No More Learning

Up! Not wheeze, shalt thou,—but speak unto me!
Zarathustra calleth thee, Zarathustra the godless !
I, Zarathustra, the advocate of living, the advocate
of suffering, the advocate of the circuit—thee do I
call, my most abysmal thought!
Joy to me! Thou comest,—I hear thee! Mine
abyss speaketh, my lowest depth have I turned over
into the light!
Joy to me! Come hither! Give me thy hand-
-ha! let be! aha ! - -Disgust, disgust, disgust-
-~alas to me!
Hardly, however, had Zarathustra spoken these
words, when he fell down as one dead, and re-
mained long as one dead. When however he again
came to himself, then was he pale and trembling,
and remained lying ; and for long he would neither
eat nor drink. This condition continued for seven
days; his animals, however, did not leave him day
nor night, except that the eagle flew forth to fetch
food. And what it fetched and foraged, it laid on
Zarathustra's couch : so that Zarathustra at last lay
among yellow and red berries, grapes, rosy apples,
sweet-smelling herbage, and pine-cones. At his
feet, however, two lambs were stretched, which the
eagle had with difficulty carried off from their
shepherds.
At last, after seven days, Zarathustra raised him-


## p. 265 (#381) ############################################

LVII. —THE CONVALESCENT. 265
self upon his couch, took a rosy apple in his hand,
smelt it and found its smell pleasant. Then did his
animals think the time had come to speak unto him.
"O Zarathustra," said they, " now hast thou lain
thus for seven days with heavy eyes: wilt thou not
set thyself again upon thy feet?
Step out of thy cave: the world waiteth for thee
as a garden. The wind playeth with heavy fragrance
which seeketh for thee; and all brooks would like
to run after thee.
All things long for thee, since thou hast remained
alone for seven days—step forth out of thy cave!
All things want to be thy physicians!
Did perhaps a new knowledge come to thee, a
bitter, grievous knowledge? Like leavened dough
layest thou, thy soul arose and swelled beyond all
its bounds. —"
—O mine animals, answered Zarathustra, talk on
thus and let me listen! It refresheth me so to hear
your talk: where there is talk, there is the world as
a garden unto me.
How charming it is that there are words and
tones; are not words and tones rainbows and
seeming bridges 'twixt the eternally separated?
To each soul belongeth another world; to each
soul is every other soul a back-world.
Among the most alike doth semblance deceive
most delightfully: for the smallest gap is most
difficult to bridge over.
For me—how could there be an outside-of-me?
There is no outside! But this we forget on hearing
tones; how delightful it is that we forget!


## p. 265 (#382) ############################################

264 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III.
remain awake. It is not my custom to awake great-
grandmothers out of their sleep that I may bid
them—sleep on!
Thou stirrest, stretchest thyself, wheezest? Up!
Up! Not wheeze, shalt thou,—but speak unto me!
Zarathustra calleth thee, Zarathustra the godless!
I, Zarathustra, the advocate of living, the advocate
of suffering, the advocate of the circuit—thee do I
call, my most abysmal thought!
Joy to me! Thou comest,—I hear thee! Mine
abyss speaketh, my lowest depth have I turned over
into the light!
Joy to me! Come hither! Give me thy hand—
—ha! let be! aha! Disgust, disgust, disgust—
alas to me!
Hardly, however, had Zarathustra spoken these
words, when he fell down as one dead, and re-
mained long as one dead. When however he again
came to himself, then was he pale and trembling,
and remained lying; and for long he would neither
eat nor drink. This condition continued for seven
days; his animals, however, did not leave him day
nor night, except that the eagle flew forth to fetch
food. And what it fetched and foraged, it laid on
Zarathustra's couch: so that Zarathustra at last lay
among yellow and red berries, grapes, rosy apples,
sweet-smelling herbage, and pine-cones. At his
feet, however, two lambs were stretched, which the
eagle had with difficulty carried off from their
shepherds.
At last, after seven days, Zarathustra raised him-
^
n


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LVII— THE CONVALESCENT. 265
self upon his couch, took a rosy apple in his hand,
smelt it and found its smell pleasant. Then did his
animals think the time had come to speak unto him.
"O Zarathustra," said they, "now hast thou lain
thus for seven days with heavy eyes: wilt thou not
set thyself again upon thy feet?
Step out of thy cave: the world waiteth for thee
as a garden. The wind playeth with heavy fragrance
which seeketh for thee; and all brooks would like
to run after thee.
All things long for thee, since thou hast remained
alone for seven days—step forth out of thy cave!
All things want to be thy physicians!
Did perhaps a new knowledge come to thee, a
bitter, grievous knowledge? Like leavened dough
layest thou, thy soul arose and swelled beyond all
its bounds. —"
—O mine animals, answered Zarathustra, talk on
thus and let me listen! It refresheth me so to hear
your talk: where there is talk, there is the world as
a garden unto me.
How charming it is that there are words and
tones; are not words and tones rainbows and
seeming bridges 'twixt the eternally separated?
To each soul belongeth another world; to each
soul is every other soul a back-world.
Among the most alike doth semblance deceive
most delightfully: for the smallest gap is most
difficult to bridge over.
For me—how could there be an outside-of-me?
There is no outside! But this we forget on hearing
tones; how delightful it is that we forget!


## p. 265 (#384) ############################################

264 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III.
remain awake. It is not my custom to awake great-
grandmothers out of their sleep that I may bid
them—sleep on!
Thou stirrest, stretchest thyself, wheezest? Up!
Up! Not wheeze, shalt thou,—but speak unto me!
Zarathustra calleth thee, Zarathustra the godless!
I, Zarathustra, the advocate of living, the advocate
of suffering, the advocate of the circuit—thee do I
call, my most abysmal thought!
Joy to me! Thou comest,—I hear thee! Mine
abyss speaketh, my lowest depth have I turned over
into the light!
Joy to me! Come hither! Give me thy hand—
—ha! let be! aha! Disgust, disgust, disgust—
alas to me!
2.
Hardly, however, had Zarathustra spoken these
words, when he fell down as one dead, and re-
mained long as one dead. When however he again
came to himself, then was he pale and trembling,
and remained lying; and for long he would neither
eat nor drink. This condition continued for seven
days; his animals, however, did not leave him day
nor night, except that the eagle flew forth to fetch
food. And what it fetched and foraged, it laid on
Zarathustra's couch: so that Zarathustra at last lay
among yellow and red berries, grapes, rosy apples,
sweet-smelling herbage, and pine-cones. At his
feet, however, two lambs were stretched, which the
eagle had with difficulty carried off from their
shepherds.
At last, after seven days, Zarathustra raised him-
^
^


## p. 265 (#385) ############################################

LVII. —THE CONVALESCENT. 265
self upon his couch, took a rosy apple in his hand,
smelt it and found its smell pleasant. Then did his
animals think the time had come to speak unto him.
"O Zarathustra," said they, " now hast thou lain
thus for seven days with heavy eyes: wilt thou not
set thyself again upon thy feet?
Step out of thy cave: the world waiteth for thee
as a garden. The wind playeth with heavy fragrance
which seeketh for thee; and all brooks would like
to run after thee.
All things long for thee, since thou hast remained
alone for seven days—step forth out of thy cave!
All things want to be thy physicians!
Did perhaps a new knowledge come to thee, a
bitter, grievous knowledge? Like leavened dough
layest thou, thy soul arose and swelled beyond all
its bounds. —"
—O mine animals, answered Zarathustra, talk on
thus and let me listen! It refresheth me so to hear
your talk: where there is talk, there is the world as
a garden unto me.
How charming it is that there are words and
tones; are not words and tones rainbows and
seeming bridges 'twixt the eternally separated?
To each soul belongeth another world; to each
soul is every other soul a back-world.
Among the most alike doth semblance deceive
most delightfully: for the smallest gap is most
difficult to bridge over.
For me—how could there be an outside-of-me?
There is no outside! But this we forget on hearing
tones; how delightful it is that we forget!


## p. 265 (#386) ############################################

264 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III.
remain awake. It is not my custom to awake great-
grandmothers out of their sleep that I may bid
them—sleep on!
Thou stirrest, stretchest thyself, wheezest? Up!
Up! Not wheeze, shalt thou,—but speak unto me!
Zarathustra calleth thee, Zarathustra the godless!
I, Zarathustra, the advocate of living, the advocate
of suffering, the advocate of the circuit—thee do I
call, my most abysmal thought!
Joy to me! Thou comest,—I hear thee! Mine
abyss speaketh, my lowest depth have I turned over
into the light!
Joy to me! Come hither! Give me thy hand—
—ha! let be! aha! Disgust, disgust, disgust—
alas to me!
Hardly, however, had Zarathustra spoken these
words, when he fell down as one dead, and re-
mained long as one dead. When however he again
came to himself, then was he pale and trembling,
and remained lying; and for long he would neither
eat nor drink. This condition continued for seven
days; his animals, however, did not leave him day
nor night, except that the eagle flew forth to fetch
food. And what it fetched and foraged, it laid on
Zarathustra's couch: so that Zarathustra at last lay
among yellow and red berries, grapes, rosy apples,
sweet-smelling herbage, and pine-cones. At his
feet, however, two lambs were stretched, which the
eagle had with difficulty carried off from their
shepherds.
At last, after seven days, Zarathustra raised him-
^
^


## p. 265 (#387) ############################################

LVII. —THE CONVALESCENT.
265
self upon his couch, took a rosy apple in his hand,
smelt it and found its smell pleasant. Then did his
animals think the time had come to speak unto him.
"O Zarathustra," said they, “now hast thou lain
thus for seven days with heavy eyes : wilt thou not
set thyself again upon thy feet?
Step out of thy cave: the world waiteth for thee
as a garden. The wind playeth with heavy fragrance
which seeketh for thee; and all brooks would like
to run after thee.
All things long for thee, since thou hast remained
alone for seven days—step forth out of thy cave!
All things want to be thy physicians !
Did perhaps a new knowledge come to thee, a
bitter, grievous knowledge? Like leavened dough
layest thou, thy soul arose and swelled beyond all
its bounds. "
-O mine animals, answered Zarathustra, talk on
thus and let me listen! It refresheth me so to hear
your talk : where there is talk, there is the world as
a garden unto me.
How charming it is that there are words and
tones; are not words and tones rainbows and
seeming bridges 'twixt the eternally separated ?
To each soul belongeth another world ; to each
soul is every other soul a back-world.
Among the most alike doth semblance deceive
most delightfully: for the smallest gap is most
difficult to bridge over.
For me-how could there be an outside-of-me?
There is no outside! But this we forget on hearing
tones; how delightful it is that we forget!


## p. 266 (#388) ############################################

266
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III.
Have not names and tones been given unto
things that man may refresh himself with them?
It is a beautiful folly, speaking ; therewith danceth
man over everything.
How lovely is all speech and all falsehoods of
tones! With tones danceth our love on variegated
rainbows. -
—“O Zarathustra," said then his animals, “ to
those who think like us, things all dance them-
selves: they come and hold out the hand and
laugh and flee-and return.
Everything goeth, everything returneth ; eter-
nally rolleth the wheel of existence. Everything
dieth, everything blossometh forth again ; eternally
runneth on the year of existence.
Everything breaketh, everything is integrated
anew; eternally buildeth itself the same house of
existence. All things separate, all things again
greet one another ; eternally true to itself remaineth
the ring of existence.
Every moment beginneth existence, around every
Here' rolleth the ball “There'. The middle is
everywhere. Crooked is the path of eternity. "-
-0 ye wags and barrel-organs ! answered
Zarathustra, and smiled once more, how well do
ye know what had to be fulfilled in seven days :-
-And how that monster crept into my throat
and choked me! But I bit off its head and spat
it away from me.
And ye-ye have made a lyre-lay out of it?
Now, however, do I lie here, still exhausted with
that biting and spitting-away, still sick with minę
own salvation,


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LVII. —THE CONVALESCENT.
207
267
And ye looked on at it all ? O mine animals, are
ye also cruel ? Did ye like to look at my great
pain as men do? For man is the cruellest animal.
At tragedies, bull-fights, and crucifixions hath
he hitherto been happiest on earth; and when he
invented his hell, behold, that was his heaven on
earth.
When the great man crieth-: immediately
runneth the little man thither, and his tongue
hangeth out of his mouth for very lusting. He,
however, calleth it his “pity. ”
The little man, especially the poet-how passion-
ately doth he accuse life in words! Hearken to
him, but do not fail to hear the delight which is
in all accusation !
Such accusers of life-them life overcometh with
a glance of the eye. “Thou lovest me? " saith the
insolent one; "wait a little, as yet have I no time
for thee. ”
Towards himself man is the cruellest animal ;
and in all who call themselves “sinners” and
“bearers of the cross” and “penitents," do not
overlook the voluptuousness in their plaints and
accusations!
And I myself—do I thereby want to be man's
accuser? Ah, mine animals, this only have I
learned hitherto, that for man his baddest is
necessary for his best,-
-That all that is baddest is the best power, and
the hardest stone for the highest creator; and that
man must become better and badder :-
Not to this torture-stake was I tied, that I know
man is bad,but I cried, as no one hath yet cried ;


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268 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III.
“Ah, that his baddest is so very small! Ah,
that his best is so very small ! ”
The great disgust at man-it strangled me and
had crept into my throat: and what the soothsayer
had presaged : “All is alike, nothing is worth while,
knowledge strangleth. ”
A long twilight limped on before me, a fatally
weary, fatally intoxicated sadness, which spake
with yawning mouth.
“Eternally he returneth, the man of whom thou
art weary, the small man”-s0 yawned my sad-
ness, and dragged its foot and could not go to sleep.
A cavern, became the human earth to me; its
breast caved in ; everything living became to me
human dust and bones and mouldering past.
My sighing sat on all human graves, and could
no longer arise: my sighing and questioning
croaked and choked, and gnawed and nagged
day and night:
—“Ah, man returneth eternally! The small man
returneth eternally! ”.
Naked had I once seen both of them, the greatest
man and the smallest man: all too like one another
--all too human, even the greatest man!
All too small, even the greatest man ! —that was
my disgust at man! And the eternal return also
of the smallest man ! —that was my disgust at all
existence!
Ah, Disgust! Disgust! Disgust! --Thus spake
Zarathustra, and sighed and shuddered ; for he
remembered his sickness. Then did his animals
prevent him from speaking further.


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LVII. —THE CONVALESCENT. 269
"Do not speak further, thou convalescent! "—so
answered his animals, " but go out where the world
waiteth for thee like a garden.
Go out unto the roses, the bees, and the flocks
of doves! Especially, however, unto the singing-
birds, to learn singing from them!
For singing is for the convalescent; the sound
ones may talk. And when the sound also want
songs, then want they other songs than the
convalescent. "
—" O ye wags and barrel-organs, do be silent! "
answered Zarathustra, and smiled at his animals.
"How well ye know what consolation I devised for
myself in seven days!
That I have to sing once more—that consolation
did I devise for myself, and this convalescence:
would ye also make another lyre-lay thereof? "
—" Do not talk further," answered his animals
once more; "rather, thou convalescent, prepare for
thyself first a lyre, a new lyre!
For behold, O Zarathustra! For thy new lays
there are needed new lyres.
Sing and bubble over, O Zarathustra, heal thy
soul with new lays: that thou mayest bear thy
great fate, which hath not yet been any one's fate!
For thine animals know it well, O Zarathustra,
who thou art and must become: behold, thou art
the teacher of the eternal return,—that is now thy
fate!
That thou must be the first to teach this teach-
ing—how could this great fate not be thy greatest
danger and infirmity!


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270 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III.
Behold, we know what thou teachest: that all
things eternally return, and ourselves with them,
and that we have already existed times without
number, and all things with us.
Thou teachest that there is a great year of
Becoming, a prodigy of a great year; it must, like
a sand-glass, ever turn up anew, that it may anew
run down and run out:—
—So that all those years are like one another
in the greatest and also in the smallest, so that we
ourselves, in every great year, are like ourselves in
the greatest and also in the smallest.
And if thou wouldst now die, O Zarathustra,
behold, we know also how thou wouldst then speak
to thyself:—but thine animals beseech thee not to
die yet!
Thou wouldst speak, and without trembling,
buoyant rather with bliss, for a great weight and
worry would be taken from thee, thou patientest
one! —
'Now do I die and disappear,' wouldst thou say,
'and in a moment I am nothing. Souls are as
mortal as bodies.
But the plexus of causes returneth in which I
am intertwined,—it will again create me! I myself
pertain to the causes of the eternal return.
I come again with this sun, with this earth, with
this eagle, with this serpent—not to a new life, or
a better life, or a similar life:
—I come again eternally to this identical and
selfsame life, in its greatest and its smallest, to
teach again the eternal return of all things,—
—To speak again the word of the great noontide


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LVII. —THE CONVALESCENT. 271
of earth and man, to announce again to man the
Superman.
I have spoken my word. I break down by my
word: so willeth mine eternal fate—as announcer
do I succumb!
The hour hath now come for the down-goer to
bless himself. Thus—endeth Zarathustra's down-
going.
When the animals had spoken these words they
were silent and waited, so that Zarathustra might
say something to them: but Zarathustra did not
hear that they were silent. On the contrary, he
lay quietly with closed eyes like a person sleeping,
although he did not sleep; for he communed just
then with his soul. The serpent, however, and the
eagle, when they found him silent in such wise,
respected the great stillness around him, and
prudently retired.
LVIII. —THE GREAT LONGING.
O my soul, I have taught thee to say " to-day"
as "once on a time" and "formerly," and to
dance thy measure over every Here and There and
Yonder.
O my soul, I delivered thee from all by-places,
I brushed down from thee dust and spiders and
twilight.
O my soul, I washed the petty shame and the
by-place virtue from thee, and persuaded thee to
stand naked before the eyes of the sun.
With the storm that is called "spirit" did I


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272 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III.
blow over thy surging sea; all clouds did I
blow away from it; I strangled even the strangler
called " sin. "
O my soul, I gave thee the right to say Nay like
the storm, and to say Yea as the open heaven saith
Yea: calm as the light remainest thou, and now
walkest through denying storms.
O my soul, I restored to thee liberty over the
created and the uncreated; and who knoweth, as
thou knowest, the voluptuousness of the future?
O my soul, I taught thee the contempt which
doth not come like worm-eating, the great, the
loving contempt, which loveth most where it con-
temneth most.
O my soul, I taught thee so to persuade that
thou persuadest even the grounds themselves to
thee: like the sun, which persuadeth even the sea
to its height.
O my soul, I have taken from thee all obeying
and knee-bending and homage-paying; I have
myself given thee the names, "Change of need"
and " Fate. "
O my soul, I have given thee new names and
gay-coloured playthings, I have called thee " Fate"
and "the Circuit of circuits " and "the Navel-string
of time" and "the Azure bell. "
O my soul, to thy domain give I all wisdom to
drink, all new wines, and also all immemorially old
strong wines of wisdom.
O my soul, every sun shed I upon thee, and
every night and every silence and every longing:—
then grewest thou up for me as a vine.
O my soul, exuberant and heavy dost thou now


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LVIII. —THE GREAT LONGING.
273
stand forth, a vine with swelling udders and full
clusters of brown golden grapes :-
-Filled and weighted by thy happiness, waiting
for superabundance, and yet ashamed of thy
waiting
O my soul, there is nowhere a soul which could
be more loving and more comprehensive and more
extensive! Where could future and past be closer
together than with thee?
O my soul, I have given thee everything, and all
my hands have become empty by thee:-and now!
Now sayest thou to me, smiling and full of melan-
choly: “Which of us oweth thanks ? -
--Doth the giver not owe thanks because the
receiver received ? Is bestowing not a necessity ?
Is receiving not-pitying? ”-
O my soul, I understand the smiling of thy
melancholy : thine over-abundance itself now
stretcheth out longing hands!
Thy fulness looketh forth over raging seas, and
seeketh and waiteth: the longing of over-fulness
looketh forth from the smiling heaven of thine
eyes!
And verily, O my soul! Who could see thy
smiling and not melt into tears? The angels them-
selves melt into tears through the over-graciousness
of thy smiling.
Thy graciousness and over-graciousness, is it,
which will not complain and weep: and yet, O
my soul, longeth thy smiling for tears, and thy
trembling mouth for sobs.
“Is not all weeping complaining? And all com-
plaining, accusing ? ” Thus speakest thou to thyself;


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274
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III.
and therefore, O my soul, wilt thou rather smile
than pour forth thy grief-
-Than in gushing tears pour forth all thy grief
concerning thy fulness, and concerning the craving
of the vine for the vintager and vintage-knife!
But wilt thou not weep, wilt thou not weep forth
thy purple melancholy, then wilt thou have to sing,
O my soul ! -Behold, I smile myself, who foretell
thee this :
– Thou wilt have to sing with passionate song,
until all seas turn calm to hearken unto thy
longing,
-Until over calm longing seas the bark glideth,
the golden marvel, around the gold of which all
good, bad, and marvellous things frisk :-
-Also many large and small animals, and every-
thing that hath light marvellous feet, so that it can
run on violet-blue paths,-
-Towards the golden marvel, the spontaneous
bark, and its master : he, however, is the vintager
who waiteth with the diamond vintage-knife,–
-Thy great deliverer, O my soul, the nameless
one- -for whom future songs only will find
names ! And verily, already hath thy breath the
fragrance of future songs,-
--Already glowest thou and dreamest, already
drinkest thou thirstily at all deep echoing wells of
consolation, already reposeth thy melancholy in the
bliss of future songs ! - -
O my soul, now have I given thee all, and even
my last possession, and all my hands have become
empty by thee :—that I bade thee sing, behold, that
was my last thing to give !


## p. 275 (#397) ############################################

LVIII. --THE GREAT LONGING.
275
That I bade thee sing, say now, say: which of
us now-oweth thanks ? -Better still, however :
sing unto me, sing, O my soul! And let me thank
thee ! -
Thus spake Zarathustra.
LIX. —THE SECOND DANCE SONG.
"Into thine eyes gazed I lately, O Life: gold
saw I gleam in thy night eyes,—my heart stood
still with delight:
-A golden bark saw I gleam on darkened waters,
a sinking, drinking, reblinking, golden swing-bark !
At my dance-frantic foot, dost thou cast a glance,
a laughing, questioning, melting, thrown glance:
Twice only movedst thou thy rattle with thy
little hands--then did my feet swing with dance-
fury. -
My heels reared aloft, my toes they hearkened, -
thee they would know : hath not the dancer his
ear—in his toe!
Unto thee did I spring: then fledst thou back
from my bound; and towards me waved thy
fleeing, flying tresses round !
Away from thee did I spring, and from thy
snaky tresses: then stoodst thou there half-turned,
and in thine eye caresses.
With crooked glances—dost thou teach me
crooked courses ; on crooked courses learn my feet
-crafty fancies !
I fear thee near, I love thee far; thy Aight


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276 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III.
allureth me, thy seeking secureth me:—I suffer,
but for thee, what would I not gladly bear!
For thee, whose coldness inflameth, whose hatred
misleadeth, whose flight enchaineth, whose mockery
—pleadeth:
—Who would not hate thee, thou great bindress,
inwindress, temptress, seekress, findress! Who
would not love thee, thou innocent, impatient,
wind-swift, child-eyed sfnner!
Whither pullest thou me now, thou paragon and
tomboy? And now foolest thou me fleeing; thou
sweet romp dost annoy!
I dance after thee, I follow even faint traces
lonely. Where art thou? Give me thy hand!
Or thy finger only!
Here are caves and thickets: we shall go astray!
—Halt! Stand still! Seest thou not owls and
bats in fluttering fray?
Thou bat! Thou owl! Thou wouldst play me
foul? Where are we? From the dogs hast thou
learned thus to bark and howl.
Thou gnashest on me sweetly with little white
teeth; thine evil eyes shoot out upon me, thy curly
little mane from underneath!
This is a dance over stock and stone: I am the
hunter,—wilt thou be my hound, or my chamois
anon?
Now beside me! And quickly, wickedly spring-
ing! Now up! And over! —Alas! I have fallen
myself overswinging!
Oh, see me lying, thou arrogant one, and imploring
grace! Gladly would I walk with thee—in some
lovelier place!


## p. 277 (#399) ############################################

LIX. —THE SECOND DANCE SONG. 277
—In the paths of love, through bushes variegated,
quiet, trim! Or there along the lake, where gold-
fishes dance and swim!
Thou art now a-weary? There above are sheep
and sunset stripes: is it not sweet to sleep—the
shepherd pipes?
Thou art so very weary? I carry thee thither;
let just thine arm sink! And art thou thirsty—
I should have something; but thy mouth would
not like it to drink ! —
—Oh, that cursed, nimble, supple serpent and
lurking-witch! Where art thou gone? But in
my face do I feel through thy hand, two spots and
red blotches itch!
I am verily weary of it, ever thy sheepish shep-
herd to be. Thou witch, if I have hitherto sung
unto thee, now shalt thou—cry unto me!
To the rhythm of my whip shalt thou dance and
cry! I forget not my whip ? —Not I ! "—
Then did Life answer me thus, and kept thereby
her fine ears closed:
"O Zarathustra! Crack not so terribly with
thy whip! Thou knowest surely that noise killeth
thought,—and just now there came to me such
delicate thoughts.
We are both of us genuine ne'er-do-wells and
ne'er-do-ills. Beyond good and evil found we our
island and our green meadow—we two alone!
Therefore must we be friendly to each other!
And even should we not love each other from


## p. 278 (#400) ############################################

278
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, III.
the bottom of our hearts,— must we then have a
grudge against each other if we do not love each
other perfectly?
And that I am friendly to thee, and often too
friendly, that knowest thou : and the reason is that
I am envious of thy Wisdom. Ah, this mad old
fool, Wisdom!
If thy Wisdom should one day run away from
thee, ah! then would also my love run away from
thee quickly. ”—
Thereupon did Life look thoughtfully behind
and around, and said softly: “O Zarathustra, thou
art not faithful enough to me!
Thou lovest me not nearly so much as thou
sayest; I know thou thinkest of soon leaving me.
There is an old heavy, heavy, booming-clock : it
boometh by night up to thy cave :-
-When thou hearest this clock strike the hours
at midnight, then thinkest thou between one and
twelve thereon-
- Thou thinkest thereon, O Zarathustra, I know
it-of soon leaving me! ”—
“Yea," answered I, hesitatingly, “but thou
knowest it also "-And I said something into her
ear, in amongst her confused, yellow, foolish
tresses.
“Thou knowest that, o Zarathustra ? That
knoweth no one- 2"
And we gazed at each other, and looked at the
green meadow o'er which the cool evening was just


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LIX. —THE SECOND DANCE SOMG. 279
passing, and we wept together. —Then, however,
was Life dearer unto me than all my Wisdom
had ever been. -
Thus spake Zarathustra.
30
One!
O man! Take heed !
Two!
What saith deep midnight's voice indeed ?
Three!
“ I slept my sleep-
Four!