Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche.

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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 milleiiniums 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


O thou, my Will! Thou change of every need, my needful-
ness! 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 m thy victory! Ah, who hath not
succumbed to his victory!

Ah, whose eye hath not bedimmed in this intoxicated twi-
light! Ah, whose foot hath not faltered and forgotten in vic-
tory 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 anni-
hilation in victory!

O Will, thou change of every need, my needfulness! Spare
me for one great victory!

Thus spake Zarathustra.

. The Convalescent

ONE morning, not long after his return to his cave, Zara-
thustra 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, how-
ever, spake these words :

Up, abysmal thought out of my depth! I am thy cock and
morning dawn, thou overslept reptile: Up! Up! My voice shall
soon crow thee awake!

Unbind the fetters of thine ears: listen! For I wish to hear
thee! Up! Up! There is thunder enough to make the very graves

And rub the sleep and all the dimness and blindness out of


thine eyes! Hear me also with thine eyes: my voice is a medi-
cine 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 suffer-
ing, 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!


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 de-
lightfully: 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, speak-
ing; 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; eter-
nally 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 ful-
filled 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

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 Zarathus-

tra, and sighed and shuddered; for he remembered his sick-
ness. 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 de-
vise 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 eter-
nally 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 inter-
twined, 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

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 con-
trary, 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.

. 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 voluptuous-
ness 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 per-
suadeth 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 cir-
cuits" 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


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

Doth the giver not owe thanks because the receiver re-
ceived? Is bestowing not a necessity? Is receiving not pity-


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, ac-
cusing?" 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 marvel-
lous things frisk:

Also many large and small animals, and everything that
hath light marvellous feet, so that it can run on violet-blue

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 re-
poseth 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.


The Second Dance Song

"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 mislead-
eth, 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 under-

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

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 for-
get not my whip? Not I!"


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 Wis-
dom. 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 them 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.

O man! Take heed!

What saith deep midnight's voice indeed?


"I slept my sleep

"From deepest dream I've woke and plead:


'The world is deep,


"And deeper than the day could read.


"Deep is its woe


'Joy deeper still than grief can be:


"Woe saith: Hence! Go!


"But joys all want eternity

1 'Want deep profound eternity! ' '


60. The Seven Seals


IF I be a diviner and full of the divining spirit which wan-
dereth 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 redeem-


ing 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 mar-
riage-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!

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 :

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