Datasets:

cvinker

/

zarathustra_set

like 0

Then the animals again walked around him pensively and once more they stood before him. 'Oh Zarathustra,' they said, 'is that why you yourself are becoming ever yellower and darker, even though your hair looks white and flaxen? Don't you see, you are bogged down in your misfortune!' - 'What are you saying, my animals?' said Zarathustra, and helaughed.'Truly,IsmearedwhenIusedthewordtar.What'shappening to me is common to all fruits that ripen. It's the honey in my veins that makes my blood thicker and also makes my soul calmer.' - 'It will be as you say, oh Zarathustra,' answered the animals, and they pressed up against him. 'But do you not want to climb a high mountain today? The air is pure and today one sees more of the world than ever before.' - 'Yes, myanimals,' he answered. 'Your advice is superb and after my own heart: Idowant to climb a high mountain today! But see to it that there is honey at hand for me there; yellow, white, good, icy fresh golden honey from the comb. Because know this: I want to offer the honey sacrifice up there.' - But when Zarathustra was up on the summit he sent home the animals which had accompanied him, and he found that he was alone now - then he laughed with his whole heart, looked around and spoke thus: That I spoke of sacrifices and honey sacrifices was merely a sleight of speech and, truly, a useful folly! Up here I may speak more freely than before hermits' caves and hermits' pets.

What sacrifice! I squander what was bestowed me, I the squanderer with a thousand hands: How could I call that - sacrificing! And when I desired honey I merely desired bait and sweet ooze and mucus, for which even growling bears and odd, surly, evil birds lick with their tongues: - the best bait, as it is needed by hunters and fishermen. Because if the world is like a dark jungle and a pleasure garden for all wild hunters, to me it seems even more, and preferably, an abysmal rich sea, -asea full of colorful fishes and crabs, for whose sake even gods would crave to become fishermen and net casters: so rich is the world in odd things great and small! Especially the human world, the human sea - toward it I now cast my golden fishing rod and say: open up, you human abyss! Open up and toss me your fishes and glittering crabs! With my best bait today I bait the oddest human fishes! - my very happiness I cast far and wide, between sunrise, noon and sunset, to see if many human fishes learn to jiggle and wiggle on my happiness. Until, biting on my sharp hidden hooks, they have to emerge into my height, the motliest gorge gudgeons to the most spiteful of all fishers of human fish. That's what I am, after all, at bottom and from the start; reeling, reeling in, raising up, raising, a raiser, a cultivator and taskmaster who not for nothing once told himself: 'Become who you are!' So now human beings may come up to me; you see, I am still waiting for the sign that it is time for my descent; I myself will not go under yet, as I must, and among human beings. That's why I'm waiting here, cunning and mocking on high mountains, not impatient, not patient, but instead one who has forgotten even forbearance - because he no longer 'bears.' Mydestiny leaves me time for this: surely it has forgotten me? Or does it sit behind a big rock in the shade, catching flies? And really, I like my eternal destiny for not rushing and pressing me and for leaving me time for jests and spite, so that today I climbed this high mountain to catch fish.

Didahumanbeingevercatchfishonhighmountains?Andevenifwhat I want and do up here is folly, this is still better than becoming pompous and green and gold down there from waiting - Fourth and Final Part - a swaggering wrath snorter from waiting, a holy, howling mountain storm, an impatient one who cries down into the valleys: 'Hear me, or I shall whip you with the lash of God!' Not that I would grudge such angry men for it; they are good enough for me to laugh at! They have to be impatient anyway, these big noisy drums, who either get to speak today or never! But I and my destiny - we do not speak to today, nor do we speak to never: we have patience enough and time and overtime for speaking. Because it must come someday and may not pass by. What must come someday and may not pass by? Our great Hazar , that is our great distant human empire, the Zarathustra empire of a thousand years - How distant might such a 'distance' be? What do I care! But it is no less firm to me on that account - with both feet I stand firmly on this ground, -onaneternal ground, on hard primeval rock, on this highest, hardest primeval mountain chain, to which all winds come as if to a weathershed, asking Where? and from Where? and Where to? Laugh, laugh here my bright hearty spite! Throw down your glittering, mockinglaughterfromhighmountains!Baitmethemostbeautifulhuman fish with your glittering! And whatever in all the seas belongs to me , my actual me in all things - fish that out for me, bring that up to me - that's what I am waiting for, I the most spiteful of all fishermen. Out, out my fishing rod! Into and down, bait of my happiness! Drip your sweetest dew, my heart's honey! Bite, my fishing rod, into the belly of all black gloom! Out there, out there my eye! Oh how many seas surround me, what dawning human futures! And above me - what rosy red stillness! What cloudless silence!

The next day Zarathustra again sat on the stone before his cave, while the animals roamed about in the world to bring home new nourishment - and new honey too, because Zarathustra had spent and squandered the old honey to the last drop. But as he sat there like this, with a stick in his hand and tracing the outline of his shadow on the ground, reflecting Thus Spoke Zarathustra and, truly, not about himself and his shadow - then all at once he was frightened and startled, because next to his own shadow he saw another shadow. And as he quickly looked around and stood up, there was the soothsayer standing next to him, the same one whom he had wined and dined at his table, the proclaimer of the great weariness who taught: 'All is the same, nothing is worth it, the world is without meaning, knowledge chokes.' But his face had transformed in the meantime; and when Zarathustra looked him in the eyes, his heart was frightened again - so many grave proclamations and ashen gray lightning bolts animated this face. The soothsayer, who read what was going on in Zarathustra's soul, wiped his hand over his face as if he wanted to wipe it away; Zarathustra did the same. And when both had silently composed and strengthened themselves in this manner, they shook hands as a sign that they wanted to recognize one another.

'Welcome,' said Zarathustra, 'you soothsayer of the great weariness; not for nothing were you once a guest at my table. Eat and drink with me today too, and forgive that a contented old man joins you at the table!' 'A contented old man?' answered the soothsayer, shaking his head. 'Whoever you are or want to be, oh Zarathustra, you've been that long enough up here - in a short time your skiff will no longer be on the rocks!' - 'Am I on the rocks then?' asked Zarathustra, laughing. - 'The waves around your mountain,' answered the soothsayer, 'rise and rise; the waves of great distress and gloom: soon they will lift your skiff as well and carry you away.' - Zarathustra was silent on hearing this and surprised. - 'Do you not hear anything yet?' continued the soothsayer. 'Is there not a rushing and roaring up from the depths?' - Zarathustra kept silent and listened; then he heard a long, long cry that the abysses threw back and forth to each other, as if none wanted to keep it - so evil did it sound. 'You wicked proclaimer,' spoke Zarathustra at last. 'That's a cry of distress and the cry of a human being, even if it comes out of a black sea. But what is human distress to me! My final sin, the one saved up for me - do you know what it's called?' - ' Pity !' answered the soothsayer from his overflowing heart, and he raised both hands high - 'oh Zarathustra, I come to seduce you to your last sin!' - Fourth and Final Part And scarcely had these words been spoken when the cry rang out again, and longer and more anxious than before, also much closer now. 'Do you hear? Do you hear, oh Zarathustra?' cried the soothsayer. 'The cry is meant for you, it calls you: come, come, come, it is time, it is high time!' - Zarathustra was silent after this, confused and shaken; finally he asked, like one who hesitates inwardly: 'And who is it there that calls me?'

'But you know it already,' answered the soothsayer vehemently. 'Why do you conceal yourself? It is the higher man who calls for you!' 'The higher man?' cried Zarathustra, seized by horror. 'What does he want? What does he want? The higher man! What does he want here?' - And his skin was bathed in sweat. But the soothsayer did not respond to Zarathustra's fear, and instead he listened and listened toward the depths. But after it was quiet there for a long time, he turned his glance back and saw Zarathustra standing and trembling. 'Oh Zarathustra,' he began with a sad voice. 'You do not stand there like one whose happiness makes him giddy: you will have to dance to keep from falling down! But even if you were to dance before me and leap all your side-leaps, no one should be allowed to tell me: 'Look, here dances the last gay human being!' Anyone who came to this height looking for him would come in vain; caves he would find, to be sure, and hinter-caves, hiding places for hiders, but no shafts of happiness and treasure chambers and new golden veins of happiness. Happiness - how could anyone find happiness among those who are buried away and hermits? Must I seek the last happiness far away on blessed isles between forgotten seas? But all is the same, nothing is worth it, searching does not help, and there are no blessed isles anymore!' - Thus sighed the soothsayer; but at his last sigh Zarathustra became bright and certain once more, like someone who comes from a deep chasm into the light. 'No! No! No! Three times no!' he cried in a strong voice, stroking his beard. ' That I know better! There are still blessed isles! Be silent about that , you sighing sadsack! Thus Spoke Zarathustra Stop splashing about that , you rain cloud of the morning! Do I not already stand here soaked by your gloom and drenched like a dog? Now I'll shake myself and run away from you, so that I can dry off again; that shouldn't surprise you! Do I seem discourteous to you? But this is my court.

But as far as your higher man is concerned: let's go! I'll search for him right now in those woods from there his cry came. Perhaps he is beset by some evil beast. He is in my territory, and in here he shall not come to harm! And truly, there are many evil beasts in my territory.' - With these words Zarathustra turned to leave. Then the soothsayer spoke: 'Oh Zarathustra, you are a rogue! I already know that you want to get rid of me! You would rather run into the woods and pursue evil beasts! But what will it help you? By evening you will have me again anyway, I will be sitting in your own cave, patient and heavy like a block - and I will be waiting for you!' 'So be it!' called Zarathustra over his shoulder as he departed. 'And whatever is mine in my cave, it belongs to you too, my guest! But if you should find honey in there, good! Then just lick it up, you old growling bear, and sweeten your soul! Because by evening we will both want to be in a good mood, - in a good mood and glad that this day came to an end! And you yourself will dance to my songs as my dancing bear. You don't believe it? You shake your head? Well then! We'll see, old bear! But I too am - a soothsayer.' Thus spoke Zarathustra.

Zarathustra had been underway in his mountains and woods for not even one hour when all at once he saw a strange procession. On precisely the path he wanted to take down, two kings came walking, adorned with crowns and purple sashes and as colorful as flamingoes; before them they drove a burdened ass. 'What do these kings want in my kingdom?' spoke Zarathustra to his astonished heart, and he hid himself quickly behind a Fourth and Final Part bush. But when the kings caught up to him he said, half out loud like a person talking to himself: 'Strange! Strange! What rhyme or reason can this have? I see two kings - and only one ass!' Then the two kings stopped, smiled, looked toward the place from which the voice had come and then turned to face one another. 'Such things are also thought among us,' said the king to the right, 'but one does not speak it.' But the king to the left shrugged his shoulders and answered: 'It's probably a goatherd. Or a hermit who has lived too long among cliffs and trees. After all, no society at all also ruins good manners.' 'Good manners?' retorted the other king indignantly and bitterly. 'Then what are we trying to run away from? Is it not 'good manners'? Is it not our 'good society?' Better, truly, to live among hermits and goatherds than live with our gilded, fake, make-up wearing rabble - even if it calls itself 'good society,' - even if it calls itself 'nobility.' But there everything is fake and foul, starting with the blood, thanks to old diseases and even worse healers. Best and dearest to me today is still a healthy peasant, coarse, cunning, stubborn, enduring: that is the most noble type today. The peasant today is the best; and peasant-type should be ruler! But it is the kingdom of the rabble - I will not be deceived anymore. Rabble now, that means: mishmash. Rabble mishmash: in it everything is jumbled together, saint and scoundrel and Junker and Jew and every beast from the ark of Noah.

Good manners! Everything among us is fake and foul. No one knows how to revere anymore that precisely is what we are running away from. They are mawkish, obtrusive dogs, they are gilders of palm leaves. This nausea chokes me, that we kings ourselves became fake, decked out and dressed up in old yellowed grandfathers' pomp, medals for the most moronic and the slyest and whoever the hell haggles today for power! We are not the first - and yet we must signify that we are: it is this deception that we have finally had enough of, that nauseates us. We got away from the riffraff, all these screamers and scribble-blowflies, all the shopkeeper stench, all the twitching ambition, all the bad breath phooey to living among the riffraff, - phooey to signifying the first among the riffraff! Oh nausea! Nausea! Nausea! What do we kings matter anymore!' - Thus Spoke Zarathustra 'Your old illness befalls you again,' said now the king on the left. 'Nausea befalls you, my poor brother. But you know too that someone is listening to us.' At once Zarathustra, whose ears and eyes had opened wide at this conversation, rose from his hiding place, approached the kings and began: 'The one who listens to you, who listens gladly to you, you kings, is called Zarathustra. I am Zarathustra, who once spoke: 'What do kings matter anymore!' Forgive me, I was so pleased when you said to one another: 'What do we kings matter!' But here is my realm and my rule: what might you be seeking now in my realm? Or perhaps you have found along the way what I am seeking, namely the higher man.' When the kings heard this they beat their breasts and exclaimed with one voice: 'We have been found out! With the sword of your words you strike through our hearts' thickest darkness. You discover our distress, for behold! We are on our way to find the higher man - - the man who is higher than we, even though we are kings. To him we lead this ass. The highest man, you see, should be the highest ruler on earth.

There is no harder misfortune in all human destiny than when the powerful of the earth are not also the first human beings. Then everything becomes fake and crooked and monstrous. And should they even be last and more beast than human; then the rabble rises and rises in price, until finally even rabble virtue speaks: 'Behold, I alone am virtue!'' - 'What did I just hear?' answered Zarathustra. 'What wisdom among kings! I am delighted, and truly, I'm already in the mood to make a rhyme of it: - - even if it turns out to be a rhyme that is not suitable for everyone's ears. Long ago I gave up being considerate of long ears. Well then! Well now! (But here it happened that the ass too got in a word; and clearly and malevolently he said hee-yaw.) Once - I think in anno domini one The Sybil said, drunk, though wine she'd had none: 'Oh no, how badly things go!

Decline! Decline! The world has sunk so low! Rome sank to whore and to a whorehouse too, Rome's Caesar to beast, God himself - turned Jew!'' The kings were enchanted by these rhymes of Zarathustra, but the king to the right spoke: 'Oh Zarathustra, how well we did in going forth to see you! Foryour enemies showed us your image in their mirror: there you were withyourdevil'sgrimaceandlaughingscornfully,suchthatwewereafraid of you. But what good did it do? Again and again you pricked our ears and hearts with your sayings, then we said at last: what does it matter how he looks! We have to hear him, the one who teaches 'you shall love peace as a means to new wars, and the short peace more than the long one!' Noonehaseverspokensuchwarlikewords:'Whatisgood?Beingbrave is good. The good war hallows any cause.'

The frequent quotes of Zarathustra throughout Part are not verbatim but close enough to indicate that Zarathustra's words have caught on and are being interpreted with varying degrees of success. Parts and appeared in , Part was written later in and early , and published in - it was intended as the final part of TSZ. Part was originally planned as a separate work under the title 'Noon and Eternity,' but Nietzsche found no publisher for it, and decided instead to make it the fourth part of TSZ and to publish it at his own expense. Part appeared in only copies in , and was distributed to friends only. In the first edition of TSZ Parts - appeared; the complete work in four parts did not appear until . When Nietzsche boasts in Ecce Homo ( Kritische Studienausgabe : ) that he needed no more than ten days to finish each part of TSZ, the information is misleading if we do not also consider his method of composition. The ten-day periods do not refer to the idea and its execution in the various parables, speeches, frame narratives, characters etc, i.e. each part did not take ten days from start to finish. This can be illustrated by the fact that the final aphorism of The Gay Science , as well as notes from the period, already deal with Zarathustra. Instead, Nietzsche constantly worked out various drafts related to the basic Zarathustra idea, often even during his long walks, and these he copied into larger notebooks at home. When he sat down to compose one of the parts of TSZ, it then took him approximately ten days to structure his already existing material into its finished literary form (see Kritische Studienausgabe : - ). When Nietzsche speaks in Ecce Homo of his phenomenal inspiration, and how ideas simply flooded over and through him ('I never had a choice,' Kritische Studienausgabe : ), this should not be taken to mean that he experienced four ten-day periods of Zarathustra inspiration. Nietzsche, Jung, Kaufmann all appear to have contributed to this myth. Part differs structurally from the earlier parts but also in tone; it represents a very sober 'revisiting' of the original work, a retreat from the teaching and preaching, includes several 'dithyrambs' later revised and added to the Dionysus Dithyrambs , and displays a narrowscopeofinteraction with only

'higher men.' Notably it takes place entirely on Zarathustra's mountain.

Oh Zarathustra, our fathers' blood stirred in our bodies at the sound of such words; it was like the speech of springtime to old casks of wine. When swords ran every which way like red-stained snakes, our fathers warmed to life; the sun of all peace seemed limp and lackluster to them, but the long peace caused them shame. Howtheysighed, our fathers, when they saw gleaming bright, dried up swords on the wall! Like them, they thirsted for war. For a sword wants to drink blood and sparkles with desire.' - -Asthe kings talked in this manner and gabbed enthusiastically about the happiness of their fathers, Zarathustra was overcome by no small desire to mock their enthusiasm; after all, these were visibly very peaceful kings he saw standing before him, the kind with old and refined faces. But he restrained himself. 'Well then!' he said. 'The path leads there, Zarathustra's cave lies there, and this day shall also have a long evening! But now a cry of distress hurries me away from you. It will honor my cave if kings want to sit and wait in it, but, to be sure, you will have to wait long! Alright! What's the harm? Where does one learn to wait better today than at court? And the whole virtue of kings that is left to them - is it not today called: being able to wait?' Thus spoke Zarathustra.

And Zarathustra walked on pensively, farther and deeper through woods and past swampy valleys; but as happens to anyone who reflects on grave matters, he unintentionally stepped on someone. And behold, all at once he was sprayed in the face with one scream of pain and two curses and twenty wicked invectives, such that in his fright he raised his staff and also started beating the man he had just stepped on. Immediately thereupon he gained his composure, and his heart laughed at the folly that he had just committed. 'Forgive me,' he said to the man he had stepped on, who stood up grimly and then sat down. 'Forgive and partake, above all, in a parable first. Of how a wanderer who is dreaming of distant things unintentionally stumbles over a sleeping dog on a lonely lane, a dog lying in the sun: Fourth and Final Part - how both startle then, and attack each other like deathly enemies, these two who are scared to death: so it went with us too. Andyet! And yet - how little was missing and they would have caressed each other, this dog and this lonely man! Are they not after all both lonely!' - 'Whoever you may be,' said the stepped on man, still grimly, 'you step on my dignity with your parable too, and not only with your foot! See here, am I some kind of dog?' - and then the sitting man got up and pulled his bare arm out of the swamp. Because at first he had lain stretched out on the ground, hidden and unrecognizable like those who lie in wait for swamp quarry. 'But what in blazes are you doing!' cried Zarathustra, shocked. For he saw that much blood was flowing over the man's bare arm. 'You wretch, did some wicked beast bite you?' The bleeding man laughed, but still angrily. 'What concern is it of yours!' he said, and made to leave. 'Here I am at home and in my territory. Anyone who wants may question me, but I will hardly answer a stumbling fool.' 'You are mistaken,' said Zarathustra, with pity, and he held on to him. 'You are mistaken: here you are not in your home, but in my realm, and in here no one comes to harm.

Meanwhile call me whatever you want - I am who I must be. I call myself Zarathustra. Well then! Up there is the path to Zarathustra's cave; it isn't far wouldn't you like to care for your wounds at my place? Things have gone badly for you in this life, you wretch; first you were bitten by the beasts, and then - you were stepped on by a human being!' - But when the stepped on man heard the name of Zarathustra, he transformed. 'What is happening to me!' he cried out. ' Who concerns me anymore in this life other than this one person, namely Zarathustra, and that one animal that lives off blood, the leech? For the leech's sake I lay here at this swamp like a fisher, and already my outstretched arm had been bitten ten times, then an even more beautiful leech bites on my blood, Zarathustra himself! Oh happiness! Oh miracle! Praised be the day that lured me to this swamp! Praised be the best, liveliest cupping glass living today, praised be the great conscience-leech Zarathustra!' - Thus Spoke Zarathustra Thus spoke the stepped on man; and Zarathustra was pleased at his words and their fine, respectful manner. 'Who are you?' he said, and offered him his hand. 'Between us there is much to clear up and to cheer up; but already it seems to me the day is growing pure and bright.' 'I am the conscientious of spirit ,' answered the man, 'and in matters of the spirit one can hardly be more rigorous, vigorous and venomous than I, except the one from whom I learned it, Zarathustra himself. Rather know nothing, than know much half way! Rather be a fool in one's own right than a wise man according to strangers. I - go to the ground of things: - what does it matter whether it is big or small? Whether it is called swamp or sky? A hand's breadth of ground is enough for me, if only it is real ground and bottom! -ahand's breadth of ground: on that one can stand. In proper science and conscience there is nothing great and nothing small.'

'So perhaps you are the expert on the leech?' asked Zarathustra. 'And you pursue the leech down to its ultimate grounds, you conscientious one?' 'Oh Zarathustra,' answered the stepped on man. 'That would be a monstrous undertaking, how could I presume to such a thing! What I am master and expert of, however, is the leech's brain - that is my world! And it is a world too! But forgive me that my pride speaks up here, for in this matter I have no equal. That is why I said 'here I am at home.' Howlong already have I pursued this one thing, the brain of the leech, so that the slippery truth no longer slips away from me here? Here is my realm! - this is why I threw away everything else, this is why all else is the same to me; and right next to my knowledge my black ignorance lurks. My conscience of spirit wants of me that I know one thing and do not know everything else; I am nauseated by all halfness of spirit, all hazy, soaring, rapturous people. Where my honesty ceases I am blind and also want to be blind. But whereIwanttoknow,Ialsowanttobehonest,namelyvenomous,rigorous, vigorous, cruel and inexorable. That you once said, oh Zarathustra: 'Spirit is the life that itself cuts into life,' that induced and seduced me to your teaching. And truly, with my own blood I increased my own knowledge!'

-'And it shows too,' interrupted Zarathustra; for blood was still flowing from the bare arm of the conscientious one. No fewer than ten leeches, after all, had bored themselves into it. 'Oh you weird fellow, how much is revealed to me by your appearance, namely you yourself! And maybe I should not pour all of it into your rigorous ears! Well then! Let's part here! But I would like to find you again. Up there leads the path to my cave; tonight you shall be my dear guest there! I would also like to make it up to your body that Zarathustra stepped on you with his feet; I'll be thinking about that. But now a cry of distress hurries me away from you.' Thus spoke Zarathustra.

But as Zarathustra made his way around a boulder he saw someone not far below him on the same path, flailing his limbs like a raving madman, who finally flopped belly-first to the ground. 'Stop!' said Zarathustra to his heart. 'That one there must be the higher man, that awful cry of distress came from him - I'll go see if I can help.' But when he ran to the spot where the person lay on the ground, he found a trembling old man with a fixed gaze; and as hard as Zarathustra tried to prop him up and stand him on his feet again, it was in vain. Nor did the unfortunate man seem to notice that someone was with him; instead he kept looking around with pitiful gestures, like someone who had been abandoned and left stranded by the whole world. At last, however, after much trembling and twitching and writhing he began to wail thus: Who will warm me, who loves me still? Give me hot hands! Give me braziers for my heart! Laid out, shuddering, Like something half-dead whose feet one warms Racked, oh! by unknown fevers, Shivering from pointy icy arrows of frost, Hunted by you, thought! Unnameable! Disguised! Horrendous one!

You hunter behind clouds! Struck down by your lightning, You scornful eye that looks at me from darkness: - I lie here, Doubled up, writhing, tortured By all eternal torments, Struck By you, cruelest hunter, You unknown - god! Strike deeper, Strike one more time! Skewer, smash this heart! Why this torment With blunt-toothed arrows? Why do you look again, Not weary of human agony, With gloating gods' eyes flashing lightning? You do not want to kill, Only torment, torment? Why torment me , You gloating unknown god? - Aha! You sneak close? At such midnight What do you want? Speak! You press me, squeeze me Ha! too close already! Away! Away! You hear me breathing, you listen to my heart, You jealous one - But of what are you jealous? Away! Away! Why the ladder? Do you want in , Into my heart, To climb in, to climb into My most secret thoughts? Shameless one! Unknown - thief! What would you gain by stealing, What would you gain by eavesdropping, What would you gain by torturing,

You torturer! You executioner god! Or should I, like a dog, Roll over before you? Devotedly, ecstatically beside myself Wag love - to you? In vain! Stab deeper, Cruelest thorn! No, Not dog, only your prey am I, Cruelest hunter! Your proudest captive, You robber behind clouds! Speak at last, What do you want, waylayer, from me ? You disguised in lightning! Unknown one! Speak, What do you want , unknown god? - What? Ransom? Why do you want ransom? Demand much - thus my pride counsels! And speak briefly - thus my other pride counsels! Aha! Me - you want? Me? Me - entirely? Aha! And you torment me, fool that you are, Torment my pride? Give me love - who will warm me still? Who loves me still? - give me hot hands, Give me braziers for my heart, Give me, the loneliest one, Whom ice, alas, sevenfold ice Teaches to yearn, To yearn even for enemies, Give, yes give, Cruelest enemy, Give me yourself ! - Gone! He himself fled, My last, my only companion, Thus Spoke Zarathustra My great enemy, My unknown, My executioner god! - - No! Come back, With all your torments! To the last of all lonely ones Oh come back! All my rivers of tears flow Their course to you! And my last heart flames - For you they flicker! Oh come back, My unknown god! My pain! My last - happiness! - But at this point Zarathustra could no longer restrain himself, grabbed his staff and began beating the wailing man with all his strength. 'Shut up!' he cried to him, with grim laughter. 'Shut up, you actor! You counterfeiter! You liar from top to bottom! I recognize you well! I'll give you warm legs, you wicked magician, I'm very good at heating up people like you!' - 'Desist,' said the old man and he leaped to his feet. 'Beat me no more, oh Zarathustra! I only did this as a game! Such things belong to my art; you yourself I wanted to put to the test, when I gave you this test. And verily, you saw through me well!

But you yourself - you also tested me with no small sample of yourself: you are hard ,you wise Zarathustra! You hit hard with your 'truths,' your cudgel forces this truth out of me!' - 'Do not flatter,' answered Zarathustra, still upset and frowning darkly, 'you actor from top to bottom! You're fake - why do you talk - of truth! You peacock of peacocks, you sea of vanity, what are you playing before me, you wicked magician, in whom am I supposed to believe when you wail in this form?' ' Thepenitent of the spirit ,' said the old man. ' Him I played: you yourself once coined this phrase - Fourth and Final Part - the poet and magician who ultimately turns his spirit against himself, the transformed one who freezes to death from his own evil science and conscience. And just admit it: it took you a long time, oh Zarathustra, before you saw through my art and lie! You believed in my distress when you cradled my head with both hands - -Iheard you wail 'they loved him too little, loved him too little!' That I was able to deceive you to such an extent, that causes my malice to jubilate secretly.' 'Youmayhavedeceivedfinerheadsthanme,'saidZarathustraharshly. 'I am not on my guard for deceivers, I have to be without caution - my fate wants it so. But you have to deceive: that much I know about you! You always have to be e-quivocal, tri-, quad- and quinquivocal! Even what you just now confessed was not nearly true nor false enough for me! You wicked counterfeiter, how could you do otherwise! You would even put make-up on your disease when you show yourself naked to your physician. Just like you put make-up on your lie before me when you said 'I only did this as a game!' There was earnest in it, you are something of a penitent of the spirit! I guessed you well: you became everyone's enchanter, but against yourself you have no lie and no guile left over - you are disenchanted of yourself!

You harvested nausea as your single truth. Not a word of yours is genuine anymore, except your mouth: namely the nausea that clings to your mouth.' - - 'Who are you!' yelled the old magician at this point, with defiance in his voice. 'Who is permitted to speak with me thus, the greatest person living today?' - and an emerald bolt of lightning shot from his eye toward Zarathustra. But then he transformed immediately and said sadly: 'Oh Zarathustra, I am weary of and nauseated by my arts, I am not great , why do I pretend! But, you know it well - I sought greatness! I wanted to represent a great human being and I persuaded many; but this lie was beyond my powers. On it I break down. Oh Zarathustra, everything about me is a lie; but that I am breaking down - this breaking down is genuine !' - Thus Spoke Zarathustra 'It does you honor,' spoke Zarathustra somberly and glancing down to the side, 'it does you honor that you sought greatness, but it also betrays you. You are not great. You wicked old magician, that is your best and most honest, and what Ihonor in you, namely that you wearied of yourself and said so: 'I am not great.' In that I honor you as a penitent of the spirit; and even if it was only for a whiff and a wink, for this one moment you were - genuine. But tell me, what do you seek here in my woods and cliffs? And when you laid yourself in my path, what did you want to test in me? - - why did you research me ?' - Thus spoke Zarathustra, and his eyes flashed. The old magician was silent for a while, then he said: 'Did I research you? I merely search. Oh Zarathustra, I seek someone who is genuine, proper, simple, unequivocal, a human being of all honesty, a vessel of wisdom, a saint of knowledge, a great human being! Do you not know it, oh Zarathustra? I seek Zarathustra .'

- And here a long silence ensued between the two; but Zarathustra became deeply immersed in himself, such that he closed his eyes. But then, turning back to his interlocutor, he seized the hand of the magician and spoke, full of kindness and craftiness: 'Well then! Up there leads the path, there lies the cave of Zarathustra. In it you may seek whomever you wish to find. And ask my animals for advice, my eagle and my snake: they shall help you seek. But my cave is big. For my part - I've never seen a great human being. The eyes of the finest are too coarse today for what is great. It is the kingdom of the rabble. Many a one I found already, who stretched and puffed himself up, and the people cried: 'See here, a great human being!' But what good are all bellows! In the end only wind comes out. In the end a frog will burst if it puffs itself up too long: then only wind comes out. To stab a swollen person in the belly - that's what I call great fun. Hear me, you little boys! Today belongs to the rabble; who knows anymore what is great, what is small! Who could successfully search for greatness! Only a fool - fools would succeed. You seek great human beings, you queer fool? Who taught you that? Is the time for that today? Oh you wicked searcher - why do you research me?' - Thus spoke Zarathustra, comforted in his heart, and off he went again on his way, laughing.

Notlongafterhehadfreedhimselffromthemagician,however,Zarathustra again saw someone sitting beside the path that he walked, namely a tall maninblack with a gaunt, pale face: this man dismayed him tremendously. 'Oh no,' he spoke to his heart, 'there sits depression in disguise, and its looks remind me of priests: what do they want in my kingdom? What! Scarcely did I escape that magician, now another practitioner of black arts has to cross my path - - some kind of sorcerer with laying-on of hands, a dark miracle worker of God's grace, an anointed world slanderer, may the devil take him! But the devil is never in place where he would be in the right place; he always comes too late, this damned dwarf and clubfoot!' - Thus cursed Zarathustra impatiently in his heart and he considered how he might avert his gaze and slip by the man in black; but behold, it happened differently. For in the same moment the sitting man had already caught sight of him, and not unlike a person who has run into unexpected luck, he leaped to his feet and approached Zarathustra. 'Whoever you may be, you wanderer,' he said, 'help a lost, seeking old man who could easily come to harm here! This world here is foreign to me and far off, I even heard wild beasts howling; and the one who could have offered me protection, he himself no longer exists. I sought the last pious human being, a saint and a hermit who alone in his woods had not yet heard what the whole world today knows.' ' What does the whole world know today?' asked Zarathustra. 'This perhaps, that the old God no longer lives, the one in whom the whole world once believed?' 'You said it,' answered the old man gloomily. 'And I served this old God until his final hour. Thus Spoke Zarathustra But now I am retired, without a master, and yet I am not free, nor merry for a single hour unless in my memories. And so I climbed into these mountains to finally have a festival for myself, as is proper for an old pope and church father: for know this, I am the last pope! - a festival of pious memories and divine worship.

But now he himself is dead, this most pious human being, this saint in the woods who constantly praised his god with singing and growling. I did not find him when I found his hut - but two wolves were in it, howling at his death - for all animals loved him. Then I ran away. Did I arrive in vain in these woods and mountains? Then my heart resolved to seek another, the most pious of all those who do not believe in God - to seek Zarathustra!' Thus spoke the oldster and he looked with a sharp eye at the man who stood before him; but Zarathustra grasped the old pope's hand and regarded it admiringly for a long time. 'See here, you reverend one,' he said then, 'what a beautiful and long hand! This is the hand of one who has always dispensed blessings. Now, however, it holds on to the one you seek, to me, Zarathustra. I am he, godless Zarathustra, who speaks: who is more godless than I, that I may enjoy his instruction?' - Thus spoke Zarathustra and with his gaze he penetrated the thoughts and secret thoughts of the old pope. At last the latter began: 'The one who loved and possessed him most has now also lost him most - : - behold, perhaps I myself am now the more godless of us two? But who could take pleasure in that!' - 'You served him up until the end,' said Zarathustra, pensively, after a deep silence. 'Do you know how he died? Is it true, as they say, that pity choked him to death, -thathesaw how the human being hung on the cross, and couldn't bear that his love for mankind became his hell and ultimately his death?' - But the old pope did not answer, and instead he looked to the side awkwardly and with a pained and dark expression. 'Let him go,' said Zarathustra after a long thoughtful pause, while still looking the old man straight in the eye. 'Let him go, he's gone. And even though it honors you that you speak only good of this dead one, still you know as well as I who he was; and that he walked queer ways.'

'For our three eyes only,' said the old pope cheerfully (because he was blind in one eye), 'in matters of God I am more enlightened than Zarathustra himself - and am permitted to be. My love served him long years, my will followed his will in all things. But a good servant knows everything, and also some things that his master conceals from himself. He was a concealed god, full of secretiveness. Indeed, even in getting himself a son he used nothing other than sneaky means. At the doorway of his faith stands adultery. Whoever praises him as a god of love does not think highly enough of love itself. Did this god not also want to be judge? But the loving one loves beyond reward and retribution. When he was young, this god from the East, then he was harsh and vengeful and he built himself a hell for the amusement of his favorites. But at last he became old and soft and mellow and pitying, more like a grandfather than a father, but most like a wobbly old grandmother. There he sat, wilted, in his nook by the stove, grousing about his weak legs, weary of the world, weary of willing, and one day he choked to death on his all too great pity.' - 'You old pope,' said Zarathustra here, interrupting. 'Did you see that with your own eyes? It certainly could have happened that way; that way, and another way too. When gods die, they always die many kinds of death. But well then! This way or that, this way and that - he's gone! He was offensive to the taste of my ears and eyes, I do not wish to speak anything worse of him. Iloveeverything that gazes brightly and speaks honestly. But he - you know it well, you old priest, there was something of your kind in him, something priest-like - he was equivocal. He was also unclear. How he raged at us, this wrath snorter, because we understood him poorly! But why did he not speak more purely! And if the fault was in our ears, why did he give us ears that heard him poorly? If mud was in our ears, well then - who put it there?

Hefailedattoomuch,thispotterwhonevercompletedhistraining!But that he avenged himself on his clay formations and his creations because they turned out badly for him - that was a sin against good taste . In piousness too there is good taste; it said at last: 'Away with such a god! Rather no god, rather meet destiny on one's own, rather be a fool, rather be a god oneself!'

- 'What do I hear!' spoke the old pope at this point with pricked up ears. 'Oh Zarathustra, you are more pious than you believe, with such disbelief! Some kind of god in you converted you to your godlessness. Is it not your very piousness that no longer allows you to believe in a god? And your overly great honesty will yet lead you away beyond good and evil! Take a good look: what is left for you? You have eyes and hands and mouth that have been preordained for blessing since eternity. One does not bless with hands alone. In your proximity, even though you claim to be the most godless man, I detect a secret, sacred and sweet aroma of long blessings: it makes me happy and it makes me hurt. Let me be your guest, oh Zarathustra, for one single night! Nowhere on earth do I feel happier now than with you!' - 'Amen! It shall be so!' spoke Zarathustra with great astonishment. 'Up there leads the path, there lies the cave of Zarathustra. Gladly, to be sure, I would guide you there myself, you reverend one, because I love all pious people. But now a cry of distress hurries me away from you. In my realm no one shall come to harm; my cave is a safe harbor. And I would like nothing better than to place every sad person back on firm land and firm legs. But who could take your melancholy off your shoulders? For that I'm too weak. We may have to wait a long time, truly, before someone awakens your god again. For this old god does not live anymore: he is thoroughly dead.' - Thus spoke Zarathustra.

- And again Zarathustra's feet ran through mountains and woods, and his eyes searched and searched, but nowhere to be seen was the one whom they wanted to see, the great sufferer of distress and crier of distress. But along the whole way he jubilated in his heart and was thankful. 'What good things,' he said, 'this day has bestowed on me, as compensation for having begun so badly! What strange interlocutors I found! Fourth and Final Part NowIwant to chew on their words for a long time, as on good kernels; my teeth will grind and grate them down until they flow like milk into my soul!' - But when the path disappeared again around a boulder, all at once the landscape changed and Zarathustra stepped into a realm of death. Here black and red cliffs jutted upward: no grass, no tree, no birdsong. For it was a valley that all animals avoided, even the predators; except for a species of hideous, thick, green snakes that would come here to die when they grew old. And for this reason the shepherds called this valley: Snake Death. Now Zarathustra sank into a black reminiscence, for it seemed to him that he had already stood in this valley once before. And much graveness spread itself over his mind, such that he walked slowly and ever more slowly until finally he stood still. But then, when he opened his eyes he saw something sitting beside the path, shaped like a human but scarcely like a human, something unspeakable. And all of a sudden Zarathustra was overcome with great shame for having looked upon such a thing with his own eyes; blushing all the way up to his white hair, he averted his gaze and picked up his foot, intending to leave this wicked spot. But then a noise animated the dead wasteland; it welled up from the ground gurgling and rattling, like water gurgles and rattles at night through clogged water pipes, until finally it turned into a human voice and human speech - that sounded like this. 'Zarathustra! Zarathustra! Guess my riddle! Speak, speak! What is revenge against the witness ? I lure you back, there is slippery ice here! See to it, see to it that your pride does not break its legs here!

Youconsider yourself wise, you proud Zarathustra! Then go ahead and guess the riddle, you hard nut cracker - the riddle that I am! So tell me: who am I ?' - But when Zarathustra had heard these words - what do you think took place in his soul? He was overwhelmed with pity ; and he collapsed at once like an oak tree that has long withstood many wood cutters - heavily, suddenly, to the terror of even those who wanted to fell it. But right away he picked himself up from the ground and his face had become hard. 'I recognize you alright,' he spoke with a voice of bronze: ' You are the murderer of God! Let me go. Thus Spoke Zarathustra You could not bear the one who saw you - who saw you always and through and through, you ugliest human being! You took revenge on this witness!' Thus spoke Zarathustra and wanted to leave; but the unspeakable one latched on to a corner of his garment and began again to gurgle and to search for words. 'Stay!' he said at last - - 'Stay! Do not pass by! I guessed what kind of axe knocked you to the ground: Hail to you, oh Zarathustra, that you stand again! You guessed, I know it well, how he who killed him feels - the murderer of God. Stay! Sit down here with me, it will not be in vain. To whom did I want to go, if not to you? Stay, sit down! But do not look at me! Honor thus - my ugliness! They persecute me; now you are my last refuge. Not with their hatred, not with their bailiffs - oh such persecution I would mock and be proud and glad! Has not everything successful hitherto been done by the wellpersecuted? And whoever persecutes well easily learns to succeed - after all he is already - after somebody! But it's their pity - - their pity is what I flee and why I flee to you. Oh Zarathustra, protect me, you my last refuge, you the only one to guess me: - you guessed how he who killed him feels. Stay! And if you want to go, you impatient one: do not go the way that I came. That way is bad.

Are you angry with me that I've already spoken broken words for too long? That I even counsel you? But know this, it's me, the ugliest human being, - who also has the biggest, heaviest feet. Where I walked, the way is bad. I trample all ways to death and to ruin. But that you passed me by, silently; that you blushed, I saw it well: that's how I recognized you as Zarathustra. Any other would have tossed me his alms, his pity, with looks and speech. But for that - I am not beggar enough, you guessed that - -for that I am too rich , rich in what is great, what is terrible, what is ugliest, what is most unspeakable! Your shame, oh Zarathustra, honored me! With difficulty I managed to escape the throng of the pitying - to find the only one today who teaches 'pitying is obtrusive' - you, oh Zarathustra! Fourth and Final Part -Beitagod's, be it the pity of mankind: pitying is offensive to shame. And not wanting to help can be more noble than the virtue that leaps to help. But today that is what passes for virtue itself among all small people, pity - they have no respect for great misfortune, for great ugliness, for great failure. I look away over all these people like a dog looks away over the backs of teeming flocks of sheep. They are small, good-wooled and good-willed gray people. Like a heron looks away contemptuously over shallow ponds, its head tossed back; thus I look away over teeming gray little waves and wills and souls. They have been deemed to be right for too long, these small people; and so in the end they were given might too - now they teach: 'the only good is what small people call good.' And'truth' today is what the preacher spoke, the one who himself came from among them, that odd holy man and advocate of small people who testified of himself: 'I - am the truth.' This immodest person has for a long time now caused small people to get big heads - he who taught no small error when he taught 'I - am the truth.'

Wasanimmodest person ever answered more courteously? - But you, oh Zarathustra, passed him by and said: 'No! No! Three times no!' You warned against his error, you were the first to warn against pity not all, not none, but yourself and your kind. You are ashamed of the shame of the great sufferer; and indeed, when yousay 'from pitying a great cloud is coming, beware, you human beings!' -whenyouteach'allcreatorsarehard,allgreatloveisabovepitying':oh Zarathustra, how well schooled you seem to me in predicting the weather! Butyouyourself-warnyourselftooagainst your pitying! Because many are on their way to you, many who are suffering, doubting, despairing, drowning, freezing - I warn you against me too. You guessed my best and worst riddle, me myself and what I did. I know the axe that fells you. But he had to die: he saw with eyes that saw everything - he saw the depths and grounds of human beings, all their hidden disgrace and ugliness. Thus Spoke Zarathustra His pitying knew no shame: he crawled into my filthiest nook. This most curious, super-obtrusive, super-pitying one had to die. Healways saw me :Iwanted revenge on such a witness - or to no longer live myself. The god who saw everything, even human beings : this god had to die! Human beings cannot bear that such a witness lives.' Thus spoke the ugliest human being. But Zarathustra rose and set about to leave, because he was chilled down to his entrails. 'Youunspeakable one,' he said, 'you warned me against your way. Out of gratitude I now commendminetoyou.Look,upthereliesZarathustra's cave. My cave is big and deep and has many nooks; there the most hidden person will find a hiding place. And close by are a hundred burrows and tunnels for crawling, flapping and leaping wildlife. You outcast, who cast himself out, you no longer want to dwell among human beings and human pity? Well then, do as I do! Thus you'll also learn from me; only the doer learns.

And speak first and foremost with my animals! The proudest animal and the wisest animal - they are surely the right counselors for both of us!' - Thus spoke Zarathustra and continued on his way, pensive and even more slowly than before; because he had much to ask himself and knew no easy way to answer. 'How poor indeed is a human being!' he thought in his heart, 'how ugly, how gasping, how full of concealed shame! They tell me that human beings love themselves; oh, how great this self-love must be! How much contempt it has against it! Even this man here loved himself, as he despised himself - to me he seems a great lover and a great despiser. I've never found anyone who despised himself more deeply; that too is elevation. Oh no, was he perhaps the higher man whose cry I heard? I love the great despisers. Human being, however, is something that must be overcome.' -

When Zarathustra had left the ugliest human being, he was freezing and he felt lonely; after all, so much that was cold and lonely went through his

mind, to the point where even his limbs grew colder because of it. But as he climbed further and further, up, down, now past green meadows, but then also across wild stony deposits where previously an impatient brook might have laid itself to bed, then all at once his mood became warmer and more cordial. 'Whathappenedtome?'heaskedhimself,'somethingwarmandlively refreshes me, something that must be close to me. Already I am less alone; unknown companions and brothers roam around me, their warm breath touches on my soul.' But when he peered about himself and searched for the comforters of his solitude, oddly enough, it was cows huddled together on a knoll; their nearness and smell had warmed his heart. Now these cows seemed engrossed in listening to someone speaking, and they paid no attention to the one who approached them. But when Zarathustra was quite near them he heard clearly how a human voice spoke from the midst of the cows; and evidently they had all turned their heads toward the speaker. Then Zarathustra leaped up eagerly and pushed the animals apart, fearing that someone might have come to harm here, which could scarcely be remedied by the pity of cows. But in this he had deceived himself; for indeed, there sat someone on the ground and appeared to be persuading the animals to not be afraid of him, a peaceful man and mountain preacher from whose eyes goodness itself preached. 'What are you seeking here?' cried Zarathustra, astonished. 'What am I seeking here?' he answered: 'The same thing you seek, you trouble maker! Namely happiness on earth. But for that I want to learn from these cows. And you should know, I've already persuaded them half the morning, and just now they wanted to tell me for sure. Why do you have to disturb them? Unless we are converted and become as cows, we will by no means enter the kingdom of heaven. For there is one thing that we ought to learn from them: chewing the cud. Andtruly, what profit is it to a man if he gains the whole world, and did not learn this one thing, chewing the cud: what would it help? He would not be rid of his misery

- his great misery: which today is called nausea . Who today does not have heart, mouth and eyes full of nausea? You too! You too! But just look at these cows here!' - Thus Spoke Zarathustra Thus spoke the mountain preacher and then he turned his own gaze on Zarathustra - for till now his gaze hung lovingly on the cows - then, however, it transformed. 'Who is this with whom I speak?' he cried, startled, and jumped up from the ground. 'This is the man without nausea, this is Zarathustra himself, the one who overcame great nausea, this is the eye, this is the mouth, this is the heart of Zarathustra himself.' And while he spoke thus he kissed the hands of the one to whom he spoke, and tears streamed from his eyes, and he behaved quite like someone to whom a precious gift and treasure falls unexpectedly from heaven. The cows, meanwhile, watched all of this and were amazed. 'Do not speak of me, you odd, you lovely man!' said Zarathustra and he restrained his tenderness. 'Tell me first about yourself ! Are you not the voluntary beggar who once threw away great wealth - - who once was ashamed of his wealth and of the wealthy, and fled to the poorest people, to give them his fullness and his heart? But they did not accept him.' 'But they did not accept me,' said the voluntary beggar, 'you know it already. So in the end I went to the animals and to these cows.' 'Then you learned,' Zarathustra interrupted the speaker, 'how it is harder to grant right than to take right, and that bestowing well is an art and the ultimate, craftiest master-art of kindness.' 'Especially nowadays,' answered the voluntary beggar. 'Nowadays, namely, where everything lowly has become rebellious and skittish and haughty in its own way: namely in a rabble way. For the hour has come, you know it well, for the great, terrible, long, slow rabble and slave rebellion: it grows and grows! Now the lowly are outraged by all benevolence and little charities; and the super-rich should be on their guard! Whoever dribbles these days like portly bottles with all too narrow necks - people like to break the necks of such bottles today.

Lascivious greed, galling envy, aggrieved vengefulness, rabble pride: all of that leaped into my face. It is no longer true that the poor are blessed. But the kingdom of heaven is among the cows.' 'And why is it not among the wealthy?' asked Zarathustra, temptingly, as he warded off the cows that trustingly snorted at the peaceful man. Fourth and Final Part 'Why do you tempt me?' he answered. 'You yourself know it even better than I. What drove me to the poorest, oh Zarathustra? Was it not my nausea for our wealthiest people? - for the convicts of wealth who cull their advantage out of every dustpan, with cold eyes, horny thoughts; for this mob that stinks to high heaven, - for this gilded, fake rabble, whose fathers were pick-pockets or vultures or rag pickers, with women who were willing, lascivious, forgetful - all of them after all are not far from being whores - rabble above, rabble below! What do 'poor' and 'rich' mean anymore today! I forgot this difference - then I fled, farther, ever farther, until I got to these cows.' Thus spoke the peaceful man and he himself snorted and sweated at these words, such that the cows once again were amazed. But Zarathustra continued to look him in the face, smiling as he spoke so harshly, and he silently shook his head. 'You do violence to yourself, you mountain preacher, when you use such harsh words. Not for such harshness were your mouth or your eyes made. Nor, it seems to me, your stomach itself: it resists all such raging and hating and foaming over. Your stomach wants gentler things: you are no butcher. Rather, you seem to me a vegetarian and a root man. Perhaps you crunch grains. But certainly you are ill disposed toward pleasures of the flesh and you love honey.' 'You guessed me well,' responded the voluntary beggar, with relief in his heart. 'I love honey, I also crunch grains, because I sought what tastes lovely and makes for clean breath: - also what takes a long time, a day's and mouth's work for gentle idlers and bums.

The ones who have excelled the most, to be sure, are these cows: they invented chewing the cud for themselves and lying in the sun. They also refrain from all weighty thoughts, which bloat the heart.' - 'Well then!' said Zarathustra. 'You should also see my animals, my eagle and my snake - their equal exists nowhere today on earth. Look, there the path leads to my cave; be its guest tonight. And speak with my animals about the happiness of animals -

- until I myself come home. Because now a cry of distress hurries me away from you. You'll also find new honey at my place, icy-fresh golden honey from the comb - eat it! But now quickly take leave of your cows, you odd, you lovely man! Even if it is difficult for you. For they are your warmest friends and teachers!' - '-Withtheexceptionofoneperson,whomIloveevenmore,'answered the voluntary beggar. 'You yourself are good and even better than a cow, oh Zarathustra!' 'Away, away with you! You nasty flatterer!' cried Zarathustra with malice, 'why do you spoil me with such praise and flatter-honey? Away, away from me!' he cried once more and brandished his staff at the affectionate beggar, who ran away swiftly.

Butscarcely had the voluntary beggar run away and Zarathustra was again alone with himself, than he heard a new voice behind him, crying 'Stop! Zarathustra! Stop already! It's me, oh Zarathustra, me, your shadow!' But Zarathustra did not wait, because he was suddenly overcome with annoyance at the excessive hustle and bustle in his mountains. 'Where's my solitude gone?' he said. 'This is really becoming too much for me; this mountain is teeming, my kingdom is no longer of this world, I need new mountains. My shadow is calling me? What does my shadow matter! Let him run after me - I'll run away from him.' Thus Zarathustra spoke to his heart and ran away. But the one who was behind him continued to follow, so that soon three runners were after each other, namely the voluntary beggar in front, then Zarathustra and third and furthest behind, his shadow. Not long had they run in this manner when Zarathustra came to his senses about his folly and with one great effort shook off all that cloyed and annoyed him. 'What!' he said, 'haven't the most ridiculous things always happened among us old hermits and holy men? Truly, my folly grew tall in the mountains! Now I hear six old fools' legs rattling along after each other!

But can Zarathustra afford to be afraid of a shadow? And it seems to me, when all's said and done, that he has longer legs than I.' Thus spoke Zarathustra, laughing with his eyes and his entrails, then he stopped, turned around abruptly - and behold, he almost hurled his successor and shadow to the ground - so closely did the latter follow on his heels, and so weak was he too. When he took a close look at him, he shrank back as if before a sudden ghost: so thin, blackish, hollow and outdated did this successor look. 'Whoareyou?'askedZarathustra,intensely,'whatareyoudoinghere? And why do you call yourself my shadow? I don't like you.' 'Forgive me,' answered the shadow, 'that it is I; and if you do not like me, well then, oh Zarathustra, for that I praise you and your good taste! I am a wanderer, who has already walked much at your heels; always on my way, but without goal, without home too, such that very little is lacking, truly, and I would be the Eternal Jew - except that I am not eternal and neither am I Jew. What? Must I always be on my way? Whirled by every wind, unsteady, driven out? Oh earth, you have become too round for me! I've already sat on every surface, like weary dust I have slept on mirrors and window panes: Everything takes from me, nothing gives, and I grow thin - I almost resemble a shadow. Butafter you, oh Zarathustra, I've flown and followed longest, and even when I concealed myself from you, I was still your best shadow: wherever you sat, I sat too. With you I have haunted the remotest, coldest worlds, like a ghost that runs voluntarily over winter rooftops and snow. With you I strived to enter everything forbidden, worst, remotest; and if anything of mine is a virtue, then it is that I have feared no ban. With you I smashed anything my heart ever honored, I overthrew all boundary stones and images, I pursued the most dangerous wishes indeed, I have passed over every crime once.

With you I unlearned my faith in words and values and great names. When the devil sheds his skin, does his name not fall off too? For it too is skin. Perhaps the devil himself is - skin. 'Nothing is true, all is permitted': thus I persuaded myself. I plunged into the coldest waters, with head and heart. Oh how often I paid for it by standing there naked as a red crab!

Oh where has all my goodness and all my shame and all my faith in the goodgone!OhwherehasthatmendaciousinnocencethatIoncepossessed gone, the innocence of the good and their noble lies! Too often, to be sure, I followed on the heels of truth: and it kicked me in the head. Sometimes I believed I was lying and behold - that's where I first hit - the truth. Too much became clear to me, now it doesn't matter to me anymore. Nothing that I love lives anymore - how am I supposed to still love myself? 'Live as I please or don't live at all' - that's how I want it, and that's how the saintliest person wants it too. But alas, how could I still have pleasure? Do I - still have a goal? A harbor toward which my sail turns? Agoodwind? Indeed, only the one who knows where he's sailing knows also which wind is good and which is his favorable wind. What did I have left? A heart weary and insolent; a restless will; fluttering wings; a broken backbone. Ever a visitor, searching for my home, oh Zarathustra, you well know, this visiting was my visitation, and it devours me. 'Where is my home?' I asked, and I search and searched for it, but I have not found it. Oh eternal everywhere, oh eternal nowhere, oh eternal - in vain!' Thus spoke the shadow, and Zarathustra's face lengthened at these words. 'You are my shadow!' he said at last, with sadness. 'Your danger is no small one, you free spirit and wanderer! You've had a bad day: see to it that you do not have an even worse evening! To such restless ones as you even a jail ends up looking like bliss. Have you ever seen how captured criminals sleep? They sleep peacefully, they enjoy their new security. Beware that you are not captured in the end by a narrow belief, a harsh, severe delusion! Because now you are seduced and tempted by anything that is narrow and solid. You have lost your goal: indeed, how will you get rid of and get over this loss? Along with it - you have also lost your way!

You poor roamer and raver, you weary butterfly! Do you want to have a rest and a home this evening? Then go up to my cave! There leads the path to my cave. And now I have to run away from you quickly again. Already it's as though I'm covered in shadow.

I want to run alone, so that things clear up around me again. For that I'll yet have to be long on my legs and like it. But this evening at my place - there will be dancing!' - Thus spoke Zarathustra.

- And Zarathustra ran and ran and found no one anymore, and he was alone and found himself again and again, and he enjoyed and sipped his solitude and thought about good things - for hours. At the hour of noon, however, as the sun stood directly over Zarathustra's head, he passed by an old crooked and knotty tree, embraced by the luxurious love of a grapevine and hidden away from itself; from it hung abundant yellow grapes, trailing toward the wanderer. Then he got a craving to quench a slight thirst and to pluck himself a grape; but when he had already stretched out his arm to do so, then he got an even stronger craving to do something else, namely to lie down beside the tree, at the hour of perfect noon, and to sleep. This Zarathustra did; and as soon as he lay on the ground, in the quiet and secrecy of the colorful grass, he quickly forgot about his slight thirst and fell asleep. For, as Zarathustra's proverb says, one thing is more needful than the other. Only his eyes remained open - because they did not tire of seeing and praising the tree and the grapevine's love. As he was falling asleep, however, Zarathustra spoke thus to his heart: Still! Still! Didn't the world become perfect just now? What's happening to me? Like a delicate wind, unseen, dancing on a paneled sea, light, feather light - thus sleep dances on me. He does not close my eyes, he leaves my soul awake. Light is he, truly, feather light! Hepersuades me, I don't know how. He pats me on the inside with flattering hand, he conquers me. Yes, he conquers me until my soul stretches out - -how she grows long and weary, my strange soul! Did a seventh day's evening come to her precisely at noon? Did she wander blissfully too long already between good and ripe things? Thus Spoke Zarathustra She stretches herself out, long - longer! She lies still, my strange soul. She's already tasted too much that is good, this golden melancholy oppresses her, she grimaces. - Like a ship that sailed into its stillest bay - now it leans against the earth, weary of the long journeys and the uncertain seas. Is the earth not more faithful?

How such a ship moors and nestles itself to the land - now it's enough foraspider to spin a web to it from the land. It needs no stronger lines now. Like such a weary ship in the stillest bay, thus I too rest now close to the earth, faithfully, trusting, waiting, bound to it with the lightest threads. Oh happiness, oh happiness! Do you want to sing, oh my soul? You lie in the grass. But this is the secret solemn hour when no shepherd plays his flute. Stand back! Hot noon sleeps on the meadows. Do not sing! Still! The world is perfect. Do not sing, you winged bug in the grass, oh my soul! Do not even whisper! Look here - still! Old noon is sleeping, he's moving his mouth: didn't he just drink a drop of happiness - -anold brown drop of golden happiness, golden wine? It flits over him, his happiness is laughing. Thus laughs - a god. Still! - - 'Happily, how little suffices for happiness!' Thus I spoke once, and deemed myself clever. But it was a blasphemy: this I learned now. Clever fools speak better. Precisely the least, the softest, the lightest, a lizard's rustling, a breath, a wink, a blink of an eye a little is the stuff of the best happiness. Still! - What happened to me: listen! Didn't time just fly away? Am I not falling? Did I not fall - listen! - into the well of eternity? - What's happening to me? Still! Something is stinging me - oh no in the heart? In the heart? Oh break, break, heart, after such happiness, after such a sting! - What? Did the world not become perfect just now? Round and ripe? Oh the golden round ring - where is it flying to now? I'll run after it! Rush! Still - (and here Zarathustra stretched and felt that he was sleeping). 'Getup!'hesaidtohimself, 'you sleeper! You noon sleeper! Well then, well now, you old legs! It's time and overtime, many a good piece of road is still waiting for you -

Now you've slept yourself out, for how long? Half an eternity! Well then, well now, my old heart! How long after such a sleep will it take you to wake yourself out? (Butthenhefellasleepanew,andhissoulspokeagainsthimandresisted and laid itself down again) - 'Let me be! Still! Didn't the world become perfect just now? Oh the golden round ball!' - 'Get up,' spoke Zarathustra, 'you little thief, you loafing thief! What? Still stretching, yawning, sighing, falling down into deep wells? Who are you? Oh my soul!' (and here he started, because a sunbeam fell down from the sky onto his face) 'Oh sky above me,' he said, sighing, and sat upright. 'You're looking at me? You're listening to my strange soul? When will you drink this drop of dew that has fallen upon all earthly things - when will you drink this strange soul - when, well of eternity! You cheerful, dreadful noon abyss! When will you drink my soul back into yourself?' Thus spoke Zarathustra and he rose from his sleeping place at the tree as if from a strange drunkenness; and behold, the sun was still standing straight over his head. But from this one might justifiably infer that Zarathustra had not slept long.

It was not until late afternoon that Zarathustra returned home to his cave after much searching and roaming around in vain. But as he stood facing the cave, not more than twenty paces away from it, something happened that he least expected now: once again he heard the great cry of distress . And, amazingly, this time it came from his own cave! But it was a protracted, manifold, peculiar cry, and Zarathustra clearly differentiated that it was composed of many voices; even if, heard from a distance, it sounded like the cry of a single mouth. ThenZarathustra bounded toward his cave, and behold, what an eyeful awaited him after this earful! Indeed, there sitting all together were the ones he had passed by during the day: the king on the right and king on the left, the old magician, the pope, the voluntary beggar, the shadow, the conscientious of spirit, the sad soothsayer and the ass; the ugliest human being, however, had donned a crown and draped two purple sashes around

himself - for like all ugly people he loved to disguise himself and act beautiful. But in the midst of this gloomy company stood Zarathustra's eagle, bristling and restless because he was pressed to answer too much for which his pride had no answer; meanwhile the wise snake hung around his neck. All of this Zarathustra observed with great amazement; then he examined each one of his guests with affable curiosity, read their souls and was amazed once more. In the meantime the assembled had risen from their seats and they waited respectfully for Zarathustra to speak. But Zarathustra spoke thus: 'You despairing ones! You strange ones! So it was your cry of distress I heard? And now I also know where to find the one whom I have sought in vain today: the higher man - : - in my own cave he's sitting, the higher man! But why am I amazed? Did I myself not lure him to me with honey sacrifices and the cunning calls of my happiness? Yet it seems to me you are not fit company for each other; sitting here together you strain each other's nerves, you criers of distress. First someone has to come, - someone to make you laugh again, a good gay buffoon, a dancer and a wind and wildcat, some old fool - what do you think? Forgive me please, you despairing ones, for speaking to you with such small words, unworthy, truly, of such guests! But you cannot guess what makes my heart so mischievous - You yourselves are responsible, and how you look, forgive me! After all, everyone who looks at a despairing person becomes mischievous. To give encouragement to someone who despairs - for that everyone thinks they're strong enough. Youyourselves gave me this strength - a good gift, my elevated guests! Arighteous gift for your host! Well then, don't be angry now when I offer you something of my own. This here is my kingdom and my dominion; but whatever is mine shall be yours for this evening and this night. My animals shall serve you; my cave shall be your resting place! In my home and house no one shall despair; in my territory I protect everyone from his wild animals. And that is the first thing I offer you: security! Fourth and Final Part

But the second thing is: my little finger. And once you've got hold of it , just go ahead and take the whole hand! And my heart too! Welcome to this place, welcome, my guests! ' Thus spoke Zarathustra and he laughed with love and malice. After this welcome his guests bowed repeatedly and maintained a respectful silence; then the king on the right responded in their name. 'By the manner, oh Zarathustra, that you offered us your hand and your greeting, we recognize you as Zarathustra. You humbled yourself before us; you almost offended our sense of respect - - but who is able to humble himself like you with such pride? That in itself uplifts us, it refreshes our eyes and hearts. To behold this alone we would have gladly climbed higher mountains than this one here. We came hungry for something to behold, we wanted to see what brightens gloomy eyes. And behold, already we have ceased all our crying of distress. Already our minds and hearts stand open and are delighted. Little is missing and our spirits will become spirited. Nothing more delightful grows on earth, oh Zarathustra, than a tall, strong will: that is the earth's most beautiful plant. An entire landscape is invigorated by one such tree. Whoever grows tall like you, oh Zarathustra, I compare to the stonepine: long, silent, hard, solitary, of the most resilient wood, magnificent - -but in the end reaching out with strong green branches for its dominion, asking strong questions before the winds and weather and whatever else is at home in the heights, - answering even more strongly, a commander, a victor: oh who would not climb high mountains to look upon such plants? Even the gloomy, the failures are invigorated by your tree, oh Zarathustra, even the hearts of the unsteady are made sure and are healed at the sight of you. And truly, many eyes today are trained on your mountain and tree; a great longing has opened up, and many have learned to ask: who is Zarathustra? Andthose into whose ears you ever dripped your song and your honey: all the hidden ones, the solitary and the dualitary, said at once to their hearts: Thus Spoke Zarathustra

'Does Zarathustra still live? It's not worth it anymore to live, all is the same, all is in vain: or - we must live with Zarathustra!' 'Why does he not come, he who announced himself for so long?' thus many ask. 'Did solitude swallow him up? Or should we perhaps go to him?' Now it happens that solitude itself is becoming brittle and is breaking apart, like a grave that breaks open and can no longer contain its dead. Everywhere one sees the resurrected. Now the waves rise and rise around your mountain, oh Zarathustra. And as high as your height may be, many must go up to you; your skiff shall not be on the rocks much longer. And that we who despair have now come to your cave and no longer despair: this is merely a token and an omen that better ones are on their way to you - - for what is on its way to you is nothing less than the last remnant of God among human beings, that is: all human beings of great longing, of great nausea, of great surfeit, - all who do not want to live unless they once again learn to hope -unless they learn from you, oh Zarathustra, the great hope!' Thus spoke the king on the right and he grasped Zarathustra's hand in order to kiss it; but Zarathustra rebuffed his veneration and stepped back startled, silent, and as if he were fleeing suddenly into remote distances. But after a brief while he was once again among his guests, looking at them with bright, piercing eyes, and he said: 'My guests, you higher men, I want to speak in German and intelligibly with you. Not for you did I wait here in these mountains. ('In German and intelligibly? May God have mercy!' said the king on the left, as an aside. 'One notices that he does not know our dear Germans, this wise man from the East! But he really means 'in German and in-eptly' - well then! Nowadays that is not the worst of tastes!') 'You may indeed be higher men, collectively,' Zarathustra continued. 'But for me - you are not high and strong enough.

Forme, that is: for the inexorable that remains silent in me but will not always remain silent. And if you belong to me, then surely not as my right arm. For whoever stands on sick and frail legs himself, as you do, wants above all to be spared , whether he knows it or conceals it from himself. Fourth and Final Part But I do not spare my arms and legs, I do not spare my warriors : how could you be fit for my war? With you I would only ruin every victory. And many of you would already fall over just to hear the loud pounding of my drums. Nor are you beautiful enough for me and wellborn. I need clean, smooth mirrors for my teachings; on your surfaces even my own image is distorted. Your shoulders are weighed down by many a burden, many a memory; in your corners many a wicked dwarf crouches. There is hidden rabble in you as well. Andeven if you are higher and of a higher kind: much in you is crooked anddeformed.There'snosmithintheworldwhocouldhammeryouright and straight for me. You are mere bridges - may higher people stride across on you! You represent steps - so do not be angered by the one who steps over you into his height! Fromyourseed perhaps a genuine son and perfect heir will grow someday for me; but that is far off. You yourselves are not the ones to whom my inheritance and my name belong. Not for you do I wait here in these mountains, not with you shall I go down for the last time. You came to me only as an omen that higher ones are on their way to me - -not the people of great longing, of great nausea, of great surfeit and that which you called the remnant of God. - No! No! Three times no! I wait for others here in these mountains and will not lift a foot from here without them, -for higher, stronger, more victorious, more cheerful ones, those who are built right-angled in body and soul: laughing lions must come! Oh my guests, you strange ones - have you not yet heard anything of my children? And that they are on their way to me? Speak to me of my gardens, of my blessed isles, of my beautiful new species - why don't you speak to me of that?

This host's gift I beg of your love, that you speak of my children. It is for this that I am rich, for this that I became poor: what did I not give, Kaufmann in his translation deleted the word 'species' ( Art ), writing instead: 'Speak to me of my gardens, of my blessed isles, of my new beauty.' Nietzsche referred to the overman as a new species, even while he insisted that the current human being cannot be 'leaped over' in the pursuit of the overman. - what would I not give just to have this one thing: these children, this living plantation, these life-trees of my will and my highest hope!' ThusspokeZarathustraandsuddenlyhestoppedinhisspeech,because his longing overcame him, and his eyes and his mouth were closed by the turmoil in his heart. And all his guests were silent as well, and they stood still and dismayed; except that the old soothsayer made signs and gestures with his hands.

At this point, however, the soothsayer interrupted the welcome of Zarathustra and his guests; he pushed forward like someone who has no time to lose, grabbed Zarathustra's hand and shouted: 'But Zarathustra! Onething is more needful than the other, so you yourself say: well then, one thing is more needful to me now than everything else. Aword at the right time: did you not invite me to supper ? And here are many who traveled a long way. Surely you do not intend to feed us with speeches? Also, you have all given too much thought already to freezing, drowning, suffocating and other bodily emergencies: but no one has thought about my emergency, namely starving -' (Thus spoke the soothsayer; but when Zarathustra's animals heard thesewords,theyranawayterrified,seeingthatwhatevertheyhadbrought home by day would not suffice to stuff even this one soothsayer.) 'Including dying of thirst,' continued the soothsayer. 'And even though I hear water splashing here, like the speeches of wisdom, namely abundantly and tirelessly, I want wine ! Not everyone is a born water drinker, like Zarathustra. Nor is water fit for the weary and the wilted: we deserve wine - only it provides sudden convalescence and instant health!' At this opportunity, since the soothsayer demanded wine, it happened that the king on the left, the silent one, also spoke up at last. ' We have taken care of the wine,' he said, 'I together with my brother, the king on the right: we have wine enough - an entire ass-load. So nothing is lacking but bread.' 'Bread?' countered Zarathustra, and he laughed. 'Bread is the one thing hermits do not have. But man does not live by bread alone, but also on the meat of good lambs, of which I have two:

-These we'll quickly slaughter and spice with sage; that's how I love it. Andwedonotlackforrootsandfruits, good enough even for sweet-tooths and big eaters; nor for nuts and other riddles to crack. And so we'll make a good meal in short order. But whoever wants to share in the eating must also lend a hand, even the kings. In Zarathustra's home, even a king may be a cook.' This suggestion appealed to the hearts of everyone, except that the voluntary beggar objected to meat and wine and spices. 'Just listen to this glutton Zarathustra!' he said jokingly. 'Is that why people go into caves and high mountains, to prepare such meals? Now indeed I understand what he once taught us: 'Praised be a small poverty!' And why he wants to get rid of beggars.' 'Cheer up,' answered Zarathustra, 'as I am cheered. Stick to your custom, you excellent man, crunch your grains, drink your water, praise your cuisine - if only it makes you cheerful! I am a law only for my own, I am no law for everyone. But whoever belongs to me must be of strong bones, also light of foot - -must be eager for wars and festivals, no gloomy Gus, no dreamy Joe, just as ready for what is hardest as for his festival, healthy and hale. What's best belongs to mine and to me; if one doesn't give it to us, then we take it - the best food, the clearest sky, the strongest thoughts, the most beautiful women!' - Thus spoke Zarathustra; but the king on the right retorted: 'That's odd! Did anyone ever hear such clever things from the mouth of a wise man? And truly, the oddest thing about a wise man is when, on top of everything else, he is also clever and not an ass.' Thus spoke the king on the right and he was amazed; but the ass responded to his remarks malevolently with 'hee-yaw.' And this was the beginning of that long meal which is called 'the last supper' in the history books. During the same, however, nothing was discussed but the higher man .

WhenIcametomankindfor the first time, I committed the hermit's folly, the great folly: I situated myself in the market place. Thus Spoke Zarathustra And when I spoke to all, I spoke to none. But by evening my companions were tightrope walkers, and corpses, and I myself almost a corpse. But with the new morning a new truth came to me; then I learned to say: 'What do the market place and the rabble and the rabble noise and long rabble ears matter to me!' You higher men, learn this from me: in the market place no one believes in higher men. And if you want to speak there, well then! But the rabble blinks 'we are all equal. You higher men' - thus blinks the rabble - 'there are no higher men, we are all equal, human is human, before God - we are all equal!' Before God! - Now, however, this God has died. But we do not want to be equal before the rabble. You higher men, go away from the market place! Before God! - But now this god has died! You higher men, this god was your greatest danger. It is only now, since he lies in his grave, that you are resurrected. Only now the great noon comes, only now the higher man becomes ruler! Have you understood these words, oh my brothers? You are frightened; do your hearts become dizzy? Does the abyss yawn before you here? Does the hell hound yelp before you here? Well then! Well now! You higher men! Only now is the mountain in labor with humanity's future. God died: now we want - the overman to live. Thosewhocaremosttodayask:'Howarehumanbeingstobepreserved?' But Zarathustra is the only one and the first one to ask: 'How shall human being be overcome ?'

Neither 'lord' nor 'master' fits here for Herr ,'ruler.' See 'On the Three Evils' where Nietzsche defends Herrschsucht , 'lust to rule,' a noun based on herrschen , 'to rule,' which in turn is based on Herr , ruler. Nietzsche's motif for TSZ Part is 'who shall be ruler of the earth.' The earth can neither be 'lorded' nor 'mastered,' but according to Nietzsche, it shall be ruled.

The overman is in my heart, that is my first and my only concern and not human beings; not the neighbor, not the poorest, not the most suffering, not the best - Oh my brothers, what I am able to love in human beings is that they are a going over and a going under. And in you, too, there is much that makes me love and hope. That you despise, you higher men, that makes me hope. For the great despisers are the great reverers. That you have despaired, there is much to revere in that. For you did not learn how to surrender, you did not learn petty prudence. For today the little people have become ruler: they all preach surrender andresignationandprudenceandindustryandconsiderationandthelong etcetera of little virtues. What is effeminate, what comes from the servant's ilk and especially the rabble mishmash: that nowwantstobecomerulerofall human destiny - oh nausea! Nausea! Nausea! That asks and asks and does not tire: 'How do human beings preserve themselves best, longest, most pleasantly?' With that - they are the rulers of today. Overcome these rulers of today for me, oh my brothers - these little people: they are the overman's greatest danger! Overcome for me, you higher men, the little virtues, the little prudence, the sand-grain sized considerations, the detritus of swarming ants, the pitiful contentedness, the 'happiness of the greatest number'! Anddespairratherthansurrender.Andtruly,Iloveyoufornotknowing how to live today, you higher men! For thus you live - best! Doyouhavecourage,ohmybrothers?Areyoubraveofheart? Not courage before witnesses, but the courage of hermits and eagles, which not even a god looks at anymore. Cold souls, mules, the blind, the drunk - these I do not call brave of heart. Whoever has heart knows fear, but conquers fear ; sees the abyss, but with pride . Whoever sees the abyss, but with eagle's eyes, whoever grasps the abyss with eagle's talons: he has courage. - Thus Spoke Zarathustra

'Human beings are evil' - thus spoke all the wisest to comfort me. Oh, if only it were still true today! Because evil is a human being's best power. 'Mankind must become better and more evil' - thus I teach. What is most evil is necessary for the overman's best. It may have been good for that preacher of the little people that he suffered and labored under the sins of mankind. But I enjoy the greatest sin as my greatest comfort . - But such things are not said for long ears. Every word does not belong in every snout. These are fine and faraway things: sheeps' hooves should not reach for them! You higher men, do you think I am here to make good what you made bad? Or that I have come henceforth to bed you suffering ones more comfortably?Ortoshownew,easierpathstothoseofyouwhoareunsteady, lost, and have climbed astray? No! No! Three times no! Ever more, ever better of your kind shall perish - for you shall have it ever worse and ever harder. Only thus - - only thus do human beings grow into that height, where lightning strikes and breaks them: high enough for lightning! Mymind and my longing are trained on the few, the long, the distant: what do I care about your many little brief miseries? Youdonotsufferenoughinmyopinion!Foryousufferfromyourselves, youhaven't yet suffered from human beings . And you would be lying if you said otherwise! All of you do not suffer from what I suffered. - It is not enough for me that lightning no longer causes damage. I do not want to divert it: it shall learn to work - for me . Mywisdom has gathered itself for a long time like a cloud, it becomes stiller and darker. Thus does every wisdom that shall one day give birth to lightning. Fourth and Final Part To these people of today I do not want to be light , nor be called light. Them - I want to blind: lightning of my wisdom - put out their eyes! Will nothing beyond your capacity: there is a wicked falseness among those who will beyond their capacity. Especially when they will great things! For they arouse mistrust against great things, these fine counterfeiters and actors -

-untilatlast they are false before themselves, cross-eyed, white-washed wormfood, cloaked by strong words, by showy virtues, by gleaming false works. Be very careful there, you higher men! For I regard nothing more precious and rare today than honesty. Is this today not of the rabble? But rabble does not know what is great, what is small, what is straight and honest: it is innocently crooked, it always lies. Have a good mistrust today, you higher men, you brave-hearted, you open-hearted ones! And keep your grounds secret! For this today is of the rabble. What the rabble once learned to believe without grounds, how could anyone overthrow that with grounds? In the market place one convinces with gestures. But grounds make the rabble mistrustful. And if ever truth was victorious there, then ask yourselves with good mistrust: 'Which strong error fought for it?' And beware also of the scholars! They hate you, because they are sterile! They have cold, dried up eyes; before them every bird lies plucked. Such types boast that they do not lie: but powerlessness to lie is by no means love for the truth. Beware! Freedom from fever is by no means knowledge! I do not believe spirits that have cooled down. Whoever cannot lie does not know what truth is. Thus Spoke Zarathustra If you want to climb high and beyond, then use your own legs! Do not let yourselves be carried up, do not seat yourselves on strangers' backs and heads! But you mount your horse? You ride swiftly up to your goal? Well then, my friend! But your lame foot is also mounted on your horse! When you've reached your goal, when you leap from your horse, precisely at your height , you higher man - you will stumble! You creators, you higher men! One is pregnant only with one's own child. Do not let yourselves be misled and spoon-fed! Who after all is your neighbor? And even if you act 'for your neighbor' - still you don't create for him! Unlearn this 'for,' you creators; your virtue itself wants that you do nothing 'for' and 'in order' and 'because.' You should plug your ears against these false little words.

'For your neighbor' is the virtue of only small people; there they say 'birds of a feather' and 'one hand washes the other' - they have neither the right nor the strength to your self-interest. In your self-interest, you creators, are the precaution and providence of the pregnant! What no one yet has laid eyes on, the fruit: your whole love shelters and spares and nourishes it. Where your whole love is, with your children, there too your whole virtue is! Your work, your will is your 'neighbor' - do not let yourself be spoon-fed any false values! You creators, you higher men! Whoever must give birth is sick; but whoever has given birth, is unclean. Ask women: one does not give birth because it is enjoyable. Pain makes hens and poets cackle. You creators, in you there is much that is unclean. That's because you had to be mothers. A new child - oh how much new filth also came into the world! Step aside! And whoever has given birth should wash his soul clean! Donotbevirtuous beyond your strengths! And will nothing of yourselves that is contrary to probability! Walk in the footsteps where your fathers' virtue walked before! How could you climb high if your fathers' will did not climb with you? But whoever would be a firstling should see to it that he does not also become a lastling! And where the vices of your fathers are, there you should not pretend to be saints! If your fathers took to women and strong wine and boar swine, what would be the use of demanding chastity of yourself? It would be a folly! To me it truly seems like much if such a man belonged to one or two or three women. And if he founded monasteries and wrote above the door: 'This way to sainthood' - I would still say: What for! It's a new folly! He founded himself a guardhouse and safeguard: good for him! But I don't believe in it. Whatever one brings into solitude grows in it, even the inner beast. On this score, solitude is ill-advised for many. Was there ever anything filthier on earth than saints of the wilderness? Around them not only hell broke loose - but pigs too.

Timid, ashamed, awkward, like a tiger whose leap has failed; thus, you higher men, I often saw you slinking aside. A throw failed you. But what does it matter, you dice throwers! You did not learn to gamble and banter as one should gamble and banter! Are we not always sitting at a great bantering and gaming table? And when something great failed you, are you yourselves therefore failures? And if you yourselves failed, did humanity therefore fail? But if humanity failed: well then, well now! Thus Spoke Zarathustra The higher its kind, the more seldom a thing succeeds. You higher men here, haven't all of you - failed? Beofgoodcheer, what does it matter! How much is still possible! Learn to laugh at yourselves as one must laugh! And no wonder that you failed and half succeeded, you half-broken ones! Does humanity's future not push and shove within you? What is most distant, deepest, highest to the stars in humanity, its prodigious power: does all that not foam against each other in your pot? Nowondermanyapotbreaks!Learntolaugh at yourselves as one must laugh! You higher men, oh how much is still possible! And truly, how much has succeeded already! How rich is this earth in small, good, perfect things, in things that turned out well! Place small, good, perfect things around you, you higher men! Their golden ripeness heals the heart. Perfection teaches us to hope. What was the greatest sin here on earth until now? Was it not the words of him who spoke: 'Woe to you who laugh now!' Did he himself find no reasons to laugh on earth? Then he searched badly. Even a child finds reasons here. He - did not love enough; or else he would have loved us too, we who laugh! But he hated and heckled us, howling and gnashing of teeth he heralded for us. Must one curse right away where one does not love? That - seems to mein bad taste. But that is how he acted, this unconditional one. He came from the rabble. And he himself just did not love enough; or else he would have been less angry that people did not love him. All great love does not want love - it wants more.

Get out of the way of all such unconditional ones! That is a poor sick kind, a rabble kind; they look harshly at this life, they have the evil eye for this earth. Get out of the way of all such unconditional ones! They have heavy feet and sultry hearts - they do not know how to dance. How could the earth be light to them? Fourth and Final Part Crookedly all good things approach their goal. Like cats they arch their backs, they purr inwardly with their impending happiness - all good things laugh. A person's stride betrays whether one is striding on his course: just look at me walk! But whoever approaches his goal dances. And truly, I have not become a statue, I do not yet stand there stiff, stunned, stony, a column; I love swift running. And even though there are bogs and thick depressions on earth, whoever has light feet runs over and past the mud and dances as if on cleanswept ice. Lift up your hearts, my brothers, high! higher! And don't forget your legs either! Lift up your legs as well, you good dancers, and better still: stand on your heads too! This crown of the laughing one, this rose-wreath crown - I myself put on this crown, I myself pronounced my laughter holy. I found no other strong enough for it today. Zarathustra the dancer, Zarathustra the light one who waves with his wings, the flightworthy, waving to all birds, worthy and ready, a blissful lightweight - Zarathustra the soothsayer, Zarathustra the soothlaugher, not impatient, not unconditional, someone who loves capers and escapades; I myself put on this crown! Lift up your hearts, my brothers, high! higher! And don't forget your legs either! Lift up your legs as well, you good dancers, and better still: stand on your heads too! Even in happiness there are heavy creatures, there are born ponderipedes. Quaintly they struggle, like an elephant struggling to stand on its head. But it is better to be foolish with happiness than foolish with unhappiness, better to dance ponderously than to walk lamely. So learn this wisdom from me: even the worst thing has two good reverse sides -

-even the worst thing has good legs for dancing: so learn from me, you higher men, to stand yourselves on your right legs! So unlearn moping and all rabble sadness! Oh how sad even today's rabble clowns seem to me! But this today is of the rabble. Make like the wind when he plunges from his mountain caves: he wants to dance to his own pipe, the seas tremble and skip under his footsteps. Praised be this good unruly spirit who gives wings to asses and milks the lionesses, who comes upon all that is today and all rabble like a storm wind - - who is hostile to thistle-heads and hair-splitters and all wilted leaves and weeds: praised be this good, free storm spirit, who dances on bogs and depressions as upon meadows! Who hates the rabble's mindless swindlers and all botched gloomy brood: praised be this spirit of all free spirits, the laughing storm who blows dust into the eyes of all fusspots and pus-pots! You higher men, your worst part is that all of you have not learned to dance as one must dance - dance over and past yourselves! What does it matter that you didn't turn out well? How much is still possible! So learn to laugh over and past yourselves! Lift up your hearts, you good dancers, high! higher! And don't forget good laughter either! This crown of the laughing one, this rose-wreath crown: to you, my brothers, I throw this crown! I pronounced laughter holy; you higher men, learn - to laugh!

As Zarathustra made these speeches he stood close to the entrance of his cave; with the last words, however, he slipped away from his guests and fled for a short while into the open. 'Oh clean fragrance around me,' he cried out, 'oh blissful stillness around me! But where are my animals? Come here, come here my eagle and my snake! Fourth and Final Part Tell me, my animals: these higher men all together - do they perhaps not smell good? Oh clean fragrances around me! Only now do I know and feel how I love you, my animals.' - And Zarathustra spoke again. 'I love you, my animals!' But the eagle andsnakepressed up against him as he spoke these words, and they looked upat him. In such a manner the three of them together sniffled and sipped the good air. For the air here outside was better than among the higher men. But scarcely had Zarathustra left his cave when the old magician stood up, looked around cunningly and said: 'He's gone out! Andalready, you higher men - if I may tickle you with this complimentary and flattering name, even as he did - already my wicked deceiving and magic spirit befalls me, my melancholy devil, -who is an adversary of Zarathustra from the ground up: forgive him! Now he wants to conjure before you, right now is his hour; I wrestle in vain with this evil spirit. All of you, whatever honors you may give yourselves with words, whether you call yourselves 'the free spirits' or 'the truthful' or 'penitents of the spirit' or 'the unbound' or 'the great longing ones' - - all of you who suffer from the great nausea like me, for whom the old God died and no new god is lying yet in cradles and crib clothes - all of you are favored by my evil spirit and magic devil. I know you, you higher men, I know him - I also know this monster whom I love against my will, this Zarathustra: he himself often seems to me like a beautiful mask of a saint, - like a new wondrous masquerade in which my evil spirit, the melancholy devil, enjoys himself - I love Zarathustra, so it often seems to me, for the sake of my evil spirit. -

But already he befalls me and forces me, this spirit of melancholy, this evening twilight devil; and truly, you higher men, he is fond - - just open your eyes! - he is fond of coming naked , whether male or female I do not yet know; but he is coming, he is forcing me, oh no! Open your senses!

The day is winding down, to all things evening now is coming, even to the best things; listen now and see, you higher men, what kind of devil, whether man or woman, this spirit of evening melancholy is!' Thus spoke the old magician, glanced around cunningly and then reached for his harp. When the air grows dim, When already the dew's consolation Wells down to earth, Invisible, and unheard For delicate shoes wears The dewy consoler, like all who mildly console Do you recall then, do you recall, hot heart, How once you thirsted, For tears from the sky and dribbles of dew, Parched and weary, thirsted While on yellow grass paths Malicious evening sun glances Ran through black trees around you, Blinding sun-ember glances, delighting in your pain? 'The wooer of truth ? You?' - thus they mocked 'No! Mere fool! A beast, a cunning, preying, creeping beast That must lie, That must knowingly, willingly lie: Lusting for prey, Camouflaged, A mask to itself, Prey to itself That - the wooer of truth? No! Mere fool! Mere poet! 'Bei abgehellter Luft' means literally when the air has cleared or brightened. Nietzsche is borrowing the exact phrase used by the German poet Paul Fleming ( - )inhis sonnet 'Auf Mons. Jakob Schevens seinen Geburtstag' ( Gedichte von Paul Fleming , ed. Julius Tittmann (Leipzig: F. A. Brockhaus, ), p. ). Grimms' Deutsches W orterbuch , the authoritative dictionary of the Germanlanguage, quotes both Fleming and Nietzsche for abhellen .However, in this context Nietzsche appears to use the verb abhellen to mean 'dimming' or 'darkening.'

Merely speaking colorfully, From fools' masks shouting colorfully, Climbing around on lying word bridges, On colorful rainbows, Between false skies And false earths, Roaming around, hovering around - Mere fool! Mere poet! That - the wooer of truth? Not still, stiff, smooth, cold, Turned to statue, To a pillar of God, Not erected before temples, A god's gatekeeper: No! Hostile to such statues of truth, More at home in any wilderness than before temples, Full of feline mischief, Leaping through every window Swish! into every chance, Sniffing toward every jungle, Greedily, longingly sniffing, So that in jungles Among dappled beasts of prey You could run, sinfully healthy and colorful and beautiful, With lusty lips, Blissfully mocking, blissfully hellish, blissfully bloodthirsty, Run preying, creeping, lying - Or, like the eagle that long, Long gazes fixedly into abysses, Into its own abysses - Oh how they wind downward here, Down low, down into, Into ever deeper depths! Then, Suddenly, straight and tight, You spring to flight, Pounce on lambs, Steeply down, ravenously, Lusting for lambs, Wroth to all lamb souls,

Grimly wroth to everything that looks Sheepish, lamb-eyed, curly wooled, Gray, with lamb and sheep benevolence! Thus eagle-like, panther-like Are the poet's longings, Are your longings beneath a thousand masks, You fool! You poet! You who viewed mankind As god and sheep - : Tearing to pieces the god in mankind, Like the sheep in mankind, And laughing while tearing - That , that is your bliss! A panther's and eagle's bliss! A poet's and fool's bliss!' - When the air grows dim, When already the moon's sickle Creeps along green, between Purple reds, and jealously: - hostile to day, With every step secretly Scything away at rosy hammocks Until they sink, Sink down into night, sink down, pale - Thus I myself once sank From my own truth-madness, From my longings of the day, Weary of the day, sick from light, - sank downward, eveningward, shadowward: By one truth Burned and thirsty: - do you still recall, do you recall, hot heart, How you thirsted then? - To be banned From all truth, Mere fool! Mere poet!

Thus sang the magician; and all who were together went unwittingly, like birds, into the net of his cunning and melancholy rapture. Only the conscientious of spirit was not captured; he snatched the harp away from the magician and cried: 'Air! Let in the good air! Let Zarathustra in! You make this cave sultry and poisonous, you wicked old magician! You seduce us, you faker, you fine one, to unknown desires and wildernesses. And watch out when such as you start making speeches and fuss about truth ! Woe to all free spirits who are not on their guard for such magicians! Their freedom is done for: you teach and tempt us back into prisons - - you old melancholy devil, out of your lament rings a bird call; you resemble those who secretly incite sexual desires with their praise of chastity!' Thusspoke the conscientious one; but the old magician looked around, enjoyed his triumph, and for its sake swallowed the annoyance that the conscientious one caused him. 'Be quiet!' he said with a modest voice. 'Good songs want to reverberate well; one should remain silent for a long time after good songs. That is what all these do, the higher men. But you perhaps have understood little of my song? In you there is little of a magic spirit.' 'You praise me,' retorted the conscientious one. 'In so far as you distinguish me from yourself, well good! But you others, what do I see here? You're all still sitting there with lusting eyes - You free souls, where is your freedom now? Almost, it seems to me, you resemble those who have long watched wicked, dancing naked girls: your very souls are dancing! In you, you higher men, there must be more of that which the magician calls his evil magic and deceiving spirit - we must surely be very different. And truly, we spoke and thought enough together, before Zarathustra came home to his cave, to let me know that we are different. We are seeking something different up here too, you and I. I for one am seeking more security , that is why I came to Zarathustra. For he is still the most solid tower and will -

- today, when everything is wobbling, when the whole earth is quaking. But you, when I look at the eyes that you make, it almost seems to me you are seeking more insecurity , Thus Spoke Zarathustra - more thrills, more danger, more earthquakes. What you are fond of, I almost suppose, but forgive my posing, you higher men - - what you are fond of is the worst, most dangerous life, the one that frightens me the most; the life of wild animals, woods, caves, steep mountains and labyrinthine gorges. Andnottheleaders away fromdangerdoyoulikebest,butinsteadthose who lead you astray from all paths, the seducers. But, if such fondness is real in you, then it seems to me impossible nonetheless. Fear, after all - that is a human being's original and basic feeling; from fear everything can be explained, original sin and original virtue. From fear my virtue also grew, it is called: science. For the fear of wild animals - it was bred longest in human beings, including the animal that he conceals within himself and fears - Zarathustra calls it 'the inner beast.' Such a long old fear, refined at last, made spiritual, intellectual - today, it seems to me, it is called: science .' - Thus spoke the conscientious one; but Zarathustra, who had just returned to his cave and heard and guessed the last speech, tossed a hand full of roses to the conscientious one and laughed at his 'truths.' 'What!' he cried. 'What did I hear just now? Truly, it seems to me, you are a fool or I myself am one; and your 'truth' I stand wham-bam on its head. Fear you see - is our exception. But courage and adventure and pleasure in uncertainty, in what is undared courage seems to me humanity's whole prehistory. Heenvied and robbed the wildest, most courageous animals of all their virtues: only thus did he become - human. This courage, refined at last, made spiritual, intellectual, this human courage with eagle's wings and snake's cleverness: it ,itseems to me, today is called - '

' Zarathustra !' cried everyone sitting together, as if with one mouth, and they raised a great laughter then, and it rose from them like a heavy cloud. Even the magician laughed and said cleverly: 'Well then, he's gone, my evil spirit! And did I myself not warn you about him when I said that he was a deceiver and a cheat- and deceit spirit? Especially, you see, when he shows himself naked. But what can I do about his tricks! Did I create him and the world?

Well then! Let's be good again and be cheerful! And even though Zarathustra looks angry - just look at him, he grudges me - - before night comes he will learn again to love and laud me, he cannot live long without committing such follies. He -loves his enemies: this art he understands best of all whom I have seen. But he takes revenge for it - on his friends!' Thus spoke the old magician, and the higher men applauded him, such that Zarathustra went around and shook the hands of his friends with malice and love - like someone who has to make up for something and apologize to everyone. But when in doing so he reached the door of his cave, then once again he had a craving for the good air outside and for his animals - and he wanted to slip out.

'Do not go away!' said the wanderer who called himself the shadow of Zarathustra. 'Stay with us, or else our old dull depression could befall us again. Already that old magician has regaled us with his worst, and just look, the good pious pope there has tears in his eyes and once again he's completely shipped out on the sea of melancholy. These kings may well put on a good face before us; of all of us today they learned that best after all! But if they did not have witnesses, I bet that the evil game would begin again with them too - - the evil game of drifting clouds, of damp melancholy, of veiled skies, of stolen suns, of howling autumn winds, - the evil game of our howling and crying in distress; stay with us, oh Zarathustra! Here there is much hidden misery that wants to speak, much evening, much cloud, much musty air! You nourished us with strong, manly fare and strong sayings: do not permit the wimpy womanish spirits to befall us again for dessert! You alone make the air around you strong and clear! Have I ever on earth found such good air as here with you in your cave? Many lands indeed have I seen, my nose learned to test and assess many kinds of air; but in your cave my nostrils taste their greatest treat!

Unless - unless - oh forgive an old memory! Forgive me an old dessert song that I once composed among daughters of the desert - - for among them there was likewise good, bright, oriental air; there I was furthest from cloudy, damp, melancholy old Europe! Back then I loved such Oriental girls and a different blue sky, over which no clouds and no thoughts hang. You wouldn't believe how decently they sat there when they weren't dancing; deep, but without thoughts, like little secrets, like beribboned riddles, like dessert nuts - colorful and foreign to be sure! but without clouds; riddles that can be guessed: as a favor to such girls I then thought up a dessert psalm.' Thus spoke the wanderer and shadow; and before anyone answered him, he had already grasped the old magician's harp, crossed his legs and looked around dignified and wisely; but with his nostrils he slowly and questioningly inhaled the air like someone in new lands who savors the new, strange air. Then he began to sing with a kind of roaring voice. The desert grows: woe to him who harbors deserts! - Ha! Solemn! Indeed solemn! A worthy beginning! African solemn! Worthy of a lion, Or of a moral howling monkey - - but nothing for you, My most lovely lady friends, At whose feet I, For the first time, A European among palm trees, Ampermitted to sit. Selah. Wonderful truly! Here I sit now, Near the desert and already So distant again from the desert, Even in this nothingness ravaged:

Namely swallowed By this smallest oasis - - it just now yawned wide open Its lovely mouth. The most fragrant of all little mouths: Then I fell in, Down, down through - among you, My most lovely lady friends! Selah. Hail, hail to that whale If he thus let his guest Be comfortable! - you understand My learned allusion? Hail to his belly If it was thus Such a lovely oasis belly, Like this one: which I doubt, however, - that's why I come from Europe, Which is more doubt ridden than all Elderly married women. May God improve it! Amen! Here I sit now, In this smallest oasis, Like a date, Brown, sweetened through, oozing gold, lusting For a rounded maiden's mouth, But even more for maidenly Ice-cold snowy-white incisor Front teeth: for these, after all, Languish the hearts of all hot dates. Selah. To the aforementioned southerly fruits Similar, all too similar I lie here, little Winged bugs Dancing and playing around me, Likewise even smaller More foolish malicious Wishes and fantasies - Besieged by you,

You silent, you foreboding She-cats, Dudu and Suleika, -besphinxed , to stuff much feeling Into a single word: (Forgive me God This sin of language!) - I sit here, sniffing the best air, Paradise air truly, Bright light air, streaked with gold, Air as good as ever Fell down from the moon - Whether by chance, Or did it happen from mischief, As the ancient poets tell? I the doubter, however, Doubt it; that's why I come From Europe, Which is more doubt ridden than all Elderly married women. May God improve it! Amen! Drinking this most beautiful air, With nostrils swollen like cups, Without future, without memories, Thus I sit here, my Most lovely lady friends, And watch the palm tree As she, like a dancer, Sways and dips and swivels her hips, - one does it too if one watches too long! Like a dancer who, it seems to me, Already too long, dangerously long Always, always stood on one foot only? - which is why she forgot, it seems to me, The other leg? In vain, at least I looked for the missing Twin jewel - namely the other leg -

In the holy proximity Of her most lovely, most delicate Little fan and flutter and flitter tinsel skirt. Indeed, my beautiful lady friends, if you would Believe me entirely: She's lost it! It's gone! Forever gone! The other leg! Oh what a shame about this other lovely leg! Where - might it while and grieve forlorn? The lonely leg? In fear perhaps of a Grim golden blond-locked Lion monster? Or perhaps even Gnawed off, nibbled away - Miserable, oh no! oh no! Nibbled away. Selah. Oh do not weep, Soft hearts! Do not weep, you Date hearts! Milk bosoms! You licorice-heart Little pouches! Weep no more, Pale Dudu! Be a man, Suleika! Courage! Courage! - Or is perhaps Something fortifying, heart-fortifying Called for here? An anointed saying? A solemn exhortation? - Ha! Up now, dignity! Blow, blow again, Bellows of virtue! Ha! Roar once more, Roar morally! As a moral lion Before daughters of the desert, roar! - For the howling of virtue,

My most lovely lady friends, Is more than all European fervor, European voraciousness! And here I stand already, As a European, I cannot do otherwise, God help me! Amen! The desert grows: woe to him who harbors deserts !

After the song of the wanderer and shadow all at once the cave became full of noise and laughter; and because the assembled guests all spoke at the same time, and even the ass no longer kept quiet amidst such encouragement, Zarathustra was overcome by a slight aversion and a bit of scorn for his visitors, even though he was glad for their cheerfulness. This, it seemed to him, was a sign of their convalescence. And so he slipped out into the open and spoke to his animals. 'Where is their distress now?' he said, and already he himself was relieved of his minor annoyance. 'In my company, it seems to me, they have unlearned their crying in distress! - Though unfortunately, not their crying.' And Zarathustra covered his ears, for just then the hee-yaw of the ass blended oddly with the noisy jubilation of these higher men. 'They're having fun,' he began again, 'and who knows? Perhaps at the expense of their host; and if they learned to laugh from me, then still it is not my laughing that they learned. But what does it matter? They're old people; they convalesce in their way, they laugh in their way: my ears have endured worse already without becoming testy. This day is a triumph; he is already retreating, he's fleeing, the spirit of gravity , my old arch-enemy! How well this day wants to end, which began so badly and so hard! And it wants to end. Already evening is coming; over the sea he rides, this good rider! How he sways, the blissful, homecoming one, in his purple saddle!

The sky looks on clearly, the world lies deep; oh all you strange people who came to me, it's worth it indeed to live with me!' Thusspoke Zarathustra. And again the cries and laughter of the higher men came from the cave, so he began again. 'They are biting, my bait is working, their enemy is retreating from them too, the spirit of gravity. Already they're learning to laugh at themselves: do I hear correctly? Mymanlyfareisworking,myvimandvigorsayings;andtruly,Ididnot nourish them with gassy vegetables! But with warrior fare, with conqueror fare - I awakened new desires in them. New hopes live in their arms and legs, their hearts expand. They are finding new words, soon their spirit will breathe mischief. Such fare may not be for children, to be sure, nor for longing little women, old and young; their entrails are persuaded differently, their physician and teacher I am not. Nausea retreats from these higher men - well then! That is my victory. In my kingdom they're becoming secure, all their stupid shame runs away, they're pouring themselves out. They're pouring out their hearts, good hours are returning to them, they celebrate and ruminate - they're becoming grateful . That I take as the best sign; they're becoming grateful. It won't be long now and they will invent festivals and erect monuments to their old joys. They are convalescing !' Thus spoke Zarathustra gaily to his heart and he gazed outward; but his animals pressed up against him and honored his happiness and his silence. Suddenly, however, Zarathustra's ears were startled; for the cave which up till now had been full of noise and laughter became deathly still all at once - but his nose sensed an aromatic smoke and incense, as of burning pine cones. 'Whatis happening? What are they doing?' he asked himself and crept closer to the entrance, in order to watch his guests surreptitiously. But, wonder of wonders! What did he have to behold with his own eyes? '[S]ie denken sich Feste aus und stellen Denksteine ihren alten Freuden auf.' Kaufmann misread Freuden (joys) as Freunden (friends).

'They've all gone pious again, they're praying , they're mad!' - he said and he was amazed beyond measure. And, in truth, all these higher men, the two kings, the retired pope, the wicked magician, the voluntary beggar, the wanderer and his shadow, the old soothsayer, the conscientious of spirit and the ugliest human being - they all kneeled there like children and devout little old women, and they worshiped the ass. And just then the ugliest human being began to gurgle and snort as though something unspeakable wanted to get out of him; but when he actually put it into words, behold, it was a pious, remarkable litany praising the worshiped and censed ass. This litany, however, sounded thus: Amen! And praise and honor and wisdom and thanks and glory and strength be to our god, from everlasting to everlasting! - But to this the ass brayed Hee-yaw. He carries our burden, he adopted the form of a servant, he is patient from the heart and never says No; and whoever loves his god, chastises him. - But to this the ass brayed Hee-yaw. He does not speak, unless it be to say Yaw to the world that he created; thus he praises his world. It is his slyness that does not speak; this way he is rarely found to be wrong. - But to this the ass brayed Hee-yaw. Homely he walks through the world. Gray is the body color in which he cloaks his virtue. If he has spirit, then he conceals it; but everyone believes in his long ears. - But to this the ass brayed Hee-yaw. What hidden wisdom is it, that he has long ears and always says Yaw and never No! Has he not created the world in his image, namely as stupid as possible? - But to this the ass brayed Hee-yaw. You walk ways that are straight and crooked; it matters little to you what seems straight or crooked to us human beings. Your kingdom is beyond good and evil. It is your innocence not to know what innocence is. - But to this the ass brayed Hee-yaw.

See now, how you push no one away, not the beggars, not the kings. The little children you let come to you, and when the mean boys bait you, then you simplemindedly say Hee-yaw. - But to this the ass brayed Hee-yaw.

Youlove she-asses and fresh figs, you are no picky eater. A thistle tickles your heart if you happen to be hungry. Therein lies the wisdom of a god. - But to this the ass brayed Hee-yaw.

At this point in the litany, however, Zarathustra could no longer control himself, cried Hee-yaw himself even louder than the ass, and leaped into the midst of his guests, who had gone mad. 'But what are you doing, you mortal children?' he cried, as he pulled the praying men off the floor and to their feet. 'Watch out that someone other than Zarathustra should see you: Anyone would conclude that with your new faith you were the most vicious blasphemers or the most foolish of all old little women! Andyouyourself, you old pope, how can you reconcile for yourself that you worship this ass here as God?' - 'Oh Zarathustra,' responded the pope, 'forgive me, but in matters of God I am more enlightened even than you. And that's how it should be. Better to worship God in this form, than in no form at all! Think about this dictum, my exalted friend; you will quickly realize that there is wisdom in such a dictum. He who said 'God is a spirit' - he took the biggest step and leap ever on earth toward disbelief: such words are not easy to rectify on earth! My old heart leaps and skips at the fact that there is still something to worship on earth. Forgive, oh Zarathustra, an old pious pope's heart! -' - 'And you,' said Zarathustra to the wanderer and shadow, 'you call andconsider yourself a free spirit? And yet here you perform such idolatry and popery? Your performance here is more wicked indeed than it is with your wicked brown girls, you wicked new believer!' 'Wicked enough,' answered the wanderer and shadow, 'you're right; but what can I do about it? The old God lives again, oh Zarathustra, say what you will. The ugliest human being is to blame for everything; he has awakened him again. And when he says that he once killed him: death is always a mere prejudice among gods.' Thus Spoke Zarathustra - 'And you,' said Zarathustra, 'you wicked old magician, what have you done! Who in these liberated times is supposed to believe in you anymore, if you believe in such asinine divinities?

What you did was a stupidity; how could you, you clever one, commit such a stupidity!' 'Oh Zarathustra,' replied the clever magician, 'you're right, it was a stupidity - and it's been hard enough for me.' -'And you most of all,' said Zarathustra to the conscientious of spirit, 'lean your head on your hand and consider! Doesn't anything here go against your conscience? Isn't your spirit too clean for this praying and the steam of these Holy Joes?' 'There is something about it,' answered the conscientious one, leaning his head on his hand, 'there is something about this spectacle that actually does my spirit good. Maybe because I am not allowed to believe in God; but it is certain that God in this form seems most believable to me. God should be eternal, according to the witnessing of the most pious; whoever has that much time, takes his time. As slowly and as stupidly as possible: that way such a one can indeed go very far. And whoever has too much spirit, he may well become a fool even for stupidity and folly. Think about your own case, oh Zarathustra! Youyourself - indeed! Even you could well become an ass from superabundance and wisdom. Does a perfectly wise man not like to walk on crooked paths? Appearances would indicate this, oh Zarathustra your appearance!' -'Andfinally you yourself,' said Zarathustra and he turned toward the ugliest human being, who still lay on the floor, reaching up with his arm to the ass (for he was giving it wine to drink). 'Speak, you unspeakable one: what have you done here! You seem transformed to me, your eyes glow, the cloak of the sublime lies about your ugliness: What have you done? Is what they say true after all, that you awakened him again? And why? Were there not good grounds for killing and getting rid of him? Youyourself seem awakened to me; what have you done? Why did you revert? Why did you convert? Speak, you unspeakable one!' 'Oh Zarathustra,' replied the ugliest human being, 'you are a rogue!

Whether he still lives or lives again or is thoroughly dead - which of us two knows that best? I ask you. Fourth and Final Part But I know one thing - it was from you yourself that I once learned, oh Zarathustra: whoever wants to kill most thoroughly, laughs . 'One kills not by wrath, but by laughter' - thus you once spoke. Oh Zarathustra, you hidden one, you annihilator without wrath, you dangerous saint - you are a rogue!' But then it happened that Zarathustra, astounded by the sheer number of such roguish answers, bounded back to the door of his cave and, facing all of his guests, cried out with a strong voice: 'Oh you foolish rascals, the lot of you, you jesters! Why do you dissemble and disguise yourselves before me? How the hearts of each of you squirmed with glee and malice that at last you had become as little children again, namely pious - - that at last you did again as children do, namely prayed, folded your hands and said 'dear God!' But now leave me this nursery, my own cave, where today all manner of childishness is at home. Cool your hot children's mischief and your heart's noise out here! To be sure, unless you become as little children, you shall not enter that kingdom of heaven. (And Zarathustra gestured upward with his hands.) But we do want to enter the kingdom of heaven at all: we have become men and so we want the kingdom of the earth .' And once again Zarathustra began to speak. 'Oh my new friends,' he said - 'you strange, you higher men, how well I like you now - - since you've become gay again! All of you have truly blossomed; it seems to me that flowers such as you require new festivals , -asmall brave nonsense, some kind of divine worship and ass festival, some kind of old gay Zarathustra fool, a sweeping wind that blows your souls bright. Do not forget this night and this ass festival, you higher men! This you invented in my cave, this I take as a good omen - such things are invented only by the convalescing!

And if you celebrate it again, this ass festival, do it for your own sake, do it also for my sake! And in remembrance of me !' Thus spoke Zarathustra.

Meanwhile, however, one after another had stepped outdoors into the open and into the cool, pensive night; but Zarathustra himself led the ugliest human being by the hand, to show him his night world and the big round moon and the silver waterfalls near his cave. There at last they all stood together, nothing but old people, but with comforted, brave hearts and inwardly amazed that they felt so good on earth; but the mystery of the night came closer and closer to their hearts. And Zarathustra thought again to himself: 'Oh how well I like them now, these higher men!' but he did not say it aloud, for he honored their happiness and their silence. - But then something happened that was the most amazing thing of that amazing long day: the ugliest human being began once more and for the last time to gurgle and to snort, and when he had managed to put it in words, behold, a question leaped round and ready from his mouth, a good, deep, clear question, which moved the hearts of all who were listening to him. 'My friends, all of you,' spoke the ugliest human being, 'what do you think? For the sake of this day I amsatisfied for the first time that I have lived my entire life. And it's still not enough for me to attest as much as I do. It's worth it to live on earth: one day, one festival with Zarathustra taught me to love the earth. 'Was that - life?' I want to say to death. 'Well then! One More Time!' My friends, what do you think? Do you not want to say to death, as I do: Was that - life? For Zarathustra's sake, well then! One More Time!' - Thus spoke the ugliest human being; but it was not long before midnight. And what do you think happened then? As soon as the higher men had heard his question, all at once they became aware of their transformation and convalescence, and of who gave it to them. Then they

rushed toward Zarathustra, thanking, honoring, caressing him, kissing his hands, each in his own manner; such that some laughed, some wept. But the old soothsayer danced with joy; and even if, as some chroniclers opine, he was full of sweet wine at the time, then he was certainly even more full of sweet life and he had renounced all weariness. There are even some who say that the ass also danced then; not for nothing, after all, had the ugliest human being earlier given it wine to drink. Now this may have happened thus or otherwise, and if in truth on that evening the ass did not dance, then clearly even greater and rarer wonders took place there, than the dancing of an ass would have been. In sum, as Zarathustra's saying goes: 'What does it matter!' But as this went on with the ugliest human being, Zarathustra stood there like a drunken man; his tongue slurred, his feet faltered. And who could even guess what thoughts were speeding then through Zarathustra's soul? Visibly, however, his spirit receded and flew ahead and was in remote distances and at the same time 'upon a high ridge,' as it is written, 'between two seas, -betweenthepast and the future, wandering as a heavy cloud.' Gradually, however, as the higher men held him in their arms, he came to himself a bit and used his hands to fend away the throng of the revering and the worrying; yet he did not speak. All at once though he quickly turned his head, because he seemed to hear something: then he put his finger to his lips and said: ' Come !'

And immediately it became still and mysterious all around; but from the depths the sound of a bell rose slowly. Zarathustra listened for it, as did the higher men; then he put his finger to his lips once more and said again: ' Come! Come! It's going on midnight !' - And his voice had changed.Butstill he did not stir from his place; then it grew even more still and mysterious, and everything listened, even the ass, and Zarathustra's animals of honor, the eagle and the snake, and also the cave of Zarathustra and the big cool moon and the very night. But Zarathustra put his hand to his lips for the third time and said: ' Come! Come! Come! Let us walk now! It is the hour: let us walk now into the night! ' Thus Spoke Zarathustra You higher men, it's going on midnight; I want to whisper something in your ears, like that old bell whispers it into my ear - - as secretly, as terribly, as cordially as that midnight bell, which has experienced more than any human, says it to me: - which long ago tallied the heartbeat beatings of your fathers - oh! oh! how it sighs! How it laughs in dream delight, the old, the deep deep midnight! Still! Still! Then things are heard that by day may not be said; but now, in the cool air, where the noise of your hearts has fled - -now it speaks, now it listens, now it creeps into nocturnal, over-awake souls - oh! oh! how it sighs! How it laughs in dream delight! - don't you hear, how it secretly, terribly, cordially speaks to you , the old, the deep deep midnight? Oh mankind, pray! Woe to me! Where has time gone? Did I not sink into deep wells? The world sleeps - Alas! Alas! The dog howls, the moon shines. I would sooner die, die, than tell you what my midnight heart is thinking right now. Now I've died already. It's gone. Spider, why do you spin around me? Do you want blood? Oh! Oh! The dew falls, the hour comes -

- the hour when I shiver and freeze, which asks and asks and asks: 'who has enough heart for it? - who shall be the ruler of the earth? Who wants to say: thus you shall flow, you great and little streams!' -the hour approaches: oh mankind, you higher men, pray! This speech is for fine ears, for your ears what does deep midnight have to say ? It carries me away, my soul dances. Day's work! Day's work! Who shall be ruler of the earth? The moon is cool, the wind is silent. Alas! Alas! Have you flown high enough? You dance: but a leg is not a wing. Fourth and Final Part You good dancers, now all joy is gone, wine became resin, every cup became brittle, the graves stammer. You did not fly high enough; now the graves stammer: 'Redeem the dead! Why is it night for so long? Does the moon not make us drunk?' You higher men, redeem the graves, awaken the corpses! Oh, why does the worm still bore? It approaches, the hour approaches - - the bell growls, the heart still rattles, the wood worm still bores, the heart worm. Alas! Alas! The world is deep! Sweet lyre! Sweet lyre! I love your tone, your drunken, sunken croaking tone! - From how long ago, from how far away your tone comes to me, from afar, from ponds of love! You old bell, you sweet lyre! Every pain tore into your heart, father pain, fathers' pain, forefathers' pain, your speech grew ripe - - ripe like golden autumns and afternoons, like my hermit's heart now you speak: the world itself became ripe, the grape turns brown, - now it wants to die, die of happiness. You higher men, do you not smell it? A fragrance wells up mysteriously, -afragrance and aroma of eternity, a rosy blissful, brown golden wine aroma of ancient happiness, - of drunken, midnight, dying happiness, which sings: the world is deep and deeper than the grasp of day! Let me be! Let me be! I am too pure for you. Do not touch me! Did my world not just become perfect?

My skin is too pure for your hands. Let me be, you stupid, clumsy, stifling day! Is midnight not brighter? The purest shall be rulers of the earth, the least known, strongest, the midnight-souled, who are brighter and deeper than any day. Oh day, you grope for me? You fumble for my happiness? I seem rich to you, lonely, buried treasure, a chamber of gold? Oh world, you want me ? Am I worldly to you? Am I spiritual to you? AmI godlike to you? But day and world, you are too crude - Thus Spoke Zarathustra - have smarter hands, reach for deeper happiness, for deeper unhappiness, reach for some kind of god - do not reach for me: -myunhappiness, my happiness is deep, you strange day, but still I am no god, no god's hell: deep is its pain . God's pain is deeper, you strange world! Reach for god's pain, not for me! What am I? A drunken sweet lyre - a midnight lyre, a bell-toad that no one understands, but that must speak, before the deaf, you higher men! For you do not understand me! Gone! Gone! Oh youth! Oh noon! Oh afternoon! Now evening's come and night and midnight - the dog howls, the wind: - is the wind not a dog? It whimpers, it yelps, it howls. Alas! Oh how midnight sighs, how it laughs, how it rattles and wheezes! How she speaks soberly just now, this drunken poetess! Perhaps she overdrank her drunkenness? She became over-awake? She ruminates? - she ruminates her pain, in dream, the old deep midnight, and even more her joy. Because joy, even if pain is deep: Joy is deeper still than misery . Yougrapevine! Why do you praise me! I cut you! I am cruel, you bleed what does your praise want of my drunken cruelty? 'What became perfect, everything ripe - wants to die!' so you speak. Blessed, blessed be the vintner's knife! But everything unripe wants to live, alas! Pain says: 'Refrain! Away, you pain!' But everything that suffers wants to live, to become ripe and joyful and longing,

- longing for what is farther, higher, brighter. 'I want heirs,' thus speaks all that suffers, 'I want children, I do not want myself ' - But joy does not want heirs, not children - joy wants itself, wants eternity, wants recurrence, wants everything eternally the same. Pain says: 'Break, bleed, heart! Walk, legs! Wings, fly! Up! Upward! Pain!' Well then, well now, old heart! Pain says: 'Refrain! ' Fourth and Final Part You higher men, what do you think? Am I a soothsayer? A dreamer? A drunk? A dream interpreter? A midnight bell? A drop of dew? A haze and fragrance of eternity? Do you not hear it? Do you not smell it? Just now my world became perfect, midnight is also noon - Pain is also a joy, a curse is also a blessing, night is also a sun - go away or else you will learn: a wise man is also a fool. Have you ever said Yes to one joy? Oh my friends, then you also said Yes t o all pain. All things are enchained, entwined, enamored - - if you ever wanted one time two times, if you ever said 'I like you, happiness! Whoosh! Moment!' then you wanted everything back! -Everything anew, everything eternal, everything enchained, entwined, enamored, oh thus you loved the world - - you eternal ones, love it eternally and for all time; and say to pain also: refrain, but come back! For all joy wants - eternity! All joy want the eternity of all things, wants honey, wants resin, wants drunken midnight, wants graves, wants tomb-tears' solace, wants gilded sunset - -what doesjoynotwant?Itisthirstier, heartier, hungrier, more terrible, more mysterious than all pain, it wants itself ,itbites into itself , the ring's will wrestles in it - - it wants love, it wants hate, it is super-rich, bestows, throws away, begs for someone to take it, thanks the taker, it would like to be hated - -sorich is its joy that it thirsts for pain, for hell, for hate, for disgrace, for the cripple, for world - this world, oh you know it well!

You higher men, it longs for you, does joy, the unruly, blissful one - for your pain, you failures! All eternal joy longs for failures. For all joy wants itself, and therefore it wants all misery too! Oh happiness, oh pain! Oh break, my heart! You higher men, learn this, joy wants eternity, - Joy wants the eternity of all things, wants deep, wants deep eternity! Thus Spoke Zarathustra Have you now learned my song? Have you guessed what it means? Well then! Well now! You higher men, then sing me my new roundelay! Sing me this song yourselves now, whose name is 'One More Time,' whose meaning is 'in all eternity!' - sing, you higher men, Zarathustra's roundelay! Oh mankind, pray! What does deep midnight have to say? 'From sleep, from sleep From deepest dream I made my way: The world is deep, And deeper than the grasp of day. Deep is its pain -, Joy - deeper still than misery: Pain says: Refrain! Yet all joy wants eternity - - Wants deep, wants deep eternity.'

But in the morning after this night Zarathustra sprang from his sleeping place, girded his loins and came out from his cave, glowing and strong, like a morning sun that emerges from dark mountains. 'You great star,' he said, as he had said before, 'what would all your happiness be if you did not have those for whom you shine? Andif they stayed in their rooms while you are already awake and come and bestow and distribute - how would your proud shame be angered! Well then! They're sleeping still, these higher men, while I am awake: they are not my proper companions! Not for them do I wait here in my mountains. I want to go to my work, to my day; but they do not understand what the signs of my morning are, my step - is not a wake up call for them. They are sleeping still in my cave, their dream still ruminates on my midnights. The ear that hearkens for me - the heeding ear is still lacking in their limbs.' - Thus Zarathustra spoke to his heart as the sun was rising; then he glanced questioning into the heights, for he heard above him the sharp Fourth and Final Part call of his eagle. 'Well then!' he shouted upward, 'thus it pleases and suits me. My animals are awake, because I am awake. My eagle is awake and like me he honors the sun. With eagle's talons he grasps for the new light. You are my proper animals; I love you. But I still lack the proper human beings!' - Thus spoke Zarathustra; but then it happened that he suddenly heard himself swarmed and fluttered around as if by countless birds - but the whirring of so many wings and the thronging around his head was so great that he had to close his eyes. And truly, like a cloud it descended upon him, like a cloud of arrows pouring down upon a new enemy. But see, here it was a cloud of love, and it poured over a new friend.

'What is happening to me?' thought Zarathustra in his astonished heart, and he sat down slowly on the big stone that lay near the exit of his cave. But as he reached with his hands around and above and below himself, warding off the affectionate birds, something even more extraordinary happened to him: he reached unwittingly into a thick, warm tangle of hair, and at the same time a roar sounded before him - a soft, long lion's roar. ' The sign is coming ' said Zarathustra and his heart transformed. And in truth, as it grew brighter around him, there at his feet lay a yellow, powerful beast, and it pressed its head against his knee and did not want to leave him out of love, acting like a dog that finds its old master again. And the doves with their love were no less eager than the lion; and each time when a dove flitted over the nose of the lion, the lion shook its head and was amazed and laughed. To all of this Zarathustra had only one thing to say: ' My children are near, my children ' - then he became completely mute. But his heart was freed, and from his eyes tears dropped down and fell onto his hands. And he heeded nothing more and sat there, unmoving and not even warding off the animals. Then the doves flew back and forth and lighted on his shoulders and caressed his white hair and did not tire of tenderness and jubilation. But the strong lion kept licking the tears that fell onto Zarathustra's hands, roaring and growling bashfully. Thus acted these animals. - All this lasted a long time, or a short time: for, properly speaking, there is no time on earth for such things -. Meanwhile, however, the higher men in Zarathustra's cave had awakened and were forming a procession, in order to approach Zarathustra and offer their morning greeting. For Thus Spoke Zarathustra they had discovered, when they awakened, that he was no longer among them. But as they reached the door of the cave, and the noise of their footsteps preceded them, the lion started violently, turned suddenly away from Zarathustra and leaped, roaring wildly, toward the cave; and the higher men, when they heard it roaring, all cried out as if with one voice, and fled back and disappeared in a flash.