No More Learning

But now leave, I pray you, this nursery, mine
own cave, where to-day all childishness is carried
on. Cool down, here outside, your hot child-
wantonness and heart-tumult!
To be sure: except ye become as little children
ye shall not enter into that kingdom of heaven. "
(And Zarathustra pointed aloft with his hands. )
"But we do not at all want to enter into the
kingdom of heaven: we have become men,—so we
want the kingdom of earth! '


## p. 387 (#600) ############################################

386 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
however, that God seemeth to me most worthy of
belief in this form.
God is said to be eternal, according to the testi-
mony of the most pious : he who hath so much time
taketh his time. As slow and as stupid as possible:
thereby can such a one nevertheless go very far.
And he who hath too much spirit might well
become infatuated with stupidity and folly. Think
of thyself, O Zarathustra!
Thou thyself—verily! even thou couldst well
become an ass through superabundance of wisdom.
Doth not the true sage willingly walk on the
crookedest paths? The evidence teacheth it, O
Zarathustra,—thine own evidence! "
—" And thou thyself, finally," said Zarathustra,
afrd turned towards the ugliest man, who still lay
on the ground stretching up his arm to the ass
(for he gave it wine to drink). "Say, thou non-
descript, what hast thou been about!
Thou seemest to me transformed, thine eyes
glow, the mantle of the sublime covereth thine
ugliness: what didst thou do?
Is it then true what they say, that thou hast again
awakened him? And for why? Was he not for
good reasons killed and made away with?
Thou thyself seemest to me awakened: what
didst thou do? why didst thou turn round? Why
didst thou get converted? Speak, thou nondescript! "
"O Zarathustra," answered the ugliest man, "thou
art a rogue!
Whether he yet liveth, or again liveth, or is
thoroughly dead—which of us both knoweth that
best? I ask thee.


## p. 387 (#601) ############################################

LXXVIII. —THE ASS-FESTIVAL. 387
One thing however do I know,—from thyself
did I learn it once, O Zarathustra: he who wanteth
to kill most thoroughly, laugheth.
'Not by wrath but by laughter doth one kill'—
thus spakest thou once, O Zarathustra, thou hidden
one, thou destroyer without wrath, thou dangerous
saint,—thou art a rogue! "
Then, however, did it come to pass that Zara-
thustra, astonished at such merely roguish answers,
jumped back to the door of his cave, and turning
towards all his guests, cried out with a strong voice:
"O ye wags, all of you, ye buffoons! Why do
ye dissemble and disguise yourselves before me! *
How the hearts of all of you convulsed with
delight and wickedness, because ye had at last
become again like little children—namely, pious,—
—Because ye at last did again as children do—
namely, prayed, folded your hands and said 'good
God'!
But now leave, I pray you, this nursery, mine
own cave, where to-day all childishness is carried
on. Cool down, here outside, your hot child-
wantonness and heart-tumult!
To be sure: except ye become as little children
ye shall not enter into that kingdom of heaven. "
(And Zarathustra pointed aloft with his hands. )
"But we do not at all want to enter into the
kingdom of heaven: we have become men,—so we
want the kingdom of earth! '


## p. 387 (#602) ############################################

386 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
however, that God seemeth to me most worthy of
belief in this form.
God is said to be eternal, according to the testi-
mony of the most pious : he who hath so much time
taketh his time. As slow and as stupid as possible:
thereby can such a one nevertheless go very far.
And he who hath too much spirit might well
become infatuated with stupidity and folly. Think
of thyself, O Zarathustra!
Thou thyself—verily! even thou couldst well
become an ass through superabundance of wisdom.
Doth not the true sage willingly walk on the
crookedest paths? The evidence teacheth it, O
Zarathustra,—thine own evidence! "
—"And thou thyself, finally," said Zarathustra,
aiVd turned towards the ugliest man, who still lay
on the ground stretching up his arm to the ass
(for he gave it wine to drink). "Say, thou non-
descript, what hast thou been about!
Thou seemest to me transformed, thine eyes
glow, the mantle of the sublime covereth thine
ugliness: what didst thou do?
Is it then true what they say, that thou hast again
awakened him? And for why? Was he not for
good reasons killed and made away with?
Thou thyself seemest to me awakened: what
didst thou do? why didst thou turn round? Why
didst thou get converted? Speak, thou nondescript! "
"O Zarathustra," answered the ugliest man, "thou
art a rogue!
Whether he yet liveth, or again liveth, or is
thoroughly dead—which of us both knoweth that
best? I ask thee.


## p. 387 (#603) ############################################

LXXVIII. —THE ASS-FESTIVAL. 387
One thing however do I know,—from thyself
did I learn it once, O Zarathustra: he who wanteth
to kill most thoroughly, laugheth.
'Not by wrath but by laughter doth one kill'—
thus spakest thou once, O Zarathustra, thou hidden
one, thou destroyer without wrath, thou dangerous
saint,—thou art a rogue! "
Then, however, did it come to pass that Zara-
thustra, astonished at such merely roguish answers,
jumped back to the door of his cave, and turning
towards all his guests, cried out with a strong voice:
"O ye wags, all of you, ye buffoons! Why do
ye dissemble and disguise yourselves before me! *
How the hearts of all of you convulsed with
delight and wickedness, because ye had at last
become again like little children—namely, pious,—
—Because ye at last did again as children do—
namely, prayed, folded your hands and said 'good
God"!
But now leave, I pray you, this nursery, mine
own cave, where to-day all childishness is carried
on. Cool down, here outside, your hot child-
wantonness and heart-tumult!
To be sure: except ye become as little children
ye shall not enter into that kingdom of heaven. "
(And Zarathustra pointed aloft with his hands. )
"But we do not at all want to enter into the
kingdom of heaven: we have become men,—so we
want the kingdom of earth! '


## p. 388 (#604) ############################################

388 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
3-
And once more began Zarathustra to speak.
"O my new friends," said he,—" ye strange ones, ye
higher men, how well do ye now please me,—
—Since ye have again become joyful! Ye have,
verily, all blossomed forth: it seemeth to me that
for such flowers as you, new festivals are required,
—A little valiant nonsense, some divine service
and ass-festival, some old joyful Zarathustra fool,
some blusterer to blow your souls bright.
Forget not this night and this ass-festival, ye
higher men! That did ye devise when with me,
that do I take as a good omen,—such things only
the convalescents devise!
And should ye celebrate it again, this ass-festival,
do it from love to yourselves, do it also from love
to me! And in remembrance of me! "
Thus spake Zarathustra.
LXXIX. —THE DRUNKEN SONG.
Meanwhile one after another had gone out into
the open air, and into the cool, thoughtful night;
Zarathustra himself, however, led the ugliest man
by the hand, that he might show him his night-
world, and the great round moon, and the silvery
water-falls near his cave. There they at last stood
still beside one another; all of them old people,
but with comforted, brave hearts, and astonished
in themselves that it was so well with them on


## p. 389 (#605) ############################################

LXXIX. —THE DRUNKEN SONG. 389
earth; the mystery of the night, however, came
nigher and nigher to their hearts. And anew
Zarathustra thought to himself: "Oh, how well
do they now please me, these higher men ! "—but
he did not say it aloud, for he respected their
happiness and their silence. —
Then, however, there happened that which in
this astonishing long day was most astonishing:
the ugliest man began once more and for the last
time to gurgle and snort, and when he had at
length found expression, behold! there sprang a
question plump and plain out of his mouth, a good,
deep, clear question, which moved the hearts of all
who listened to him.
"My friends, all of you," said the ugliest man,
"what think ye? For the sake of this day—/ am
for the first time content to have lived mine entire
life.
And that I testify so much is still not enough
for me. It is worth while living on the earth: one
day, one festival with Zarathustra, hath taught me
to love the earth.
'Was that— life? ' will I say unto death. 'Well!
Once more! '
My friends, what think ye? Will ye not, like
me, say unto death: 'Was that—life? For the
sake of Zarathustra, well! Once more! '"
Thus spake the ugliest man; it was not, however,
far from midnight. And what took place then,
think ye? As soon as the higher men heard his
question, they became all at once conscious of their
transformation and convalescence, and of him who
was the cause thereof: then cMd they rush up to


## p. 390 (#606) ############################################

390 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
Zarathustra, thanking, honouring, caressing him,
and kissing his hands, each in his own peculiar
way; so that some laughed and some wept. The
old soothsayer, however, danced with delight; and
though he was then, as some narrators suppose, full
of sweet wine, he was certainly still fuller of sweet
life, and had renounced all weariness. There are
even those who narrate that the ass then danced:
for not in vain had the ugliest man previously given
it wine to drink. That may be the case, or it may
be otherwise; and if in truth the ass did not dance
that evening, there nevertheless happened then
greater and rarer wonders than the dancing of an
ass would have been. In short, as the proverb of
Zarathustra saith: "What doth it matter! "
2.
When, however, this took place with the ugliest
man, Zarathustra stood there like one drunken:
his glance dulled, his tongue faltered and his feet
staggered. And who could divine what thoughts
then passed through Zarathustra's soul? Ap-
parently, however, his spirit retreated and fled in
advance and was in remote distances, and as it
were "wandering on high mountain-ridges," as it
standeth written, "'twixt two seas,
—Wandering 'twixt the past and the future as
a heavy cloud. " Gradually, however, while the
higher men held him in their arms, he came back
to himself a little, and resisted with his hands the
crowd of the honouring and caring ones; but he
did not speak. All at once, however, he turned
his head quickly, for he seemed to hear something:


## p. 391 (#607) ############################################

LXXIX. —THE DRUNKEN SONG. 391
then laid he his finger on his mouth and said:
"Come! "
And immediately it became still and mysterious
round about; from the depth however there came
up slowly the sound of a clock-bell. Zarathustra
listened thereto, like the higher men; then, however,
laid he his finger on his mouth the second time, and
said again: "Come! Come! It is getting on to
midnight! "—and his voice had changed. But still
he had not moved from the spot. Then it became
yet stiller and more mysterious, and everything
hearkened, even the ass, and Zarathustra's noble
animals, the eagle and the serpent,—likewise the
cave of Zarathustra and the big cool moon, and
the night itself. Zarathustra, however, laid his
hand upon his mouth for the third time, and said:
Come! Come! Come! Let us now wander!
It is the hour: let us wander into the night!
Ye higher men, it is getting on to midnight:
then will I say something into your ears, as that
old clock-bell saith it into mine ear,—
—As mysteriously, as frightfully, and as cordially
as that midnight clock-bell speaketh it to me, which
hath experienced more than one man:
—Which hath already counted the smarting
throbbings of your fathers' hearts—ah! ah! how it
sigheth! how it laugheth in its dream! the old, deep,
deep midnight!
Hush! Hush! Then is there many a thing
heard which may not be heard by day; now how-


## p. 392 (#608) ############################################

392 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
ever, in the cool air, when even all the tumult of
your hearts hath become still, -
-Now doth it speak, now is it heard, now doth it
steal into overwakeful, nocturnal souls : ah ! ah! how
the midnight sigheth! how it laugheth in its dream!
-Hearest thou not how it mysteriously, fright-
fully, and cordially speaketh unto thee, the old
deep, deep midnight?
O man, take heed !
Woe to me! Whither hath time gone? Have
I not sunk into deep wells? The world sleepeth-
Ah! Ah! The dog howleth, the moon shineth.
Rather will I die, rather will I die, than say unto
you what my midnight-heart now thinketh.
Already have I died. It is all over. Spider, why
spinnest thou around me? Wilt thou have blood ?
Ah! Ah! The dew falleth, the hour cometh-
- The hour in which I frost and freeze, which
asketh and asketh and asketh : “Who hath suffi-
cient courage for it?
-Who is to be inaster of the world? Who
is going to say: Thus shall ye flow, ye great and
small streams! ”
-The hour approacheth: O man, thou higher
man, take heed! this talk is for fine ears, for thine
ears-what saith deep midnight's voice indeed ?
It carrieth me away, my soul danceth. Day's-
work! Day's-work! Who is to be master of the
world?
The moon is cool, the wind is still. Ah! Ah!


## p. 393 (#609) ############################################

LXXIX. —THE DRUNKEN SONG. 393
Have ye already flown high enough? Ye have
danced: a leg, nevertheless, is not a wing.
Ye good dancers, now is all delight over: wine
hath become lees, every cup hath become brittle,
the sepulchres mutter.
Ye have not flown high enough: now do the
sepulchres mutter: "Free the dead! Why is it so
long night? Doth not the moon make us drunken? "
Ye higher men, free the sepulchres, awaken the
corpses! Ah, why doth the worm still burrow?
There approacheth, there approacheth, the hour,—
—There boometh the clock-bell, there thrilleth
still the heart, there burroweth still the wood-worm,
the heart-worm. Ah! Ah! The world is deep!
6.
Sweet lyre! Sweet lyre!
I love thy tone, thy
drunken, ranunculine tone! —how long, how far hath
come unto me thy tone, from the distance, from
the ponds of love!
Thou old clock-bell; thou sweet lyre! Every pain
hath torn thy heart, father-pain, fathers'-pain, fore-
fathers'-pain; thy speech hath become ripe,—
—Ripe like the golden autumn and the afternoon,
like mine anchorite heart—now sayest thou: The
world itself hath become ripe, the grape turneth
brown,
—Now doth it wish to die, to die of happiness.
Ye higher men, do ye not feel it? There welleth up
mysteriously an odour,
—A perfume and odour of eternity, a rosy-blessed,
brown, gold-wine-odour of old happiness,
—Of drunken midnight-death happiness, which


## p. 393 (#610) ############################################

392 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
ever, in the cool air, when even all the tumult of
your hearts hath become still,—
—Now doth it speak, now is it heard, now doth it
steal into overwakeful, nocturnal souls : ah ! ah ! how
the midnight sigheth! how it laugheth in its dream!
—Hearest thou not how it mysteriously, fright-
fully, and cordially speaketh unto thee, the old
deep, deep midnight?
O man, take heed!
4-
Woe to me! Whither hath time gone? Have
I not sunk into deep wells? The world sleepeth—
Ah! Ah! The dog howleth, the moon shineth.
Rather will I die, rather will I die, than say unto
you what my midnight-heart now thinketh.
Already have I died. It is all over. Spider, why
spinnest thou around me? Wilt thou have blood?
Ah! Ah! The dew falleth, the hour cometh—
—The hour in which I frost and freeze, which
asketh and asketh and asketh: "Who hath suffi-
cient courage for it?
—Who is to be master of the world? Who
is going to say: Thus shall ye flow, ye great and
small streams! "
—The hour approacheth: O man, thou higher
man, take heed! this talk is for fine ears, for thine
ears—what saith deep midnights voice indeed?
5-
It carrieth me away, my soul danceth. Days-
work! Day's-work! Who is to be master of the
world?
The moon is cool, the wind is still. Ah! Ah!
""
1


## p. 393 (#611) ############################################

I. XXIX. —THE DRUNKEN SONG. 393
Have ye already flown high enough? Ye have
danced: a leg, nevertheless, is not a wing.
Ye good dancers, now is all delight over: wine
hath become lees, every cup hath become brittle,
the sepulchres mutter.
Ye have not flown high enough: now do the
sepulchres mutter: "Free the dead! Why is it so
long night? Doth not the moon make us drunken? "
Ye higher men, free the sepulchres, awaken the
corpses! Ah, why doth the worm still burrow?
There approacheth, there approacheth, the hour,—
—There boometh the clock-bell, there thrilleth
still the heart, there burroweth still the wood-worm,
the heart-worm. Ah! Ah! The world is deep!
Sweet lyre! Sweet lyre! I love thy tone, thy
drunken, ranunculine tone! —how long, how far hath
come unto me thy tone, from the distance, from
the ponds of love!
Thou old clock-bell, thou sweet lyre! Every pain
hath torn thy heart, father-pain, fathers'-pain, fore-
fathers'-pain; thy speech hath become ripe,—
—Ripe like the golden autumn and the afternoon,
like mine anchorite heart—now sayest thou: The
world itself hath become ripe, the grape turneth
brown,
—Now doth it wish to die, to die of happiness.
Ye higher men, do ye not feel it? There welleth up
mysteriously an odour,
—A perfume and odour of eternity, a rosy-blessed,
brown, gold-wine-odour of old happiness,
—Of drunken midnight-death happiness, which


## p. 394 (#612) ############################################

394
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
singeth : the world is deep, and deeper than the day
could read !
7.
Leave me alone! Leave me alone! I am too
pure for thee. Touch me not! Hath not my
world just now become perfect ?
My skin is too pure for thy hands. Leave me
alone, thou dull, doltish, stupid day! Is not the
midnight brighter ?
The purest are to be masters of the world, the
least known, the strongest, the midnight-souls, who
are brighter and deeper than any day.
O day, thou gropest for me? Thou feelest for
my happiness ? For thee am I rich, lonesome, a
treasure-pit, a gold chamber?
O world, thou wantest me? Am I worldly for
thee? Am I spiritual for thee? Am I divine for
thee? But day and world, ye are too coarse,
-Have cleverer hands, grasp after deeper happi-
ness, after deeper unhappiness, grasp after some
God; grasp not after me :
-Mine unhappiness, my happiness is deep, thou
strange day, but yet am I no God, no God's-hell :
deep is its woe.
God's woe is deeper, thou strange world! Grasp
at God's woe, not at me! What am I! A drunken
sweet lyre,—
-A midnight-lyre, a bell-frog, which no one
understandeth, but which must speak before deaf
ones, ye higher men! For ye do not understand me!


## p. 395 (#613) ############################################

LXXIX. —THE DRUNKEN SONG.
395
Gone! Gone! O youth! O noontide! O after-
noon! Now have come evening and night and
midnight,—the dog howleth, the wind :
-Is the wind not a dog? It whineth, it barketh,
it howleth. Ah! Ah! how she sigheth! how she
laugheth, how she wheezeth and panteth, the mid-
night!
How she just now speaketh soberly, this drunken
poetess ! hath she perhaps overdrunk her drunken-
ness ? hath she become overawake? doth she rumi-
nate ?
-Her woe doth she ruminate over, in a dream,
the old, deep midnight-and still more her joy.
For joy, although woe be deep, joy is deeper still
than grief can be.
9.
Thou grape-vine! Why dost thou praise me?
Have I not cut thee! I am cruel, thou bleedest—;
what meaneth thy praise of my drunken cruelty ?
“Whatever hath become perfect, everything
mature-wanteth to die! ” so sayest thou. Blessed,
blessed be the vintner's knife! But everything
immature wanteth to live: alas !
Woe saith: "Hence! Go! Away, thou woe! ”
But everything that suffereth wanteth to live, that
it may become mature and lively and longing,
-Longing for the further, the higher, the
brighter. “I want heirs," so saith everything that
suffereth, "I want children, I do not want myself," —
Joy, however, doth not want heirs, it doth not
want children,--joy wanteth itself, it wanteth eter-


## p. 396 (#614) ############################################

396 TIIUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
nity, it wanteth recurrence, it wanteth everything-
eternally-like-itself.
Woe saith : “Break, bleed, thou heart! Wander,
thou leg! Thou wing, fly! Onward! upward!
thou pain! ” Well! Cheer up! O mine old
heart: Ioe saith : “ Hence! Go! ”
10.
Ye higher men, what think ye? Am I a sooth-
sayer? Or a dreamer? Or a drunkard? Or a
dream-reader? Or a midnight-bell?
Or a drop of dew? Or a fume and fragrance of
eternity? Hear ye it not? Smell ye it not? Just
now hath my world become perfect, midnight is also
mid-day,–
Pain is also a joy, curse is also a blessing, night
is also a sun,-go away! or ye will learn that a
sage is also a fool.
Said ye ever Yea to one joy? O my friends,
then said ye Yea also unto all woe. All things are
enlinked, enlaced and enamoured, -
-Wanted ye ever once to come twice; said ye
ever: “Thou pleasest me, happiness! Instant !
Moment! " then wanted ye all to come back again!
-All anew, all eternal, all enlinked, enlaced and
enamoured, Oh, then did ye love the world,
-Ye eternal ones, ye love it eternally and for all
time : and also unto woe do ye say: Hence! Go!
but come back! For joys all want-eternity!
II.
All joy wanteth the eternity of all things, it
wanteth honey, it wanteth lees, it wanteth drunken


## p. 397 (#615) ############################################

LXXIX. —THE DRUNKEN SONG. 397
midnight, it wanteth graves, it wanteth grave-tears'
consolation, it wanteth gilded evening-red—
— What doth not joy want! it is thirstier,
heartier, hungrier, more frightful, more mysterious,
than all woe: it wanteth itself, it biteth into itself,
the ring's will writheth in it,—
—It wanteth love, it wanteth hate, it is over-rich,
it bestoweth, it throweth away, it beggeth for some
one to take from it, it thanketh the taker, it would
fain be hated,—
—So rich is joy that it thirsteth for woe, for hell,
for hate, for shame, for the lame, for the world,—
for this world, Oh, ye know it indeed!
Ye higher men, for you doth it long, this joy, this
irrepressible, blessed joy—for your woe, ye failures!
For failures, longeth all eternal joy.
For joys all want themselves, therefore do they
also want grief! O happiness, O pain! Oh break,
thou heart! Ye higher men, do learn it, that joys
want eternity,
—Joys want the eternity of all things, they want
deep, profound eternity!
12.
Have ye now learned my song? Have ye
divined what it would say? Well! Cheer up!
Ye higher men, sing now my roundelay!
Sing now yourselves the song, the name of which
is "Once more," the signification of which is " Unto
all eternity! "—sing, ye higher men, Zarathustra's
roundelay!


## p. 398 (#616) ############################################

398
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
O man! Take heed !
What saith deep midnight's voice indeed ?
“ I slept my sleep-,
“From deepest dream I've woke, and plead :-
“ The world is deep,
“And deeper than the day could read.
“ Deep is its woe,
"Joy-deeper still than grief can be :
“ Woe saith: Hence! Go!
“But joys all want eternity,
“ — Want deep, profound eternity ! ”
LXXX. —THE SIGN.
In the morning, however, after this night, Zara-
thustra jumped up from his couch, and, having
girded his loins, he came out of his cave glowing
and strong like a morning sun coming out of
gloomy mountains.
“Thou great star," spake he, as he had spoken
once before, “thou deep eye of happiness, what
would be all thy happiness if thou hadst not those
for whom thou shinest !
And if they remained in their chambers whilst
thou art already awake, and comest and bestowest
and distributest, how would thy proud modesty
upbraid for it!
Well! they still sleep, these higher men, whilst I
am awake: they are not my proper companions !
Not for them do I wait here in my mountains.
At my work I want to be, at my day : but they
understand not what are the signs of my morning,
my step-is not for them the awakening-call.


## p. 399 (#617) ############################################

LXXX. —THE SIGN. 399
They still sleep in my cave; their dream still
drinketh at my drunken songs. The audient ear
for me—the obedient ear, is yet lacking in their
limbs. "
—This had Zarathustra spoken to his heart when
the sun arose: then looked he inquiringly aloft, for
he heard above him the sharp call of his eagle.
"Well!