'Tis night: now do all gushing
fountains
speak
louder.
louder.
Nietzsche - v11 - Thus Spake Zarathustra
—THE RABBLE.
US
fountain-divining powers? Verily, to the loftiest
height had I to fly, to find again the well of delight!
Oh, I have found it, my brethren! Here on the
loftiest height bubbleth up for me the well of
delight! And there is a life at whose waters none
of the rabble drink with me!
Almost too violently dost thou flow for me,
thou fountain of delight! And often emptiest
thou the goblet again, in wanting to fill it!
And yet must I learn to approach thee more
modestly: far too violently doth my heart still flow
towards thee:—
My heart on which my summer burneth, my
short, hot, melancholy, over-happy summer: how
my summer heart longeth for thy coolness!
Past, the lingering distress of my spring! Past,
the wickedness of my snowflakes in June! Summer
have I become entirely, and summer-noontide!
A summer on the loftiest height, with cold
fountains and blissful stillness: oh, come, my
friends, that the stillness may become more blissful!
For this is our height and our home: too high
and steep do we here dwell for all uncleanly ones
and their thirst.
Cast but your pure eyes into the well of my
delight, my friends! How could it become turbid
thereby! It shall laugh back to you with its
purity.
On the tree of the future build we our nest;
eagles shall bring us lone ones food in their beaks!
Verily, no food of which the impure could be
fellow-partakers! Fire, would they think they
devoured, and burn their mouths!
## p. 116 (#196) ############################################
116
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
Verily, no abodes do we here keep ready for the
impure! An ice-cave to their bodies would our
happiness be, and to their spirits !
And as strong winds will we live above them,
neighbours to the eagles, neighbours to the snow,
neighbours to the sun : thus live the strong winds.
And like a wind will I one day blow amongst
them, and with my spirit, take the breath from their
spirit: thus willeth my future.
Verily, a strong wind is Zarathustra to all low
places; and this counsel counselleth he to his
enemies, and to whatever spitteth and speweth :
“ Take care not to spit against the wind ! ”-
Thus spake Zarathustra.
XXIX. -THE TARANTULAS.
Lo, this is the tarantula's den! Would'st thou
see the tarantula itself? Here hangeth its web:
touch this, so that it may tremble.
There cometh the tarantula willingly : Welcome,
tarantula! Black on thy back is thy triangle and
symbol; and I know also what is in thy soul.
Revenge is in thy soul: wherever thou bitest,
there ariseth black scab; with revenge, thy poison
maketh the soul giddy!
Thus do I speak unto you in parable, ye who make
the soul giddy, ye preachers of equality! Tarantulas
are ye unto me, and secretly revengeful ones!
But I will soon bring your hiding-places to the
light: therefore do I laugh in your face my laughter
of the height,
## p. 117 (#197) ############################################
XXIX. —THE TARANTULAS. 117
Therefore do I tear at your web, that your rage
may lure you o it of your den of lies, and that your
revenge may leap forth from behind your word
"justice. "
Because, for man to be redeemed from revenge—
that is for me the bridge to the highest hope, and a
rainbow after long storms.
Otherwise, however, would the tarantulas have it.
"Let it be very justice for the world to become full
of the storms of our vengeance "—thus do they talk
to one another.
"Vengeance will we use, and insult, against all
who are not like us "—thus do the tarantula-hearts
pledge themselves.
"And ' Will to Equality '—that itself shall hence-
forth be the name of virtue; and against all that
hath power will we raise an outcry! "
Ye preachers of equality, the tyrant-frenzy of
impotence crieth thus in you for "equality ": your
most secret tyrant-longings disguise themselves
thus in virtue-words!
Fretted conceit and suppressed envy—perhaps
your fathers' conceit and envy: in you break they
forth as flame and frenzy of vengeance.
What the father hath hid cometh out in the son;
and oft have I found the son the father's revealed
secret.
Inspired ones they resemble: but it is not the
heart that inspireth them—but vengeance. And
when they become subtle and cold, it is not spirit,
but envy, that maketh them so.
Their jealousy leadeth them also into thinkers'
paths; and this is the sign of their jealousy—they
## p. 118 (#198) ############################################
Il8 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
always go too far: so that their fatigue hath at last
to go to sleep on the snow.
In all their lamentations soundet. vengeance, in
all their eulogies is maleficence; and being judge
seemeth to them bliss.
But thus do I counsel you, my friends: distrust
all in whom the impulse to punish is powerful!
They are people of bad race and lineage; out
of their countenances peer the hangman and the
sleuth-hound.
Distrust all those who talk much of their justice!
Verily, in their souls not only honey is lacking.
And when they call themselves " the good and
just," forget not, that for them to be Pharisees,
nothing is lacking but—power!
My friends, I will not be mixed up and con-
founded with others.
There are those who preach my doctrine of life,
and are at the same time preachers of equality,
and tarantulas.
That they speak in favour of life, though they sit
in their den, these poison-spiders, and withdrawn
from life—is because they would thereby do
injury.
To those would they thereby do injury who have
power at present: for with those the preaching of
death is still most at home.
Were it otherwise, then would the tarantulas
teach otherwise: and they themselves were formerly
the best world-maligners and heretic-burners.
With these preachers of equality will I not be
mixed up and confounded. For thus speaketh
justice unto me: "Men are not equal. "
## p. 119 (#199) ############################################
XXIX. —THE TARANTULAS. 11$
And neither shall they become so! What would
be my love to the Superman, if I spake otherwise?
On a thousand bridges and piers shall they
throng to the future, and always shall there be
more war and inequality among them: thus doth
my great love make me speak!
Inventors of figures and phantoms shall they be
in their hostilities; and with those figures and
phantoms shall they yet fight with each other the
supreme fight!
Good and evil, and rich and poor, and high and
low, and all names of values: weapons shall they
be, and sounding signs, that life must again and
again surpass itself!
Aloft will it build itself with columns and stairs
—life itself: into remote distances would it gaze,
and out towards blissful beauties—therefore doth
it require elevation!
And because it requireth elevation, therefore doth
it require steps, and variance of steps and climbers!
To rise striveth life, and in rising to surpass itself.
And just behold, my friends! Here where the
tarantula's den is, riseth aloft an ancient temple's
ruins—just behold it with enlightened eyes!
Verily, he who here towered aloft his thoughts in
stone, knew as well as the wisest ones about the
secret of life!
That there is struggle and inequality even in
beauty, and war for power and supremacy: that
doth he here teach us in the plainest parable.
How divinely do vault and arch here contrast in
the struggle: how with light and shade they strive
against each other, the divinely striving ones. —
## p. 120 (#200) ############################################
Il8 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA'J U-
I
always go too far: so that their fatig'rue hath at
to go to sleep on the snow. 1"
In all their lamentations soundeU u. vengeam.
all their eulogies is maleficence; and flWng j'
seemeth to them bliss.
But thus do I counsel you, my friends: di*
all in whom the impulse to punish is powerfui
They are people of bad race and lineage
of their countenances peer the hangman an.
sleuth-hound.
Distrust all those who talk much of their ju
Verily, in their souls not only honey is lacki
And when they call themselves "the go. .
just," forget not, that for them to be Ph.
nothing is lacking but—power!
My friends, I will not be mixed up:
founded with others.
There are those who preach my doctrine
and are at the same time preachers of
and tarantulas.
That they speak in favour of life, though
in their den, these poison-spiders, and ii"
from life—is because they would the'
injury. j
To those would they thereby do injury v
power at present: for with those the prer
death is still most at home.
Were it otherwise, then would the
teach otherwise: and they themselves w
the best world-maligners and heretic-bu
With these preachers of equality will
mixed up and confounded. For thus
justice unto me: "Men are not equal. "
## p. 121 (#201) ############################################
XXX. —THE FAMOUS WISE ONES. 121
To hunt him out of his lair—that was always
called "sense of right" by the people: on him do
they still hound their sharpest-toothed dogs.
"For there the truth is, where the people are!
Woe, woe to the seeking ones 1"—thus hath it
echoed through all time.
Your people would ye justify in their reverence:
that called ye " Will to Truth," ye famous wise ones!
And your heart hath always said to itself: "From
the people have I come: from thence came to me
also the voice of God. "
Stiff-necked and artful, like the ass, have ye
always been, as the advocates of the people.
And many a powerful one who wanted to run
well with the people, hath harnessed in front of his
horses—a donkey, a famous wise man.
And now, ye famous wise ones, I would have you
finally throw off entirely the skin of the lion!
The skin of the beast of prey, the speckled skin,
and the dishevelled locks of the investigator, the
searcher, and the conqueror!
Ah! for me to learn to believe in your " conscien-
tiousness," ye would first have to break your vener-
ating will.
Conscientious—so call I him who goeth into God-
forsaken wildernesses, and hath broken his venerat-
ing heart
.
In the yellow sands and burnt by the sun, he
doubtless peereth thirstily at the isles rich in
fountains, where life reposeth under shady trees.
But his thirst doth not persuade him to become
like those comfortable ones: for where there are
oases, there are also idols.
## p. 122 (#202) ############################################
122 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
Hungry, fierce, lonesome, God-forsaken: so doth
the lion-will wish itself.
Free from the happiness of slaves, redeemed from
Deities and adorations, fearless and fear-inspir-
ing, grand and lonesome: so is the will of the
conscientious.
In the wilderness have ever dwelt the conscien-
tious, the free spirits, as lords of the wilderness;
but in the cities dwell the well-foddered, famous
wise ones—the draught-beasts.
For, always, do they draw, as asses—the people's
carts!
Not that I on that account upbraid them: but
serving ones do they remain, and harnessed ones,
even though they glitter in golden harness.
And often have they been good servants and
worthy of their hire. For thus saith virtue: "If
thou must be a servant, seek him unto whom thy
service is most useful!
The spirit and virtue of thy master shall advance
by thou being his servant: thus wilt thou thyself
advance with his spirit and virtue! "
And verily, ye famous wise ones, ye servants of
the people! Ye yourselves have advanced with
the people's spirit and virtue—and the people by
you! To your honour do I say it!
But the people ye remain for me, even with
your virtues, the people with purblind eyes—the
people who know not what spirit is!
Spirit is life which itself cutteth into life: by its
own torture doth it increase its own knowledge,—
did ye know that before?
And the spirit's happiness is this: to be anointed
\
## p. 123 (#203) ############################################
XXX. —THE FAMOUS WISE ONES. 123
and consecrated with tears as a sacrificial victim,—
did ye know that before?
And the blindness of the blind one, and his
seeking and groping, shall yet testify to the power
of the sun into which he hath gazed,—did ye know
that before?
And with mountains shall the discerning one
learn to build I It is a small thing for the spirit to
remove mountains,—did ye know that before?
Ye know only the sparks of the spirit: but ye
do not see the anvil which it is, and the cruelty of
its hammer!
Verily, ye know not the spirit's pride! But still
less could ye endure the spirit's humility, should it
ever want to speak!
And never yet could ye cast your spirit into a
pit of snow: ye are not hot enough for that! Thus
are ye unaware, also, of the delight of its coldness.
In all respects, however, ye make too familiar
with the spirit; and out of wisdom have ye often
made an almshouse and a hospital for bad poets.
Ye are not eagles: thus have ye never ex-
perienced the happiness of the alarm of the spirit.
And he who is not a bird should not camp above
abysses.
Ye seem to me lukewarm ones: but coldly
floweth all deep knowledge. Ice-cold are the
innermost wells of the spirit: a refreshment to hot
hands and handlers.
Respectable do ye there stand, and stiff, and
with straight backs, ye famous wise ones! —no
strong wind or will impelleth you.
Have ye ne'er seen a sail crossing the sea,
>
## p. 124 (#204) ############################################
124 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
rounded and inflated, and trembling with the
violence of the wind?
Like the sail trembling with the violence of the
spirit, doth my wisdom cross the sea—my wild
wisdom!
But ye servants of the people, ye famous wise
ones—how could ye go with me! —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
XXXI—THE NIGHT-SONG.
'Tis night: now do all gushing fountains speak
louder. And my soul also is a gushing fountain.
'Tis night: now only do all songs of the loving
ones awake. And my soul also is the song of a
loving one.
Something unappeased, unappeasable, is within
me; it longeth to find expression. A craving for
love is within me, which speaketh itself the language
of love.
Light am I: ah, that I were night! But it is
my lonesomeness to be begirt with light!
Ah, that I were dark and nightly! How would
I suck at the breasts of light!
And you yourselves would I bless, ye twinkling
starlets and glow-worms aloft! —and would rejoice
in the gifts of your light.
But I live in mine own light, I drink again into
myself the flames that break forth from me.
I know not the happiness of the receiver; and
oft have I dreamt that stealing must be more
blessed than receiving.
## p. 125 (#205) ############################################
XXXI. —THE NIGHT-SONG. 125
It is my poverty that my hand never ceaseth
bestowing; it is mine envy that I see waiting eyes
and the brightened nights of longing.
Oh, the misery of all bestowers! Oh, the dark-
ening of my sun! Oh, the craving to crave! Oh,
the violent hunger in satiety!
They take from me: but do I yet touch their
soul? There is a gap 'twixt giving and receiving;
and the smallest gap hath finally to be bridged over.
A hunger ariseth out of my beauty: I should
like to injure those I illumine; I should like to
rob those I have gifted :—thus do I hunger for
wickedness.
Withdrawing my hand when another hand
already stretcheth out to it; hesitating like the
cascade, which hesitateth even in its leap:—thus
do I hunger for wickedness!
Such revenge doth mine abundance think of:
such mischief welleth out of my lonesomeness.
My happiness in bestowing died in bestowing;
my virtue became weary of itself by its abundance!
He who ever bestoweth is in danger of losing
his shame; to him who ever dispenseth, the hand
and heart becomes callous by very dispensing.
Mine eye no longer overfloweth for the shame
of suppliants; my hand hath become too hard for
the trembling of filled hands.
Whence have gone the tears of mine eye, and the
down of my heart? Oh, the lonesomeness of all
bestowers! Oh, the silence of all shining ones!
Many suns circle in desert space: to all that is
dark do they speak with their light—but to me
they are silent.
## p. 125 (#206) ############################################
124 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
rounded and inflated, and trembling with the
violence of the wind?
Like the sail trembling with the violence of the
spirit, doth my wisdom cross the sea—my wild
wisdom!
But ye servants of the people, ye famous wise
ones—how could ye go with me! —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
XXXI—THE NIGHT-SONG.
'Tis night: now do all gushing fountains speak
louder. And my soul also is a gushing fountain.
'Tis night: now only do all songs of the loving
ones awake. And my soul also is the song of a
loving one.
Something unappeased, unappeasable, is within
me; it longeth to find expression. A craving for
love is within me, which speaketh itself the language
of love.
Light am I: ah, that I were night! But it is
my lonesomeness to be begirt with light!
Ah, that I were dark and nightly! How would
I suck at the breasts of light!
And you yourselves would I bless, ye twinkling
starlets and glow-worms aloft! —and would rejoice
in the gifts of your light.
But I live in mine own light, I drink again into
myself the flames that break forth from me.
I know not the happiness of the receiver; and
oft have I dreamt that stealing must be more
blessed than receiving.
## p. 125 (#207) ############################################
XXXI. —THE NIGHT-SONG. 125
It is my poverty that my hand never ceaseth
bestowing; it is mine envy that I see waiting eyes
and the brightened nights of longing.
Oh, the misery of all bestowers! Oh, the dark-
ening of my sun! Oh, the craving to crave! Oh,
the violent hunger in satiety!
They take from me: but do I yet touch their
soul? There is a gap 'twixt giving and receiving;
and the smallest gap hath finally to be bridged over.
A hunger ariseth out of my beauty: I should
like to injure those I illumine; I should like to
rob those I have gifted:—thus do I hunger for
wickedness.
Withdrawing my hand when another hand
already stretcheth out to it; hesitating like the
cascade, which hesitateth even in its leap:—thus
do I hunger for wickedness!
Such revenge doth mine abundance think of:
such mischief welleth out of my lonesomeness.
My happiness in bestowing died in bestowing;
my virtue became weary of itself by its abundance!
He who ever bestoweth is in danger of losing
his shame; to him who ever dispenseth, the hand
and heart becomes callous by very dispensing.
Mine eye no longer overfloweth for the shame
of suppliants; my hand hath become too hard for
the trembling of filled hands.
Whence have gone the tears of mine eye, and the
down of my heart? Oh, the lonesomeness of all
bestowers! Oh, the silence of all shining ones!
Many suns circle in desert space: to all that is
dark do they speak with their light—but to me
they are silent.
## p. 126 (#208) ############################################
126 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
Oh, this is the hostility of light to the shining one:
unpityingly doth it pursue its course.
Unfair to the shining one in its innermost heart,
cold to the suns :—thus travelleth every sun.
Like a storm do the suns pursue their courses:
that is their travelling. Their inexorable will do
they follow: that is their coldness.
Oh, ye only is it, ye dark, nightly ones, that
extract warmth from the shining ones! Oh, ye
only drink milk and refreshment from the light's
udders!
Ah, there is ice around me; my hand burneth
with the iciness! Ah, there is thirst in me; it
panteth after your thirst!
Tis night: alas, that I have to be light! And
thirst for the nightly! And lonesomeness!
'Tis night: now doth my longing break forth in
me as a fountain,—for speech do I long.
'Tis night: now do all gushing fountains speak
louder. And my soul also is a gushing fountain.
'Tis night: now do all songs of loving ones
awake. And my soul also is the song of a loving
one. —
Thus sang Zarathustra.
XXXII. —THE DANCE-SONG.
One evening went Zarathustra and his disciples
through the forest; and when he sought for a well,
lo, he lighted upon a green meadow peacefully
surrounded with trees and bushes, where maidens
were dancing together. As soon as the maidens
## p. 127 (#209) ############################################
XXXII. —THE DANCE-SONG. 127
recognised Zarathustra, they ceased dancing; Zara-
thustra, however, approached them with friendly
mein and spake these words:
Cease not your dancing, ye lovely maidens! No
game-spoiler hath come to you with evil eye, no
enemy of maidens.
God's advocate am I with the devil: he, however,
is the spirit of gravity. How could I, ye light-
footed ones, be hostile to divine dances? Or to
maidens' feet with fine ankles?
To be sure, I am a forest, and a night of dark
trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will
find banks full of roses under my cypresses.
And even the little God may he find, who is
dearest to maidens: beside the well lieth he quietly,
with closed eyes.
Verily, in broad daylight did he fall asleep, the
sluggard! Had he perhaps chased butterflies too
much?
Upbraid me not, ye beautiful dancers, when I
chasten the little God somewhat! He will cry,
certainly, and weep—but he is laughable even when
weeping!
And with tears in his eyes shall he ask you for a
dance; and I myself will sing a song to his dance:
A dance-song and satire on the spirit of gravity
my supremest, powerfulest devil, who is said to be
"lord of the world. "—
And this is the song that Zarathustra sang when
Cupid and the maidens danced together:
Of late did I gaze into thine eye, O Life! And
into the unfathomable did I there seem to sink.
## p. 128 (#210) ############################################
128
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
But thou pulledst me out with a golden angle ;
derisively didst thou laugh when I called thee
unfathomable.
“Such is the language of all fish,” saidst thou ;
“what they do not fathom is unfathomable.
But changeable am I only, and wild, and alto-
gether a woman, and no virtuous one:
Though I be called by you men the 'profound
one, or the "faithful one,' the eternal one,' 'the
mysterious one. '
But ye men endow us always with your own
virtues—alas, ye virtuous ones! ”
Thus did she laugh, the unbelievable one; but
never do I believe her and her laughter, when she
speaketh evil of herself.
And when I talked face to face with my wild
Wisdom, she said to me angrily: “Thou willest,
thou cravest, thou lovest; on that account alone
dost thou praise Life ! ”
Then had I almost answered indignantly and
told the truth to the angry one; and one cannot
answer more indignantly than when one "telleth
the truth” to one's Wisdom.
For thus do things stand with us three. In my
heart do I love only Life—and verily, most when I
hate her!
But that I am fond of Wisdom, and often too
fond, is because she remindeth me very strongly
of Life!
She hath her eye, her laugh, and even her golden
angle-rod : am I responsible for it that both are so
alike?
And when once Life asked me: “Who is she
## p. 129 (#211) ############################################
XXXII. —THE DANCE-SONG. 129
then, this Wisdom ? "_then said I eagerly: “Ah,
yes! Wisdom!
One thirsteth for her and is not satisfied, one
looketh through veils, one graspeth through nets.
Is she beautiful ? What do I know! But the
oldest carps are still lured by her.
Changeable is she, and wayward; often have I
seen her bite her lip, and pass the comb against the
grain of her hair.
Perhaps she is wicked and false, and altogether a
woman; but when she speaketh ill of herself, just
then doth she seduce most. ”
When I had said this unto Life, then laughed she
maliciously, and shut her eyes. “Of whom dost
thou speak? " said she. “Perhaps of me?
And if thou wert right-is it proper to say that
in such wise to my face! But now, pray, speak
also of thy Wisdom ! ”
Ah, and now hast thou again opened thine
eyes, O beloved Life! And into the unfathomable
have I again seemed to sink. -
Thus sang Zarathustra. But when the dance was
over and the maidens had departed, he became sad.
“The sun hath been long set,” said he at last,
“the meadow is damp, and from the forest cometh
coolness.
An unknown presence is about me, and gazeth
thoughtfully. What! Thou livest still, Zarathustra ?
Why? Wherefore? Whereby? Whither? Where?
How? Is it not folly still to live ?
Ah, my friends; the evening is it which thus
interrogateth in me. Forgive me my sadness!
## p. 130 (#212) ############################################
I30 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
Evening hath come on: forgive me that evening
hath come on! "
Thus sang Zarathustra.
XXXIII. —THE GRAVE-SONG.
"Yonder is the grave-island, the silent isle;
yonder also are the graves of my youth. Thither
will I carry an evergreen wreath of life. "
Resolving thus in any heart, did I sail o'er the
sea. —
Oh, ye sights and scenes of my youth! Oh, all
ye gleams of love, ye divine fleeting gleams! How
could ye perish so soon for me! I think of you
to-day as my dead ones.
From you, my dearest dead ones, cometh unto
me a sweet savour, heart-opening and melting.
Verily, it convulseth and openeth the heart of the
lone seafarer.
Still am I the richest and most to be envied—I,
the lonesomest one! For I have possessed you, and
ye possess me still. Tell me: to whom hath there
ever fallen such rosy apples from the tree as have
fallen unto me?
Still am I your love's heir and heritage, bloom-
ing to your memory of many-hued, wild-growing
virtues, O ye dearest ones!
Ah, we were made to remain nigh unto each
other, ye kindly strange marvels; and not like
timid birds did ye come to me and my longing—
nay, but as trusting ones to a trusting one!
Yea, made for faithfulness, like me, and for fond
## p. 131 (#213) ############################################
XXXIII. -THE GRAVE-SONG.
131
eternities, must I now name you by your faithless-
ness, ye divine glances and fleeting gleams: no other
name have I yet learnt.
Verily, too early did ye die for me, ye fugitives.
Yet did ye not flee from me, nor did I flee from
you: innocent are we to each other in our faithless-
ness.
To kill me, did they strangle you, ye singing
birds of my hopes! Yea, at you, ye dearest ones,
did malice ever shoot its arrows—to hit my heart !
And they hit it! Because ye were always my
dearest, my possession and my possessedness: on
that account had ye to die young, and far too
early!
At my most vulnerable point did they shoot the
arrow-namely, at you, whose skin is like down-
or more like the smile that dieth at a glance !
But this word will I say unto mine enemies :
What is all manslaughter in comparison with what
ye have done unto me!
Worse evil did ye do unto me than all man-
slaughter; the irretrievable did ye take from me:-
thus do I speak unto you, mine enemies !
Slew ye not my youth's visions and dearest
marvels! My playmates took ye from me, the
blessed spirits! To their memory do I deposit
this wreath and this curse.
This curse upon you, mine enemies ! Have ye
not made mine eternal short, as a tone dieth away
in a cold night! Scarcely, as the twinkle of divine
eyes, did it come to me—as a fleeting gleam!
Thus spake once in a happy hour my purity :
“ Divine shall everything be unto me. "
## p. 132 (#214) ############################################
132
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
Then did ye haunt me with foul phantoms; ah,
whither hath that happy hour now iled!
“All days shall be holy unto me”_s0 spake
once the wisdom of my youth : verily, the language
of a joyous wisdom !
But then did ye enemies steal my nights, and
sold them to sleepless torture: ah, whither hath that
joyous wisdom now fled ?
Once did I long for happy auspices: then did
ye lead an owl-monster across my path, an adverse
sign. Ah, whither did my tender longing then flee?
All loathing did I once vow to renounce: then
did ye change my nigh ones and nearest ones into
ulcerations. Ah, whither did my noblest vow then
flee?
As a blind one did I once walk in blessed ways:
then did ye cast filth on the blind one's course: and
now is he disgusted with the old footpath.
And when I performed my hardest task, and
celebrated the triumph of my victories, then did
ye make those who loved me call out that I then
grieved them most.
Verily, it was always your doing: ye embittered
to me my best honey, and the diligence of my best
bees.
To my charity have ye ever sent the most im-
pudent beggars; around my sympathy have ye
ever crowded the incurably shameless. Thus have
ye wounded the faith of my virtue.
And when I offered my holiest as a sacrifice,
immediately did your "piety” put its fatter gifts
beside it: so that my holiest suffocated in the
fumes of your fat.
## p. 133 (#215) ############################################
XXXIII. —THE GRAVE-SONG. 133
And once did I want to dance as I had never
yet danced: beyond all heavens did I want to
dance. Then did ye seduce my favourite minstrel.
And now hath he struck up an awful, melancholy
air; alas, he tooted as a mournful horn to mine
ear!
Murderous minstrel, instrument of evil, most
innocent instrument! Already did I stand pre-
pared for the best dance: then didst thou slay my
rapture with thy tones!
Only in the dance do I know how to speak the
parable of the highest things:—and now hath my
grandest parable remained unspoken in my limbs!
Unspoken and unrealised hath my highest hope
remained! And there have perished for me all the
visions and consolations of my youth!
How did I ever bear it? How did I survive and
surmount such wounds? How did my soul rise
again out of those sepulchres?
Yea, something invulnerable, unburiable is with
me, something that would rend rocks asunder: it
is called my Will. Silently doth it proceed, and
unchanged throughout the years.
Its course will it go upon my feet, mine old Will;
hard of heart is its nature and invulnerable.
Invulnerable am I only in my heel. Ever livest
thou there, and art like thyself, thou most patient
one! Ever hast thou burst all shackles of the
tomb!
In thee still liveth also the unrealisedness of
my youth; and as life and youth sittest thou here
hopeful on the yellow ruins of graves.
Yea, thou art still for me the demolisher of all
## p. 134 (#216) ############################################
134 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
graves: Hail to thee, my Will! And only where
there are graves are there resurrections.
fountain-divining powers? Verily, to the loftiest
height had I to fly, to find again the well of delight!
Oh, I have found it, my brethren! Here on the
loftiest height bubbleth up for me the well of
delight! And there is a life at whose waters none
of the rabble drink with me!
Almost too violently dost thou flow for me,
thou fountain of delight! And often emptiest
thou the goblet again, in wanting to fill it!
And yet must I learn to approach thee more
modestly: far too violently doth my heart still flow
towards thee:—
My heart on which my summer burneth, my
short, hot, melancholy, over-happy summer: how
my summer heart longeth for thy coolness!
Past, the lingering distress of my spring! Past,
the wickedness of my snowflakes in June! Summer
have I become entirely, and summer-noontide!
A summer on the loftiest height, with cold
fountains and blissful stillness: oh, come, my
friends, that the stillness may become more blissful!
For this is our height and our home: too high
and steep do we here dwell for all uncleanly ones
and their thirst.
Cast but your pure eyes into the well of my
delight, my friends! How could it become turbid
thereby! It shall laugh back to you with its
purity.
On the tree of the future build we our nest;
eagles shall bring us lone ones food in their beaks!
Verily, no food of which the impure could be
fellow-partakers! Fire, would they think they
devoured, and burn their mouths!
## p. 116 (#196) ############################################
116
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
Verily, no abodes do we here keep ready for the
impure! An ice-cave to their bodies would our
happiness be, and to their spirits !
And as strong winds will we live above them,
neighbours to the eagles, neighbours to the snow,
neighbours to the sun : thus live the strong winds.
And like a wind will I one day blow amongst
them, and with my spirit, take the breath from their
spirit: thus willeth my future.
Verily, a strong wind is Zarathustra to all low
places; and this counsel counselleth he to his
enemies, and to whatever spitteth and speweth :
“ Take care not to spit against the wind ! ”-
Thus spake Zarathustra.
XXIX. -THE TARANTULAS.
Lo, this is the tarantula's den! Would'st thou
see the tarantula itself? Here hangeth its web:
touch this, so that it may tremble.
There cometh the tarantula willingly : Welcome,
tarantula! Black on thy back is thy triangle and
symbol; and I know also what is in thy soul.
Revenge is in thy soul: wherever thou bitest,
there ariseth black scab; with revenge, thy poison
maketh the soul giddy!
Thus do I speak unto you in parable, ye who make
the soul giddy, ye preachers of equality! Tarantulas
are ye unto me, and secretly revengeful ones!
But I will soon bring your hiding-places to the
light: therefore do I laugh in your face my laughter
of the height,
## p. 117 (#197) ############################################
XXIX. —THE TARANTULAS. 117
Therefore do I tear at your web, that your rage
may lure you o it of your den of lies, and that your
revenge may leap forth from behind your word
"justice. "
Because, for man to be redeemed from revenge—
that is for me the bridge to the highest hope, and a
rainbow after long storms.
Otherwise, however, would the tarantulas have it.
"Let it be very justice for the world to become full
of the storms of our vengeance "—thus do they talk
to one another.
"Vengeance will we use, and insult, against all
who are not like us "—thus do the tarantula-hearts
pledge themselves.
"And ' Will to Equality '—that itself shall hence-
forth be the name of virtue; and against all that
hath power will we raise an outcry! "
Ye preachers of equality, the tyrant-frenzy of
impotence crieth thus in you for "equality ": your
most secret tyrant-longings disguise themselves
thus in virtue-words!
Fretted conceit and suppressed envy—perhaps
your fathers' conceit and envy: in you break they
forth as flame and frenzy of vengeance.
What the father hath hid cometh out in the son;
and oft have I found the son the father's revealed
secret.
Inspired ones they resemble: but it is not the
heart that inspireth them—but vengeance. And
when they become subtle and cold, it is not spirit,
but envy, that maketh them so.
Their jealousy leadeth them also into thinkers'
paths; and this is the sign of their jealousy—they
## p. 118 (#198) ############################################
Il8 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
always go too far: so that their fatigue hath at last
to go to sleep on the snow.
In all their lamentations soundet. vengeance, in
all their eulogies is maleficence; and being judge
seemeth to them bliss.
But thus do I counsel you, my friends: distrust
all in whom the impulse to punish is powerful!
They are people of bad race and lineage; out
of their countenances peer the hangman and the
sleuth-hound.
Distrust all those who talk much of their justice!
Verily, in their souls not only honey is lacking.
And when they call themselves " the good and
just," forget not, that for them to be Pharisees,
nothing is lacking but—power!
My friends, I will not be mixed up and con-
founded with others.
There are those who preach my doctrine of life,
and are at the same time preachers of equality,
and tarantulas.
That they speak in favour of life, though they sit
in their den, these poison-spiders, and withdrawn
from life—is because they would thereby do
injury.
To those would they thereby do injury who have
power at present: for with those the preaching of
death is still most at home.
Were it otherwise, then would the tarantulas
teach otherwise: and they themselves were formerly
the best world-maligners and heretic-burners.
With these preachers of equality will I not be
mixed up and confounded. For thus speaketh
justice unto me: "Men are not equal. "
## p. 119 (#199) ############################################
XXIX. —THE TARANTULAS. 11$
And neither shall they become so! What would
be my love to the Superman, if I spake otherwise?
On a thousand bridges and piers shall they
throng to the future, and always shall there be
more war and inequality among them: thus doth
my great love make me speak!
Inventors of figures and phantoms shall they be
in their hostilities; and with those figures and
phantoms shall they yet fight with each other the
supreme fight!
Good and evil, and rich and poor, and high and
low, and all names of values: weapons shall they
be, and sounding signs, that life must again and
again surpass itself!
Aloft will it build itself with columns and stairs
—life itself: into remote distances would it gaze,
and out towards blissful beauties—therefore doth
it require elevation!
And because it requireth elevation, therefore doth
it require steps, and variance of steps and climbers!
To rise striveth life, and in rising to surpass itself.
And just behold, my friends! Here where the
tarantula's den is, riseth aloft an ancient temple's
ruins—just behold it with enlightened eyes!
Verily, he who here towered aloft his thoughts in
stone, knew as well as the wisest ones about the
secret of life!
That there is struggle and inequality even in
beauty, and war for power and supremacy: that
doth he here teach us in the plainest parable.
How divinely do vault and arch here contrast in
the struggle: how with light and shade they strive
against each other, the divinely striving ones. —
## p. 120 (#200) ############################################
Il8 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA'J U-
I
always go too far: so that their fatig'rue hath at
to go to sleep on the snow. 1"
In all their lamentations soundeU u. vengeam.
all their eulogies is maleficence; and flWng j'
seemeth to them bliss.
But thus do I counsel you, my friends: di*
all in whom the impulse to punish is powerfui
They are people of bad race and lineage
of their countenances peer the hangman an.
sleuth-hound.
Distrust all those who talk much of their ju
Verily, in their souls not only honey is lacki
And when they call themselves "the go. .
just," forget not, that for them to be Ph.
nothing is lacking but—power!
My friends, I will not be mixed up:
founded with others.
There are those who preach my doctrine
and are at the same time preachers of
and tarantulas.
That they speak in favour of life, though
in their den, these poison-spiders, and ii"
from life—is because they would the'
injury. j
To those would they thereby do injury v
power at present: for with those the prer
death is still most at home.
Were it otherwise, then would the
teach otherwise: and they themselves w
the best world-maligners and heretic-bu
With these preachers of equality will
mixed up and confounded. For thus
justice unto me: "Men are not equal. "
## p. 121 (#201) ############################################
XXX. —THE FAMOUS WISE ONES. 121
To hunt him out of his lair—that was always
called "sense of right" by the people: on him do
they still hound their sharpest-toothed dogs.
"For there the truth is, where the people are!
Woe, woe to the seeking ones 1"—thus hath it
echoed through all time.
Your people would ye justify in their reverence:
that called ye " Will to Truth," ye famous wise ones!
And your heart hath always said to itself: "From
the people have I come: from thence came to me
also the voice of God. "
Stiff-necked and artful, like the ass, have ye
always been, as the advocates of the people.
And many a powerful one who wanted to run
well with the people, hath harnessed in front of his
horses—a donkey, a famous wise man.
And now, ye famous wise ones, I would have you
finally throw off entirely the skin of the lion!
The skin of the beast of prey, the speckled skin,
and the dishevelled locks of the investigator, the
searcher, and the conqueror!
Ah! for me to learn to believe in your " conscien-
tiousness," ye would first have to break your vener-
ating will.
Conscientious—so call I him who goeth into God-
forsaken wildernesses, and hath broken his venerat-
ing heart
.
In the yellow sands and burnt by the sun, he
doubtless peereth thirstily at the isles rich in
fountains, where life reposeth under shady trees.
But his thirst doth not persuade him to become
like those comfortable ones: for where there are
oases, there are also idols.
## p. 122 (#202) ############################################
122 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
Hungry, fierce, lonesome, God-forsaken: so doth
the lion-will wish itself.
Free from the happiness of slaves, redeemed from
Deities and adorations, fearless and fear-inspir-
ing, grand and lonesome: so is the will of the
conscientious.
In the wilderness have ever dwelt the conscien-
tious, the free spirits, as lords of the wilderness;
but in the cities dwell the well-foddered, famous
wise ones—the draught-beasts.
For, always, do they draw, as asses—the people's
carts!
Not that I on that account upbraid them: but
serving ones do they remain, and harnessed ones,
even though they glitter in golden harness.
And often have they been good servants and
worthy of their hire. For thus saith virtue: "If
thou must be a servant, seek him unto whom thy
service is most useful!
The spirit and virtue of thy master shall advance
by thou being his servant: thus wilt thou thyself
advance with his spirit and virtue! "
And verily, ye famous wise ones, ye servants of
the people! Ye yourselves have advanced with
the people's spirit and virtue—and the people by
you! To your honour do I say it!
But the people ye remain for me, even with
your virtues, the people with purblind eyes—the
people who know not what spirit is!
Spirit is life which itself cutteth into life: by its
own torture doth it increase its own knowledge,—
did ye know that before?
And the spirit's happiness is this: to be anointed
\
## p. 123 (#203) ############################################
XXX. —THE FAMOUS WISE ONES. 123
and consecrated with tears as a sacrificial victim,—
did ye know that before?
And the blindness of the blind one, and his
seeking and groping, shall yet testify to the power
of the sun into which he hath gazed,—did ye know
that before?
And with mountains shall the discerning one
learn to build I It is a small thing for the spirit to
remove mountains,—did ye know that before?
Ye know only the sparks of the spirit: but ye
do not see the anvil which it is, and the cruelty of
its hammer!
Verily, ye know not the spirit's pride! But still
less could ye endure the spirit's humility, should it
ever want to speak!
And never yet could ye cast your spirit into a
pit of snow: ye are not hot enough for that! Thus
are ye unaware, also, of the delight of its coldness.
In all respects, however, ye make too familiar
with the spirit; and out of wisdom have ye often
made an almshouse and a hospital for bad poets.
Ye are not eagles: thus have ye never ex-
perienced the happiness of the alarm of the spirit.
And he who is not a bird should not camp above
abysses.
Ye seem to me lukewarm ones: but coldly
floweth all deep knowledge. Ice-cold are the
innermost wells of the spirit: a refreshment to hot
hands and handlers.
Respectable do ye there stand, and stiff, and
with straight backs, ye famous wise ones! —no
strong wind or will impelleth you.
Have ye ne'er seen a sail crossing the sea,
>
## p. 124 (#204) ############################################
124 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
rounded and inflated, and trembling with the
violence of the wind?
Like the sail trembling with the violence of the
spirit, doth my wisdom cross the sea—my wild
wisdom!
But ye servants of the people, ye famous wise
ones—how could ye go with me! —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
XXXI—THE NIGHT-SONG.
'Tis night: now do all gushing fountains speak
louder. And my soul also is a gushing fountain.
'Tis night: now only do all songs of the loving
ones awake. And my soul also is the song of a
loving one.
Something unappeased, unappeasable, is within
me; it longeth to find expression. A craving for
love is within me, which speaketh itself the language
of love.
Light am I: ah, that I were night! But it is
my lonesomeness to be begirt with light!
Ah, that I were dark and nightly! How would
I suck at the breasts of light!
And you yourselves would I bless, ye twinkling
starlets and glow-worms aloft! —and would rejoice
in the gifts of your light.
But I live in mine own light, I drink again into
myself the flames that break forth from me.
I know not the happiness of the receiver; and
oft have I dreamt that stealing must be more
blessed than receiving.
## p. 125 (#205) ############################################
XXXI. —THE NIGHT-SONG. 125
It is my poverty that my hand never ceaseth
bestowing; it is mine envy that I see waiting eyes
and the brightened nights of longing.
Oh, the misery of all bestowers! Oh, the dark-
ening of my sun! Oh, the craving to crave! Oh,
the violent hunger in satiety!
They take from me: but do I yet touch their
soul? There is a gap 'twixt giving and receiving;
and the smallest gap hath finally to be bridged over.
A hunger ariseth out of my beauty: I should
like to injure those I illumine; I should like to
rob those I have gifted :—thus do I hunger for
wickedness.
Withdrawing my hand when another hand
already stretcheth out to it; hesitating like the
cascade, which hesitateth even in its leap:—thus
do I hunger for wickedness!
Such revenge doth mine abundance think of:
such mischief welleth out of my lonesomeness.
My happiness in bestowing died in bestowing;
my virtue became weary of itself by its abundance!
He who ever bestoweth is in danger of losing
his shame; to him who ever dispenseth, the hand
and heart becomes callous by very dispensing.
Mine eye no longer overfloweth for the shame
of suppliants; my hand hath become too hard for
the trembling of filled hands.
Whence have gone the tears of mine eye, and the
down of my heart? Oh, the lonesomeness of all
bestowers! Oh, the silence of all shining ones!
Many suns circle in desert space: to all that is
dark do they speak with their light—but to me
they are silent.
## p. 125 (#206) ############################################
124 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
rounded and inflated, and trembling with the
violence of the wind?
Like the sail trembling with the violence of the
spirit, doth my wisdom cross the sea—my wild
wisdom!
But ye servants of the people, ye famous wise
ones—how could ye go with me! —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
XXXI—THE NIGHT-SONG.
'Tis night: now do all gushing fountains speak
louder. And my soul also is a gushing fountain.
'Tis night: now only do all songs of the loving
ones awake. And my soul also is the song of a
loving one.
Something unappeased, unappeasable, is within
me; it longeth to find expression. A craving for
love is within me, which speaketh itself the language
of love.
Light am I: ah, that I were night! But it is
my lonesomeness to be begirt with light!
Ah, that I were dark and nightly! How would
I suck at the breasts of light!
And you yourselves would I bless, ye twinkling
starlets and glow-worms aloft! —and would rejoice
in the gifts of your light.
But I live in mine own light, I drink again into
myself the flames that break forth from me.
I know not the happiness of the receiver; and
oft have I dreamt that stealing must be more
blessed than receiving.
## p. 125 (#207) ############################################
XXXI. —THE NIGHT-SONG. 125
It is my poverty that my hand never ceaseth
bestowing; it is mine envy that I see waiting eyes
and the brightened nights of longing.
Oh, the misery of all bestowers! Oh, the dark-
ening of my sun! Oh, the craving to crave! Oh,
the violent hunger in satiety!
They take from me: but do I yet touch their
soul? There is a gap 'twixt giving and receiving;
and the smallest gap hath finally to be bridged over.
A hunger ariseth out of my beauty: I should
like to injure those I illumine; I should like to
rob those I have gifted:—thus do I hunger for
wickedness.
Withdrawing my hand when another hand
already stretcheth out to it; hesitating like the
cascade, which hesitateth even in its leap:—thus
do I hunger for wickedness!
Such revenge doth mine abundance think of:
such mischief welleth out of my lonesomeness.
My happiness in bestowing died in bestowing;
my virtue became weary of itself by its abundance!
He who ever bestoweth is in danger of losing
his shame; to him who ever dispenseth, the hand
and heart becomes callous by very dispensing.
Mine eye no longer overfloweth for the shame
of suppliants; my hand hath become too hard for
the trembling of filled hands.
Whence have gone the tears of mine eye, and the
down of my heart? Oh, the lonesomeness of all
bestowers! Oh, the silence of all shining ones!
Many suns circle in desert space: to all that is
dark do they speak with their light—but to me
they are silent.
## p. 126 (#208) ############################################
126 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
Oh, this is the hostility of light to the shining one:
unpityingly doth it pursue its course.
Unfair to the shining one in its innermost heart,
cold to the suns :—thus travelleth every sun.
Like a storm do the suns pursue their courses:
that is their travelling. Their inexorable will do
they follow: that is their coldness.
Oh, ye only is it, ye dark, nightly ones, that
extract warmth from the shining ones! Oh, ye
only drink milk and refreshment from the light's
udders!
Ah, there is ice around me; my hand burneth
with the iciness! Ah, there is thirst in me; it
panteth after your thirst!
Tis night: alas, that I have to be light! And
thirst for the nightly! And lonesomeness!
'Tis night: now doth my longing break forth in
me as a fountain,—for speech do I long.
'Tis night: now do all gushing fountains speak
louder. And my soul also is a gushing fountain.
'Tis night: now do all songs of loving ones
awake. And my soul also is the song of a loving
one. —
Thus sang Zarathustra.
XXXII. —THE DANCE-SONG.
One evening went Zarathustra and his disciples
through the forest; and when he sought for a well,
lo, he lighted upon a green meadow peacefully
surrounded with trees and bushes, where maidens
were dancing together. As soon as the maidens
## p. 127 (#209) ############################################
XXXII. —THE DANCE-SONG. 127
recognised Zarathustra, they ceased dancing; Zara-
thustra, however, approached them with friendly
mein and spake these words:
Cease not your dancing, ye lovely maidens! No
game-spoiler hath come to you with evil eye, no
enemy of maidens.
God's advocate am I with the devil: he, however,
is the spirit of gravity. How could I, ye light-
footed ones, be hostile to divine dances? Or to
maidens' feet with fine ankles?
To be sure, I am a forest, and a night of dark
trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will
find banks full of roses under my cypresses.
And even the little God may he find, who is
dearest to maidens: beside the well lieth he quietly,
with closed eyes.
Verily, in broad daylight did he fall asleep, the
sluggard! Had he perhaps chased butterflies too
much?
Upbraid me not, ye beautiful dancers, when I
chasten the little God somewhat! He will cry,
certainly, and weep—but he is laughable even when
weeping!
And with tears in his eyes shall he ask you for a
dance; and I myself will sing a song to his dance:
A dance-song and satire on the spirit of gravity
my supremest, powerfulest devil, who is said to be
"lord of the world. "—
And this is the song that Zarathustra sang when
Cupid and the maidens danced together:
Of late did I gaze into thine eye, O Life! And
into the unfathomable did I there seem to sink.
## p. 128 (#210) ############################################
128
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
But thou pulledst me out with a golden angle ;
derisively didst thou laugh when I called thee
unfathomable.
“Such is the language of all fish,” saidst thou ;
“what they do not fathom is unfathomable.
But changeable am I only, and wild, and alto-
gether a woman, and no virtuous one:
Though I be called by you men the 'profound
one, or the "faithful one,' the eternal one,' 'the
mysterious one. '
But ye men endow us always with your own
virtues—alas, ye virtuous ones! ”
Thus did she laugh, the unbelievable one; but
never do I believe her and her laughter, when she
speaketh evil of herself.
And when I talked face to face with my wild
Wisdom, she said to me angrily: “Thou willest,
thou cravest, thou lovest; on that account alone
dost thou praise Life ! ”
Then had I almost answered indignantly and
told the truth to the angry one; and one cannot
answer more indignantly than when one "telleth
the truth” to one's Wisdom.
For thus do things stand with us three. In my
heart do I love only Life—and verily, most when I
hate her!
But that I am fond of Wisdom, and often too
fond, is because she remindeth me very strongly
of Life!
She hath her eye, her laugh, and even her golden
angle-rod : am I responsible for it that both are so
alike?
And when once Life asked me: “Who is she
## p. 129 (#211) ############################################
XXXII. —THE DANCE-SONG. 129
then, this Wisdom ? "_then said I eagerly: “Ah,
yes! Wisdom!
One thirsteth for her and is not satisfied, one
looketh through veils, one graspeth through nets.
Is she beautiful ? What do I know! But the
oldest carps are still lured by her.
Changeable is she, and wayward; often have I
seen her bite her lip, and pass the comb against the
grain of her hair.
Perhaps she is wicked and false, and altogether a
woman; but when she speaketh ill of herself, just
then doth she seduce most. ”
When I had said this unto Life, then laughed she
maliciously, and shut her eyes. “Of whom dost
thou speak? " said she. “Perhaps of me?
And if thou wert right-is it proper to say that
in such wise to my face! But now, pray, speak
also of thy Wisdom ! ”
Ah, and now hast thou again opened thine
eyes, O beloved Life! And into the unfathomable
have I again seemed to sink. -
Thus sang Zarathustra. But when the dance was
over and the maidens had departed, he became sad.
“The sun hath been long set,” said he at last,
“the meadow is damp, and from the forest cometh
coolness.
An unknown presence is about me, and gazeth
thoughtfully. What! Thou livest still, Zarathustra ?
Why? Wherefore? Whereby? Whither? Where?
How? Is it not folly still to live ?
Ah, my friends; the evening is it which thus
interrogateth in me. Forgive me my sadness!
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I30 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
Evening hath come on: forgive me that evening
hath come on! "
Thus sang Zarathustra.
XXXIII. —THE GRAVE-SONG.
"Yonder is the grave-island, the silent isle;
yonder also are the graves of my youth. Thither
will I carry an evergreen wreath of life. "
Resolving thus in any heart, did I sail o'er the
sea. —
Oh, ye sights and scenes of my youth! Oh, all
ye gleams of love, ye divine fleeting gleams! How
could ye perish so soon for me! I think of you
to-day as my dead ones.
From you, my dearest dead ones, cometh unto
me a sweet savour, heart-opening and melting.
Verily, it convulseth and openeth the heart of the
lone seafarer.
Still am I the richest and most to be envied—I,
the lonesomest one! For I have possessed you, and
ye possess me still. Tell me: to whom hath there
ever fallen such rosy apples from the tree as have
fallen unto me?
Still am I your love's heir and heritage, bloom-
ing to your memory of many-hued, wild-growing
virtues, O ye dearest ones!
Ah, we were made to remain nigh unto each
other, ye kindly strange marvels; and not like
timid birds did ye come to me and my longing—
nay, but as trusting ones to a trusting one!
Yea, made for faithfulness, like me, and for fond
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XXXIII. -THE GRAVE-SONG.
131
eternities, must I now name you by your faithless-
ness, ye divine glances and fleeting gleams: no other
name have I yet learnt.
Verily, too early did ye die for me, ye fugitives.
Yet did ye not flee from me, nor did I flee from
you: innocent are we to each other in our faithless-
ness.
To kill me, did they strangle you, ye singing
birds of my hopes! Yea, at you, ye dearest ones,
did malice ever shoot its arrows—to hit my heart !
And they hit it! Because ye were always my
dearest, my possession and my possessedness: on
that account had ye to die young, and far too
early!
At my most vulnerable point did they shoot the
arrow-namely, at you, whose skin is like down-
or more like the smile that dieth at a glance !
But this word will I say unto mine enemies :
What is all manslaughter in comparison with what
ye have done unto me!
Worse evil did ye do unto me than all man-
slaughter; the irretrievable did ye take from me:-
thus do I speak unto you, mine enemies !
Slew ye not my youth's visions and dearest
marvels! My playmates took ye from me, the
blessed spirits! To their memory do I deposit
this wreath and this curse.
This curse upon you, mine enemies ! Have ye
not made mine eternal short, as a tone dieth away
in a cold night! Scarcely, as the twinkle of divine
eyes, did it come to me—as a fleeting gleam!
Thus spake once in a happy hour my purity :
“ Divine shall everything be unto me. "
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132
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
Then did ye haunt me with foul phantoms; ah,
whither hath that happy hour now iled!
“All days shall be holy unto me”_s0 spake
once the wisdom of my youth : verily, the language
of a joyous wisdom !
But then did ye enemies steal my nights, and
sold them to sleepless torture: ah, whither hath that
joyous wisdom now fled ?
Once did I long for happy auspices: then did
ye lead an owl-monster across my path, an adverse
sign. Ah, whither did my tender longing then flee?
All loathing did I once vow to renounce: then
did ye change my nigh ones and nearest ones into
ulcerations. Ah, whither did my noblest vow then
flee?
As a blind one did I once walk in blessed ways:
then did ye cast filth on the blind one's course: and
now is he disgusted with the old footpath.
And when I performed my hardest task, and
celebrated the triumph of my victories, then did
ye make those who loved me call out that I then
grieved them most.
Verily, it was always your doing: ye embittered
to me my best honey, and the diligence of my best
bees.
To my charity have ye ever sent the most im-
pudent beggars; around my sympathy have ye
ever crowded the incurably shameless. Thus have
ye wounded the faith of my virtue.
And when I offered my holiest as a sacrifice,
immediately did your "piety” put its fatter gifts
beside it: so that my holiest suffocated in the
fumes of your fat.
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XXXIII. —THE GRAVE-SONG. 133
And once did I want to dance as I had never
yet danced: beyond all heavens did I want to
dance. Then did ye seduce my favourite minstrel.
And now hath he struck up an awful, melancholy
air; alas, he tooted as a mournful horn to mine
ear!
Murderous minstrel, instrument of evil, most
innocent instrument! Already did I stand pre-
pared for the best dance: then didst thou slay my
rapture with thy tones!
Only in the dance do I know how to speak the
parable of the highest things:—and now hath my
grandest parable remained unspoken in my limbs!
Unspoken and unrealised hath my highest hope
remained! And there have perished for me all the
visions and consolations of my youth!
How did I ever bear it? How did I survive and
surmount such wounds? How did my soul rise
again out of those sepulchres?
Yea, something invulnerable, unburiable is with
me, something that would rend rocks asunder: it
is called my Will. Silently doth it proceed, and
unchanged throughout the years.
Its course will it go upon my feet, mine old Will;
hard of heart is its nature and invulnerable.
Invulnerable am I only in my heel. Ever livest
thou there, and art like thyself, thou most patient
one! Ever hast thou burst all shackles of the
tomb!
In thee still liveth also the unrealisedness of
my youth; and as life and youth sittest thou here
hopeful on the yellow ruins of graves.
Yea, thou art still for me the demolisher of all
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134 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
graves: Hail to thee, my Will! And only where
there are graves are there resurrections.
