Fayeth his
lackened
world !
Nietzsche - v17 - Ecce Homo
To desire
everybody to become a " good man," " a gregarious
animal,' "a blue-eyed, benevolent, beautiful soul,"
or—as Herbert Spencer wished—a creature of al-
truism, would mean robbing existence of its greatest
character, castrating man, and reducing humanity
to a sort of wretched Chinadom. And this some
have tried to do! It is precisely this that men
called morality. In this sense Zarathustra calls "the
good," now "the last men," and anon "the be-
ginning of the end "; and above all, he considers
them as the most detrimental kind of men, because
they secure their existence at the cost of Truth and
at the cost of the Future.
"The good—they cannot create; they are ever
the beginning of the end.
"They crucify him who writeth new values on
new tables; they sacrifice unto themselves the future;
they crucify the whole future of humanity!
"The good—they are ever the beginning of the
end.
"And whatever harm the slanderers of the world
may do, the harm of the good is the most calamitous
of all harm! '
## p. 137 (#193) ############################################
WHY I AM A FATALITY 137
Zarathustra, as the first psychologist of the good
man, is perforce the friend of the evil man. When
a degenerate kind of man has succeeded to the
highest rank among the human species, his position
must have been gained at the cost of the reverse
type—at the cost of the strong man who is certain
of life. When the gregarious animal stands in the
glorious rays of the purest virtue, the exceptional
man must be degraded to the rank of the evil. If
falsehood insists at all costs on claiming the word
"truth " for its own particular standpoint, the really
truthful man must be sought out among the de-
spised. Zarathustra allows of no doubt here; he
says that it was precisely the knowledge of the
good, of the "best," which inspired his absolute
horror of men. And it was out of this feeling of
repulsion that he grew the wings which allowed
him to soar into remote futures. He does not
conceal the fact that his type of man is one which
is relatively superhuman—especially as opposed to
the "good" man, and that the good and the just
would regard his superman as the devil.
"Ye higher men, on whom my gaze now falls, this
is the doubt that ye wake in my breast, and this is
my secret laughter: methinks ye would call my
Superman—the devil! So strange are ye in your
souls to all that is great, that the Superman would
be terrible in your eyes for his goodness. "
It is from this passage, and from no other, that
you must set out to understand the goal to which
Zarathustra aspires—the kind of man that he con-
## p. 138 (#194) ############################################
138 ECCE HOMO
ceives sees reality as it is; he is strong enough for
this—he is not estranged or far removed from it,
he is that reality himself, in his own nature can be
found all the terrible and questionable character of
reality: only thus can man have greatness.
But I have chosen the title of Immoralist as a
surname and as a badge of honour in yet another
sense; I am very proud to possess this name which
distinguishes me from all the rest of mankind. No
one hitherto has felt Christian morality beneath
him; to that end there were needed height, a re-
moteness of vision, and an abysmal psychological
depth, not believed to be possible hitherto. Up to
the present Christian morality has been the Circe of
all thinkers—they stood at her service. What man,
before my time, had descended into the under-
ground caverns from out of which the poisonous
fumes of this ideal—of this slandering of the world
—burst forth? What man had even dared to sup-
pose that they were underground caverns? Was
a single one of the philosophers who preceded me
a psychologist at all, and not the very reverse of a
psychologist—that is to say, a " superior swindler,"
an "Idealist"? Before my time there was no
psychology. To be the first in this new realm
may amount to a curse ; at all events, it is a fatality:
for one is also the first to despise. My danger is the
loathing of mankind.
## p. 139 (#195) ############################################
WHY I AM A FATALITY 139
Have you understood me? That which defines
me, that which makes me stand apart from the
whole of the rest of humanity, is the fact that I
unmasked Christian morality. For this reason I
was in need of a word which conveyed the idea of
a challenge to everybody. Not to have awakened
to these discoveries before, struck me as being the
sign of the greatest uncleanliness that mankind has
on its conscience, as self-deception become instinc-
tive, as the fundamental will to be blind to every
phenomenon, all causality and all reality; in fact,
as an almost criminal fraud inpsychologicis. Blind-
ness in regard to Christianity is the essence of
criminality—for it is the crime against life. Ages
and peoples, the first as well as the last, philo-
sophers and old women, with the exception of five
or six moments in history (and of myself, the
seventh), are all alike in this. Hitherto the Chris-
tian has been the " moral being," a peerless oddity,
and, as " a moral being," he was more absurd, more
vain, more thoughtless, and a greater disadvantage
to himself, than the greatest despiser of humanity
could have deemed possible. Christian morality is
the most malignant form of all falsehood, the actual
Circe of humanity: that which has corrupted man-
kind. It is not error as error which infuriates me
at the sight of this spectacle; it is not the millen-
niums of absence of "goodwill," of discipline, of
decency, and of bravery in spiritual things, which
betrays itself in the triumph of Christianity; it is
rather the absence of nature, it is the perfectly
## p. 140 (#196) ############################################
140 ECCE HOMO
ghastly fact that anti-nature itself received the
highest honours as morality and as law, and re-
mained suspended over man as the Categorical Im-
perative. Fancy blundering in this way, not as an
individual, not as a people, but as a whole species!
as humanity! To teach the contempt of all the
principal instincts of life; to posit falsely the ex-
istence of a " soul," of a " spirit," in order to be able
to defy the body; to spread the feeling that there
is something impure in the very first prerequisite
of life—in sex; to seek the principle of evil in the
profound need of growth and expansion—that is to
say, in severe self-love (the term itself is slander-
ous); and conversely to see a higher moral value—
but what am I talking about ? —I mean the moral
value per se, in the typical signs of decline, in the
antagonism of the instincts, in "selflessness," in the
loss of ballast, in "the suppression of the personal
element," and in " love of one's neighbour " (neigh-
bour-itis ! ). What! is humanity itself in a state
of degeneration? Has it always been in this state?
One thing is certain, that ye are taught only the
values of decadence as the highest values. The
morality of self-renunciation is essentially the mor-
ality of degeneration ; the fact, " I am going to the
dogs," is translated into the imperative," Yeshall all
go to the dogs "—and not only into the imperative.
This morality of self-renunciation, which is the only
kind of morality that has been taught hitherto, be-
trays the will to nonentity—it denies life to the very
roots. There still remains the possibility that it
is not mankind that is in a state of degeneration,
but only that parasitical kind of man—the priest,
## p. 141 (#197) ############################################
WHY I AM A FATALITY 141
who, by means of morality and lies, has climbed up
to his position of determinator of values, whodivined
in Christian morality his road to power. And, to
tell the truth, this is my opinion. The teachers and
leaders of mankind—including the theologians—
have been, every one of them, decadents: hence their
transvaluation of all values into a hostility towards
life; hence morality. The definition of morality;
Morality is the idiosyncrasy of decadents, actuated
by a desire to avenge themselves with success upon
life. I attach great value to this definition.
8
Have you understood me? I have not uttered
a single word which I had not already said five
years ago through my mouthpiece Zarathustra.
The unmasking of Christian morality is an event
which is unequalled in history, it is a real catas-
trophe. The man who throws light upon it is a
force majeure, a fatality; he breaks the history of
man into two. Time is reckoned up before him
and after him. The lightning flash of truth struck
precisely that which theretofore had stood highest:
he who understands what was destroyed by that
flash should look to see whether he still holds any-
thing in his hands. Everything which until then
was called truth, has been revealed as the most de-
trimental, most spiteful, and most subterranean form
of life; the holy pretext, which was the "improve-
ment" of man, has been recognised as a ruse for
draining life of its energy and of its blood. Mor-
ality conceived as Vampirism. . . . The man who
## p. 142 (#198) ############################################
142 ECCE HOMO
unmasks morality has also unmasked the worth-
lessness of the values in which men either believe
or have believed; he no longer sees anything to be
revered in the most venerable man—even in the
types of men that have been pronounced holy; all
he can see in them is the most fatal kind of ab-
ortions, fatal, because they fascinate. The concept
"God " was invented as the opposite of the concept
life—everything detrimental, poisonous, and slan-
derous, and all deadly hostility to life, was bound
together in one horrible unit in Him. The concepts
"beyond " and " true world " were invented in order
to depreciate the only world that exists—in order
that no goal or aim, no sense or task, might be left
to earthly reality. The concepts " soul," "spirit,"
and last of all the concept "immortal soul," were
invented in order to throw contempt on the body,
in order to make it sick and "holy," in order to
cultivate an attitude of appalling levity towards all
things in life which deserve to be treated seriously,
i. e. the questions of nutrition and habitation, of in-
tellectual diet, the treatment of the sick, cleanli-
ness, and weather. Instead of health, we find the
"salvation of the soul"—that is to say, a folie cir-
culaire fluctuating between convulsions and peni-
tence and the hysteria of redemption. The concept
"sin," together with the torture instrument apper-
taining to it, which is the concept " free will," was
invented in order to confuse and muddle our in-
stincts, and to render the mistrust of them man's
second nature! In the concepts "disinterested-
ness and "self-denial," the actual signs of de-
cadence are to be found. The allurement of that
## p. 143 (#199) ############################################
WHY I AM A FATALITY 143
which is detrimental, the inability to discover one's
own advantage and self-destruction, are made into
absolute qualities, into the " duty," the " holiness,"
and the " divinity " of man. Finally—to keep the
worst to the last—by the notion of the good man,
all that is favoured which is weak, ill, botched, and
sick-in-itself, which ought to be wiped out. The law
of selection is thwarted, an ideal is made out of
opposition to the proud, well-constituted man, to
him who says yea to life, to him who is certain of
the future, and who guarantees the future—this
man is henceforth called the evil one. And all this
was believed in as morality! —Ecrasez Vinfdme!
Have you understood me? Dionysus versus
Christ.
## p. 144 (#200) ############################################
## p. 145 (#201) ############################################
EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY
The editor begs to state that, contrary to his an-
nouncement in the Editorial Note to The Joyful
Wisdom, in which he declared his intention of pub-
lishing all of Nietzsche's poetry, he has nevertheless
withheld certain less important verses from publi-
cation. This alteration in his plans is due to his
belief that it is an injustice and an indiscretion on
the part of posterity to surprise an author, as it
were, in his n/giig/, or, in plain English, "in his
shirt-sleeves. " Authors generally are very sensitive
on this point, and rightly so: a visit behind the
scenes is not precisely to the advantage of the
theatre, and even finished pictures not yet framed
are not readily shown by the careful artist. As the
German edition, however, contains nearly all that
Nietzsche left behind, either in small notebooks or
on scraps of paper, the editor could not well sup-
press everything that was not prepared for publica-
tion by Nietzsche himself, more particularly as some
of the verses are really very remarkable. He has,
therefore, made a very plentiful selection from the
Songs and Epigrams, nearly all of which are to be
found translated here, and from the Fragments of
the Dionysus Dithyrambs, of which over half have
been given. All the complete Dionysus Dithyrambs
## p. 146 (#202) ############################################
146 EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY
appear in this volume, save those which are dupli-
cates of verses already translated in the Fourth Part
of Zarathustra. These Dionysus Dithyrambs were
prepared ready for press by Nietzsche himself.
He wrote the final manuscript during the summer
of 1888 in Sils Maria; their actual composition,
however, belongs to an earlier date.
All the verses, unless otherwise stated, have been
translated by Mr. Paul Victor Cohn.
## p. 147 (#203) ############################################
SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC.
## p. 148 (#204) ############################################
## p. 149 (#205) ############################################
SONGS
TO MELANCHOLY*
O MELANCHOLY, be not wroth with me
That I this pen should point to praise thee only,
And in thy praise, with head bowed to the knee,
Squat like a hermit on a tree-stump lonely.
Thus oft thou saw'st me, yesterday, at least,-
Full in the morning sun and its hot beaming,
While, visioning the carrion of his feast,
The hungry vulture valleyward flew screaming.
Thou cou hither, thith a not soar
Yet didst thou err, foul bird, albeit I,
So like a mummy 'gainst my log lay leaning!
Thou couldst not see these eyes whose ecstasy
Rolled hither, thither, proud and overweening.
What though they did not soar unto thine height,
Nor reached those far-off, cloud-reared precipices,
For that they sank the deeper so they might
Within themselves light Destiny's abysses.
Thus oft in sullenness perverse and free,
Bent hideous like a savage at his altar,
There, Melancholy, held I thought of thee,
A penitent, though youthful, with his psalter.
* Translated by Herman Scheffauer.
149
## p. 150 (#206) ############################################
150
POETRY
crouched all of the avalanche false like mal' faces.
So crouched did I enjoy the vulture's span,
The thunder of the avalanche's paces,
Thou spakest to me-nor wast false like man,
Thou spakest, but with stern and dreadful faces.
Harsh goddess thou of Nature wild and stark,
Mistress, that com'st with threats to daunt and
quell me,
To point me out the vulture's airy arc
And laughing avalanches, to repel me.
Around us gnashing pants the lust to kill,
The torment to win life in all its changes;
Alluring on some cliff, abrupt and chill,
Some flower craves the butterfly that ranges.
All this am 1-shuddering I feel it all-
O butterfly beguiled, O lonely flower,
The vulture and the ice-pent waterfall,
The moaning storm-all symbols of thy power,
Thou goddess grim before whom deeply bowed,
With head on knee, my lips with pæans bursting,
I lift a dreadful song and cry aloud
For Life, for Life, for Life-forever thirsting!
O vengeful goddess, be not wroth, I ask,
That I to mesh thee in my rhymes have striven.
He trembles who beholds thine awful mask;
He quails to whom thy dread right hand is given.
Song upon trembling song by starts and fits
I chant, in rhythm all my thought unfolding,
The black ink flows, the pointed goose-quill spits,
O goddess, goddess—leave me to my scolding !
## p. 151 (#207) ############################################
SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC.
151
AFTER A NIGHT STORM *
TO-DAY in misty veils thou hangest dimly,
Gloomy goddess, o'er my window-pane.
Grimly whirl the pallid snow-flakes, grimly
Roars the swollen brook unto the plain.
Ah, by light of haggard levins glaring,
'Neath the untamed thunder's roar and roll,
'Midst the valley's murk wast thou preparing-
Sorceress ! thy dank and poisoned bowl.
Shuddering, I heard through midnight breaking
Raptures of thy voice—and howls of pain.
Saw thy bright orbs gleam, thy right hand shaking
With the mace of thunder hurled amain.
Near my dreary couch I heard the crashes
Of thine armoured steps, heard weapons slam,
Heard thy brazen chain strike 'gainst the sashes,
And thy voice: “Come! hearken who I am!
The immortal Amazon they call me;
All things weak and womanish I shun;
Manly scorn and hate in war enthral me;
Victress I and tigress all in one!
Where I tread there corpses fall before me;
From mine eyes the furious torches fly,
And my brain thinks poisons. Bend, adore me!
Worm of Earth and Will o' Wisp-or die! ”
* Translated by Herman Scheffauer.
## p. 152 (#208) ############################################
152
POETRY
HYMNS TO FRIENDSHIP
(Two Fragments)
GODDESS FRIENDSHIP, deign to hear the song
That we sing in friendship's honour!
Where the eye of friendship glances,
Filled with all the joy of friendship
Come thou nigh to aid me,
Rosy dawn in thy gaze and
In holy hand the faithful pledge of youth eternal.
Morning's past: the sun of noonday
Scorches with hot ray our heads.
Let us sit beneath the arbour
Singing songs in praise of friendship.
Friendship was our life's red dawning,
And its sunset red shall be.
THE WANDERER *
ALL through the night a wanderer walks
Sturdy of stride,
With winding vale and sloping height
E'er at his side.
Fair is the night:
On, on he strides, nor slackens speed,
And knows not where his path will lead.
* This poem was written on the betrothal of one of
Nietzsche's Bale friends. -TR.
## p. 153 (#209) ############################################
SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC. 153
A bird's song in the night is heard,
"Ah me, what hast thou done, O bird,
How dost thou grip my sense and feet
And pourest heart-vexation sweet
Into mine ear—I must remain,
To hearken fain:
Why lure me with inviting strain? "
The good bird speaks, staying his song:
"I lure not thee,—no, thou art wrong—
With these my trills
I lure my mate from off the hills—
Nor heed thy plight.
To me alone the night's not fair.
What's that to thee? Forth must thou fare,
On, onward ever, resting ne'er.
Why stand'st thou now?
What has my piping done to thee,
Thou roaming wight? "
The good bird pondered, silent quite,
"Why doth my piping change his plight?
Why stands he now,
That luckless, luckless, roaming wight? "
To the Glacier
At noontide hour, when first,
Into the mountains Summer treads,
Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary,
Then too he speaks,
Yet we can only see his speech.
## p. 153 (#210) ############################################
152
POETRY
HYMNS TO FRIENDSHIP
(Two Fragments)
GODDESS FRIENDSHIP, deign to hear the song
That we sing in friendship's honour!
Where the eye of friendship glances,
Filled with all the joy of friendship
Come thou nigh to aid me,
Rosy dawn in thy gaze and
In holy hand the faithful pledge of youth eternal.
Morning's past: the sun of noonday
Scorches with hot ray our heads.
Let us sit beneath the arbour
Singing songs in praise of friendship.
Friendship was our life's red dawning,
And its sunset red shall be.
THE WANDERER *
ALL through the night a wanderer walks
Sturdy of stride,
With winding vale and sloping height
E'er at his side.
Fair is the night:
On, on he strides, nor slackens speed,
And knows not where his path will lead.
* This poem was written on the betrothal of one of
Nietzsche's Bâle friends. -TR.
## p. 153 (#211) ############################################
SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC.
153
A bird's song in the night is heard,
“Ah me, what hast thou done, o bird,
How dost thou grip my sense and feet
And pourest heart-vexation sweet
Into mine ear-I must remain,
To hearken fain:
Why lure me with inviting strain ? "
The good bird speaks, staying his song :
"I lure not thee,-no, thou art wrong-
With these my trills
I lure my mate from off the hills-
Nor heed thy plight.
To me alone the night's not fair.
What's that to thee? Forth must thou fare,
On, onward ever, resting ne'er.
Why stand'st thou now?
What has my piping done to thee,
Thou roaming wight? "
The good bird pondered, silent quite,
“Why doth my piping change his plight ?
Why stands he now,
That luckless, luckless, roaming wight? ”
TO THE GLACIER
At noontide hour, when first,
Into the mountains Summer treads,
Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary,
Then too he speaks,
Yet we can only see his speech.
## p. 154 (#212) ############################################
154 POETRY
His breath is panting, like the sick man's breath
On fevered couch.
The glacier and the fir tree and the spring
Answer his call
—Yet we their answer only see.
For faster from the rock leaps down
The torrent stream, as though to greet,
And stands, like a white column trembling,
All yearning there.
And darker yet and truer looks the fir-tree
Than e'er before.
And 'twixt the ice-mass and the cold grey
stone
A sudden light breaks forth
Such light I once beheld, and marked the
sign.
Even the dead man's eye
Surely once more grows light,
When, sorrowful, his child
Gives him embrace and kiss:
Surely once more the flame of light
Wells out, and glowing into life
The dead eye speaks: "My child!
Ah child, you know I love you true! "
So all things glow and speak — the glacier
speaks,
The brook, the fir,
Speak with their glance the selfsame words:
We love you true,
Ah, child, you know we love you, love you true!
## p. 155 (#213) ############################################
SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC.
155
And he,
Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary,
Woe-worn, gives kisses
More ardent ever,
And will not go:
But like to veils he blows his words
From out his lips,
His cruel words:
“My greeting's parting,
My coming going,
In youth I die. ”
All round they hearken
And scarcely breathe
(No songster sings),
And shuddering run
Like gleaming ray
Over the mountain;
All round they ponder,-
Nor speak-
'Twas at the noon,
At noontide hour, when first
Into the mountains Summer treads,
Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary.
AUTUMN *
'Tis Autumn :-Autumn yet shall break thy heart !
Fly away! fly away ! -
The sun creeps 'gainst the hill
And climbs and climbs
And rests at every step.
* Translated by Herman Scheffauer.
## p. 156 (#214) ############################################
156
POETRY
How faded grew the world!
On weary, slackened strings the wind
Playeth his tune.
Fair Hope fled far-
He waileth after.
Fayeth his lackened world !
'Tis Autumn :-Autumn yet shall break thy heart !
Fly away! Ay away!
O fruit o' the tree,
Thou tremblest, fallest ?
What secret whispered unto thee
The Night,
That icy shudders deck thy cheek,
Thy cheek of purple hue ?
Silent art thou, nor dost reply
Who speaketh still ? —
'Tis Autumn :-Autumn yet shall break thy heart !
Fly away! fly away! -
“I am not fair,” —
So speaks the lone star-flower,-
“Yet men I love
And comfort men-
Many flowers shall they behold,
And stoop to me,
And break me, ah !
So that within their eyes shall gleam
Remembrance swift,
Remembrance of far fairer things than I :-
I see it-see it—and I perish so. ”
'Tis Autumn:-Autumn yet shall break thy heart!
Fly away! fly away!
## p. 157 (#215) ############################################
songs, epigrams, etc. 157
Campo Santo di Staglieno*
Maiden, in gentle wise
You stroke your lamb's soft fleece,
Yet flashing from your eyes
Both light and flame ne'er cease.
Creature of merry jest
And favourite near and far,
Pious, with kindness blest,
Amorosissima!
What broke so soon the chain,
What does your heart deplore?
And who, pray, would not fain,
If you loved him, adore ? —
You're mute, but from your eye,
The tear-drop is not far,
You're mute: you'll yearn and die,
Amorosissima?
The Little Brig named "Little Angel"f
"Little Angel " call they me! —
Now a ship, but once a girl,
Ah, and still too much a girl!
My steering-wheel, so bright to see,
But for sake of love doth whirl.
* Campo Santo di Staglieno is the cemetery of Staglieno,
near Genoa. The poem was inspired by the sight of a girl
with a lamb on the tombstone, with the words underneath—
"Pia, caritatevole, amorosissima. "
t Published by Nietzsche himself. The poem was inspired
by a ship that was christened Angiolina, in memory of a
love-sick girl who leapt into the sea. —Tr.
## p. 158 (#216) ############################################
158 POETRY
"Little Angel" call they me,
With hundred flags to ornament,
A captain smart, on glory bent,
Steers me, puffed with vanity
(He himself s an ornament).
"Little Angel" call they me,
And where'er a little flame
Gleams for me, I, like a lamb,
Go my journey eagerly
(1 was always such a lamb! ).
"Little Angel" call they me—
Think you I can bark and whine
Like a dog, this mouth of mine
Throwing smoke and flame full free?
Ah, a devil's mouth is mine.
"Little Angel" call they me—
Once I spoke a bitter word,
That my lover, when he heard,
Fast and far away did flee:
Yes, I killed him with that word!
"Little Angel" call they me:
Hardly heard, I sprang so glib
From the cliff and broke a rib:
From my frame my soul went free,
Yes, escaped me through that rib.
"Little Angel" call they me—
Then my soul, like cat in flight
Straight did on this ship alight
Swiftly bounding—one, two, three!
Yes, its claws are swift to smite.
## p. 159 (#217) ############################################
SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC.
159
“ Little Angel” call they me!
Now a ship, but once a girl,
Ah, and still too much a girl!
My steering-wheel, so bright to see,
For sake of love alone doth whirl.
MAIDEN'S SONG
YESTERDAY with seventeen years
Wisdom reached I, a maiden fair,
I am grey-haired, it appears,
Now in all things—save my hair.
Yesterday, I had a thought,
Was't a thought you laugh and scorn!
Did you ever have a thought ?
Rather was a feeling born.
Dare a woman think? This screed
Wisdom long ago begot:
“Follow woman must, not lead;
If she thinks, she follows not. ”.
Wisdom speaks—I credit naught:
Rather hops and stings like flea:
“Woman seldom harbours thought;
If she thinks, no good is she! ”
To this wisdom, old, renowned,
Bow I in deep reverence:
Now my wisdom I'll expound
In its very quintessence.
## p. 160 (#218) ############################################
160
POETRY
A voice spoke in me yesterday
As ever-listen if you can:
“Woman is more beauteous aye,
But more interesting-man! ”
“PIA, CARITATEVOLE, AMOROSISSIMA” .
CAVE where the dead ones rest,
O marble falsehood, thee
I love: for easy jest
My soul thou settest free.
To-day, to-day alone,
My soul to tears is stirred,
At thee, the pictured stone,
At thee, the graven word.
This picture (none need wis)
I kissed the other day.
When there's so much to kiss
Why did I kiss the-clay?
Who knows the reason why?
“A tombstone fool! ” you laugh:
I kissed-l'll not deny-
E'en the long epitaph.
TO FRIENDSHIP
HAIL to thee, Friendship!
My hope consummate,
My first red daybreak!
Alas, so endless
* See above, p. 157. Both poems were inspired by the same
tombstone. -TR.
## p. 161 (#219) ############################################
SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC. l6l
Oft path and night seemed,
And life's long road
Aimless and hateful!
Now life I'd double
In thine eyes seeing
Dawn-glory, triumph,
Most gracious goddess!
Pine Tree and Lightning
O'er man and beast I grew so high,
And speak—but none will give reply.
Too lone and tall my crest did soar:
I wait: what am I waiting for?
The clouds are grown too nigh of late,
'Tis the first lightning I await.
Tree in Autumn
Why did ye, blockheads, me awaken
While I in blissful blindness stood?
Ne'er I by fear more fell was shaken—
Vanished my golden dreaming mood.
Bear-elephants, with trunks all greedy,
Knock first! Where have your manners fled?
I threw—and fear has made me speedy—
Dishes of ripe fruit—at your head.
## p. 162 (#220) ############################################
162 POETRY
Among Foes (or Against Critics)
{After a Gipsy Proverb)
Here the gallows, there the cord,
And the hangman's ruddy beard.
Round, the venom-glancing horde :—
Nothing new to me's appeared.
Many times I've seen the sight,
Now laughing in your face I cry,
"Hanging me is useless quite:
Die? Nay, nay, I cannot die! "
Beggars all! Ye envy me
Winning what ye never won!
True, I suffer agony,
But for you—your life is done.
Many times I've faced death's plight,
Yet steam and light and breath am I.
Hanging me is useless quite:
Die? Nay, nay, I cannot die!
The New Columbus*
"Dearest," said Columbus, " never
Trust a Genoese again.
At the blue he gazes ever,
Distance doth his soul enchain.
Strangeness is to me too dear—
Genoa has sunk and passed—
Heart, be cool! Hand, firmly steer!
Sea before me: land—at last?
*The Genoese is Nietzsche himself, who lived a great
part of his life at Genoa. —Tr.
## p. 163 (#221) ############################################
SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC. 163
Firmly let us plant our feet,
Ne'er can we give up this game—
From the distance what doth greet?
One death, one happiness, one fame.
In Lonesomeness *
The cawing crows
Townwards on whirring pinions roam;
Soon come the snows—
Thrice happy now who hath a home!
Fast-rooted there,
Thou gazest backwards—oh, how long!
Thou fool, why dare
Ere winter come, this world of wrong?
This world—a gate
To myriad deserts dumb and hoar!
Who lost through fate
What thou hast lost, shall rest no more.
Now stand'st thou pale,
A frozen pilgrimage thy doom,
Like smoke whose trail
Cold and still colder skies consume.
Fly, bird, and screech,
Like desert-fowl, thy song apart!
Hide out of reach,
Fool! in grim ice thy bleeding heart.
* Translated by Herman Scheffauer.
## p. 164 (#222) ############################################
164
POETRY
The cawing Crows
Town wards on whirring pinions roam ;
Soon come the snows-
Woe unto him who hath no home!
My Answer
The man presumes-
Good Lord ! -to think that I'd return
To those warm rooms
Where snug the German ovens burn
My friend, you see
'Tis but thy folly drives me far,-
Pity for thee
And all that German blockheads are !
VENICE
On the bridge I stood,
Mellow was the night,
Music came from far-
Drops of gold outpoured
On the shimmering waves.
Song, gondolas, light,
Floated a-twinkling out into the dusk.
The chords of my soul, moved
By unseen impulse, throbbed
Secretly into a gondola song,
With thrills of bright-hued ecstasy.
Had I a listener there?
## p. 165 (#223) ############################################
EPIGRAMS
Caution: Poison ! *
He who cannot laugh at this had better not start
reading;
For if he read and do not laugh, physic he'll be
needing!
How to find One's Company
WITH jesters it is good to jest:
Who likes to tickle, is tickled best.
The Word
I DEARLY love the living word,
That flies to you like a merry bird,
Ready with pleasant nod to greet,
E'en in misfortune welcome, sweet,
Yet it has blood, can pant you deep:
Then to the dove's ear it will creep:
And curl itself, or start for flight—
Whate'er it does, it brings delight.
Yet tender doth the word remain,
Soon it is ill, soon well again:
* Translated by Francis Bickley.
165
## p. 166 (#224) ############################################
166 POETRY
So if its little life you'd spare,
O grasp it lightly and with care,
Nor heavy hand upon it lay,
For e'en a cruel glance would slay!
There it would lie, unsouled, poor thing!
All stark, all formless, and all cold,
Its little body changed and battered,
By death and dying rudely shattered.
A dead word is a hateful thing,
A barren, rattling, ting-ting-ting.
A curse on ugly trades I cry
That doom all little words to die!
The Wanderer and his Shadow
A Book
You'll ne'er go on nor yet go back?
Is e'en for chamois here no track?
So here I wait and firmly clasp
What eye and hand will let me grasp!
Five-foot-broad ledge, red morning's breath,
And under me—world, man, and death!
Joyful Wisdom
THIS is no book—for such, who looks?
Coffins and shrouds, naught else, are books!
What's dead and gone they make their prey,
Yet in my book lives fresh To-day.
## p. 167 (#225) ############################################
SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC. 167
This is no book—for such, who looks?
Who cares for coffins, shrouds, and spooks?
This is a promise, an act of will,
A last bridge-breaking, for good or ill;
A wind from sea, an anchor light,
A whirr of wheels, a steering right.
The cannon roars, white smokes its flame,
The sea—the monster—laughs and scents its game.
Dedication *
He who has much to tell, keeps much
Silent and unavowed.
He who with lightning-flash would touch
Must long remain a cloud!
The New Testament!
Is this your Book of Sacred Lore,
For blessing, cursing, and such uses ? -
Come, come now: at the very door
God some one else's wife seduces?
The "True German"
"O PEUPLE des meillures Tartuffes,
To you I'm true, I wis. "
He spoke, but in the swiftest skiff"
Went to Cosmopolis.
* On the title-page of a copy of Joyful Wisdom, dedicated
to Herr August Bungal. —Tr.
t Translated by Francis Bickley.
## p. 168 (#226) ############################################
168
POETRY
TO THE DARWINIANS *
A FOOL this honest Britisher
Was not . . . But a Philosopher!
As that you really rate him?
Set Darwin up by Goethe's side ?
But majesty you thus deride-
Genii majestatem !
To HAFIZ
(Toast Question of a Water-Drinker)
WHAT you have builded, yonder inn,
O’ertops all houses high :
The posset you have brewed therein
The world will ne'er drink dry.
The bird that once appeared on earth
As phenix, is your guest.
The mouse that gave a mountain birth
Is you yourself confessed !
You're all and naught, you're inn and wine,
You're phenix, mountain, mouse.
Back to yourself to come you pine
Or fly from out your house.
Downward from every height you've sunk,
And in the depths still shine:
The drunkenness of all the drunk,
Why do you ask for—wine ?
* Translated by Francis Bickley.
## p. 169 (#227) ############################################
SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC. 169
To Spinoza
Of " All in One " a fervent devotee
A more Dei, of reasoned piety,
Doff shoes! A land thrice holy this must be! —
Yet underneath this love there sate
A torch of vengeance, burning secretly
The Hebrew God was gnawed by Hebrew hate.
Hermit! Do I aright interpret thee?
Arthur Schopenhauer
That which he taught, has had its day,
That which he lived, shall live for aye:
Look at the man! No bondsman he!
Nor e'er to mortal bowed his knee!
To Richard Wagner
O YOU who chafe at every fetter's link,
A restless spirit, never free:
Who, though victorious aye, in bonds still cowered,
Disgusted more and more, and flayed and scoured,
Till from each cup of balm you poison drink,
Alas! and by the Cross all helpless sink,
You too, you too, among the overpowered!
For long I watched this play so weirdly shaped,
Breathing an air of prison, vault, and dread,
With churchly fragrance, clouds of incense spread,
And yet I found all strange, in terror gaped.
But now I throw my fool's cap o'er my head,
For I escaped!
## p. 170 (#228) ############################################
170
POETRY
MUSIC OF THE SOUTH *
ALL that my eagle e'er saw clear,
I see and feel in heart to-day
(Although my hope was wan and gray)
Thy song like arrow pierced mine ear,
A balm to touch, a balm to hear,
As down from heaven it winged its way.
So now for lands of southern fire
To happy isles where Grecian nymphs hold sport!
Thither now turn the ship's desire
No ship e'er sped to fairer port.
A RIDDLE
A RIDDLE here can you the answer scent?
“When man discovers, woman must invent. ”—
TO FALSE FRIENDS
You stole, your eye's not clear to-day.
You only stole a thought, sir? nay,
Why be so rudely modest, pray?
Here, take another handful—stay,
Take all I have, you swine-you may
Eat till your filth is purged away.
FRIEND YORICK
BE of good cheer,
Friend Yorick! If this thought gives pain,
As now it does, I fear,
* Probably written for Peter Gast, Nietzsche's faithful
friend, and a musician whose “Southern ” music Nietzsche
admired. - TR
## p. 171 (#229) ############################################
SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC. 171
Is it not " God "?
everybody to become a " good man," " a gregarious
animal,' "a blue-eyed, benevolent, beautiful soul,"
or—as Herbert Spencer wished—a creature of al-
truism, would mean robbing existence of its greatest
character, castrating man, and reducing humanity
to a sort of wretched Chinadom. And this some
have tried to do! It is precisely this that men
called morality. In this sense Zarathustra calls "the
good," now "the last men," and anon "the be-
ginning of the end "; and above all, he considers
them as the most detrimental kind of men, because
they secure their existence at the cost of Truth and
at the cost of the Future.
"The good—they cannot create; they are ever
the beginning of the end.
"They crucify him who writeth new values on
new tables; they sacrifice unto themselves the future;
they crucify the whole future of humanity!
"The good—they are ever the beginning of the
end.
"And whatever harm the slanderers of the world
may do, the harm of the good is the most calamitous
of all harm! '
## p. 137 (#193) ############################################
WHY I AM A FATALITY 137
Zarathustra, as the first psychologist of the good
man, is perforce the friend of the evil man. When
a degenerate kind of man has succeeded to the
highest rank among the human species, his position
must have been gained at the cost of the reverse
type—at the cost of the strong man who is certain
of life. When the gregarious animal stands in the
glorious rays of the purest virtue, the exceptional
man must be degraded to the rank of the evil. If
falsehood insists at all costs on claiming the word
"truth " for its own particular standpoint, the really
truthful man must be sought out among the de-
spised. Zarathustra allows of no doubt here; he
says that it was precisely the knowledge of the
good, of the "best," which inspired his absolute
horror of men. And it was out of this feeling of
repulsion that he grew the wings which allowed
him to soar into remote futures. He does not
conceal the fact that his type of man is one which
is relatively superhuman—especially as opposed to
the "good" man, and that the good and the just
would regard his superman as the devil.
"Ye higher men, on whom my gaze now falls, this
is the doubt that ye wake in my breast, and this is
my secret laughter: methinks ye would call my
Superman—the devil! So strange are ye in your
souls to all that is great, that the Superman would
be terrible in your eyes for his goodness. "
It is from this passage, and from no other, that
you must set out to understand the goal to which
Zarathustra aspires—the kind of man that he con-
## p. 138 (#194) ############################################
138 ECCE HOMO
ceives sees reality as it is; he is strong enough for
this—he is not estranged or far removed from it,
he is that reality himself, in his own nature can be
found all the terrible and questionable character of
reality: only thus can man have greatness.
But I have chosen the title of Immoralist as a
surname and as a badge of honour in yet another
sense; I am very proud to possess this name which
distinguishes me from all the rest of mankind. No
one hitherto has felt Christian morality beneath
him; to that end there were needed height, a re-
moteness of vision, and an abysmal psychological
depth, not believed to be possible hitherto. Up to
the present Christian morality has been the Circe of
all thinkers—they stood at her service. What man,
before my time, had descended into the under-
ground caverns from out of which the poisonous
fumes of this ideal—of this slandering of the world
—burst forth? What man had even dared to sup-
pose that they were underground caverns? Was
a single one of the philosophers who preceded me
a psychologist at all, and not the very reverse of a
psychologist—that is to say, a " superior swindler,"
an "Idealist"? Before my time there was no
psychology. To be the first in this new realm
may amount to a curse ; at all events, it is a fatality:
for one is also the first to despise. My danger is the
loathing of mankind.
## p. 139 (#195) ############################################
WHY I AM A FATALITY 139
Have you understood me? That which defines
me, that which makes me stand apart from the
whole of the rest of humanity, is the fact that I
unmasked Christian morality. For this reason I
was in need of a word which conveyed the idea of
a challenge to everybody. Not to have awakened
to these discoveries before, struck me as being the
sign of the greatest uncleanliness that mankind has
on its conscience, as self-deception become instinc-
tive, as the fundamental will to be blind to every
phenomenon, all causality and all reality; in fact,
as an almost criminal fraud inpsychologicis. Blind-
ness in regard to Christianity is the essence of
criminality—for it is the crime against life. Ages
and peoples, the first as well as the last, philo-
sophers and old women, with the exception of five
or six moments in history (and of myself, the
seventh), are all alike in this. Hitherto the Chris-
tian has been the " moral being," a peerless oddity,
and, as " a moral being," he was more absurd, more
vain, more thoughtless, and a greater disadvantage
to himself, than the greatest despiser of humanity
could have deemed possible. Christian morality is
the most malignant form of all falsehood, the actual
Circe of humanity: that which has corrupted man-
kind. It is not error as error which infuriates me
at the sight of this spectacle; it is not the millen-
niums of absence of "goodwill," of discipline, of
decency, and of bravery in spiritual things, which
betrays itself in the triumph of Christianity; it is
rather the absence of nature, it is the perfectly
## p. 140 (#196) ############################################
140 ECCE HOMO
ghastly fact that anti-nature itself received the
highest honours as morality and as law, and re-
mained suspended over man as the Categorical Im-
perative. Fancy blundering in this way, not as an
individual, not as a people, but as a whole species!
as humanity! To teach the contempt of all the
principal instincts of life; to posit falsely the ex-
istence of a " soul," of a " spirit," in order to be able
to defy the body; to spread the feeling that there
is something impure in the very first prerequisite
of life—in sex; to seek the principle of evil in the
profound need of growth and expansion—that is to
say, in severe self-love (the term itself is slander-
ous); and conversely to see a higher moral value—
but what am I talking about ? —I mean the moral
value per se, in the typical signs of decline, in the
antagonism of the instincts, in "selflessness," in the
loss of ballast, in "the suppression of the personal
element," and in " love of one's neighbour " (neigh-
bour-itis ! ). What! is humanity itself in a state
of degeneration? Has it always been in this state?
One thing is certain, that ye are taught only the
values of decadence as the highest values. The
morality of self-renunciation is essentially the mor-
ality of degeneration ; the fact, " I am going to the
dogs," is translated into the imperative," Yeshall all
go to the dogs "—and not only into the imperative.
This morality of self-renunciation, which is the only
kind of morality that has been taught hitherto, be-
trays the will to nonentity—it denies life to the very
roots. There still remains the possibility that it
is not mankind that is in a state of degeneration,
but only that parasitical kind of man—the priest,
## p. 141 (#197) ############################################
WHY I AM A FATALITY 141
who, by means of morality and lies, has climbed up
to his position of determinator of values, whodivined
in Christian morality his road to power. And, to
tell the truth, this is my opinion. The teachers and
leaders of mankind—including the theologians—
have been, every one of them, decadents: hence their
transvaluation of all values into a hostility towards
life; hence morality. The definition of morality;
Morality is the idiosyncrasy of decadents, actuated
by a desire to avenge themselves with success upon
life. I attach great value to this definition.
8
Have you understood me? I have not uttered
a single word which I had not already said five
years ago through my mouthpiece Zarathustra.
The unmasking of Christian morality is an event
which is unequalled in history, it is a real catas-
trophe. The man who throws light upon it is a
force majeure, a fatality; he breaks the history of
man into two. Time is reckoned up before him
and after him. The lightning flash of truth struck
precisely that which theretofore had stood highest:
he who understands what was destroyed by that
flash should look to see whether he still holds any-
thing in his hands. Everything which until then
was called truth, has been revealed as the most de-
trimental, most spiteful, and most subterranean form
of life; the holy pretext, which was the "improve-
ment" of man, has been recognised as a ruse for
draining life of its energy and of its blood. Mor-
ality conceived as Vampirism. . . . The man who
## p. 142 (#198) ############################################
142 ECCE HOMO
unmasks morality has also unmasked the worth-
lessness of the values in which men either believe
or have believed; he no longer sees anything to be
revered in the most venerable man—even in the
types of men that have been pronounced holy; all
he can see in them is the most fatal kind of ab-
ortions, fatal, because they fascinate. The concept
"God " was invented as the opposite of the concept
life—everything detrimental, poisonous, and slan-
derous, and all deadly hostility to life, was bound
together in one horrible unit in Him. The concepts
"beyond " and " true world " were invented in order
to depreciate the only world that exists—in order
that no goal or aim, no sense or task, might be left
to earthly reality. The concepts " soul," "spirit,"
and last of all the concept "immortal soul," were
invented in order to throw contempt on the body,
in order to make it sick and "holy," in order to
cultivate an attitude of appalling levity towards all
things in life which deserve to be treated seriously,
i. e. the questions of nutrition and habitation, of in-
tellectual diet, the treatment of the sick, cleanli-
ness, and weather. Instead of health, we find the
"salvation of the soul"—that is to say, a folie cir-
culaire fluctuating between convulsions and peni-
tence and the hysteria of redemption. The concept
"sin," together with the torture instrument apper-
taining to it, which is the concept " free will," was
invented in order to confuse and muddle our in-
stincts, and to render the mistrust of them man's
second nature! In the concepts "disinterested-
ness and "self-denial," the actual signs of de-
cadence are to be found. The allurement of that
## p. 143 (#199) ############################################
WHY I AM A FATALITY 143
which is detrimental, the inability to discover one's
own advantage and self-destruction, are made into
absolute qualities, into the " duty," the " holiness,"
and the " divinity " of man. Finally—to keep the
worst to the last—by the notion of the good man,
all that is favoured which is weak, ill, botched, and
sick-in-itself, which ought to be wiped out. The law
of selection is thwarted, an ideal is made out of
opposition to the proud, well-constituted man, to
him who says yea to life, to him who is certain of
the future, and who guarantees the future—this
man is henceforth called the evil one. And all this
was believed in as morality! —Ecrasez Vinfdme!
Have you understood me? Dionysus versus
Christ.
## p. 144 (#200) ############################################
## p. 145 (#201) ############################################
EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY
The editor begs to state that, contrary to his an-
nouncement in the Editorial Note to The Joyful
Wisdom, in which he declared his intention of pub-
lishing all of Nietzsche's poetry, he has nevertheless
withheld certain less important verses from publi-
cation. This alteration in his plans is due to his
belief that it is an injustice and an indiscretion on
the part of posterity to surprise an author, as it
were, in his n/giig/, or, in plain English, "in his
shirt-sleeves. " Authors generally are very sensitive
on this point, and rightly so: a visit behind the
scenes is not precisely to the advantage of the
theatre, and even finished pictures not yet framed
are not readily shown by the careful artist. As the
German edition, however, contains nearly all that
Nietzsche left behind, either in small notebooks or
on scraps of paper, the editor could not well sup-
press everything that was not prepared for publica-
tion by Nietzsche himself, more particularly as some
of the verses are really very remarkable. He has,
therefore, made a very plentiful selection from the
Songs and Epigrams, nearly all of which are to be
found translated here, and from the Fragments of
the Dionysus Dithyrambs, of which over half have
been given. All the complete Dionysus Dithyrambs
## p. 146 (#202) ############################################
146 EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY
appear in this volume, save those which are dupli-
cates of verses already translated in the Fourth Part
of Zarathustra. These Dionysus Dithyrambs were
prepared ready for press by Nietzsche himself.
He wrote the final manuscript during the summer
of 1888 in Sils Maria; their actual composition,
however, belongs to an earlier date.
All the verses, unless otherwise stated, have been
translated by Mr. Paul Victor Cohn.
## p. 147 (#203) ############################################
SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC.
## p. 148 (#204) ############################################
## p. 149 (#205) ############################################
SONGS
TO MELANCHOLY*
O MELANCHOLY, be not wroth with me
That I this pen should point to praise thee only,
And in thy praise, with head bowed to the knee,
Squat like a hermit on a tree-stump lonely.
Thus oft thou saw'st me, yesterday, at least,-
Full in the morning sun and its hot beaming,
While, visioning the carrion of his feast,
The hungry vulture valleyward flew screaming.
Thou cou hither, thith a not soar
Yet didst thou err, foul bird, albeit I,
So like a mummy 'gainst my log lay leaning!
Thou couldst not see these eyes whose ecstasy
Rolled hither, thither, proud and overweening.
What though they did not soar unto thine height,
Nor reached those far-off, cloud-reared precipices,
For that they sank the deeper so they might
Within themselves light Destiny's abysses.
Thus oft in sullenness perverse and free,
Bent hideous like a savage at his altar,
There, Melancholy, held I thought of thee,
A penitent, though youthful, with his psalter.
* Translated by Herman Scheffauer.
149
## p. 150 (#206) ############################################
150
POETRY
crouched all of the avalanche false like mal' faces.
So crouched did I enjoy the vulture's span,
The thunder of the avalanche's paces,
Thou spakest to me-nor wast false like man,
Thou spakest, but with stern and dreadful faces.
Harsh goddess thou of Nature wild and stark,
Mistress, that com'st with threats to daunt and
quell me,
To point me out the vulture's airy arc
And laughing avalanches, to repel me.
Around us gnashing pants the lust to kill,
The torment to win life in all its changes;
Alluring on some cliff, abrupt and chill,
Some flower craves the butterfly that ranges.
All this am 1-shuddering I feel it all-
O butterfly beguiled, O lonely flower,
The vulture and the ice-pent waterfall,
The moaning storm-all symbols of thy power,
Thou goddess grim before whom deeply bowed,
With head on knee, my lips with pæans bursting,
I lift a dreadful song and cry aloud
For Life, for Life, for Life-forever thirsting!
O vengeful goddess, be not wroth, I ask,
That I to mesh thee in my rhymes have striven.
He trembles who beholds thine awful mask;
He quails to whom thy dread right hand is given.
Song upon trembling song by starts and fits
I chant, in rhythm all my thought unfolding,
The black ink flows, the pointed goose-quill spits,
O goddess, goddess—leave me to my scolding !
## p. 151 (#207) ############################################
SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC.
151
AFTER A NIGHT STORM *
TO-DAY in misty veils thou hangest dimly,
Gloomy goddess, o'er my window-pane.
Grimly whirl the pallid snow-flakes, grimly
Roars the swollen brook unto the plain.
Ah, by light of haggard levins glaring,
'Neath the untamed thunder's roar and roll,
'Midst the valley's murk wast thou preparing-
Sorceress ! thy dank and poisoned bowl.
Shuddering, I heard through midnight breaking
Raptures of thy voice—and howls of pain.
Saw thy bright orbs gleam, thy right hand shaking
With the mace of thunder hurled amain.
Near my dreary couch I heard the crashes
Of thine armoured steps, heard weapons slam,
Heard thy brazen chain strike 'gainst the sashes,
And thy voice: “Come! hearken who I am!
The immortal Amazon they call me;
All things weak and womanish I shun;
Manly scorn and hate in war enthral me;
Victress I and tigress all in one!
Where I tread there corpses fall before me;
From mine eyes the furious torches fly,
And my brain thinks poisons. Bend, adore me!
Worm of Earth and Will o' Wisp-or die! ”
* Translated by Herman Scheffauer.
## p. 152 (#208) ############################################
152
POETRY
HYMNS TO FRIENDSHIP
(Two Fragments)
GODDESS FRIENDSHIP, deign to hear the song
That we sing in friendship's honour!
Where the eye of friendship glances,
Filled with all the joy of friendship
Come thou nigh to aid me,
Rosy dawn in thy gaze and
In holy hand the faithful pledge of youth eternal.
Morning's past: the sun of noonday
Scorches with hot ray our heads.
Let us sit beneath the arbour
Singing songs in praise of friendship.
Friendship was our life's red dawning,
And its sunset red shall be.
THE WANDERER *
ALL through the night a wanderer walks
Sturdy of stride,
With winding vale and sloping height
E'er at his side.
Fair is the night:
On, on he strides, nor slackens speed,
And knows not where his path will lead.
* This poem was written on the betrothal of one of
Nietzsche's Bale friends. -TR.
## p. 153 (#209) ############################################
SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC. 153
A bird's song in the night is heard,
"Ah me, what hast thou done, O bird,
How dost thou grip my sense and feet
And pourest heart-vexation sweet
Into mine ear—I must remain,
To hearken fain:
Why lure me with inviting strain? "
The good bird speaks, staying his song:
"I lure not thee,—no, thou art wrong—
With these my trills
I lure my mate from off the hills—
Nor heed thy plight.
To me alone the night's not fair.
What's that to thee? Forth must thou fare,
On, onward ever, resting ne'er.
Why stand'st thou now?
What has my piping done to thee,
Thou roaming wight? "
The good bird pondered, silent quite,
"Why doth my piping change his plight?
Why stands he now,
That luckless, luckless, roaming wight? "
To the Glacier
At noontide hour, when first,
Into the mountains Summer treads,
Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary,
Then too he speaks,
Yet we can only see his speech.
## p. 153 (#210) ############################################
152
POETRY
HYMNS TO FRIENDSHIP
(Two Fragments)
GODDESS FRIENDSHIP, deign to hear the song
That we sing in friendship's honour!
Where the eye of friendship glances,
Filled with all the joy of friendship
Come thou nigh to aid me,
Rosy dawn in thy gaze and
In holy hand the faithful pledge of youth eternal.
Morning's past: the sun of noonday
Scorches with hot ray our heads.
Let us sit beneath the arbour
Singing songs in praise of friendship.
Friendship was our life's red dawning,
And its sunset red shall be.
THE WANDERER *
ALL through the night a wanderer walks
Sturdy of stride,
With winding vale and sloping height
E'er at his side.
Fair is the night:
On, on he strides, nor slackens speed,
And knows not where his path will lead.
* This poem was written on the betrothal of one of
Nietzsche's Bâle friends. -TR.
## p. 153 (#211) ############################################
SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC.
153
A bird's song in the night is heard,
“Ah me, what hast thou done, o bird,
How dost thou grip my sense and feet
And pourest heart-vexation sweet
Into mine ear-I must remain,
To hearken fain:
Why lure me with inviting strain ? "
The good bird speaks, staying his song :
"I lure not thee,-no, thou art wrong-
With these my trills
I lure my mate from off the hills-
Nor heed thy plight.
To me alone the night's not fair.
What's that to thee? Forth must thou fare,
On, onward ever, resting ne'er.
Why stand'st thou now?
What has my piping done to thee,
Thou roaming wight? "
The good bird pondered, silent quite,
“Why doth my piping change his plight ?
Why stands he now,
That luckless, luckless, roaming wight? ”
TO THE GLACIER
At noontide hour, when first,
Into the mountains Summer treads,
Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary,
Then too he speaks,
Yet we can only see his speech.
## p. 154 (#212) ############################################
154 POETRY
His breath is panting, like the sick man's breath
On fevered couch.
The glacier and the fir tree and the spring
Answer his call
—Yet we their answer only see.
For faster from the rock leaps down
The torrent stream, as though to greet,
And stands, like a white column trembling,
All yearning there.
And darker yet and truer looks the fir-tree
Than e'er before.
And 'twixt the ice-mass and the cold grey
stone
A sudden light breaks forth
Such light I once beheld, and marked the
sign.
Even the dead man's eye
Surely once more grows light,
When, sorrowful, his child
Gives him embrace and kiss:
Surely once more the flame of light
Wells out, and glowing into life
The dead eye speaks: "My child!
Ah child, you know I love you true! "
So all things glow and speak — the glacier
speaks,
The brook, the fir,
Speak with their glance the selfsame words:
We love you true,
Ah, child, you know we love you, love you true!
## p. 155 (#213) ############################################
SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC.
155
And he,
Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary,
Woe-worn, gives kisses
More ardent ever,
And will not go:
But like to veils he blows his words
From out his lips,
His cruel words:
“My greeting's parting,
My coming going,
In youth I die. ”
All round they hearken
And scarcely breathe
(No songster sings),
And shuddering run
Like gleaming ray
Over the mountain;
All round they ponder,-
Nor speak-
'Twas at the noon,
At noontide hour, when first
Into the mountains Summer treads,
Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary.
AUTUMN *
'Tis Autumn :-Autumn yet shall break thy heart !
Fly away! fly away ! -
The sun creeps 'gainst the hill
And climbs and climbs
And rests at every step.
* Translated by Herman Scheffauer.
## p. 156 (#214) ############################################
156
POETRY
How faded grew the world!
On weary, slackened strings the wind
Playeth his tune.
Fair Hope fled far-
He waileth after.
Fayeth his lackened world !
'Tis Autumn :-Autumn yet shall break thy heart !
Fly away! Ay away!
O fruit o' the tree,
Thou tremblest, fallest ?
What secret whispered unto thee
The Night,
That icy shudders deck thy cheek,
Thy cheek of purple hue ?
Silent art thou, nor dost reply
Who speaketh still ? —
'Tis Autumn :-Autumn yet shall break thy heart !
Fly away! fly away! -
“I am not fair,” —
So speaks the lone star-flower,-
“Yet men I love
And comfort men-
Many flowers shall they behold,
And stoop to me,
And break me, ah !
So that within their eyes shall gleam
Remembrance swift,
Remembrance of far fairer things than I :-
I see it-see it—and I perish so. ”
'Tis Autumn:-Autumn yet shall break thy heart!
Fly away! fly away!
## p. 157 (#215) ############################################
songs, epigrams, etc. 157
Campo Santo di Staglieno*
Maiden, in gentle wise
You stroke your lamb's soft fleece,
Yet flashing from your eyes
Both light and flame ne'er cease.
Creature of merry jest
And favourite near and far,
Pious, with kindness blest,
Amorosissima!
What broke so soon the chain,
What does your heart deplore?
And who, pray, would not fain,
If you loved him, adore ? —
You're mute, but from your eye,
The tear-drop is not far,
You're mute: you'll yearn and die,
Amorosissima?
The Little Brig named "Little Angel"f
"Little Angel " call they me! —
Now a ship, but once a girl,
Ah, and still too much a girl!
My steering-wheel, so bright to see,
But for sake of love doth whirl.
* Campo Santo di Staglieno is the cemetery of Staglieno,
near Genoa. The poem was inspired by the sight of a girl
with a lamb on the tombstone, with the words underneath—
"Pia, caritatevole, amorosissima. "
t Published by Nietzsche himself. The poem was inspired
by a ship that was christened Angiolina, in memory of a
love-sick girl who leapt into the sea. —Tr.
## p. 158 (#216) ############################################
158 POETRY
"Little Angel" call they me,
With hundred flags to ornament,
A captain smart, on glory bent,
Steers me, puffed with vanity
(He himself s an ornament).
"Little Angel" call they me,
And where'er a little flame
Gleams for me, I, like a lamb,
Go my journey eagerly
(1 was always such a lamb! ).
"Little Angel" call they me—
Think you I can bark and whine
Like a dog, this mouth of mine
Throwing smoke and flame full free?
Ah, a devil's mouth is mine.
"Little Angel" call they me—
Once I spoke a bitter word,
That my lover, when he heard,
Fast and far away did flee:
Yes, I killed him with that word!
"Little Angel" call they me:
Hardly heard, I sprang so glib
From the cliff and broke a rib:
From my frame my soul went free,
Yes, escaped me through that rib.
"Little Angel" call they me—
Then my soul, like cat in flight
Straight did on this ship alight
Swiftly bounding—one, two, three!
Yes, its claws are swift to smite.
## p. 159 (#217) ############################################
SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC.
159
“ Little Angel” call they me!
Now a ship, but once a girl,
Ah, and still too much a girl!
My steering-wheel, so bright to see,
For sake of love alone doth whirl.
MAIDEN'S SONG
YESTERDAY with seventeen years
Wisdom reached I, a maiden fair,
I am grey-haired, it appears,
Now in all things—save my hair.
Yesterday, I had a thought,
Was't a thought you laugh and scorn!
Did you ever have a thought ?
Rather was a feeling born.
Dare a woman think? This screed
Wisdom long ago begot:
“Follow woman must, not lead;
If she thinks, she follows not. ”.
Wisdom speaks—I credit naught:
Rather hops and stings like flea:
“Woman seldom harbours thought;
If she thinks, no good is she! ”
To this wisdom, old, renowned,
Bow I in deep reverence:
Now my wisdom I'll expound
In its very quintessence.
## p. 160 (#218) ############################################
160
POETRY
A voice spoke in me yesterday
As ever-listen if you can:
“Woman is more beauteous aye,
But more interesting-man! ”
“PIA, CARITATEVOLE, AMOROSISSIMA” .
CAVE where the dead ones rest,
O marble falsehood, thee
I love: for easy jest
My soul thou settest free.
To-day, to-day alone,
My soul to tears is stirred,
At thee, the pictured stone,
At thee, the graven word.
This picture (none need wis)
I kissed the other day.
When there's so much to kiss
Why did I kiss the-clay?
Who knows the reason why?
“A tombstone fool! ” you laugh:
I kissed-l'll not deny-
E'en the long epitaph.
TO FRIENDSHIP
HAIL to thee, Friendship!
My hope consummate,
My first red daybreak!
Alas, so endless
* See above, p. 157. Both poems were inspired by the same
tombstone. -TR.
## p. 161 (#219) ############################################
SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC. l6l
Oft path and night seemed,
And life's long road
Aimless and hateful!
Now life I'd double
In thine eyes seeing
Dawn-glory, triumph,
Most gracious goddess!
Pine Tree and Lightning
O'er man and beast I grew so high,
And speak—but none will give reply.
Too lone and tall my crest did soar:
I wait: what am I waiting for?
The clouds are grown too nigh of late,
'Tis the first lightning I await.
Tree in Autumn
Why did ye, blockheads, me awaken
While I in blissful blindness stood?
Ne'er I by fear more fell was shaken—
Vanished my golden dreaming mood.
Bear-elephants, with trunks all greedy,
Knock first! Where have your manners fled?
I threw—and fear has made me speedy—
Dishes of ripe fruit—at your head.
## p. 162 (#220) ############################################
162 POETRY
Among Foes (or Against Critics)
{After a Gipsy Proverb)
Here the gallows, there the cord,
And the hangman's ruddy beard.
Round, the venom-glancing horde :—
Nothing new to me's appeared.
Many times I've seen the sight,
Now laughing in your face I cry,
"Hanging me is useless quite:
Die? Nay, nay, I cannot die! "
Beggars all! Ye envy me
Winning what ye never won!
True, I suffer agony,
But for you—your life is done.
Many times I've faced death's plight,
Yet steam and light and breath am I.
Hanging me is useless quite:
Die? Nay, nay, I cannot die!
The New Columbus*
"Dearest," said Columbus, " never
Trust a Genoese again.
At the blue he gazes ever,
Distance doth his soul enchain.
Strangeness is to me too dear—
Genoa has sunk and passed—
Heart, be cool! Hand, firmly steer!
Sea before me: land—at last?
*The Genoese is Nietzsche himself, who lived a great
part of his life at Genoa. —Tr.
## p. 163 (#221) ############################################
SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC. 163
Firmly let us plant our feet,
Ne'er can we give up this game—
From the distance what doth greet?
One death, one happiness, one fame.
In Lonesomeness *
The cawing crows
Townwards on whirring pinions roam;
Soon come the snows—
Thrice happy now who hath a home!
Fast-rooted there,
Thou gazest backwards—oh, how long!
Thou fool, why dare
Ere winter come, this world of wrong?
This world—a gate
To myriad deserts dumb and hoar!
Who lost through fate
What thou hast lost, shall rest no more.
Now stand'st thou pale,
A frozen pilgrimage thy doom,
Like smoke whose trail
Cold and still colder skies consume.
Fly, bird, and screech,
Like desert-fowl, thy song apart!
Hide out of reach,
Fool! in grim ice thy bleeding heart.
* Translated by Herman Scheffauer.
## p. 164 (#222) ############################################
164
POETRY
The cawing Crows
Town wards on whirring pinions roam ;
Soon come the snows-
Woe unto him who hath no home!
My Answer
The man presumes-
Good Lord ! -to think that I'd return
To those warm rooms
Where snug the German ovens burn
My friend, you see
'Tis but thy folly drives me far,-
Pity for thee
And all that German blockheads are !
VENICE
On the bridge I stood,
Mellow was the night,
Music came from far-
Drops of gold outpoured
On the shimmering waves.
Song, gondolas, light,
Floated a-twinkling out into the dusk.
The chords of my soul, moved
By unseen impulse, throbbed
Secretly into a gondola song,
With thrills of bright-hued ecstasy.
Had I a listener there?
## p. 165 (#223) ############################################
EPIGRAMS
Caution: Poison ! *
He who cannot laugh at this had better not start
reading;
For if he read and do not laugh, physic he'll be
needing!
How to find One's Company
WITH jesters it is good to jest:
Who likes to tickle, is tickled best.
The Word
I DEARLY love the living word,
That flies to you like a merry bird,
Ready with pleasant nod to greet,
E'en in misfortune welcome, sweet,
Yet it has blood, can pant you deep:
Then to the dove's ear it will creep:
And curl itself, or start for flight—
Whate'er it does, it brings delight.
Yet tender doth the word remain,
Soon it is ill, soon well again:
* Translated by Francis Bickley.
165
## p. 166 (#224) ############################################
166 POETRY
So if its little life you'd spare,
O grasp it lightly and with care,
Nor heavy hand upon it lay,
For e'en a cruel glance would slay!
There it would lie, unsouled, poor thing!
All stark, all formless, and all cold,
Its little body changed and battered,
By death and dying rudely shattered.
A dead word is a hateful thing,
A barren, rattling, ting-ting-ting.
A curse on ugly trades I cry
That doom all little words to die!
The Wanderer and his Shadow
A Book
You'll ne'er go on nor yet go back?
Is e'en for chamois here no track?
So here I wait and firmly clasp
What eye and hand will let me grasp!
Five-foot-broad ledge, red morning's breath,
And under me—world, man, and death!
Joyful Wisdom
THIS is no book—for such, who looks?
Coffins and shrouds, naught else, are books!
What's dead and gone they make their prey,
Yet in my book lives fresh To-day.
## p. 167 (#225) ############################################
SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC. 167
This is no book—for such, who looks?
Who cares for coffins, shrouds, and spooks?
This is a promise, an act of will,
A last bridge-breaking, for good or ill;
A wind from sea, an anchor light,
A whirr of wheels, a steering right.
The cannon roars, white smokes its flame,
The sea—the monster—laughs and scents its game.
Dedication *
He who has much to tell, keeps much
Silent and unavowed.
He who with lightning-flash would touch
Must long remain a cloud!
The New Testament!
Is this your Book of Sacred Lore,
For blessing, cursing, and such uses ? -
Come, come now: at the very door
God some one else's wife seduces?
The "True German"
"O PEUPLE des meillures Tartuffes,
To you I'm true, I wis. "
He spoke, but in the swiftest skiff"
Went to Cosmopolis.
* On the title-page of a copy of Joyful Wisdom, dedicated
to Herr August Bungal. —Tr.
t Translated by Francis Bickley.
## p. 168 (#226) ############################################
168
POETRY
TO THE DARWINIANS *
A FOOL this honest Britisher
Was not . . . But a Philosopher!
As that you really rate him?
Set Darwin up by Goethe's side ?
But majesty you thus deride-
Genii majestatem !
To HAFIZ
(Toast Question of a Water-Drinker)
WHAT you have builded, yonder inn,
O’ertops all houses high :
The posset you have brewed therein
The world will ne'er drink dry.
The bird that once appeared on earth
As phenix, is your guest.
The mouse that gave a mountain birth
Is you yourself confessed !
You're all and naught, you're inn and wine,
You're phenix, mountain, mouse.
Back to yourself to come you pine
Or fly from out your house.
Downward from every height you've sunk,
And in the depths still shine:
The drunkenness of all the drunk,
Why do you ask for—wine ?
* Translated by Francis Bickley.
## p. 169 (#227) ############################################
SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC. 169
To Spinoza
Of " All in One " a fervent devotee
A more Dei, of reasoned piety,
Doff shoes! A land thrice holy this must be! —
Yet underneath this love there sate
A torch of vengeance, burning secretly
The Hebrew God was gnawed by Hebrew hate.
Hermit! Do I aright interpret thee?
Arthur Schopenhauer
That which he taught, has had its day,
That which he lived, shall live for aye:
Look at the man! No bondsman he!
Nor e'er to mortal bowed his knee!
To Richard Wagner
O YOU who chafe at every fetter's link,
A restless spirit, never free:
Who, though victorious aye, in bonds still cowered,
Disgusted more and more, and flayed and scoured,
Till from each cup of balm you poison drink,
Alas! and by the Cross all helpless sink,
You too, you too, among the overpowered!
For long I watched this play so weirdly shaped,
Breathing an air of prison, vault, and dread,
With churchly fragrance, clouds of incense spread,
And yet I found all strange, in terror gaped.
But now I throw my fool's cap o'er my head,
For I escaped!
## p. 170 (#228) ############################################
170
POETRY
MUSIC OF THE SOUTH *
ALL that my eagle e'er saw clear,
I see and feel in heart to-day
(Although my hope was wan and gray)
Thy song like arrow pierced mine ear,
A balm to touch, a balm to hear,
As down from heaven it winged its way.
So now for lands of southern fire
To happy isles where Grecian nymphs hold sport!
Thither now turn the ship's desire
No ship e'er sped to fairer port.
A RIDDLE
A RIDDLE here can you the answer scent?
“When man discovers, woman must invent. ”—
TO FALSE FRIENDS
You stole, your eye's not clear to-day.
You only stole a thought, sir? nay,
Why be so rudely modest, pray?
Here, take another handful—stay,
Take all I have, you swine-you may
Eat till your filth is purged away.
FRIEND YORICK
BE of good cheer,
Friend Yorick! If this thought gives pain,
As now it does, I fear,
* Probably written for Peter Gast, Nietzsche's faithful
friend, and a musician whose “Southern ” music Nietzsche
admired. - TR
## p. 171 (#229) ############################################
SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC. 171
Is it not " God "?
