little while thy bark shall no longer rest on dry
land!"- "Do I then rest on dry land?"- asked Zarathustra, laughing.-
"The waves around thy mountain," answered the soothsayer, "rise and
rise, the waves of great distress and affliction: they will soon raise
thy bark also and carry thee away."- Thereupon was Zarathustra
silent and wondered.- "Dost thou still hear nothing?" continued the
soothsayer: "doth it not rush and roar out of the depth?"- Zarathustra
was silent once more and listened: then heard he a long, long cry,
which the abysses threw to one another and passed on; for none of them
wished to retain it: so evil did it sound.
  "Thou ill announcer," said Zarathustra at last, "that is a cry of
distress, and the cry of a man; it may come perhaps out of a black
sea. But what doth human distress matter to me! My last sin which hath
been reserved for me,- knowest thou what it is called?"
  -"Pity!" answered the soothsayer from an overflowing heart, and
raised both his hands aloft- "O Zarathustra, I have come that I may
seduce thee to thy last sin!"-
  And hardly had those words been uttered when there sounded the cry
once more, and longer and more alarming than before- also much nearer.
"Hearest thou? Hearest thou, O Zarathustra?" called out the
soothsayer, "the cry concerneth thee, it calleth thee: Come, come,
come; it is time, it is the highest time!"-
  Zarathustra was silent thereupon, confused and staggered; at last he
asked, like one who hesitateth in himself: "And who is it that there
calleth me?"
  "But thou knowest it, certainly," answered the soothsayer warmly,
"why dost thou conceal thyself? It is the higher man that crieth for
thee!"
  "The higher man?" cried Zarathustra, horror-stricken: "what
wanteth he? What wanteth he? The higher man! What wanteth he here?"-
and his skin covered with perspiration.
  The soothsayer, however, did not heed Zarathustra's alarm, but
listened and listened in the downward direction. When, however, it had
been still there for a long while, he looked behind, and saw
Zarathustra standing trembling.
  "O Zarathustra," he began, with sorrowful voice, "thou dost not
stand there like one whose happiness maketh him giddy: thou wilt
have to dance lest thou tumble down!
  But although thou shouldst dance before me, and leap all thy
side-leaps, no one may say unto me: 'Behold, here danceth the last
joyous man!'
  In vain would any one come to this height who sought him here: caves
would he find, indeed, and back-caves, hiding-places for hidden
ones; but not lucky mines, nor treasure-chambers, nor new gold-veins
of happiness.
  Happiness- how indeed could one find happiness among such
buried-alive and solitary ones! Must I yet seek the last happiness
on the Happy Isles, and far away among forgotten seas?
  But all is alike, nothing is worth while, no seeking is of
service, there are no longer any Happy Isles!"- -

  Thus sighed the soothsayer; with his last sigh, however, Zarathustra
again became serene and assured, like one who hath come out of a
deep chasm into the light. "Nay! Nay! Three times Nay!" exclaimed he
with a strong voice, and stroked his beard- "that do I know better!
There are still Happy Isles! Silence thereon, thou sighing
sorrow-sack!
  Cease to splash thereon, thou rain-cloud of the forenoon! Do I not
already stand here wet with thy misery, and drenched like a dog?
  Now do I shake myself and run away from thee, that I may again
become dry: thereat mayest thou not wonder! Do I seem to thee
discourteous? Here however is my court.
  But as regards the higher man: well! I shall seek him at once in
those forests: from thence came his cry. Perhaps he is there hard
beset by an evil beast.
  He is in my domain: therein shall he receive no scath! And verily,
there are many evil beasts about me."-
  With those words Zarathustra turned around to depart. Then said
the soothsayer: "O Zarathustra, thou art a rogue!
  I know it well: thou wouldst fain be rid of me! Rather wouldst
thou run into the forest and lay snares for evil beasts!
  But what good will it do thee? In the evening wilt thou have me
again: in thine own cave will I sit, patient and heavy like a block-
and wait for thee!"
  "So be it!" shouted back Zarathustra, as he went away: "and what
is mine in my cave belongeth also unto thee, my guest!
  Shouldst thou however find honey therein, well! Just lick it up,
thou growling bear, and sweeten thy soul! For in the evening we want
both to be in good spirits;
  -In good spirits and joyful, because this day hath come to an end!
And thou thyself shalt dance to my lays, as my dancing-bear.
  Thou dost not believe this? Thou shakest thy head? Well! Cheer up,
old bear! But I also- am a soothsayer."

  Thus spake Zarathustra.

[VoraX]

63. Talk with the Kings

                            1.

  ERE Zarathustra had been an hour on his way in the mountains and
forests, he saw all at once a strange procession. Right on the path
which he was about to descend came two kings walking, bedecked with
crowns and purple girdles, and variegated like flamingoes: they
drove before them a laden ass. "What do these kings want in my
domain?" said Zarathustra in astonishment to his heart, and hid
himself hastily behind a thicket. When however the kings approached to
him, he said half-aloud, like one speaking only to himself:
"Strange! Strange! How doth this harmonise? Two kings do I see- and
only one ass!"
  Thereupon the two kings made a halt; they smiled and looked
towards the spot whence the voice proceeded, and afterwards looked
into each other's faces. "Such things do we also think among
ourselves," said the king on the right, "but we do not utter them."
  The king on the left, however, shrugged his shoulders and
answered: "That may perhaps be a goat-herd. Or an anchorite who hath
lived too long among rocks and trees. For no society at all spoileth
also good manners."
  "Good manners?" replied angrily and bitterly the other king: "what
then do we run out of the way of? Is it not 'good manners'? Our
'good society'?
  Better, verily, to live among anchorites and goat-herds, than with
our gilded, false, over-rouged populace- though it call itself 'good
society.'
  -Though it call itself 'nobility.' But there all is false and
foul, above all the blood- thanks to old evil diseases and worse
curers.
  The best and dearest to me at present is still a sound peasant,
coarse, artful, obstinate and enduring: that is at present the noblest
type.
  The peasant is at present the best; and the peasant type should be
master! But it is the kingdom of the populace- I no longer allow
anything to be imposed upon me. The populace, however- that meaneth,
hodgepodge.
  Populace-hodgepodge: therein is everything mixed with everything,
saint and swindler, gentleman and Jew, and every beast out of Noah's
ark.
  Good manners! Everything is false and foul with us. No one knoweth
any longer how to reverence: it is that precisely that we run away
from. They are fulsome obtrusive dogs; they gild palm-leaves.
  This loathing choketh me, that we kings ourselves have become false,
draped and disguised with the old faded pomp of our ancestors,
show-pieces for the stupidest, the craftiest, and whosoever at present
trafficketh for power.
  We are not the first men- and have nevertheless to stand for them:
of this imposture have we at last become weary and disgusted.
  From the rabble have we gone out of the way, from all those
bawlers and scribe-blowflies, from the trader-stench, the
ambition-fidgeting, the bad breath-: fie, to live among the rabble;
  -Fie, to stand for the first men among the rabble! Ah, loathing!
Loathing! Loathing! What doth it now matter about us kings!"-
  "Thine old sickness seizeth thee," said here the king on the left,
"thy loathing seizeth thee, my poor brother. Thou knowest, however,
that some one heareth us."
  Immediately thereupon, Zarathustra, who had opened ears and eyes
to this talk, rose from his hiding-place, advanced towards the
kings, and thus began:
  "He who hearkeneth unto you, he who gladly hearkeneth unto you, is
called Zarathustra.
  I am Zarathustra who once said: 'What doth it now matter about
kings!' Forgive me; I rejoiced when ye said to each other: 'What
doth it matter about us kings!'
  Here, however, is my domain and jurisdiction: what may ye be seeking
in my domain? Perhaps, however, ye have found on your way what I seek:
namely, the higher man."
  When the kings heard this, they beat upon their breasts and said
with one voice: "We are recognised!
  With the sword of thine utterance severest thou the thickest
darkness of our hearts. Thou hast discovered our distress; for lo!
we are on our way to find the higher man-
  -The man that is higher than we, although we are kings. To him do we
convey this ass. For the highest man shall also be the highest lord on
earth.
  There is no sorer misfortune in all human destiny, than when the
mighty of the earth are not also the first men. Then everything
becometh false and distorted and monstrous.
  And when they are even the last men, and more beast than man, then
riseth and riseth the populace in honour, and at last saith even the
populace-virtue: 'Lo, I alone am virtue!'"-
  What have I just heard? answered Zarathustra. What wisdom in
kings! I am enchanted, and verily, I have already promptings to make a
rhyme thereon:-
  -Even if it should happen to be a rhyme not suited for every one's
ears. I unlearned long ago to have consideration for long ears. Well
then! Well now!
  (Here, however, it happened that the ass also found utterance: it
said distinctly and with malevolence, Y-E-A.)

    'Twas once- methinks year one of our blessed Lord,-
    Drunk without wine, the Sybil thus deplored:-
    "How ill things go!
    Decline! Decline! Ne'er sank the world so low!
    Rome now hath turned harlot and harlot-stew,
    Rome's Caesar a beast, and God- hath turned Jew!

                            2.

  With those rhymes of Zarathustra the kings were delighted; the
king on the right, however, said: "O Zarathustra, how well it was that
we set out to see thee!
  For thine enemies showed us thy likeness in their mirror: there
lookedst thou with the grimace of a devil, and sneeringly: so that
we were afraid of thee.
  But what good did it do! Always didst thou prick us anew in heart
and ear with thy sayings. Then did we say at last: What doth it matter
how he look!
  We must hear him; him who teacheth: 'Ye shall love peace as a
means to new wars, and the short peace more than the long!'
  No one ever spake such warlike words: 'What is good? To be brave
is good. It is the good war that halloweth every cause.'
  O Zarathustra, our fathers' blood stirred in our veins at such
words: it was like the voice of spring to old wine-casks.
  When the swords ran among one another like red-spotted serpents,
then did our fathers become fond of life; the sun of every peace
seemed to them languid and lukewarm, the long peace, however, made
them ashamed.
  How they sighed, our fathers, when they saw on the wall brightly
furbished, dried-up swords! Like those they thirsted for war. For a
sword thirsteth to drink blood, and sparkleth with desire."- -
  -When the kings thus discoursed and talked eagerly of the
happiness of their fathers, there came upon Zarathustra no little
desire to mock at their eagerness: for evidently they were very
peaceable kings whom he saw before him, kings with old and refined
features. But he restrained himself. "Well!" said he, "thither leadeth
the way, there lieth the cave of Zarathustra; and this day is to
have a long evening! At present, however, a cry of distress calleth me
hastily away from you.
  It will honour my cave if kings want to sit and wait in it: but,
to be sure, ye will have to wait long!
  Well! What of that! Where doth one at present learn better to wait
than at courts? And the whole virtue of kings that hath remained
unto them- is it not called to-day: Ability to wait?"

  Thus spake Zarathustra.

[VoraX]

 64. The Leech

  AND Zarathustra went thoughtfully on, further and lower down,
through forests and past moory bottoms; as it happeneth, however, to
every one who meditateth upon hard matters, he trod thereby unawares
upon a man. And lo, there spurted into his face all at once a cry of
pain, and two curses and twenty bad invectives, so that in his
fright he raised his stick and also struck the trodden one.
Immediately afterwards, however, he regained his composure, and his
heart laughed at the folly he had just committed.
  "Pardon me," said he to the trodden one, who had got up enraged, and
had seated himself, "pardon me, and hear first of all a parable.
  As a wanderer who dreameth of remote things on a lonesome highway,
runneth unawares against a sleeping dog, a dog which lieth in the sun:
  -As both of them then start up and snap at each other, like deadly
enemies, those two beings mortally frightened- so did it happen unto
us.
  And yet! And yet- how little was lacking for them to caress each
other, that dog and that lonesome one! Are they not both- lonesome
ones!"
  -"Whoever thou art," said the trodden one, still enraged, "thou
treadest also too nigh me with thy parable, and not only with thy
foot!
  Lo! am I then a dog?"- And thereupon the sitting one got up, and
pulled his naked arm out of the swamp. For at first he had lain
outstretched on the ground, hidden and indiscernible, like those who
lie in wait for swamp-game.
  "But whatever art thou about!" called out Zarathustra in alarm,
for he saw a deal of blood streaming over the naked arm,- "what hath
hurt thee? Hath an evil beast bit thee, thou unfortunate one?"
  The bleeding one laughed, still angry, "What matter is it to
thee!" said he, and was about to go on. "Here am I at home and in my
province. Let him question me whoever will: to a dolt, however, I
shall hardly answer."
  "Thou art mistaken," said Zarathustra sympathetically, and held
him fast; "thou art mistaken. Here thou art not at home, but in my
domain, and therein shall no one receive any hurt.
  Call me however what thou wilt- I am who I must be. I call myself
Zarathustra.
  Well! Up thither is the way to Zarathustra's cave: it is not far,-
wilt thou not attend to thy wounds at my home?
  It hath gone badly with thee, thou unfortunate one, in this life:
first a beast bit thee, and then- a man trod upon thee!"- -
  When however the trodden one had heard the name of Zarathustra he
was transformed. "What happeneth unto me!" he exclaimed, "who
preoccupieth me so much in this life as this one man, namely
Zarathustra, and that one animal that liveth on blood, the leech?
  For the sake of the leech did I lie here by this swamp, like a
fisher, and already had mine outstretched arm been bitten ten times,
when there biteth a still finer leech at my blood, Zarathustra
himself!
  O happiness! O miracle! Praised be this day which enticed me into
the swamp! Praised be the best, the livest cupping-glass, that at
present liveth; praised be the great conscience-leech Zarathustra!"-
  Thus spake the trodden one, and Zarathustra rejoiced at his words
and their refined reverential style. "Who art thou?" asked he, and
gave him his hand, "there is much to clear up and elucidate between
us, but already methinketh pure clear day is dawning."
  "I am the spiritually conscientious one," answered he who was asked,
"and in matters of the spirit it is difficult for any one to take it
more rigorously, more restrictedly, and more severely than I, except
him from whom I learnt it, Zarathustra himself.
  Better know nothing than half-know many things! Better be a fool
on one's own account, than a sage on other people's approbation! I- go
to the basis:
  -What matter if it be great or small? If it be called swamp or
sky? A handbreadth of basis is enough for me, if it be actually
basis and ground!
  -A handbreadth of basis: thereon can one stand. In the true
knowing-knowledge there is nothing great and nothing small."
  "Then thou art perhaps an expert on the leech?" asked Zarathustra;
"and thou investigatest the leech to its ultimate basis, thou
conscientious one?"
  "O Zarathustra," answered the trodden one, "that would be
something immense; how could I presume to do so!
  That, however, of which I am master and knower, is the brain of
the leech:- that is my world!
  And it is also a world! Forgive it, however, that my pride here
findeth expression, for here I have not mine equal. Therefore said
I: 'here am I at home.'
  How long have I investigated this one thing, the brain of the leech,
so that here the slippery truth might no longer slip from me! Here
is my domain!
  -For the sake of this did I cast everything else aside, for the sake
of this did everything else become indifferent to me; and close beside
my knowledge lieth my black ignorance.
  My spiritual conscience requireth from me that it should be so- that
I should know one thing, and not know all else: they are a loathing
unto me, all the semi-spiritual, all the hazy, hovering, and
visionary.
  Where mine honesty ceaseth, there am I blind, and want also to be
blind. Where I want to know, however, there want I also to be
honest- namely, severe, rigorous, restricted, cruel and inexorable.
  Because thou once saidest, O Zarathustra: 'Spirit is life which
itself cutteth into life';- that led and allured me to thy doctrine.
And verily, with mine own blood have I increased mine own knowledge!"
  -"As the evidence indicateth," broke in Zarathustra; for still was
the blood flowing down on the naked arm of the conscientious one.
For there had ten leeches bitten into it.
  "O thou strange fellow, how much doth this very evidence teach me-
namely, thou thyself! And not all, perhaps, might I pour into thy
rigorous ear!
  Well then! We part here! But I would fain find thee again. Up
thither is the way to my cave: to-night shalt thou there by my welcome
guest!
  Fain would I also make amends to thy body for Zarathustra treading
upon thee with his feet: I think about that. Just now, however, a
cry of distress calleth me hastily away from thee."

  Thus spake Zarathustra.