Ah, where have gone all my
goodness
and all my
shame and all my belief in the good!
shame and all my belief in the good!
Nietzsche - v11 - Thus Spake Zarathustra
" said he at last sadly.
"Thy danger is not small, thou free spirit and
wanderer! Thou hast had a bad day: see that a
still worse evening doth not overtake thee!
To such unsettled ones as thou, seemeth at last
even a prisoner blessed. Didst thou ever see how
captured criminals sleep? They sleep quietly, they
enjoy their new security.
Beware lest in the end a narrow faith capture
thee, a hard, rigorous delusion! For now every-
## p. 335 (#508) ############################################
334 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
After thee, however, O Zarathustra, did I fly and
hie longest; and though I hid myself from thee,
I was nevertheless thy best shadow: wherever thou
hast sat, there sat I also.
With thee have I wandered about in the re-
motest, coldest worlds, like a phantom that
voluntarily haunteth winter roofs and snows.
With thee have I pushed into all the forbidden,
all the worst and the furthest: and if there be any-
thing of virtue in me, it is that I have had no fear
of any prohibition.
With thee have I broken up whatever my heart
revered; all boundary-stones and statues have I
o'erthrown; the most dangerous wishes did I
pursue,—verily, beyond every crime did I once go.
With thee did I unlearn the belief in words and
worths and in great names. When the devil
casteth his skin, doth not his name also fall away?
It is also skin. The devil himself is perhaps—skin.
'Nothing is true, all is permitted': so said I to
myself. Into the coldest water did I plunge with
head and heart. Ah, how oft did I stand there
naked on that account, like a red crab!
Ah, where have gone all my goodness and all my
shame and all my belief in the good! Ah, where
is the lying innocence which I once possessed, the
innocence of the good and of their noble lies!
Too oft, verily, did I follow close to the heels of
truth: then did it kick me on the face. Some-
times I meant to lie, and behold! then only did
I hit—the truth.
Too much hath become clear unto me: now it
doth not concern me any more. Nothing liveth
## p. 335 (#509) ############################################
LXIX. —THE SHADOW. 335
any longer that I love,—how should I still love
myself?
'To live as I incline, or not to live at all': so do
I wish; so wisheth also the holiest. But alas!
how have / still—inclination?
Have /—still a goal? A haven towards which my
sail is set?
A good wind? Ah, he only who knoweth
whither he saileth, knoweth what wind is good, and
a fair wind for him.
What still remaineth to me? A heart weary and
flippant; an unstable will; fluttering wings; a
broken backbone.
This seeking for my home: O Zarathustra, dost
thou know that this seeking hath been my home-
sickening; it eateth me up.
'Where is—my home? ' For it do I ask and
seek, and have sought, but have not found it. O
eternal everywhere, O eternal nowhere, O eternal
—in-vain! "
Thus spake the shadow, and Zarathustra's coun-
tenance lengthened at his words. "Thou art my
shadow ! " said he at last sadly.
"Thy danger is not small, thou free spirit and
wanderer! Thou hast had a bad day: see that a
still worse evening doth not overtake thee!
To such unsettled ones as thou, seemeth at last
even a prisoner blessed. Didst thou ever see how
captured criminals sleep? They sleep quietly, they
enjoy their new security.
Beware lest in the end a narrow faith capture
thee, a hard, rigorous delusion! For now every-
## p. 335 (#510) ############################################
334 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
After thee, however, O Zarathustra, did I fly and
hie longest; and though I hid myself from thee,
I was nevertheless thy best shadow: wherever thou
hast sat, there sat I also.
With thee have I wandered about in the re-
motest, coldest worlds, like a phantom that
voluntarily haunteth winter roofs and snows.
With thee have I pushed into all the forbidden,
all the worst and the furthest: and if there be any-
thing of virtue in me, it is that I have had no fear
of any prohibition.
With thee have I broken up whatever my heart
revered; all boundary-stones and statues have I
o'erthrown; the most dangerous wishes did I
pursue,—verily, beyond every crime did I once go.
With thee did I unlearn the belief in words and
worths and in great names. When the devil
casteth his skin, doth not his name also fall away?
It is also skin. The devil himself is perhaps—skin.
'Nothing is true, all is permitted': so said I to
myself. Into the coldest water did I plunge with
head and heart. Ah, how oft did I stand there
naked on that account, like a red crab!
Ah, where have gone all my goodness and all my
shame and all my belief in the good! Ah, where
is the lying innocence which I once possessed, the
innocence of the good and of their noble lies!
Too oft, verily, did I follow close to the heels of
truth: then did it kick me on the face. Some-
times I meant to lie, and behold! then only did
I hit—the truth.
Too much hath become clear unto me: now it
doth not concern me any more. Nothing liveth
## p. 335 (#511) ############################################
LXIX. —THE SHADOW. 335
any longer that I love,—how should I still love
myself?
'To live as I incline, or not to live at all': so do
I wish; so wisheth also the holiest. But alas!
how have / still—inclination?
Have /—still a goal? A haven towards which my
sail is set?
A good wind? Ah, he only who knoweth
whither he saileth, knoweth what wind is good, and
a fair wind for him.
What still remaineth to me? A heart weary and
flippant; an unstable will; fluttering wings; a
broken backbone.
This seeking for my home: O Zarathustra, dost
thou know that this seeking hath been my home-
sickening; it eateth me up.
'Where is—my home? ' For it do I ask and
seek, and have sought, but have not found it. O
eternal everywhere, O eternal nowhere, O eternal
—in-vain! "
Thus spake the shadow, and Zarathustra's coun-
tenance lengthened at his words. "Thou art my
shadow ! " said he at last sadly.
"Thy danger is not small, thou free spirit and
wanderer! Thou hast had a bad day: see that a
still worse evening doth not overtake thee!
To such unsettled ones as thou, seemeth at last
even a prisoner blessed. Didst thou ever see how
captured criminals sleep? They sleep quietly, they
enjoy their new security.
Beware lest in the end a narrow faith capture
thee, a hard, rigorous delusion! For now every-
## p. 335 (#512) ############################################
334 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
After thee, however, O Zarathustra, did I fly and
hie longest; and though I hid myself from thee,
I was nevertheless thy best shadow: wherever thou
hast sat, there sat I also.
With thee have I wandered about in the re-
motest, coldest worlds, like a phantom that
voluntarily haunteth winter roofs and snows.
With thee have I pushed into all the forbidden,
all the worst and the furthest: and if there be any-
thing of virtue in me, it is that I have had no fear
of any prohibition.
With thee have I broken up whatever my heart
revered; all boundary-stones and statues have I
o'erthrown; the most dangerous wishes did I
pursue,—verily, beyond every crime did I once go.
With thee did I unlearn the belief in words and
worths and in great names. When the devil
casteth his skin, doth not his name also fall away?
It is also skin. The devil himself is perhaps—skin.
'Nothing is true, all is permitted': so said I to
myself. Into the coldest water did I plunge with
head and heart. Ah, how oft did I stand there
naked on that account, like a red crab!
Ah, where have gone all my goodness and all my
shame and all my belief in the good! Ah, where
is the lying innocence which I once possessed, the
innocence of the good and of their noble lies!
Too oft, verily, did I follow close to the heels of
truth: then did it kick me on the face. Some-
times I meant to lie, and behold! then only did
I hit—the truth.
Too much hath become clear unto me: now it
doth not concern me any more. Nothing liveth
## p. 335 (#513) ############################################
LXIX. —THE SHADOW. 335
any longer that I love,—how should I still love
myself?
'To live as I incline, or not to live at all': so do
I wish; so wisheth also the holiest. But alas!
how have / still—inclination?
Have /—still a goal? A haven towards which my
sail is set?
A good wind? Ah, he only who knoweth
whither he saileth, knoweth what wind is good, and
a fair wind for him.
What still remaineth to me? A heart weary and
flippant; an unstable will; fluttering wings; a
broken backbone.
This seeking for my home: O Zarathustra, dost
thou know that this seeking hath been my home-
sickening; it eateth me up.
'Where is—my home? ' For it do I ask and
seek, and have sought, but have not found it. O
eternal everywhere, O eternal nowhere, O eternal
—in-vain! "
Thus spake the shadow, and Zarathustra's coun-
tenance lengthened at his words. "Thou art my
shadow ! " said he at last sadly.
"Thy danger is not small, thou free spirit and
wanderer! Thou hast had a bad day: see that a
still worse evening doth not overtake thee!
To such unsettled ones as thou, seemeth at last
even a prisoner blessed. Didst thou ever see how
captured criminals sleep? They sleep quietly, they
enjoy their new security.
Beware lest in the end a narrow faith capture
thee, a hard, rigorous delusion! For now every-
## p. 335 (#514) ############################################
334 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
After thee, however, O Zarathustra, did I fly and
hie longest; and though I hid myself from thee,
I was nevertheless thy best shadow: wherever thou
hast sat, there sat I also.
With thee have I wandered about in the re-
motest, coldest worlds, like a phantom that
voluntarily haunteth winter roofs and snows.
With thee have I pushed into all the forbidden,
all the worst and the furthest: and if there be any-
thing of virtue in me, it is that I have had no fear
of any prohibition.
With thee have I broken up whatever my heart
revered; all boundary-stones and statues have I
o'erthrown; the most dangerous wishes did I
pursue,—verily, beyond every crime did I once go.
With thee did I unlearn the belief in words and
worths and in great names. When the devil
casteth his skin, doth not his name also fall away?
It is also skin. The devil himself is perhaps—skin.
'Nothing is true, all is permitted': so said I to
myself. Into the coldest water did I plunge with
head and heart. Ah, how oft did I stand there
naked on that account, like a red crab!
Ah, where have gone all my goodness and all my
shame and all my belief in the good! Ah, where
is the lying innocence which I once possessed, the
innocence of the good and of their noble lies!
Too oft, verily, did I follow close to the heels of
truth: then did it kick me on the face. Some-
times I meant to lie, and behold! then only did
I hit—the truth.
Too much hath become clear unto me: now it
doth not concern me any more. Nothing liveth
## p. 335 (#515) ############################################
LXIX. —THE SHADOW. 335
any longer that I love,—how should I still love
myself?
'To live as I incline, or not to live at all': so do
I wish; so wisheth also the holiest. But alas!
how have / still—inclination?
Have /—still a goal? A haven towards which my
sail is set?
A good wind? Ah, he only who knoweth
whither he saileth, knoweth what wind is good, and
a fair wind for him.
What still remaineth to me? A heart weary and
flippant; an unstable will; fluttering wings; a
broken backbone.
This seeking for my home: O Zarathustra, dost
thou know that this seeking hath been my home-
sickening; it eateth me up.
'Where is—my home? ' For it do I ask and
seek, and have sought, but have not found it. O
eternal everywhere, O eternal nowhere, O eternal
—in-vain! "
Thus spake the shadow, and Zarathustra's coun-
tenance lengthened at his words. "Thou art my
shadow ! " said he at last sadly.
"Thy danger is not small, thou free spirit and
wanderer! Thou hast had a bad day: see that a
still worse evening doth not overtake thee!
To such unsettled ones as thou, seemeth at last
even a prisoner blessed. Didst thou ever see how
captured criminals sleep? They sleep quietly, they
enjoy their new security.
Beware lest in the end a narrow faith capture
thee, a hard, rigorous delusion! For now every-
## p. 335 (#516) ############################################
334 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
After thee, however, O Zarathustra, did I fly and
hie longest; and though I hid myself from thee,
I was nevertheless thy best shadow: wherever thou
hast sat, there sat I also.
With thee have I wandered about in the re-
motest, coldest worlds, like a phantom that
voluntarily haunteth winter roofs and snows.
With thee have I pushed into all the forbidden,
all the worst and the furthest: and if there be any-
thing of virtue in me, it is that I have had no fear
of any prohibition.
With thee have I broken up whatever my heart
revered; all boundary-stones and statues have I
o'erthrown; the most dangerous wishes did I
pursue,—verily, beyond every crime did I once go.
With thee did I unlearn the belief in words and
worths and in great names. When the devil
casteth his skin, doth not his name also fall away?
It is also skin. The devil himself is perhaps—skin.
'Nothing is true, all is permitted': so said I to
myself. Into the coldest water did I plunge with
head and heart. Ah, how oft did I stand there
naked on that account, like a red crab!
Ah, where have gone all my goodness and all my
shame and all my belief in the good! Ah, where
is the lying innocence which I once possessed, the
innocence of the good and of their noble lies!
Too oft, verily, did I follow close to the heels of
truth: then did it kick me on the face. Some-
times I meant to lie, and behold! then only did
I hit—the truth.
Too much hath become clear unto me: now it
doth not concern me any more. Nothing liveth
## p. 335 (#517) ############################################
LXIX. —THE SHADOW. 335
any longer that I love,—how should I still love
myself?
'To live as I incline, or not to live at all': so do
I wish; so wisheth also the holiest. But alas!
how have / still—inclination?
Have /—still a goal? A haven towards which my
sail is set?
A good wind? Ah, he only who knoweth
whither he saileth, knoweth what wind is good, and
a fair wind for him.
What still remaineth to me? A heart weary and
flippant; an unstable will; fluttering wings; a
broken backbone.
This seeking for my home: O Zarathustra, dost
thou know that this seeking hath been my home-
sickening; it eateth me up.
'Where is—my home? ' For it do I ask and
seek, and have sought, but have not found it. O
eternal everywhere, O eternal nowhere, O eternal
—in-vain! "
Thus spake the shadow, and Zarathustra's coun-
tenance lengthened at his words. "Thou art my
shadow ! " said he at last sadly.
"Thy danger is not small, thou free spirit and
wanderer! Thou hast had a bad day: see that a
still worse evening doth not overtake thee!
To such unsettled ones as thou, seemeth at last
even a prisoner blessed. Didst thou ever see how
captured criminals sleep? They sleep quietly, they
enjoy their new security.
Beware lest in the end a narrow faith capture
thee, a hard, rigorous delusion! For now every-
## p. 335 (#518) ############################################
334 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
After thee, however, O Zarathustra, did I fly and
hie longest; and though I hid myself from thee,
I was nevertheless thy best shadow: wherever thou
hast sat, there sat I also.
With thee have I wandered about in the re-
motest, coldest worlds, like a phantom that
voluntarily haunteth winter roofs and snows.
With thee have I pushed into all the forbidden,
all the worst and the furthest: and if there be any-
thing of virtue in me, it is that I have had no fear
of any prohibition.
With thee have I broken up whatever my heart
revered; all boundary-stones and statues have I
o'erthrown; the most dangerous wishes did I
pursue,—verily, beyond every crime did I once go.
With thee did I unlearn the belief in words and
worths and in great names. When the devil
casteth his skin, doth not his name also fall away?
It is also skin. The devil himself is perhaps—skin.
'Nothing is true, all is permitted ': so said I to
myself. Into the coldest water did I plunge with
head and heart. Ah, how oft did I stand there
naked on that account, like a red crab!
Ah, where have gone all my goodness and all my
shame and all my belief in the good! Ah, where
is the lying innocence which I once possessed, the
innocence of the good and of their noble lies!
Too oft, verily, did I follow close to the heels of
truth: then did it kick me on the face. Some-
times I meant to lie, and behold! then only did
I hit—the truth.
Too much hath become clear unto me: now it
doth not concern me any more. Nothing liveth
## p. 335 (#519) ############################################
LXIX. —THE SHADOW. 335
any longer that I love,—how should I still love
myself?
'To live as I incline, or not to live at all': so do
I wish; so wisheth also the holiest. But alas!
how have / still—inclination?
Have /—still a goal? A haven towards which my
sail is set?
A good wind? Ah, he only who knoweth
whither he saileth, knoweth what wind is good, and
a fair wind for him.
What still remaineth to me? A heart weary and
flippant; an unstable will; fluttering wings; a
broken backbone.
This seeking for my home: O Zarathustra, dost
thou know that this seeking hath been my home-
sickening; it eateth me up.
'Where is—my home? ' For it do I ask and
seek, and have sought, but have not found it. O
eternal everywhere, O eternal nowhere, O eternal
—in-vain! "
Thus spake the shadow, and Zarathustra's coun-
tenance lengthened at his words. "Thou art my
shadow ! " said he at last sadly.
"Thy danger is not small, thou free spirit and
wanderer! Thou hast had a bad day: see that a
still worse evening doth not overtake thee!
To such unsettled ones as thou, seemeth at last
even a prisoner blessed. Didst thou ever see how
captured criminals sleep? They sleep quietly, they
enjoy their new security.
Beware lest in the end a narrow faith capture
thee, a hard, rigorous delusion! For now every-
## p. 336 (#520) ############################################
336 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
thing that is narrow and fixed seduceth and
tempteth thee.
Thou hast lost thy goal. Alas, how wilt thou
forego and forget that loss? Thereby—hast thou
also lost thy way!
Thou poor rover and rambler, thou tired butter-
fly! wilt thou have a rest and a home this evening?
Then go up to my cave!
Thither leadeth the way to my cave. And now
will I run quickly away from thee again. Already
lieth as it were a shadow upon me.
I will run alone, so that it may again become
bright around me. Therefore must I still be a
long time merrily upon my legs. In the evening,
however, there will be—dancing with me! "
Thus spake Zarathustra.
LXX. —NOON-TIDE.
—And Zarathustra ran and ran, but he found no
one else, and was alone and ever found himself
again; he enjoyed and quaffed his solitude, and
thought of good things—for hours. About the
hour of noon-tide, however, when the sun stood
exactly over Zarathustra's head, he passed an old,
bent and gnarled tree, which was encircled round
by the ardent love of a vine, and hidden from itself;
from this there hung yellow grapes in abundance,
confronting the wanderer. Then he felt inclined
to quench a little thirst, and to break off for him-
self a cluster of grapes. When, however, he had
already his arm outstretched for that purpose, he
## p. 337 (#521) ############################################
LXX. -NOON-TIDE.
337
felt still more inclined for something else—namely,
to lie down beside the tree at the hour of perfect
noon-tide and sleep.
This Zarathustra did; and no sooner had he
laid himself on the ground in the stillness and
secrecy of the variegated grass, than he had for-
gotten his little thirst, and fell asleep. For as the
proverb of Zarathustra saith: “One thing is more
necessary than the other. ” Only that his eyes
remained open :—for they never grew weary of
viewing and admiring the tree and the love of the
vine. In falling asleep, however, Zarathustra spake
thus to his heart :
“Hush! Hush! Hath not the world now be-
come perfect? What hath happened unto me?
As a delicate wind danceth invisibly upon par-
queted seas, light, feather-light, so-danceth sleep
upon me.
No eye doth it close to me, it leaveth my soul
awake. Light is it, verily, feather-light.
It persuadeth me, I know not how, it toucheth me
inwardly with a caressing hand, it constraineth me.
Yea, it constraineth me, so that my soul stretcheth
itself out :-
-How long and weary it becometh, my strange
soul! Hath a seventh-day evening come to it pre-
cisely at noon-tide? Hath it already wandered
too long, blissfully, among good and ripe things ?
It stretcheth itself out, long-longer! it lieth still,
my strange soul. Too many good things hath it
already tasted ; this golden sadness oppresseth it,
it distorteth its mouth.
ү
## p. 338 (#522) ############################################
338
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
-As a ship that putteth into the calmest
cove :-it now draweth up to the land, weary of long
voyages and uncertain seas. Is not the land more
faithful?
As such a ship huggeth the shore, tuggeth the
shore :—then it sufficeth for a spider to spin its
thread from the ship to the land. No stronger
ropes are required there.
As such a weary ship in the calmest cove, so do
I also now repose, nigh to the earth, faithful, trust-
ing, waiting, bound to it with the lightest threads.
O happiness! O happiness! Wilt thou perhaps
sing, O my soul? Thou liest in the grass. But
this is the secret, solemn hour, when no shepherd
playeth his pipe.
Take care! Hot noon-tide sleepeth on the fields.
Do not sing! Hush! The world is perfect.
Do not sing, thou prairie-bird, my soul! Do not
even whisper! Lo-hush! The old noon-tide
sleepeth, it moveth its mouth : doth it not just now
drink a drop of happiness-
-An old brown drop of golden happiness,
golden wine? Something whisketh over it, its
happiness laugheth. Thus—laugheth a God.
Hush! -
-'For happiness, how little sufficeth for happi-
ness ! ' Thus spake I once and thought myself
wise. But it was a blasphemy: that have I now
learned. Wise fools speak better.
The least thing precisely, the gentlest thing, the
lightest thing, a lizard's rustling, a breath, a whisk,
an eye-glance-little maketh up the best happiness.
Hush!
## p. 339 (#523) ############################################
LXX. —NOON-TIDE.
339
-What hath befallen me: Hark! Hath time
flown away? Do I not fall? Have I not fallen
-hark! into the well of eternity?
-What happeneth to me? Hush! It stingeth
me-alas—to the heart? To the heart! Oh, break
up, break up, my heart, after such happiness, after
such a sting!
- What? Hath not the world just now become
perfect ? Round and ripe? Oh, for the golden
round ring—whither doth it fly? Let me run
after it! Quick!
Hush- _" (and here Zarathustra stretched
himself, and felt that he was asleep. )
“Up! ” said he to himself, “thou sleeper! Thou
noon-tide sleeper! Well then, up, ye old legs! It
is time and more than time; many a good stretch
of road is still awaiting you-
Now have ye slept your fill; for how long a time?
A half-eternity! Well then, up now, mine old
heart! For how long after such a sleep mayest
thou-remain awake? ”.
(But then did he fall asleep anew, and his soul
spake against him and defended itself, and lay down
again)—“ Leave me alone! Hush! Hath not the
world just now become perfect? Oh, for the golden
round ball! ”—
“Get up," said Zarathustra, “thou little thief,
thou sluggard! What! Still stretching thyself,
yawning, sighing, falling into deep wells?
Who art thou then, O my soul! ” (and here he
became frightened, for a sunbeam shot down from
heaven upon his face. )
"O heaven above me,” said he sighing, and sat
## p. 339 (#524) ############################################
338 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
—As a ship that putteth into the calmest
cove:—it now dravveth up to the land, weary of long
voyages and uncertain seas. Is not the land more
faithful?
As such a ship huggeth the shore, tuggeth the
shore:—then it suffketh for a spider to spin its
thread from the ship to the land. No stronger
ropes are required there.
As such a weary ship in the calmest cove, so do
I also now repose, nigh to the earth, faithful, trust-
ing, waiting, bound to it with the lightest threads.
O happiness! O happiness! Wilt thou perhaps
sing, O my soul? Thou liest in the grass. But
this is the secret, solemn hour, when no shepherd
playeth his pipe.
Take care! Hot noon-tide sleepeth on the fields.
"Thy danger is not small, thou free spirit and
wanderer! Thou hast had a bad day: see that a
still worse evening doth not overtake thee!
To such unsettled ones as thou, seemeth at last
even a prisoner blessed. Didst thou ever see how
captured criminals sleep? They sleep quietly, they
enjoy their new security.
Beware lest in the end a narrow faith capture
thee, a hard, rigorous delusion! For now every-
## p. 335 (#508) ############################################
334 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
After thee, however, O Zarathustra, did I fly and
hie longest; and though I hid myself from thee,
I was nevertheless thy best shadow: wherever thou
hast sat, there sat I also.
With thee have I wandered about in the re-
motest, coldest worlds, like a phantom that
voluntarily haunteth winter roofs and snows.
With thee have I pushed into all the forbidden,
all the worst and the furthest: and if there be any-
thing of virtue in me, it is that I have had no fear
of any prohibition.
With thee have I broken up whatever my heart
revered; all boundary-stones and statues have I
o'erthrown; the most dangerous wishes did I
pursue,—verily, beyond every crime did I once go.
With thee did I unlearn the belief in words and
worths and in great names. When the devil
casteth his skin, doth not his name also fall away?
It is also skin. The devil himself is perhaps—skin.
'Nothing is true, all is permitted': so said I to
myself. Into the coldest water did I plunge with
head and heart. Ah, how oft did I stand there
naked on that account, like a red crab!
Ah, where have gone all my goodness and all my
shame and all my belief in the good! Ah, where
is the lying innocence which I once possessed, the
innocence of the good and of their noble lies!
Too oft, verily, did I follow close to the heels of
truth: then did it kick me on the face. Some-
times I meant to lie, and behold! then only did
I hit—the truth.
Too much hath become clear unto me: now it
doth not concern me any more. Nothing liveth
## p. 335 (#509) ############################################
LXIX. —THE SHADOW. 335
any longer that I love,—how should I still love
myself?
'To live as I incline, or not to live at all': so do
I wish; so wisheth also the holiest. But alas!
how have / still—inclination?
Have /—still a goal? A haven towards which my
sail is set?
A good wind? Ah, he only who knoweth
whither he saileth, knoweth what wind is good, and
a fair wind for him.
What still remaineth to me? A heart weary and
flippant; an unstable will; fluttering wings; a
broken backbone.
This seeking for my home: O Zarathustra, dost
thou know that this seeking hath been my home-
sickening; it eateth me up.
'Where is—my home? ' For it do I ask and
seek, and have sought, but have not found it. O
eternal everywhere, O eternal nowhere, O eternal
—in-vain! "
Thus spake the shadow, and Zarathustra's coun-
tenance lengthened at his words. "Thou art my
shadow ! " said he at last sadly.
"Thy danger is not small, thou free spirit and
wanderer! Thou hast had a bad day: see that a
still worse evening doth not overtake thee!
To such unsettled ones as thou, seemeth at last
even a prisoner blessed. Didst thou ever see how
captured criminals sleep? They sleep quietly, they
enjoy their new security.
Beware lest in the end a narrow faith capture
thee, a hard, rigorous delusion! For now every-
## p. 335 (#510) ############################################
334 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
After thee, however, O Zarathustra, did I fly and
hie longest; and though I hid myself from thee,
I was nevertheless thy best shadow: wherever thou
hast sat, there sat I also.
With thee have I wandered about in the re-
motest, coldest worlds, like a phantom that
voluntarily haunteth winter roofs and snows.
With thee have I pushed into all the forbidden,
all the worst and the furthest: and if there be any-
thing of virtue in me, it is that I have had no fear
of any prohibition.
With thee have I broken up whatever my heart
revered; all boundary-stones and statues have I
o'erthrown; the most dangerous wishes did I
pursue,—verily, beyond every crime did I once go.
With thee did I unlearn the belief in words and
worths and in great names. When the devil
casteth his skin, doth not his name also fall away?
It is also skin. The devil himself is perhaps—skin.
'Nothing is true, all is permitted': so said I to
myself. Into the coldest water did I plunge with
head and heart. Ah, how oft did I stand there
naked on that account, like a red crab!
Ah, where have gone all my goodness and all my
shame and all my belief in the good! Ah, where
is the lying innocence which I once possessed, the
innocence of the good and of their noble lies!
Too oft, verily, did I follow close to the heels of
truth: then did it kick me on the face. Some-
times I meant to lie, and behold! then only did
I hit—the truth.
Too much hath become clear unto me: now it
doth not concern me any more. Nothing liveth
## p. 335 (#511) ############################################
LXIX. —THE SHADOW. 335
any longer that I love,—how should I still love
myself?
'To live as I incline, or not to live at all': so do
I wish; so wisheth also the holiest. But alas!
how have / still—inclination?
Have /—still a goal? A haven towards which my
sail is set?
A good wind? Ah, he only who knoweth
whither he saileth, knoweth what wind is good, and
a fair wind for him.
What still remaineth to me? A heart weary and
flippant; an unstable will; fluttering wings; a
broken backbone.
This seeking for my home: O Zarathustra, dost
thou know that this seeking hath been my home-
sickening; it eateth me up.
'Where is—my home? ' For it do I ask and
seek, and have sought, but have not found it. O
eternal everywhere, O eternal nowhere, O eternal
—in-vain! "
Thus spake the shadow, and Zarathustra's coun-
tenance lengthened at his words. "Thou art my
shadow ! " said he at last sadly.
"Thy danger is not small, thou free spirit and
wanderer! Thou hast had a bad day: see that a
still worse evening doth not overtake thee!
To such unsettled ones as thou, seemeth at last
even a prisoner blessed. Didst thou ever see how
captured criminals sleep? They sleep quietly, they
enjoy their new security.
Beware lest in the end a narrow faith capture
thee, a hard, rigorous delusion! For now every-
## p. 335 (#512) ############################################
334 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
After thee, however, O Zarathustra, did I fly and
hie longest; and though I hid myself from thee,
I was nevertheless thy best shadow: wherever thou
hast sat, there sat I also.
With thee have I wandered about in the re-
motest, coldest worlds, like a phantom that
voluntarily haunteth winter roofs and snows.
With thee have I pushed into all the forbidden,
all the worst and the furthest: and if there be any-
thing of virtue in me, it is that I have had no fear
of any prohibition.
With thee have I broken up whatever my heart
revered; all boundary-stones and statues have I
o'erthrown; the most dangerous wishes did I
pursue,—verily, beyond every crime did I once go.
With thee did I unlearn the belief in words and
worths and in great names. When the devil
casteth his skin, doth not his name also fall away?
It is also skin. The devil himself is perhaps—skin.
'Nothing is true, all is permitted': so said I to
myself. Into the coldest water did I plunge with
head and heart. Ah, how oft did I stand there
naked on that account, like a red crab!
Ah, where have gone all my goodness and all my
shame and all my belief in the good! Ah, where
is the lying innocence which I once possessed, the
innocence of the good and of their noble lies!
Too oft, verily, did I follow close to the heels of
truth: then did it kick me on the face. Some-
times I meant to lie, and behold! then only did
I hit—the truth.
Too much hath become clear unto me: now it
doth not concern me any more. Nothing liveth
## p. 335 (#513) ############################################
LXIX. —THE SHADOW. 335
any longer that I love,—how should I still love
myself?
'To live as I incline, or not to live at all': so do
I wish; so wisheth also the holiest. But alas!
how have / still—inclination?
Have /—still a goal? A haven towards which my
sail is set?
A good wind? Ah, he only who knoweth
whither he saileth, knoweth what wind is good, and
a fair wind for him.
What still remaineth to me? A heart weary and
flippant; an unstable will; fluttering wings; a
broken backbone.
This seeking for my home: O Zarathustra, dost
thou know that this seeking hath been my home-
sickening; it eateth me up.
'Where is—my home? ' For it do I ask and
seek, and have sought, but have not found it. O
eternal everywhere, O eternal nowhere, O eternal
—in-vain! "
Thus spake the shadow, and Zarathustra's coun-
tenance lengthened at his words. "Thou art my
shadow ! " said he at last sadly.
"Thy danger is not small, thou free spirit and
wanderer! Thou hast had a bad day: see that a
still worse evening doth not overtake thee!
To such unsettled ones as thou, seemeth at last
even a prisoner blessed. Didst thou ever see how
captured criminals sleep? They sleep quietly, they
enjoy their new security.
Beware lest in the end a narrow faith capture
thee, a hard, rigorous delusion! For now every-
## p. 335 (#514) ############################################
334 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
After thee, however, O Zarathustra, did I fly and
hie longest; and though I hid myself from thee,
I was nevertheless thy best shadow: wherever thou
hast sat, there sat I also.
With thee have I wandered about in the re-
motest, coldest worlds, like a phantom that
voluntarily haunteth winter roofs and snows.
With thee have I pushed into all the forbidden,
all the worst and the furthest: and if there be any-
thing of virtue in me, it is that I have had no fear
of any prohibition.
With thee have I broken up whatever my heart
revered; all boundary-stones and statues have I
o'erthrown; the most dangerous wishes did I
pursue,—verily, beyond every crime did I once go.
With thee did I unlearn the belief in words and
worths and in great names. When the devil
casteth his skin, doth not his name also fall away?
It is also skin. The devil himself is perhaps—skin.
'Nothing is true, all is permitted': so said I to
myself. Into the coldest water did I plunge with
head and heart. Ah, how oft did I stand there
naked on that account, like a red crab!
Ah, where have gone all my goodness and all my
shame and all my belief in the good! Ah, where
is the lying innocence which I once possessed, the
innocence of the good and of their noble lies!
Too oft, verily, did I follow close to the heels of
truth: then did it kick me on the face. Some-
times I meant to lie, and behold! then only did
I hit—the truth.
Too much hath become clear unto me: now it
doth not concern me any more. Nothing liveth
## p. 335 (#515) ############################################
LXIX. —THE SHADOW. 335
any longer that I love,—how should I still love
myself?
'To live as I incline, or not to live at all': so do
I wish; so wisheth also the holiest. But alas!
how have / still—inclination?
Have /—still a goal? A haven towards which my
sail is set?
A good wind? Ah, he only who knoweth
whither he saileth, knoweth what wind is good, and
a fair wind for him.
What still remaineth to me? A heart weary and
flippant; an unstable will; fluttering wings; a
broken backbone.
This seeking for my home: O Zarathustra, dost
thou know that this seeking hath been my home-
sickening; it eateth me up.
'Where is—my home? ' For it do I ask and
seek, and have sought, but have not found it. O
eternal everywhere, O eternal nowhere, O eternal
—in-vain! "
Thus spake the shadow, and Zarathustra's coun-
tenance lengthened at his words. "Thou art my
shadow ! " said he at last sadly.
"Thy danger is not small, thou free spirit and
wanderer! Thou hast had a bad day: see that a
still worse evening doth not overtake thee!
To such unsettled ones as thou, seemeth at last
even a prisoner blessed. Didst thou ever see how
captured criminals sleep? They sleep quietly, they
enjoy their new security.
Beware lest in the end a narrow faith capture
thee, a hard, rigorous delusion! For now every-
## p. 335 (#516) ############################################
334 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
After thee, however, O Zarathustra, did I fly and
hie longest; and though I hid myself from thee,
I was nevertheless thy best shadow: wherever thou
hast sat, there sat I also.
With thee have I wandered about in the re-
motest, coldest worlds, like a phantom that
voluntarily haunteth winter roofs and snows.
With thee have I pushed into all the forbidden,
all the worst and the furthest: and if there be any-
thing of virtue in me, it is that I have had no fear
of any prohibition.
With thee have I broken up whatever my heart
revered; all boundary-stones and statues have I
o'erthrown; the most dangerous wishes did I
pursue,—verily, beyond every crime did I once go.
With thee did I unlearn the belief in words and
worths and in great names. When the devil
casteth his skin, doth not his name also fall away?
It is also skin. The devil himself is perhaps—skin.
'Nothing is true, all is permitted': so said I to
myself. Into the coldest water did I plunge with
head and heart. Ah, how oft did I stand there
naked on that account, like a red crab!
Ah, where have gone all my goodness and all my
shame and all my belief in the good! Ah, where
is the lying innocence which I once possessed, the
innocence of the good and of their noble lies!
Too oft, verily, did I follow close to the heels of
truth: then did it kick me on the face. Some-
times I meant to lie, and behold! then only did
I hit—the truth.
Too much hath become clear unto me: now it
doth not concern me any more. Nothing liveth
## p. 335 (#517) ############################################
LXIX. —THE SHADOW. 335
any longer that I love,—how should I still love
myself?
'To live as I incline, or not to live at all': so do
I wish; so wisheth also the holiest. But alas!
how have / still—inclination?
Have /—still a goal? A haven towards which my
sail is set?
A good wind? Ah, he only who knoweth
whither he saileth, knoweth what wind is good, and
a fair wind for him.
What still remaineth to me? A heart weary and
flippant; an unstable will; fluttering wings; a
broken backbone.
This seeking for my home: O Zarathustra, dost
thou know that this seeking hath been my home-
sickening; it eateth me up.
'Where is—my home? ' For it do I ask and
seek, and have sought, but have not found it. O
eternal everywhere, O eternal nowhere, O eternal
—in-vain! "
Thus spake the shadow, and Zarathustra's coun-
tenance lengthened at his words. "Thou art my
shadow ! " said he at last sadly.
"Thy danger is not small, thou free spirit and
wanderer! Thou hast had a bad day: see that a
still worse evening doth not overtake thee!
To such unsettled ones as thou, seemeth at last
even a prisoner blessed. Didst thou ever see how
captured criminals sleep? They sleep quietly, they
enjoy their new security.
Beware lest in the end a narrow faith capture
thee, a hard, rigorous delusion! For now every-
## p. 335 (#518) ############################################
334 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
After thee, however, O Zarathustra, did I fly and
hie longest; and though I hid myself from thee,
I was nevertheless thy best shadow: wherever thou
hast sat, there sat I also.
With thee have I wandered about in the re-
motest, coldest worlds, like a phantom that
voluntarily haunteth winter roofs and snows.
With thee have I pushed into all the forbidden,
all the worst and the furthest: and if there be any-
thing of virtue in me, it is that I have had no fear
of any prohibition.
With thee have I broken up whatever my heart
revered; all boundary-stones and statues have I
o'erthrown; the most dangerous wishes did I
pursue,—verily, beyond every crime did I once go.
With thee did I unlearn the belief in words and
worths and in great names. When the devil
casteth his skin, doth not his name also fall away?
It is also skin. The devil himself is perhaps—skin.
'Nothing is true, all is permitted ': so said I to
myself. Into the coldest water did I plunge with
head and heart. Ah, how oft did I stand there
naked on that account, like a red crab!
Ah, where have gone all my goodness and all my
shame and all my belief in the good! Ah, where
is the lying innocence which I once possessed, the
innocence of the good and of their noble lies!
Too oft, verily, did I follow close to the heels of
truth: then did it kick me on the face. Some-
times I meant to lie, and behold! then only did
I hit—the truth.
Too much hath become clear unto me: now it
doth not concern me any more. Nothing liveth
## p. 335 (#519) ############################################
LXIX. —THE SHADOW. 335
any longer that I love,—how should I still love
myself?
'To live as I incline, or not to live at all': so do
I wish; so wisheth also the holiest. But alas!
how have / still—inclination?
Have /—still a goal? A haven towards which my
sail is set?
A good wind? Ah, he only who knoweth
whither he saileth, knoweth what wind is good, and
a fair wind for him.
What still remaineth to me? A heart weary and
flippant; an unstable will; fluttering wings; a
broken backbone.
This seeking for my home: O Zarathustra, dost
thou know that this seeking hath been my home-
sickening; it eateth me up.
'Where is—my home? ' For it do I ask and
seek, and have sought, but have not found it. O
eternal everywhere, O eternal nowhere, O eternal
—in-vain! "
Thus spake the shadow, and Zarathustra's coun-
tenance lengthened at his words. "Thou art my
shadow ! " said he at last sadly.
"Thy danger is not small, thou free spirit and
wanderer! Thou hast had a bad day: see that a
still worse evening doth not overtake thee!
To such unsettled ones as thou, seemeth at last
even a prisoner blessed. Didst thou ever see how
captured criminals sleep? They sleep quietly, they
enjoy their new security.
Beware lest in the end a narrow faith capture
thee, a hard, rigorous delusion! For now every-
## p. 336 (#520) ############################################
336 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
thing that is narrow and fixed seduceth and
tempteth thee.
Thou hast lost thy goal. Alas, how wilt thou
forego and forget that loss? Thereby—hast thou
also lost thy way!
Thou poor rover and rambler, thou tired butter-
fly! wilt thou have a rest and a home this evening?
Then go up to my cave!
Thither leadeth the way to my cave. And now
will I run quickly away from thee again. Already
lieth as it were a shadow upon me.
I will run alone, so that it may again become
bright around me. Therefore must I still be a
long time merrily upon my legs. In the evening,
however, there will be—dancing with me! "
Thus spake Zarathustra.
LXX. —NOON-TIDE.
—And Zarathustra ran and ran, but he found no
one else, and was alone and ever found himself
again; he enjoyed and quaffed his solitude, and
thought of good things—for hours. About the
hour of noon-tide, however, when the sun stood
exactly over Zarathustra's head, he passed an old,
bent and gnarled tree, which was encircled round
by the ardent love of a vine, and hidden from itself;
from this there hung yellow grapes in abundance,
confronting the wanderer. Then he felt inclined
to quench a little thirst, and to break off for him-
self a cluster of grapes. When, however, he had
already his arm outstretched for that purpose, he
## p. 337 (#521) ############################################
LXX. -NOON-TIDE.
337
felt still more inclined for something else—namely,
to lie down beside the tree at the hour of perfect
noon-tide and sleep.
This Zarathustra did; and no sooner had he
laid himself on the ground in the stillness and
secrecy of the variegated grass, than he had for-
gotten his little thirst, and fell asleep. For as the
proverb of Zarathustra saith: “One thing is more
necessary than the other. ” Only that his eyes
remained open :—for they never grew weary of
viewing and admiring the tree and the love of the
vine. In falling asleep, however, Zarathustra spake
thus to his heart :
“Hush! Hush! Hath not the world now be-
come perfect? What hath happened unto me?
As a delicate wind danceth invisibly upon par-
queted seas, light, feather-light, so-danceth sleep
upon me.
No eye doth it close to me, it leaveth my soul
awake. Light is it, verily, feather-light.
It persuadeth me, I know not how, it toucheth me
inwardly with a caressing hand, it constraineth me.
Yea, it constraineth me, so that my soul stretcheth
itself out :-
-How long and weary it becometh, my strange
soul! Hath a seventh-day evening come to it pre-
cisely at noon-tide? Hath it already wandered
too long, blissfully, among good and ripe things ?
It stretcheth itself out, long-longer! it lieth still,
my strange soul. Too many good things hath it
already tasted ; this golden sadness oppresseth it,
it distorteth its mouth.
ү
## p. 338 (#522) ############################################
338
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
-As a ship that putteth into the calmest
cove :-it now draweth up to the land, weary of long
voyages and uncertain seas. Is not the land more
faithful?
As such a ship huggeth the shore, tuggeth the
shore :—then it sufficeth for a spider to spin its
thread from the ship to the land. No stronger
ropes are required there.
As such a weary ship in the calmest cove, so do
I also now repose, nigh to the earth, faithful, trust-
ing, waiting, bound to it with the lightest threads.
O happiness! O happiness! Wilt thou perhaps
sing, O my soul? Thou liest in the grass. But
this is the secret, solemn hour, when no shepherd
playeth his pipe.
Take care! Hot noon-tide sleepeth on the fields.
Do not sing! Hush! The world is perfect.
Do not sing, thou prairie-bird, my soul! Do not
even whisper! Lo-hush! The old noon-tide
sleepeth, it moveth its mouth : doth it not just now
drink a drop of happiness-
-An old brown drop of golden happiness,
golden wine? Something whisketh over it, its
happiness laugheth. Thus—laugheth a God.
Hush! -
-'For happiness, how little sufficeth for happi-
ness ! ' Thus spake I once and thought myself
wise. But it was a blasphemy: that have I now
learned. Wise fools speak better.
The least thing precisely, the gentlest thing, the
lightest thing, a lizard's rustling, a breath, a whisk,
an eye-glance-little maketh up the best happiness.
Hush!
## p. 339 (#523) ############################################
LXX. —NOON-TIDE.
339
-What hath befallen me: Hark! Hath time
flown away? Do I not fall? Have I not fallen
-hark! into the well of eternity?
-What happeneth to me? Hush! It stingeth
me-alas—to the heart? To the heart! Oh, break
up, break up, my heart, after such happiness, after
such a sting!
- What? Hath not the world just now become
perfect ? Round and ripe? Oh, for the golden
round ring—whither doth it fly? Let me run
after it! Quick!
Hush- _" (and here Zarathustra stretched
himself, and felt that he was asleep. )
“Up! ” said he to himself, “thou sleeper! Thou
noon-tide sleeper! Well then, up, ye old legs! It
is time and more than time; many a good stretch
of road is still awaiting you-
Now have ye slept your fill; for how long a time?
A half-eternity! Well then, up now, mine old
heart! For how long after such a sleep mayest
thou-remain awake? ”.
(But then did he fall asleep anew, and his soul
spake against him and defended itself, and lay down
again)—“ Leave me alone! Hush! Hath not the
world just now become perfect? Oh, for the golden
round ball! ”—
“Get up," said Zarathustra, “thou little thief,
thou sluggard! What! Still stretching thyself,
yawning, sighing, falling into deep wells?
Who art thou then, O my soul! ” (and here he
became frightened, for a sunbeam shot down from
heaven upon his face. )
"O heaven above me,” said he sighing, and sat
## p. 339 (#524) ############################################
338 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
—As a ship that putteth into the calmest
cove:—it now dravveth up to the land, weary of long
voyages and uncertain seas. Is not the land more
faithful?
As such a ship huggeth the shore, tuggeth the
shore:—then it suffketh for a spider to spin its
thread from the ship to the land. No stronger
ropes are required there.
As such a weary ship in the calmest cove, so do
I also now repose, nigh to the earth, faithful, trust-
ing, waiting, bound to it with the lightest threads.
O happiness! O happiness! Wilt thou perhaps
sing, O my soul? Thou liest in the grass. But
this is the secret, solemn hour, when no shepherd
playeth his pipe.
Take care! Hot noon-tide sleepeth on the fields.
