No More Learning

"O Zarathustra"—said the child unto me—
"look at thyself in the mirror! "
But when I looked into the mirror, I shrieked,
and my heart throbbed: for not myself did I see
therein, but a devil's grimace and derision.
Verily, all too well do I understand the dream's
portent and monition: my doctrine is in danger;
tares want to be called wheat!
Mine enemies have grown powerful and have
-
'


## p. 96 (#174) #############################################

96
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
disfigured the likeness of my doctrine, so that my
dearest ones have to blush for the gifts that I gave
them.
Lost are my friends; the hour hath come for me
to seek my lost ones! -
With these words Zarathustra started up, not
however like a person in anguish seeking relief, but
rather like a seer and a singer whom the spirit
inspireth. With amazement did his eagle and
serpent gaze upon him: for a coming bliss over-
spread his countenance like the rosy dawn.
What hath happened unto me, mine animals ?
said Zarathustra. Am I not transformed ? Hath
not bliss come unto me like a whirlwind ?
Foolish is my happiness, and foolish things will
it speak: it is still too young—so have patience
with it!
Wounded am I by my happiness : all sufferers
shall be physicians unto me!
To my friends can I again go down, and also to
mine enemies ! Zarathustra can again speak and
bestow, and show his best love to his loved ones!
My impatient love overfloweth in streams,-
down towards sunrise and sunset. Out of silent
mountains and storms of affliction, rusheth my soul
into the valleys.
Too long have I longed and looked into the
distance. Too long hath solitude possessed me :
thus have I unlearned to keep silence.
Utterance have I become altogether, and the
brawling of a brook from high rocks : downward
into the valleys will I hurl my speech.
And let the stream of my love sweep into


## p. 97 (#175) #############################################

XXIII. -THE CHILD WITH THE MIRROR. 97
unfrequented channels ! How should a stream
not finally find its way to the sea !
Forsooth, there is a lake in me, sequestered and
self-sufficing ; but the stream of my love beareth
this along with it, down-to the sea !
New paths do I tread, a new speech cometh unto
me; tired have I become-like all creators of the
old tongues. No longer will my spirit walk on
worn-out soles.
Too slowly runneth all speaking for me :-into
thy chariot, O storm, do I leap! And even thee
will I whip with my spite!
Like a cry and an huzza will I traverse wide
seas, till I find the Happy Isles where my friends
sojourn ;-
And mine enemies amongst them! How I
now love every one unto whom I may but speak!
Even mine enemies pertain to my bliss.
And when I want to mount my wildest horse,
then doth my spear always help me up best : it is
my foot's ever ready servant:-
The spear which I hurl at mine enemies ! How
grateful am I to mine enemies that I may at last
hurl it !
Too great hath been the tension of my cloud:
'twixt laughters of lightnings will I cast hail-
showers into the depths.
Violently will my breast then heave; violently
will it blow its storm over the mountains : thus
cometh its assuagement.
Verily, like a storm cometh my happiness, and
my freedom! But mine enemies shall think that
the evil one roareth over their heads.


## p. 98 (#176) #############################################

98 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
Yea, ye also, my friends, will be alarmed by my
wild wisdom; and perhaps ye will flee therefrom,
along with mine enemies.
Ah, that I knew how to lure you back with
shepherds' flutes! Ah, that my lioness wisdom
would learn to roar softly! And much have we
already learned with one another!
My wild wisdom became pregnant on the lone-
some mountains; on the rough stones did she bear
the youngest of her young.
Now runneth she foolishly in the arid wilder-
ness, and seeketh and seeketh the soft sward—mine
old, wild wisdom!
On the soft sward of your hearts, my friends! —
on your love, would she fain couch her dearest one! —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
XXIV. —IN THE HAPPY ISLES.
The figs fall from the trees, they are good and
sweet; and in falling the red skins of them break.
A north wind am I to ripe figs.
Thus, like figs, do these doctrines fall for you,
my friends: imbibe now their juice and their sweet
substance! It is autumn all around, and clear sky,
and afternoon.
Lo, what fulness is around us! And out of the
midst of superabundance, it is delightful to look
out upon distant seas.
Once did people say God, when they looked out
upon distant seas; now, however, have I taught
you to say, Superman.
""


## p. 99 (#177) #############################################

XXIV. —IN THE HAPPY ISLES. 99
God is a conjecture: but I do not wish your con-
jecturing to reach beyond your creating will.
Could ye create a God ? —Then, I pray you, be
silent about all Gods! But ye could well create
the Superman.
Not perhaps ye yourselves, my brethren! But
into fathers and forefathers of the Superman could
ye transform yourselves: and let that be your best
creating! —
God is a conjecture: but I should like your con-
jecturing restricted to the conceivable.
Could ye conceive a God ? —But let this mean
Will to Truth unto you, that everything be trans-
formed into the humanly conceivable, the humanly
visible, the humanly sensible! Your own discern-
ment shall ye follow out to the end!
And what ye have called the world shall but be
created by you: your reason, your likeness, your
will, your love, shall it itself become! And verily,
for your bliss, ye discerning ones!
And how would ye endure life without that hope,
ye discerning ones? Neither in the inconceivable
could ye have been born, nor in the irrational.
But that I may reveal my heart entirely unto
you, my friends: if there were Gods, how could I
endure it to be no God! Therefore there are no
Gods.
Yea, I have drawn the conclusion; now, however,
doth it draw me. —
God is a conjecture: but who could drink all the
bitterness of this conjecture without dying? Shall
his faith be taken from the creating one, and from
the eagle his flights into eagle-heights?


## p. 100 (#178) ############################################

IOO THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
God is a thought—it maketh all the straight
crooked, and all that standeth reel. What? Time
would be gone, and all the perishable would be but
a lie?
To think this is giddiness and vertigo to human
limbs, and even vomiting to the stomach: verily,
the reeling sickness do I call it, to conjecture such
a thing.
Evil do I call it and misanthropic: all that teach-
ing about the one, and the plenum, and the
unmoved, and the sufficient, and the imperishable!
All the imperishable—that's but a simile, and the
poets lie too much. —
But of time and of becoming shall the best similes
speak: a praise shall they be, and a justification of
all perishableness!
Creating — that is the great salvation from
suffering, and life's alleviation. But for the creator
to appear, suffering itself is needed, and much
transformation.
Yea, much bitter dying must there be in your life,
ye creators! Thus are ye advocates and justifiers
of all perishableness.
For the creator himself to be the new-born child,
he must also be willing to be the child-bearer, and
endure the pangs of the child-bearer.
Verily, through a hundred souls went I my way,
and through a hundred cradles and birth-throes.
Many a farewell have I taken; I know the heart-
breaking last hours.
But so willeth it my creating Will, my fate. Or,
to tell you it more candidly: just such a fate—
willeth my Will.


## p. 101 (#179) ############################################

XXIV. —IN THE HAPPY ISLES. IOI
Ml feeling suffereth in me, and is in prison: but
my willing ever cometh to me as mine emanci-
pator and comforter.
Willing emancipateth: that is the true doctrine of
will and emancipation—so teachethyou Zarathustra.
No longer willing, and no longer valuing, and no
longer creating! Ah, that that great debility may
ever be far from me!
And also in discerning do I feel only my will's
procreating and evolving delight; and if there be
innocence in my knowledge, it is because there is
will to procreation in it.
Away from God and Gods did this will allure
me; what would there be to create if there were—
Gods!
But to man doth it ever impel me anew, my
fervent creative will; thus impelleth it the hammer
to the stone.
Ah, ye men, within the stone slumbereth an image
for me, the image of my visions. ! Ah, that it should
slumber in the hardest, ugliest stone!
Now rageth my hammer ruthlessly against its
prison. From the stone fly the fragments: what's
that to me?
I will complete it: for a shadow came unto me—
the stillest and lightest of all things once came
unto me!
The beauty of the Superman came unto me as a
shadow. Ah, my brethren! Of what account now
are—the Gods to me! —
Thus spake Zarathustra,


## p. 101 (#180) ############################################

IOO THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
God is a thought—it maketh all the straight
crooked, and all that standeth reel. What? Time
would be gone, and all the perishable would be but
a lie?
To think this is giddiness and vertigo to human
limbs, and even vomiting to the stomach: verily,
the reeling sickness do I call it, to conjecture such
a thing.
Evil do I call it and misanthropic: all that teach-
ing about the one, and the plenum, and the
unmoved, and the sufficient, and the imperishable!
All the imperishable—that's but a simile, and the
poets lie too much. —
But of time and of becoming shall the best similes
speak: a praise shall they be, and a justification of
all perishableness!
Creating — that is the great salvation from
suffering, and life's alleviation. But for the creator
to appear, suffering itself is needed, and much
transformation.
Yea, much bitter dying must there be in your life,
ye creators! Thus are ye advocates and justifiers
of all perishableness.
For the creator himself to be the new-born child,
he must also be willing to be the child-bearer, and
endure the pangs of the child-bearer.
Verily, through a hundred souls went I my way,
and through a hundred cradles and birth-throes.
Many a farewell have I taken; I know the heart-
breaking last hours.
But so willeth it my creating Will, my fate. Or,
to tell you it more candidly: just such a fate—
willeth my Will.
^
~i


## p. 101 (#181) ############################################

XXIV. —IN THE HAPPY ISLES. IOI
All feeling suffereth in me, and is in prison: but
my willing ever cometh to me as mine emanci-
pator and comforter.
Willing emancipateth: that is the true doctrine of
will and emancipation—so teachethyou Zarathustra.
No longer willing, and no longer valuing, and no
longer creating! Ah, that that great debility may
ever be far from me!
And also in discerning do I feel only my will's
procreating and evolving delight; and if there be
innocence in my knowledge, it is because there is
will to procreation in it.
Away from God and Gods did this will allure
me; what would there be to create if there were—
Gods!
But to man doth it ever impel me anew, my
fervent creative will; thus impelleth it the hammer
to the stone.
Ah, ye men, within the stone slumbereth an image
for me, the image of my visions. ! Ah, that it should
slumber in the hardest, ugliest stone!
Now rageth my hammer ruthlessly against its
prison. From the stone fly the fragments: what's
that to me?
I will complete it: for a shadow came unto me—
the stillest and lightest of all things once came
unto me!
The beauty of the Superman came unto me as a
shadow. Ah, my brethren! Of what account now
are—the Gods to me! —
Thus spake Zarathustra,


## p. 102 (#182) ############################################

102
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
XXV. —THE PITIFUL.
My friends, there hath arisen a satire on your
friend : “Behold Zarathustra! Walketh he not
amongst us as if amongst animals ? ”
But it is better said in this wise: “The dis-
cerning one walketh amongst men as amongst
animals. ”
Man himself is to the discerning one: the animal
with red cheeks.
How hath that happened unto him? Is it not
because he hath had to be ashamed too oft ?
O my friends! Thus speaketh the discerning
one: shame, shame, shame—that is the history
of man!
And on that account doth the noble one enjoin
upon himself not to abash: bashfulness doth he
enjoin on himself in presence of all sufferers.
Verily, I like them not, the merciful ones, whose
bliss is in their pity: too destitute are they of
bashfulness.
If I must be pitiful, I dislike to be called so ; and
if I be so, it is preferably at a distance.
Preferably also do I shroud my head, and flee,
before being recognised : and thus do I bid you do,
my friends!
May my destiny ever lead unafflicted ones like
you across my path, and those with whom I may
have hope and repast and honey in common!
Verily, I have done this and that for the afflicted :
but something better did I always seem to do when
I had learned to enjoy myself better,


## p. 103 (#183) ############################################

XXV. —THE PITIFUL. 103
Since humanity came into being, man hath
enjoyed himself too little: that alone, my brethren,
is our original sin!
And when we learn better to enjoy ourselves, then
do we unlearn best to give pain unto others, and to
contrive pain.
Therefore do I wash the hand that hath helped
the sufferer; therefore do I wipe also my soul.
For in seeing the sufferer suffering—thereof was
I ashamed on account of his shame; and in helping
him, sorely did I wound his pride.
Great obligations do not make grateful, but
revengeful; and when a small kindness is not for-
gotten, it becometh a gnawing worm.
"Be shy in accepting! Distinguish by accept-
ing ! "—thus do I advise those who have naught to
bestow.
I, however, am a bestower: willingly do I bestow
as friend to friends. Strangers, however, and the
poor, may pluck for themselves the fruit from my
tree: thus doth it cause less shame.
Beggars, however, one should entirely do away
with! Verily, it annoyeth one to give unto them,
and it annoyeth one not to give unto them.
And likewise sinners and bad consciences!
Believe me, my friends: the sting of conscience
teacheth one to sting.
The worst things, however, are the petty
thoughts. Verily, better to have done evilly than
to have thought pettily!
To be sure, ye say: "The delight in petty evils
spareth one many a great evil deed. " But here one
should not wish to be sparing.
r


## p. 104 (#184) ############################################

104 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
Like a boil is the evil deed: it itcheth and irri-
tateth and breaketh forth—it speaketh honourably.
"Behold, I am disease," saith the evil deed: that
is its honourableness.
But like infection is the petty thought: it
creepeth, and hideth, and vvanteth to be nowhere—
until the whole body is decayed and withered by
the petty infection.
To him however, who is possessed of a devil, I
would whisper this word in the ear: "Better for
thee to rear up thy devil! Even for thee there is
still a path to greatness ! "—
Ah, my brethren! One knoweth a little too
much about every one! And many a one becometh
transparent to us, but still we can by no means
penetrate him.
It is difficult to live among men because silence
is so difficult.
And not to him who is offensive to us are we
most unfair, but to him who doth not concern us
at all.
If, however, thou hast a suffering friend, then be a
resting-place for his suffering; like a hard bed, how-
ever, a camp-bed: thus wilt thou serve him best
.
And if a friend doeth thee wrong, then say: "I
forgive thee what thou hast done unto me; that
thou hast done it unto thyself, however—how could
I forgive that! "
Thus speaketh all great love: it surpasseth even
forgiveness and pity.
One should hold fast one's heart; for when one
letteth it go, how quickly doth one's head run away!
Ah, where in the world have there been greater


## p. 105 (#185) ############################################

XXV. —THE PITIFUL. 105
follies than with the pitiful? And what in the
world hath caused more suffering than the follies
of the pitiful?
Woe unto all loving ones who have not an eleva-
tion which is above their pity!
Thus spake the devil unto me, once on a time:
"Even God hath his hell: it is his love for man. "
And lately, did I hear him say these words:
"God is dead: of his pity for man hath God
died. "—
So be ye warned against pity: from thence there
yet cometh unto men a heavy cloud! Verily, I
understand weather-signs!
But attend also to this word: All great love is
above all its pity: for it seeketh—to create what
is loved!
"Myself do I offer unto my love, and my neighbour
as myself"—such is the language of all creators.
All creators, however, are hard. —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
XXVI. —THE PRIESTS.
And one day Zarathustra made a sign to his
disciples, and spake these words unto them:
"Here are priests: but although they are mine
enemies, pass them quietly and with sleeping
swords!
Even among them there are heroes; many of
them have suffered too much—: so they want to
make others suffer.
Bad enemies are they : nothing is more revenge-


## p. 106 (#186) ############################################

106 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
ful than their meekness. And readily doth he soil
himself who toucheth them.
But my blood is related to theirs; and I want
withal to see my blood honoured in theirs. "—
And when they had passed, a pain attacked Zara-
thustra; but not long had he struggled with the
pain, when he began to speak thus:
It moveth my heart for those priests. They also
go against my taste; but that is the smallest matter
unto me, since I am among men.
But I suffer and have suffered with them:
prisoners are they unto me, and stigmatised ones.
He whom they call Saviour put them in fetters:—
In fetters of false values and fatuous words! Oh,
that some one would save them from their Saviour!
On an isle they once thought they had landed,
when the sea tossed them about; but behold, it
was a slumbering monster!
False values and fatuous words: these are the
worst monsters for mortals—long slumbereth and
waiteth the fate that is in them.
But at last it cometh and awaketh and devoureth
and engulfeth whatever hath built tabernacles
upon it.
Oh, just look at those tabernacles which those
priests have built themselves! Churches, they call
their sweet-smelling caves!
Oh, that falsified light, that mustified air! Where
the soul—may not fly aloft to its height!
But so enjoineth their belief: "On your knees,
up the stair, ye sinners! "
Verily, rather would I see a shameless one than
the distorted eyes of their shame and devotion!
-
,


## p. 107 (#187) ############################################

XXVI. —THE PRIESTS. 107
Who created for themselves such caves and
penitence-stairs? Was it not those who sought to
conceal themselves, and were ashamed under the
clear sky?
And only when the clear sky looketh again
through ruined roofs, and down upon grass and red
poppies on ruined walls—will I again turn my heart
to the seats of this God.
They called God that which opposed and afflicted
them: and verily, there was much hero-spirit in
their worship!
And they knew not how to love their God other-
wise than by nailing men to the cross!
As corpses they thought to live; in black draped
they their corpses; even in their talk do I still feel
the evil flavour of charnel-houses.
And he who liveth nigh unto them liveth nigh
unto black pools, wherein the toad singeth his song
with sweet gravity.
Better songs would they have to sing, for me to
believe in their Saviour: more like saved ones
would his disciples have to appear unto me!
Naked, would I like to see them: for beauty
alone should preach penitence. But whom would
that disguised affliction convince!
Verily, their Saviours themselves came not from
freedom and freedom's seventh heaven! Verily,
they themselves never trod the carpets of know-
ledge!
Of defects did the spirit of those Saviours consist;
but into every defect had they put their illusion,
their stop-gap, which they called God.
In their pity was their spirit drowned; and when


## p. 108 (#188) ############################################

108
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
they swelled and o'erswelled with pity, there always
floated to the surface a great folly.
Eagerly and with shouts drove they their flock
over their foot-bridge; as if there were but one
foot-bridge to the future! Verily, those shepherds
also were still of the flock!
Small spirits and spacious souls had those shep-
herds : but, my brethren, what small domains have
even the most spacious souls hitherto been !
Characters of blood did they write on the way
they went, and their folly taught that truth is
proved by blood.
But blood is the very worst witness to truth;
blood tainteth the purest teaching, and turneth it
into delusion and hatred of heart.
And when a person goeth through fire for his
teaching—what doth that prove! It is more,
verily, when out of one's own burning cometh one's
own teaching !
Sultry heart and cold head; where these meet,
there ariseth the blusterer, the "Saviour. ”
Greater ones, verily, have there been, and higher-
born ones, than those whom the people call Saviours,
those rapturous blusterers !
And by still greater ones than any of the Saviours
must ye be saved, my brethren, if ye would find the
way to freedom !
Never yet hath there been a Superman. Naked
have I seen both of them, the greatest man and the
smallest man :-
All-too-similar are they still to each other.
Verily, even the greatest found I-all-too-human!
Thus spake Zarathustra.


## p. 109 (#189) ############################################

XXVII. —THE VIRTUOUS. 109
XXVII. —THE VIRTUOUS.
With thunder and heavenly fireworks must one
speak to indolent and somnolent senses.
But beauty's voice speaketh gently: it appealeth
only to the most awakened souls.
Gently vibrated and laughed unto me to-day
my buckler; it was beauty's holy laughing and
thrilling.
At you, ye virtuous ones, laughed my beauty
to-day. And thus came its voice unto me: "They
want—to be paid besides! "
Ye want to be paid besides, ye virtuous ones!
Ye want reward for virtue, and heaven for earth,
and eternity for your to-day?
And now ye upbraid me for teaching that there
is no reward-giver, nor paymaster? And verily, I
do not even teach that virtue is its own reward.
Ah! this is my sorrow: into the basis of things
have reward and punishment been insinuated—and
now even into the basis of your souls, ye virtuous
ones!
But like the snout of the boar shall my word
grub up the basis of your souls; a ploughshare will
I be called by you.
All the secrets of your heart shall be brought to
light; and when ye lie in the sun, grubbed up and
broken, then will also your falsehood be separated
from your truth.
For this is your truth: ye are too pure for the
filth of the words: vengeance, punishment, recom-
pense, retribution.
Ye love your virtue as a mother loveth her child;
r


## p. 110 (#190) ############################################

IIO THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II
but when did one hear of a mother wanting to be
paid for her love?
It is your dearest Self, your virtue. The ring's
thirst is in you: to reach itself again struggleth
every ring, and turneth itself.
And like the star that goeth out, so is every work
of your virtue: ever is its light on its way and
travelling—and when will it cease to be on its way?
Thus is the light of your virtue still on its way,
even when its work is done. Be it forgotten and
dead, still its ray of light liveth and travelleth.
That your virtue is your Self, and not an outward
thing, a skin, or a cloak: that is the truth from the
basis of your souls, ye virtuous ones! —
But sure enough there are those to whom virtue
meaneth writhing under the lash: and ye have
hearkened too much unto their crying!
And others are there who call virtue the slothful-
ness of their vices; and when once their hatred and
jealousy relax the limbs, their "justice" becometh
lively and rubbeth its sleepy eyes.
And others are there who are drawn downwards:
their devils draw them. But the more they sink,
the more ardently gloweth their eye, and the long-
ing for their God.
Ah! their crying also hath reached your ears, ye
virtuous ones: "What I am not, that, that is God
to me, and virtue! "
And others are there who go along heavily and
creakingly, like carts taking stones downhill: they
talk much of dignity and virtue—their drag they
call virtue!
And others are there who are like eight-day


## p. 111 (#191) ############################################

XXVII. —THE VIRTUOUS. Ill
clocks when wound up; they tick, and want people
to call ticking—virtue.
Verily, in those have I mine amusement: where-
ever I find such clocks I shall wind them up with
my mockery, and they shall even whirr thereby!
And others are proud of their modicum of
righteousness, and for the sake of it do violence
to all things: so that the world is drowned in their
unrighteousness.
Ah! how ineptly cometh the word "virtue" out
of their mouth! And when they say: "I am just,"
it always soundeth like: "I am just—revenged! "
With their virtues they want to scratch out the
eyes of their enemies; and they elevate themselves
only that they may lower others.
And again there are those who sit in their
swamp, and speak thus from among the bulrushes:
"Virtue—that is to sit quietly in the swamp.
We bite no one, and go out of the way of him
who would bite; and in all matters we have the
opinion that is given us. "
And again there are those who love attitudes,
and think that virtue is a sort of attitude.
Their knees continually adore, and their hands
are eulogies of virtue, but their heart knoweth
naught thereof.
And again there are those who regard it as
virtue to say: "Virtue is necessary "; but after all
they believe only that policemen are necessary.
And many a one who cannot see men's loftiness,
calleth it virtue to see their baseness far too well:
thus calleth he his evil eye virtue. —
And some want to be edified and raised up, and


## p. 112 (#192) ############################################

112 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
call it virtue: and others want to be cast down,—
and likewise call it virtue.
And thus do almost all think that they partici-
pate in virtue; and at least every one claimeth
to be an authority on "good " and "evil. "
But Zarathustra came not to say unto all those
liars and fools: "What do ye know of virtue!
What could ye know of virtue! "—
But that ye, my friends, might become weary
of the old words which ye have learned from the
fools and liars:
That ye might become weary of the words
"reward," "retribution," "punishment," "righteous
vengeance. "—
That ye might become weary of saying: "That
an action is good is because it is unselfish. "
Ah! my friends! That your very Self be in
your action, as the mother is in the child: let that
be your formula of virtue!
Verily, I have taken from you a hundred formulae
and your virtue's favourite playthings; and now
ye upbraid me, as children upbraid.
They played by the sea—then came there a
wave and swept their playthings into the deep:
and now do they cry.
But the same wave shall bring them new play-
things, and spread before them new speckled
shells!
Thus will they be comforted; and like them
shall ye also, my friends, have your comforting—
and new speckled shells! —
Thus spake Zarathustra.


## p. 113 (#193) ############################################

XXVIII. —THE RABBLE. 113
XXVIII. —THE RABBLE.
Life is a well of delight; but where the rabble
also drink, there all fountains are poisoned.
To everything cleanly am I well disposed; but
I hate to see the grinning mouths and the thirst
of the unclean.
They cast their eye down into the fountain: and
now glanceth up to me their odious smile out of
the fountain.
The holy water have they poisoned with their
lustfulness; and when they called their filthy
dreams delight, then poisoned they also the words.
Indignant becometh the flame when they put
their damp hearts to the fire; the spirit itself
bubbleth and smoketh when the rabble approach
the fire.
Mawkish and over-mellow becometh the fruit
in their hands: unsteady, and withered at the top,
doth their look make the fruit-tree.
And many a one who hath turned away from
life, hath only turned away from the rabble: he
hated to share with them fountain, flame, and fruit.
And many a one who hath gone into the
wilderness and suffered thirst with beasts of prey,
disliked only to sit at the cistern with filthy camel-
drivers.
And many a one who hath come along as a
destroyer, and as a hailstorm to all cornfields,
wanted merely to put his foot into the jaws of
the rabble, and thus stop their throat.
And it is not the mouthful which hath most
H


## p. 114 (#194) ############################################

114 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
choked me, to know that life itself requireth enmity
and death and torture-crosses:—
But I asked once, and suffocated almost with my
question: What? is the rabble also necessary for
life?
Are poisoned fountains necessary, and stinking
fires, and filthy dreams, and maggots in the bread
of life?
Not my hatred, but my loathing gnawed hungrily
at my life! Ah, ofttimes became I weary of spirit,
when I found even the rabble spiritual!
And on the rulers turned I my back, when I saw
what they now call ruling: to traffic and bargain
for power—with the rabble!
Amongst peoples of a strange language did I
dwell, with stopped ears: so that the language of
their trafficking might remain strange unto me, and
their bargaining for power.
And holding my nose, I went morosely through
all yesterdays and to-days: verily, badly smell all
yesterdays and to-days of the scribbling rabble!
Like a cripple become deaf, and blind, and
dumb—thus have I lived long; that I might not
live with the power-rabble, the scribe-rabble, and the
pleasure-rabble.
Toilsomely did my spirit mount stairs, and
cautiously; alms of delight were its refreshment;
on the staff did life creep along with the blind one.
What hath happened unto me? How have I
freed myself from loathing? Who hath rejuvenated
mine eye? How have I flown to the height where
no rabble any longer sit at the wells?
Did my loathing itself create for me wings and


## p. 115 (#195) ############################################

XXVIII. —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.