That there is struggle and
inequality
even in
beauty, and war for power and supremacy: that
doth he here teach us in the plainest parable.
beauty, and war for power and supremacy: that
doth he here teach us in the plainest parable.
Nietzsche - v11 - Thus Spake Zarathustra
Verily,
they themselves never trod the carpets of know-
ledge!
Of defects did the spirit of those Saviours consist;
but into every defect had they put their illusion,
their stop-gap, which they called God.
In their pity was their spirit drowned; and when
## p. 108 (#188) ############################################
108
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
they swelled and o'erswelled with pity, there always
floated to the surface a great folly.
Eagerly and with shouts drove they their flock
over their foot-bridge; as if there were but one
foot-bridge to the future! Verily, those shepherds
also were still of the flock!
Small spirits and spacious souls had those shep-
herds : but, my brethren, what small domains have
even the most spacious souls hitherto been !
Characters of blood did they write on the way
they went, and their folly taught that truth is
proved by blood.
But blood is the very worst witness to truth;
blood tainteth the purest teaching, and turneth it
into delusion and hatred of heart.
And when a person goeth through fire for his
teaching—what doth that prove! It is more,
verily, when out of one's own burning cometh one's
own teaching !
Sultry heart and cold head; where these meet,
there ariseth the blusterer, the "Saviour. ”
Greater ones, verily, have there been, and higher-
born ones, than those whom the people call Saviours,
those rapturous blusterers !
And by still greater ones than any of the Saviours
must ye be saved, my brethren, if ye would find the
way to freedom !
Never yet hath there been a Superman. Naked
have I seen both of them, the greatest man and the
smallest man :-
All-too-similar are they still to each other.
Verily, even the greatest found I-all-too-human!
Thus spake Zarathustra.
## p. 109 (#189) ############################################
XXVII. —THE VIRTUOUS. 109
XXVII. —THE VIRTUOUS.
With thunder and heavenly fireworks must one
speak to indolent and somnolent senses.
But beauty's voice speaketh gently: it appealeth
only to the most awakened souls.
Gently vibrated and laughed unto me to-day
my buckler; it was beauty's holy laughing and
thrilling.
At you, ye virtuous ones, laughed my beauty
to-day. And thus came its voice unto me: "They
want—to be paid besides! "
Ye want to be paid besides, ye virtuous ones!
Ye want reward for virtue, and heaven for earth,
and eternity for your to-day?
And now ye upbraid me for teaching that there
is no reward-giver, nor paymaster? And verily, I
do not even teach that virtue is its own reward.
Ah! this is my sorrow: into the basis of things
have reward and punishment been insinuated—and
now even into the basis of your souls, ye virtuous
ones!
But like the snout of the boar shall my word
grub up the basis of your souls; a ploughshare will
I be called by you.
All the secrets of your heart shall be brought to
light; and when ye lie in the sun, grubbed up and
broken, then will also your falsehood be separated
from your truth.
For this is your truth: ye are too pure for the
filth of the words: vengeance, punishment, recom-
pense, retribution.
Ye love your virtue as a mother loveth her child;
r
## p. 110 (#190) ############################################
IIO THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II
but when did one hear of a mother wanting to be
paid for her love?
It is your dearest Self, your virtue. The ring's
thirst is in you: to reach itself again struggleth
every ring, and turneth itself.
And like the star that goeth out, so is every work
of your virtue: ever is its light on its way and
travelling—and when will it cease to be on its way?
Thus is the light of your virtue still on its way,
even when its work is done. Be it forgotten and
dead, still its ray of light liveth and travelleth.
That your virtue is your Self, and not an outward
thing, a skin, or a cloak: that is the truth from the
basis of your souls, ye virtuous ones! —
But sure enough there are those to whom virtue
meaneth writhing under the lash: and ye have
hearkened too much unto their crying!
And others are there who call virtue the slothful-
ness of their vices; and when once their hatred and
jealousy relax the limbs, their "justice" becometh
lively and rubbeth its sleepy eyes.
And others are there who are drawn downwards:
their devils draw them. But the more they sink,
the more ardently gloweth their eye, and the long-
ing for their God.
Ah! their crying also hath reached your ears, ye
virtuous ones: "What I am not, that, that is God
to me, and virtue! "
And others are there who go along heavily and
creakingly, like carts taking stones downhill: they
talk much of dignity and virtue—their drag they
call virtue!
And others are there who are like eight-day
## p. 111 (#191) ############################################
XXVII. —THE VIRTUOUS. Ill
clocks when wound up; they tick, and want people
to call ticking—virtue.
Verily, in those have I mine amusement: where-
ever I find such clocks I shall wind them up with
my mockery, and they shall even whirr thereby!
And others are proud of their modicum of
righteousness, and for the sake of it do violence
to all things: so that the world is drowned in their
unrighteousness.
Ah! how ineptly cometh the word "virtue" out
of their mouth! And when they say: "I am just,"
it always soundeth like: "I am just—revenged! "
With their virtues they want to scratch out the
eyes of their enemies; and they elevate themselves
only that they may lower others.
And again there are those who sit in their
swamp, and speak thus from among the bulrushes:
"Virtue—that is to sit quietly in the swamp.
We bite no one, and go out of the way of him
who would bite; and in all matters we have the
opinion that is given us. "
And again there are those who love attitudes,
and think that virtue is a sort of attitude.
Their knees continually adore, and their hands
are eulogies of virtue, but their heart knoweth
naught thereof.
And again there are those who regard it as
virtue to say: "Virtue is necessary "; but after all
they believe only that policemen are necessary.
And many a one who cannot see men's loftiness,
calleth it virtue to see their baseness far too well:
thus calleth he his evil eye virtue. —
And some want to be edified and raised up, and
## p. 112 (#192) ############################################
112 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
call it virtue: and others want to be cast down,—
and likewise call it virtue.
And thus do almost all think that they partici-
pate in virtue; and at least every one claimeth
to be an authority on "good " and "evil. "
But Zarathustra came not to say unto all those
liars and fools: "What do ye know of virtue!
What could ye know of virtue! "—
But that ye, my friends, might become weary
of the old words which ye have learned from the
fools and liars:
That ye might become weary of the words
"reward," "retribution," "punishment," "righteous
vengeance. "—
That ye might become weary of saying: "That
an action is good is because it is unselfish. "
Ah! my friends! That your very Self be in
your action, as the mother is in the child: let that
be your formula of virtue!
Verily, I have taken from you a hundred formulae
and your virtue's favourite playthings; and now
ye upbraid me, as children upbraid.
They played by the sea—then came there a
wave and swept their playthings into the deep:
and now do they cry.
But the same wave shall bring them new play-
things, and spread before them new speckled
shells!
Thus will they be comforted; and like them
shall ye also, my friends, have your comforting—
and new speckled shells! —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
## p. 113 (#193) ############################################
XXVIII. —THE RABBLE. 113
XXVIII. —THE RABBLE.
Life is a well of delight; but where the rabble
also drink, there all fountains are poisoned.
To everything cleanly am I well disposed; but
I hate to see the grinning mouths and the thirst
of the unclean.
They cast their eye down into the fountain: and
now glanceth up to me their odious smile out of
the fountain.
The holy water have they poisoned with their
lustfulness; and when they called their filthy
dreams delight, then poisoned they also the words.
Indignant becometh the flame when they put
their damp hearts to the fire; the spirit itself
bubbleth and smoketh when the rabble approach
the fire.
Mawkish and over-mellow becometh the fruit
in their hands: unsteady, and withered at the top,
doth their look make the fruit-tree.
And many a one who hath turned away from
life, hath only turned away from the rabble: he
hated to share with them fountain, flame, and fruit.
And many a one who hath gone into the
wilderness and suffered thirst with beasts of prey,
disliked only to sit at the cistern with filthy camel-
drivers.
And many a one who hath come along as a
destroyer, and as a hailstorm to all cornfields,
wanted merely to put his foot into the jaws of
the rabble, and thus stop their throat.
And it is not the mouthful which hath most
H
## p. 114 (#194) ############################################
114 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
choked me, to know that life itself requireth enmity
and death and torture-crosses:—
But I asked once, and suffocated almost with my
question: What? is the rabble also necessary for
life?
Are poisoned fountains necessary, and stinking
fires, and filthy dreams, and maggots in the bread
of life?
Not my hatred, but my loathing gnawed hungrily
at my life! Ah, ofttimes became I weary of spirit,
when I found even the rabble spiritual!
And on the rulers turned I my back, when I saw
what they now call ruling: to traffic and bargain
for power—with the rabble!
Amongst peoples of a strange language did I
dwell, with stopped ears: so that the language of
their trafficking might remain strange unto me, and
their bargaining for power.
And holding my nose, I went morosely through
all yesterdays and to-days: verily, badly smell all
yesterdays and to-days of the scribbling rabble!
Like a cripple become deaf, and blind, and
dumb—thus have I lived long; that I might not
live with the power-rabble, the scribe-rabble, and the
pleasure-rabble.
Toilsomely did my spirit mount stairs, and
cautiously; alms of delight were its refreshment;
on the staff did life creep along with the blind one.
What hath happened unto me? How have I
freed myself from loathing? Who hath rejuvenated
mine eye? How have I flown to the height where
no rabble any longer sit at the wells?
Did my loathing itself create for me wings and
## p. 115 (#195) ############################################
XXVIII. —THE RABBLE. US
fountain-divining powers? Verily, to the loftiest
height had I to fly, to find again the well of delight!
Oh, I have found it, my brethren! Here on the
loftiest height bubbleth up for me the well of
delight! And there is a life at whose waters none
of the rabble drink with me!
Almost too violently dost thou flow for me,
thou fountain of delight! And often emptiest
thou the goblet again, in wanting to fill it!
And yet must I learn to approach thee more
modestly: far too violently doth my heart still flow
towards thee:—
My heart on which my summer burneth, my
short, hot, melancholy, over-happy summer: how
my summer heart longeth for thy coolness!
Past, the lingering distress of my spring! Past,
the wickedness of my snowflakes in June! Summer
have I become entirely, and summer-noontide!
A summer on the loftiest height, with cold
fountains and blissful stillness: oh, come, my
friends, that the stillness may become more blissful!
For this is our height and our home: too high
and steep do we here dwell for all uncleanly ones
and their thirst.
Cast but your pure eyes into the well of my
delight, my friends! How could it become turbid
thereby! It shall laugh back to you with its
purity.
On the tree of the future build we our nest;
eagles shall bring us lone ones food in their beaks!
Verily, no food of which the impure could be
fellow-partakers! Fire, would they think they
devoured, and burn their mouths!
## p. 116 (#196) ############################################
116
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
Verily, no abodes do we here keep ready for the
impure! An ice-cave to their bodies would our
happiness be, and to their spirits !
And as strong winds will we live above them,
neighbours to the eagles, neighbours to the snow,
neighbours to the sun : thus live the strong winds.
And like a wind will I one day blow amongst
them, and with my spirit, take the breath from their
spirit: thus willeth my future.
Verily, a strong wind is Zarathustra to all low
places; and this counsel counselleth he to his
enemies, and to whatever spitteth and speweth :
“ Take care not to spit against the wind ! ”-
Thus spake Zarathustra.
XXIX. -THE TARANTULAS.
Lo, this is the tarantula's den! Would'st thou
see the tarantula itself? Here hangeth its web:
touch this, so that it may tremble.
There cometh the tarantula willingly : Welcome,
tarantula! Black on thy back is thy triangle and
symbol; and I know also what is in thy soul.
Revenge is in thy soul: wherever thou bitest,
there ariseth black scab; with revenge, thy poison
maketh the soul giddy!
Thus do I speak unto you in parable, ye who make
the soul giddy, ye preachers of equality! Tarantulas
are ye unto me, and secretly revengeful ones!
But I will soon bring your hiding-places to the
light: therefore do I laugh in your face my laughter
of the height,
## p. 117 (#197) ############################################
XXIX. —THE TARANTULAS. 117
Therefore do I tear at your web, that your rage
may lure you o it of your den of lies, and that your
revenge may leap forth from behind your word
"justice. "
Because, for man to be redeemed from revenge—
that is for me the bridge to the highest hope, and a
rainbow after long storms.
Otherwise, however, would the tarantulas have it.
"Let it be very justice for the world to become full
of the storms of our vengeance "—thus do they talk
to one another.
"Vengeance will we use, and insult, against all
who are not like us "—thus do the tarantula-hearts
pledge themselves.
"And ' Will to Equality '—that itself shall hence-
forth be the name of virtue; and against all that
hath power will we raise an outcry! "
Ye preachers of equality, the tyrant-frenzy of
impotence crieth thus in you for "equality ": your
most secret tyrant-longings disguise themselves
thus in virtue-words!
Fretted conceit and suppressed envy—perhaps
your fathers' conceit and envy: in you break they
forth as flame and frenzy of vengeance.
What the father hath hid cometh out in the son;
and oft have I found the son the father's revealed
secret.
Inspired ones they resemble: but it is not the
heart that inspireth them—but vengeance. And
when they become subtle and cold, it is not spirit,
but envy, that maketh them so.
Their jealousy leadeth them also into thinkers'
paths; and this is the sign of their jealousy—they
## p. 118 (#198) ############################################
Il8 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
always go too far: so that their fatigue hath at last
to go to sleep on the snow.
In all their lamentations soundet. vengeance, in
all their eulogies is maleficence; and being judge
seemeth to them bliss.
But thus do I counsel you, my friends: distrust
all in whom the impulse to punish is powerful!
They are people of bad race and lineage; out
of their countenances peer the hangman and the
sleuth-hound.
Distrust all those who talk much of their justice!
Verily, in their souls not only honey is lacking.
And when they call themselves " the good and
just," forget not, that for them to be Pharisees,
nothing is lacking but—power!
My friends, I will not be mixed up and con-
founded with others.
There are those who preach my doctrine of life,
and are at the same time preachers of equality,
and tarantulas.
That they speak in favour of life, though they sit
in their den, these poison-spiders, and withdrawn
from life—is because they would thereby do
injury.
To those would they thereby do injury who have
power at present: for with those the preaching of
death is still most at home.
Were it otherwise, then would the tarantulas
teach otherwise: and they themselves were formerly
the best world-maligners and heretic-burners.
With these preachers of equality will I not be
mixed up and confounded. For thus speaketh
justice unto me: "Men are not equal. "
## p. 119 (#199) ############################################
XXIX. —THE TARANTULAS. 11$
And neither shall they become so! What would
be my love to the Superman, if I spake otherwise?
On a thousand bridges and piers shall they
throng to the future, and always shall there be
more war and inequality among them: thus doth
my great love make me speak!
Inventors of figures and phantoms shall they be
in their hostilities; and with those figures and
phantoms shall they yet fight with each other the
supreme fight!
Good and evil, and rich and poor, and high and
low, and all names of values: weapons shall they
be, and sounding signs, that life must again and
again surpass itself!
Aloft will it build itself with columns and stairs
—life itself: into remote distances would it gaze,
and out towards blissful beauties—therefore doth
it require elevation!
And because it requireth elevation, therefore doth
it require steps, and variance of steps and climbers!
To rise striveth life, and in rising to surpass itself.
And just behold, my friends! Here where the
tarantula's den is, riseth aloft an ancient temple's
ruins—just behold it with enlightened eyes!
Verily, he who here towered aloft his thoughts in
stone, knew as well as the wisest ones about the
secret of life!
That there is struggle and inequality even in
beauty, and war for power and supremacy: that
doth he here teach us in the plainest parable.
How divinely do vault and arch here contrast in
the struggle: how with light and shade they strive
against each other, the divinely striving ones. —
## p. 120 (#200) ############################################
Il8 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA'J U-
I
always go too far: so that their fatig'rue hath at
to go to sleep on the snow. 1"
In all their lamentations soundeU u. vengeam.
all their eulogies is maleficence; and flWng j'
seemeth to them bliss.
But thus do I counsel you, my friends: di*
all in whom the impulse to punish is powerfui
They are people of bad race and lineage
of their countenances peer the hangman an.
sleuth-hound.
Distrust all those who talk much of their ju
Verily, in their souls not only honey is lacki
And when they call themselves "the go. .
just," forget not, that for them to be Ph.
nothing is lacking but—power!
My friends, I will not be mixed up:
founded with others.
There are those who preach my doctrine
and are at the same time preachers of
and tarantulas.
That they speak in favour of life, though
in their den, these poison-spiders, and ii"
from life—is because they would the'
injury. j
To those would they thereby do injury v
power at present: for with those the prer
death is still most at home.
Were it otherwise, then would the
teach otherwise: and they themselves w
the best world-maligners and heretic-bu
With these preachers of equality will
mixed up and confounded. For thus
justice unto me: "Men are not equal. "
## p. 121 (#201) ############################################
XXX. —THE FAMOUS WISE ONES. 121
To hunt him out of his lair—that was always
called "sense of right" by the people: on him do
they still hound their sharpest-toothed dogs.
"For there the truth is, where the people are!
Woe, woe to the seeking ones 1"—thus hath it
echoed through all time.
Your people would ye justify in their reverence:
that called ye " Will to Truth," ye famous wise ones!
And your heart hath always said to itself: "From
the people have I come: from thence came to me
also the voice of God. "
Stiff-necked and artful, like the ass, have ye
always been, as the advocates of the people.
And many a powerful one who wanted to run
well with the people, hath harnessed in front of his
horses—a donkey, a famous wise man.
And now, ye famous wise ones, I would have you
finally throw off entirely the skin of the lion!
The skin of the beast of prey, the speckled skin,
and the dishevelled locks of the investigator, the
searcher, and the conqueror!
Ah! for me to learn to believe in your " conscien-
tiousness," ye would first have to break your vener-
ating will.
Conscientious—so call I him who goeth into God-
forsaken wildernesses, and hath broken his venerat-
ing heart
.
In the yellow sands and burnt by the sun, he
doubtless peereth thirstily at the isles rich in
fountains, where life reposeth under shady trees.
But his thirst doth not persuade him to become
like those comfortable ones: for where there are
oases, there are also idols.
## p. 122 (#202) ############################################
122 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
Hungry, fierce, lonesome, God-forsaken: so doth
the lion-will wish itself.
Free from the happiness of slaves, redeemed from
Deities and adorations, fearless and fear-inspir-
ing, grand and lonesome: so is the will of the
conscientious.
In the wilderness have ever dwelt the conscien-
tious, the free spirits, as lords of the wilderness;
but in the cities dwell the well-foddered, famous
wise ones—the draught-beasts.
For, always, do they draw, as asses—the people's
carts!
Not that I on that account upbraid them: but
serving ones do they remain, and harnessed ones,
even though they glitter in golden harness.
And often have they been good servants and
worthy of their hire. For thus saith virtue: "If
thou must be a servant, seek him unto whom thy
service is most useful!
The spirit and virtue of thy master shall advance
by thou being his servant: thus wilt thou thyself
advance with his spirit and virtue! "
And verily, ye famous wise ones, ye servants of
the people! Ye yourselves have advanced with
the people's spirit and virtue—and the people by
you! To your honour do I say it!
But the people ye remain for me, even with
your virtues, the people with purblind eyes—the
people who know not what spirit is!
Spirit is life which itself cutteth into life: by its
own torture doth it increase its own knowledge,—
did ye know that before?
And the spirit's happiness is this: to be anointed
\
## p. 123 (#203) ############################################
XXX. —THE FAMOUS WISE ONES. 123
and consecrated with tears as a sacrificial victim,—
did ye know that before?
And the blindness of the blind one, and his
seeking and groping, shall yet testify to the power
of the sun into which he hath gazed,—did ye know
that before?
And with mountains shall the discerning one
learn to build I It is a small thing for the spirit to
remove mountains,—did ye know that before?
Ye know only the sparks of the spirit: but ye
do not see the anvil which it is, and the cruelty of
its hammer!
Verily, ye know not the spirit's pride! But still
less could ye endure the spirit's humility, should it
ever want to speak!
And never yet could ye cast your spirit into a
pit of snow: ye are not hot enough for that! Thus
are ye unaware, also, of the delight of its coldness.
In all respects, however, ye make too familiar
with the spirit; and out of wisdom have ye often
made an almshouse and a hospital for bad poets.
Ye are not eagles: thus have ye never ex-
perienced the happiness of the alarm of the spirit.
And he who is not a bird should not camp above
abysses.
Ye seem to me lukewarm ones: but coldly
floweth all deep knowledge. Ice-cold are the
innermost wells of the spirit: a refreshment to hot
hands and handlers.
Respectable do ye there stand, and stiff, and
with straight backs, ye famous wise ones! —no
strong wind or will impelleth you.
Have ye ne'er seen a sail crossing the sea,
>
## p. 124 (#204) ############################################
124 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
rounded and inflated, and trembling with the
violence of the wind?
Like the sail trembling with the violence of the
spirit, doth my wisdom cross the sea—my wild
wisdom!
But ye servants of the people, ye famous wise
ones—how could ye go with me! —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
XXXI—THE NIGHT-SONG.
'Tis night: now do all gushing fountains speak
louder. And my soul also is a gushing fountain.
'Tis night: now only do all songs of the loving
ones awake. And my soul also is the song of a
loving one.
Something unappeased, unappeasable, is within
me; it longeth to find expression. A craving for
love is within me, which speaketh itself the language
of love.
Light am I: ah, that I were night! But it is
my lonesomeness to be begirt with light!
Ah, that I were dark and nightly! How would
I suck at the breasts of light!
And you yourselves would I bless, ye twinkling
starlets and glow-worms aloft! —and would rejoice
in the gifts of your light.
But I live in mine own light, I drink again into
myself the flames that break forth from me.
I know not the happiness of the receiver; and
oft have I dreamt that stealing must be more
blessed than receiving.
## p. 125 (#205) ############################################
XXXI. —THE NIGHT-SONG. 125
It is my poverty that my hand never ceaseth
bestowing; it is mine envy that I see waiting eyes
and the brightened nights of longing.
Oh, the misery of all bestowers! Oh, the dark-
ening of my sun! Oh, the craving to crave! Oh,
the violent hunger in satiety!
They take from me: but do I yet touch their
soul? There is a gap 'twixt giving and receiving;
and the smallest gap hath finally to be bridged over.
A hunger ariseth out of my beauty: I should
like to injure those I illumine; I should like to
rob those I have gifted :—thus do I hunger for
wickedness.
Withdrawing my hand when another hand
already stretcheth out to it; hesitating like the
cascade, which hesitateth even in its leap:—thus
do I hunger for wickedness!
Such revenge doth mine abundance think of:
such mischief welleth out of my lonesomeness.
My happiness in bestowing died in bestowing;
my virtue became weary of itself by its abundance!
He who ever bestoweth is in danger of losing
his shame; to him who ever dispenseth, the hand
and heart becomes callous by very dispensing.
Mine eye no longer overfloweth for the shame
of suppliants; my hand hath become too hard for
the trembling of filled hands.
Whence have gone the tears of mine eye, and the
down of my heart? Oh, the lonesomeness of all
bestowers! Oh, the silence of all shining ones!
Many suns circle in desert space: to all that is
dark do they speak with their light—but to me
they are silent.
## p. 125 (#206) ############################################
124 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
rounded and inflated, and trembling with the
violence of the wind?
Like the sail trembling with the violence of the
spirit, doth my wisdom cross the sea—my wild
wisdom!
But ye servants of the people, ye famous wise
ones—how could ye go with me! —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
XXXI—THE NIGHT-SONG.
'Tis night: now do all gushing fountains speak
louder. And my soul also is a gushing fountain.
'Tis night: now only do all songs of the loving
ones awake. And my soul also is the song of a
loving one.
Something unappeased, unappeasable, is within
me; it longeth to find expression. A craving for
love is within me, which speaketh itself the language
of love.
Light am I: ah, that I were night! But it is
my lonesomeness to be begirt with light!
Ah, that I were dark and nightly! How would
I suck at the breasts of light!
And you yourselves would I bless, ye twinkling
starlets and glow-worms aloft! —and would rejoice
in the gifts of your light.
But I live in mine own light, I drink again into
myself the flames that break forth from me.
I know not the happiness of the receiver; and
oft have I dreamt that stealing must be more
blessed than receiving.
## p. 125 (#207) ############################################
XXXI. —THE NIGHT-SONG. 125
It is my poverty that my hand never ceaseth
bestowing; it is mine envy that I see waiting eyes
and the brightened nights of longing.
Oh, the misery of all bestowers! Oh, the dark-
ening of my sun! Oh, the craving to crave! Oh,
the violent hunger in satiety!
They take from me: but do I yet touch their
soul? There is a gap 'twixt giving and receiving;
and the smallest gap hath finally to be bridged over.
A hunger ariseth out of my beauty: I should
like to injure those I illumine; I should like to
rob those I have gifted:—thus do I hunger for
wickedness.
Withdrawing my hand when another hand
already stretcheth out to it; hesitating like the
cascade, which hesitateth even in its leap:—thus
do I hunger for wickedness!
Such revenge doth mine abundance think of:
such mischief welleth out of my lonesomeness.
My happiness in bestowing died in bestowing;
my virtue became weary of itself by its abundance!
He who ever bestoweth is in danger of losing
his shame; to him who ever dispenseth, the hand
and heart becomes callous by very dispensing.
Mine eye no longer overfloweth for the shame
of suppliants; my hand hath become too hard for
the trembling of filled hands.
Whence have gone the tears of mine eye, and the
down of my heart? Oh, the lonesomeness of all
bestowers! Oh, the silence of all shining ones!
Many suns circle in desert space: to all that is
dark do they speak with their light—but to me
they are silent.
## p. 126 (#208) ############################################
126 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
Oh, this is the hostility of light to the shining one:
unpityingly doth it pursue its course.
Unfair to the shining one in its innermost heart,
cold to the suns :—thus travelleth every sun.
Like a storm do the suns pursue their courses:
that is their travelling. Their inexorable will do
they follow: that is their coldness.
Oh, ye only is it, ye dark, nightly ones, that
extract warmth from the shining ones! Oh, ye
only drink milk and refreshment from the light's
udders!
Ah, there is ice around me; my hand burneth
with the iciness! Ah, there is thirst in me; it
panteth after your thirst!
Tis night: alas, that I have to be light! And
thirst for the nightly! And lonesomeness!
'Tis night: now doth my longing break forth in
me as a fountain,—for speech do I long.
'Tis night: now do all gushing fountains speak
louder. And my soul also is a gushing fountain.
'Tis night: now do all songs of loving ones
awake. And my soul also is the song of a loving
one. —
Thus sang Zarathustra.
XXXII. —THE DANCE-SONG.
One evening went Zarathustra and his disciples
through the forest; and when he sought for a well,
lo, he lighted upon a green meadow peacefully
surrounded with trees and bushes, where maidens
were dancing together. As soon as the maidens
## p. 127 (#209) ############################################
XXXII. —THE DANCE-SONG. 127
recognised Zarathustra, they ceased dancing; Zara-
thustra, however, approached them with friendly
mein and spake these words:
Cease not your dancing, ye lovely maidens! No
game-spoiler hath come to you with evil eye, no
enemy of maidens.
God's advocate am I with the devil: he, however,
is the spirit of gravity. How could I, ye light-
footed ones, be hostile to divine dances? Or to
maidens' feet with fine ankles?
To be sure, I am a forest, and a night of dark
trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will
find banks full of roses under my cypresses.
And even the little God may he find, who is
dearest to maidens: beside the well lieth he quietly,
with closed eyes.
Verily, in broad daylight did he fall asleep, the
sluggard! Had he perhaps chased butterflies too
much?
Upbraid me not, ye beautiful dancers, when I
chasten the little God somewhat! He will cry,
certainly, and weep—but he is laughable even when
weeping!
And with tears in his eyes shall he ask you for a
dance; and I myself will sing a song to his dance:
A dance-song and satire on the spirit of gravity
my supremest, powerfulest devil, who is said to be
"lord of the world. "—
And this is the song that Zarathustra sang when
Cupid and the maidens danced together:
Of late did I gaze into thine eye, O Life! And
into the unfathomable did I there seem to sink.
## p. 128 (#210) ############################################
128
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
But thou pulledst me out with a golden angle ;
derisively didst thou laugh when I called thee
unfathomable.
“Such is the language of all fish,” saidst thou ;
“what they do not fathom is unfathomable.
But changeable am I only, and wild, and alto-
gether a woman, and no virtuous one:
Though I be called by you men the 'profound
one, or the "faithful one,' the eternal one,' 'the
mysterious one. '
But ye men endow us always with your own
virtues—alas, ye virtuous ones! ”
Thus did she laugh, the unbelievable one; but
never do I believe her and her laughter, when she
speaketh evil of herself.
And when I talked face to face with my wild
Wisdom, she said to me angrily: “Thou willest,
thou cravest, thou lovest; on that account alone
dost thou praise Life ! ”
Then had I almost answered indignantly and
told the truth to the angry one; and one cannot
answer more indignantly than when one "telleth
the truth” to one's Wisdom.
For thus do things stand with us three. In my
heart do I love only Life—and verily, most when I
hate her!
they themselves never trod the carpets of know-
ledge!
Of defects did the spirit of those Saviours consist;
but into every defect had they put their illusion,
their stop-gap, which they called God.
In their pity was their spirit drowned; and when
## p. 108 (#188) ############################################
108
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
they swelled and o'erswelled with pity, there always
floated to the surface a great folly.
Eagerly and with shouts drove they their flock
over their foot-bridge; as if there were but one
foot-bridge to the future! Verily, those shepherds
also were still of the flock!
Small spirits and spacious souls had those shep-
herds : but, my brethren, what small domains have
even the most spacious souls hitherto been !
Characters of blood did they write on the way
they went, and their folly taught that truth is
proved by blood.
But blood is the very worst witness to truth;
blood tainteth the purest teaching, and turneth it
into delusion and hatred of heart.
And when a person goeth through fire for his
teaching—what doth that prove! It is more,
verily, when out of one's own burning cometh one's
own teaching !
Sultry heart and cold head; where these meet,
there ariseth the blusterer, the "Saviour. ”
Greater ones, verily, have there been, and higher-
born ones, than those whom the people call Saviours,
those rapturous blusterers !
And by still greater ones than any of the Saviours
must ye be saved, my brethren, if ye would find the
way to freedom !
Never yet hath there been a Superman. Naked
have I seen both of them, the greatest man and the
smallest man :-
All-too-similar are they still to each other.
Verily, even the greatest found I-all-too-human!
Thus spake Zarathustra.
## p. 109 (#189) ############################################
XXVII. —THE VIRTUOUS. 109
XXVII. —THE VIRTUOUS.
With thunder and heavenly fireworks must one
speak to indolent and somnolent senses.
But beauty's voice speaketh gently: it appealeth
only to the most awakened souls.
Gently vibrated and laughed unto me to-day
my buckler; it was beauty's holy laughing and
thrilling.
At you, ye virtuous ones, laughed my beauty
to-day. And thus came its voice unto me: "They
want—to be paid besides! "
Ye want to be paid besides, ye virtuous ones!
Ye want reward for virtue, and heaven for earth,
and eternity for your to-day?
And now ye upbraid me for teaching that there
is no reward-giver, nor paymaster? And verily, I
do not even teach that virtue is its own reward.
Ah! this is my sorrow: into the basis of things
have reward and punishment been insinuated—and
now even into the basis of your souls, ye virtuous
ones!
But like the snout of the boar shall my word
grub up the basis of your souls; a ploughshare will
I be called by you.
All the secrets of your heart shall be brought to
light; and when ye lie in the sun, grubbed up and
broken, then will also your falsehood be separated
from your truth.
For this is your truth: ye are too pure for the
filth of the words: vengeance, punishment, recom-
pense, retribution.
Ye love your virtue as a mother loveth her child;
r
## p. 110 (#190) ############################################
IIO THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II
but when did one hear of a mother wanting to be
paid for her love?
It is your dearest Self, your virtue. The ring's
thirst is in you: to reach itself again struggleth
every ring, and turneth itself.
And like the star that goeth out, so is every work
of your virtue: ever is its light on its way and
travelling—and when will it cease to be on its way?
Thus is the light of your virtue still on its way,
even when its work is done. Be it forgotten and
dead, still its ray of light liveth and travelleth.
That your virtue is your Self, and not an outward
thing, a skin, or a cloak: that is the truth from the
basis of your souls, ye virtuous ones! —
But sure enough there are those to whom virtue
meaneth writhing under the lash: and ye have
hearkened too much unto their crying!
And others are there who call virtue the slothful-
ness of their vices; and when once their hatred and
jealousy relax the limbs, their "justice" becometh
lively and rubbeth its sleepy eyes.
And others are there who are drawn downwards:
their devils draw them. But the more they sink,
the more ardently gloweth their eye, and the long-
ing for their God.
Ah! their crying also hath reached your ears, ye
virtuous ones: "What I am not, that, that is God
to me, and virtue! "
And others are there who go along heavily and
creakingly, like carts taking stones downhill: they
talk much of dignity and virtue—their drag they
call virtue!
And others are there who are like eight-day
## p. 111 (#191) ############################################
XXVII. —THE VIRTUOUS. Ill
clocks when wound up; they tick, and want people
to call ticking—virtue.
Verily, in those have I mine amusement: where-
ever I find such clocks I shall wind them up with
my mockery, and they shall even whirr thereby!
And others are proud of their modicum of
righteousness, and for the sake of it do violence
to all things: so that the world is drowned in their
unrighteousness.
Ah! how ineptly cometh the word "virtue" out
of their mouth! And when they say: "I am just,"
it always soundeth like: "I am just—revenged! "
With their virtues they want to scratch out the
eyes of their enemies; and they elevate themselves
only that they may lower others.
And again there are those who sit in their
swamp, and speak thus from among the bulrushes:
"Virtue—that is to sit quietly in the swamp.
We bite no one, and go out of the way of him
who would bite; and in all matters we have the
opinion that is given us. "
And again there are those who love attitudes,
and think that virtue is a sort of attitude.
Their knees continually adore, and their hands
are eulogies of virtue, but their heart knoweth
naught thereof.
And again there are those who regard it as
virtue to say: "Virtue is necessary "; but after all
they believe only that policemen are necessary.
And many a one who cannot see men's loftiness,
calleth it virtue to see their baseness far too well:
thus calleth he his evil eye virtue. —
And some want to be edified and raised up, and
## p. 112 (#192) ############################################
112 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
call it virtue: and others want to be cast down,—
and likewise call it virtue.
And thus do almost all think that they partici-
pate in virtue; and at least every one claimeth
to be an authority on "good " and "evil. "
But Zarathustra came not to say unto all those
liars and fools: "What do ye know of virtue!
What could ye know of virtue! "—
But that ye, my friends, might become weary
of the old words which ye have learned from the
fools and liars:
That ye might become weary of the words
"reward," "retribution," "punishment," "righteous
vengeance. "—
That ye might become weary of saying: "That
an action is good is because it is unselfish. "
Ah! my friends! That your very Self be in
your action, as the mother is in the child: let that
be your formula of virtue!
Verily, I have taken from you a hundred formulae
and your virtue's favourite playthings; and now
ye upbraid me, as children upbraid.
They played by the sea—then came there a
wave and swept their playthings into the deep:
and now do they cry.
But the same wave shall bring them new play-
things, and spread before them new speckled
shells!
Thus will they be comforted; and like them
shall ye also, my friends, have your comforting—
and new speckled shells! —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
## p. 113 (#193) ############################################
XXVIII. —THE RABBLE. 113
XXVIII. —THE RABBLE.
Life is a well of delight; but where the rabble
also drink, there all fountains are poisoned.
To everything cleanly am I well disposed; but
I hate to see the grinning mouths and the thirst
of the unclean.
They cast their eye down into the fountain: and
now glanceth up to me their odious smile out of
the fountain.
The holy water have they poisoned with their
lustfulness; and when they called their filthy
dreams delight, then poisoned they also the words.
Indignant becometh the flame when they put
their damp hearts to the fire; the spirit itself
bubbleth and smoketh when the rabble approach
the fire.
Mawkish and over-mellow becometh the fruit
in their hands: unsteady, and withered at the top,
doth their look make the fruit-tree.
And many a one who hath turned away from
life, hath only turned away from the rabble: he
hated to share with them fountain, flame, and fruit.
And many a one who hath gone into the
wilderness and suffered thirst with beasts of prey,
disliked only to sit at the cistern with filthy camel-
drivers.
And many a one who hath come along as a
destroyer, and as a hailstorm to all cornfields,
wanted merely to put his foot into the jaws of
the rabble, and thus stop their throat.
And it is not the mouthful which hath most
H
## p. 114 (#194) ############################################
114 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
choked me, to know that life itself requireth enmity
and death and torture-crosses:—
But I asked once, and suffocated almost with my
question: What? is the rabble also necessary for
life?
Are poisoned fountains necessary, and stinking
fires, and filthy dreams, and maggots in the bread
of life?
Not my hatred, but my loathing gnawed hungrily
at my life! Ah, ofttimes became I weary of spirit,
when I found even the rabble spiritual!
And on the rulers turned I my back, when I saw
what they now call ruling: to traffic and bargain
for power—with the rabble!
Amongst peoples of a strange language did I
dwell, with stopped ears: so that the language of
their trafficking might remain strange unto me, and
their bargaining for power.
And holding my nose, I went morosely through
all yesterdays and to-days: verily, badly smell all
yesterdays and to-days of the scribbling rabble!
Like a cripple become deaf, and blind, and
dumb—thus have I lived long; that I might not
live with the power-rabble, the scribe-rabble, and the
pleasure-rabble.
Toilsomely did my spirit mount stairs, and
cautiously; alms of delight were its refreshment;
on the staff did life creep along with the blind one.
What hath happened unto me? How have I
freed myself from loathing? Who hath rejuvenated
mine eye? How have I flown to the height where
no rabble any longer sit at the wells?
Did my loathing itself create for me wings and
## p. 115 (#195) ############################################
XXVIII. —THE RABBLE. US
fountain-divining powers? Verily, to the loftiest
height had I to fly, to find again the well of delight!
Oh, I have found it, my brethren! Here on the
loftiest height bubbleth up for me the well of
delight! And there is a life at whose waters none
of the rabble drink with me!
Almost too violently dost thou flow for me,
thou fountain of delight! And often emptiest
thou the goblet again, in wanting to fill it!
And yet must I learn to approach thee more
modestly: far too violently doth my heart still flow
towards thee:—
My heart on which my summer burneth, my
short, hot, melancholy, over-happy summer: how
my summer heart longeth for thy coolness!
Past, the lingering distress of my spring! Past,
the wickedness of my snowflakes in June! Summer
have I become entirely, and summer-noontide!
A summer on the loftiest height, with cold
fountains and blissful stillness: oh, come, my
friends, that the stillness may become more blissful!
For this is our height and our home: too high
and steep do we here dwell for all uncleanly ones
and their thirst.
Cast but your pure eyes into the well of my
delight, my friends! How could it become turbid
thereby! It shall laugh back to you with its
purity.
On the tree of the future build we our nest;
eagles shall bring us lone ones food in their beaks!
Verily, no food of which the impure could be
fellow-partakers! Fire, would they think they
devoured, and burn their mouths!
## p. 116 (#196) ############################################
116
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
Verily, no abodes do we here keep ready for the
impure! An ice-cave to their bodies would our
happiness be, and to their spirits !
And as strong winds will we live above them,
neighbours to the eagles, neighbours to the snow,
neighbours to the sun : thus live the strong winds.
And like a wind will I one day blow amongst
them, and with my spirit, take the breath from their
spirit: thus willeth my future.
Verily, a strong wind is Zarathustra to all low
places; and this counsel counselleth he to his
enemies, and to whatever spitteth and speweth :
“ Take care not to spit against the wind ! ”-
Thus spake Zarathustra.
XXIX. -THE TARANTULAS.
Lo, this is the tarantula's den! Would'st thou
see the tarantula itself? Here hangeth its web:
touch this, so that it may tremble.
There cometh the tarantula willingly : Welcome,
tarantula! Black on thy back is thy triangle and
symbol; and I know also what is in thy soul.
Revenge is in thy soul: wherever thou bitest,
there ariseth black scab; with revenge, thy poison
maketh the soul giddy!
Thus do I speak unto you in parable, ye who make
the soul giddy, ye preachers of equality! Tarantulas
are ye unto me, and secretly revengeful ones!
But I will soon bring your hiding-places to the
light: therefore do I laugh in your face my laughter
of the height,
## p. 117 (#197) ############################################
XXIX. —THE TARANTULAS. 117
Therefore do I tear at your web, that your rage
may lure you o it of your den of lies, and that your
revenge may leap forth from behind your word
"justice. "
Because, for man to be redeemed from revenge—
that is for me the bridge to the highest hope, and a
rainbow after long storms.
Otherwise, however, would the tarantulas have it.
"Let it be very justice for the world to become full
of the storms of our vengeance "—thus do they talk
to one another.
"Vengeance will we use, and insult, against all
who are not like us "—thus do the tarantula-hearts
pledge themselves.
"And ' Will to Equality '—that itself shall hence-
forth be the name of virtue; and against all that
hath power will we raise an outcry! "
Ye preachers of equality, the tyrant-frenzy of
impotence crieth thus in you for "equality ": your
most secret tyrant-longings disguise themselves
thus in virtue-words!
Fretted conceit and suppressed envy—perhaps
your fathers' conceit and envy: in you break they
forth as flame and frenzy of vengeance.
What the father hath hid cometh out in the son;
and oft have I found the son the father's revealed
secret.
Inspired ones they resemble: but it is not the
heart that inspireth them—but vengeance. And
when they become subtle and cold, it is not spirit,
but envy, that maketh them so.
Their jealousy leadeth them also into thinkers'
paths; and this is the sign of their jealousy—they
## p. 118 (#198) ############################################
Il8 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
always go too far: so that their fatigue hath at last
to go to sleep on the snow.
In all their lamentations soundet. vengeance, in
all their eulogies is maleficence; and being judge
seemeth to them bliss.
But thus do I counsel you, my friends: distrust
all in whom the impulse to punish is powerful!
They are people of bad race and lineage; out
of their countenances peer the hangman and the
sleuth-hound.
Distrust all those who talk much of their justice!
Verily, in their souls not only honey is lacking.
And when they call themselves " the good and
just," forget not, that for them to be Pharisees,
nothing is lacking but—power!
My friends, I will not be mixed up and con-
founded with others.
There are those who preach my doctrine of life,
and are at the same time preachers of equality,
and tarantulas.
That they speak in favour of life, though they sit
in their den, these poison-spiders, and withdrawn
from life—is because they would thereby do
injury.
To those would they thereby do injury who have
power at present: for with those the preaching of
death is still most at home.
Were it otherwise, then would the tarantulas
teach otherwise: and they themselves were formerly
the best world-maligners and heretic-burners.
With these preachers of equality will I not be
mixed up and confounded. For thus speaketh
justice unto me: "Men are not equal. "
## p. 119 (#199) ############################################
XXIX. —THE TARANTULAS. 11$
And neither shall they become so! What would
be my love to the Superman, if I spake otherwise?
On a thousand bridges and piers shall they
throng to the future, and always shall there be
more war and inequality among them: thus doth
my great love make me speak!
Inventors of figures and phantoms shall they be
in their hostilities; and with those figures and
phantoms shall they yet fight with each other the
supreme fight!
Good and evil, and rich and poor, and high and
low, and all names of values: weapons shall they
be, and sounding signs, that life must again and
again surpass itself!
Aloft will it build itself with columns and stairs
—life itself: into remote distances would it gaze,
and out towards blissful beauties—therefore doth
it require elevation!
And because it requireth elevation, therefore doth
it require steps, and variance of steps and climbers!
To rise striveth life, and in rising to surpass itself.
And just behold, my friends! Here where the
tarantula's den is, riseth aloft an ancient temple's
ruins—just behold it with enlightened eyes!
Verily, he who here towered aloft his thoughts in
stone, knew as well as the wisest ones about the
secret of life!
That there is struggle and inequality even in
beauty, and war for power and supremacy: that
doth he here teach us in the plainest parable.
How divinely do vault and arch here contrast in
the struggle: how with light and shade they strive
against each other, the divinely striving ones. —
## p. 120 (#200) ############################################
Il8 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA'J U-
I
always go too far: so that their fatig'rue hath at
to go to sleep on the snow. 1"
In all their lamentations soundeU u. vengeam.
all their eulogies is maleficence; and flWng j'
seemeth to them bliss.
But thus do I counsel you, my friends: di*
all in whom the impulse to punish is powerfui
They are people of bad race and lineage
of their countenances peer the hangman an.
sleuth-hound.
Distrust all those who talk much of their ju
Verily, in their souls not only honey is lacki
And when they call themselves "the go. .
just," forget not, that for them to be Ph.
nothing is lacking but—power!
My friends, I will not be mixed up:
founded with others.
There are those who preach my doctrine
and are at the same time preachers of
and tarantulas.
That they speak in favour of life, though
in their den, these poison-spiders, and ii"
from life—is because they would the'
injury. j
To those would they thereby do injury v
power at present: for with those the prer
death is still most at home.
Were it otherwise, then would the
teach otherwise: and they themselves w
the best world-maligners and heretic-bu
With these preachers of equality will
mixed up and confounded. For thus
justice unto me: "Men are not equal. "
## p. 121 (#201) ############################################
XXX. —THE FAMOUS WISE ONES. 121
To hunt him out of his lair—that was always
called "sense of right" by the people: on him do
they still hound their sharpest-toothed dogs.
"For there the truth is, where the people are!
Woe, woe to the seeking ones 1"—thus hath it
echoed through all time.
Your people would ye justify in their reverence:
that called ye " Will to Truth," ye famous wise ones!
And your heart hath always said to itself: "From
the people have I come: from thence came to me
also the voice of God. "
Stiff-necked and artful, like the ass, have ye
always been, as the advocates of the people.
And many a powerful one who wanted to run
well with the people, hath harnessed in front of his
horses—a donkey, a famous wise man.
And now, ye famous wise ones, I would have you
finally throw off entirely the skin of the lion!
The skin of the beast of prey, the speckled skin,
and the dishevelled locks of the investigator, the
searcher, and the conqueror!
Ah! for me to learn to believe in your " conscien-
tiousness," ye would first have to break your vener-
ating will.
Conscientious—so call I him who goeth into God-
forsaken wildernesses, and hath broken his venerat-
ing heart
.
In the yellow sands and burnt by the sun, he
doubtless peereth thirstily at the isles rich in
fountains, where life reposeth under shady trees.
But his thirst doth not persuade him to become
like those comfortable ones: for where there are
oases, there are also idols.
## p. 122 (#202) ############################################
122 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
Hungry, fierce, lonesome, God-forsaken: so doth
the lion-will wish itself.
Free from the happiness of slaves, redeemed from
Deities and adorations, fearless and fear-inspir-
ing, grand and lonesome: so is the will of the
conscientious.
In the wilderness have ever dwelt the conscien-
tious, the free spirits, as lords of the wilderness;
but in the cities dwell the well-foddered, famous
wise ones—the draught-beasts.
For, always, do they draw, as asses—the people's
carts!
Not that I on that account upbraid them: but
serving ones do they remain, and harnessed ones,
even though they glitter in golden harness.
And often have they been good servants and
worthy of their hire. For thus saith virtue: "If
thou must be a servant, seek him unto whom thy
service is most useful!
The spirit and virtue of thy master shall advance
by thou being his servant: thus wilt thou thyself
advance with his spirit and virtue! "
And verily, ye famous wise ones, ye servants of
the people! Ye yourselves have advanced with
the people's spirit and virtue—and the people by
you! To your honour do I say it!
But the people ye remain for me, even with
your virtues, the people with purblind eyes—the
people who know not what spirit is!
Spirit is life which itself cutteth into life: by its
own torture doth it increase its own knowledge,—
did ye know that before?
And the spirit's happiness is this: to be anointed
\
## p. 123 (#203) ############################################
XXX. —THE FAMOUS WISE ONES. 123
and consecrated with tears as a sacrificial victim,—
did ye know that before?
And the blindness of the blind one, and his
seeking and groping, shall yet testify to the power
of the sun into which he hath gazed,—did ye know
that before?
And with mountains shall the discerning one
learn to build I It is a small thing for the spirit to
remove mountains,—did ye know that before?
Ye know only the sparks of the spirit: but ye
do not see the anvil which it is, and the cruelty of
its hammer!
Verily, ye know not the spirit's pride! But still
less could ye endure the spirit's humility, should it
ever want to speak!
And never yet could ye cast your spirit into a
pit of snow: ye are not hot enough for that! Thus
are ye unaware, also, of the delight of its coldness.
In all respects, however, ye make too familiar
with the spirit; and out of wisdom have ye often
made an almshouse and a hospital for bad poets.
Ye are not eagles: thus have ye never ex-
perienced the happiness of the alarm of the spirit.
And he who is not a bird should not camp above
abysses.
Ye seem to me lukewarm ones: but coldly
floweth all deep knowledge. Ice-cold are the
innermost wells of the spirit: a refreshment to hot
hands and handlers.
Respectable do ye there stand, and stiff, and
with straight backs, ye famous wise ones! —no
strong wind or will impelleth you.
Have ye ne'er seen a sail crossing the sea,
>
## p. 124 (#204) ############################################
124 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
rounded and inflated, and trembling with the
violence of the wind?
Like the sail trembling with the violence of the
spirit, doth my wisdom cross the sea—my wild
wisdom!
But ye servants of the people, ye famous wise
ones—how could ye go with me! —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
XXXI—THE NIGHT-SONG.
'Tis night: now do all gushing fountains speak
louder. And my soul also is a gushing fountain.
'Tis night: now only do all songs of the loving
ones awake. And my soul also is the song of a
loving one.
Something unappeased, unappeasable, is within
me; it longeth to find expression. A craving for
love is within me, which speaketh itself the language
of love.
Light am I: ah, that I were night! But it is
my lonesomeness to be begirt with light!
Ah, that I were dark and nightly! How would
I suck at the breasts of light!
And you yourselves would I bless, ye twinkling
starlets and glow-worms aloft! —and would rejoice
in the gifts of your light.
But I live in mine own light, I drink again into
myself the flames that break forth from me.
I know not the happiness of the receiver; and
oft have I dreamt that stealing must be more
blessed than receiving.
## p. 125 (#205) ############################################
XXXI. —THE NIGHT-SONG. 125
It is my poverty that my hand never ceaseth
bestowing; it is mine envy that I see waiting eyes
and the brightened nights of longing.
Oh, the misery of all bestowers! Oh, the dark-
ening of my sun! Oh, the craving to crave! Oh,
the violent hunger in satiety!
They take from me: but do I yet touch their
soul? There is a gap 'twixt giving and receiving;
and the smallest gap hath finally to be bridged over.
A hunger ariseth out of my beauty: I should
like to injure those I illumine; I should like to
rob those I have gifted :—thus do I hunger for
wickedness.
Withdrawing my hand when another hand
already stretcheth out to it; hesitating like the
cascade, which hesitateth even in its leap:—thus
do I hunger for wickedness!
Such revenge doth mine abundance think of:
such mischief welleth out of my lonesomeness.
My happiness in bestowing died in bestowing;
my virtue became weary of itself by its abundance!
He who ever bestoweth is in danger of losing
his shame; to him who ever dispenseth, the hand
and heart becomes callous by very dispensing.
Mine eye no longer overfloweth for the shame
of suppliants; my hand hath become too hard for
the trembling of filled hands.
Whence have gone the tears of mine eye, and the
down of my heart? Oh, the lonesomeness of all
bestowers! Oh, the silence of all shining ones!
Many suns circle in desert space: to all that is
dark do they speak with their light—but to me
they are silent.
## p. 125 (#206) ############################################
124 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
rounded and inflated, and trembling with the
violence of the wind?
Like the sail trembling with the violence of the
spirit, doth my wisdom cross the sea—my wild
wisdom!
But ye servants of the people, ye famous wise
ones—how could ye go with me! —
Thus spake Zarathustra.
XXXI—THE NIGHT-SONG.
'Tis night: now do all gushing fountains speak
louder. And my soul also is a gushing fountain.
'Tis night: now only do all songs of the loving
ones awake. And my soul also is the song of a
loving one.
Something unappeased, unappeasable, is within
me; it longeth to find expression. A craving for
love is within me, which speaketh itself the language
of love.
Light am I: ah, that I were night! But it is
my lonesomeness to be begirt with light!
Ah, that I were dark and nightly! How would
I suck at the breasts of light!
And you yourselves would I bless, ye twinkling
starlets and glow-worms aloft! —and would rejoice
in the gifts of your light.
But I live in mine own light, I drink again into
myself the flames that break forth from me.
I know not the happiness of the receiver; and
oft have I dreamt that stealing must be more
blessed than receiving.
## p. 125 (#207) ############################################
XXXI. —THE NIGHT-SONG. 125
It is my poverty that my hand never ceaseth
bestowing; it is mine envy that I see waiting eyes
and the brightened nights of longing.
Oh, the misery of all bestowers! Oh, the dark-
ening of my sun! Oh, the craving to crave! Oh,
the violent hunger in satiety!
They take from me: but do I yet touch their
soul? There is a gap 'twixt giving and receiving;
and the smallest gap hath finally to be bridged over.
A hunger ariseth out of my beauty: I should
like to injure those I illumine; I should like to
rob those I have gifted:—thus do I hunger for
wickedness.
Withdrawing my hand when another hand
already stretcheth out to it; hesitating like the
cascade, which hesitateth even in its leap:—thus
do I hunger for wickedness!
Such revenge doth mine abundance think of:
such mischief welleth out of my lonesomeness.
My happiness in bestowing died in bestowing;
my virtue became weary of itself by its abundance!
He who ever bestoweth is in danger of losing
his shame; to him who ever dispenseth, the hand
and heart becomes callous by very dispensing.
Mine eye no longer overfloweth for the shame
of suppliants; my hand hath become too hard for
the trembling of filled hands.
Whence have gone the tears of mine eye, and the
down of my heart? Oh, the lonesomeness of all
bestowers! Oh, the silence of all shining ones!
Many suns circle in desert space: to all that is
dark do they speak with their light—but to me
they are silent.
## p. 126 (#208) ############################################
126 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
Oh, this is the hostility of light to the shining one:
unpityingly doth it pursue its course.
Unfair to the shining one in its innermost heart,
cold to the suns :—thus travelleth every sun.
Like a storm do the suns pursue their courses:
that is their travelling. Their inexorable will do
they follow: that is their coldness.
Oh, ye only is it, ye dark, nightly ones, that
extract warmth from the shining ones! Oh, ye
only drink milk and refreshment from the light's
udders!
Ah, there is ice around me; my hand burneth
with the iciness! Ah, there is thirst in me; it
panteth after your thirst!
Tis night: alas, that I have to be light! And
thirst for the nightly! And lonesomeness!
'Tis night: now doth my longing break forth in
me as a fountain,—for speech do I long.
'Tis night: now do all gushing fountains speak
louder. And my soul also is a gushing fountain.
'Tis night: now do all songs of loving ones
awake. And my soul also is the song of a loving
one. —
Thus sang Zarathustra.
XXXII. —THE DANCE-SONG.
One evening went Zarathustra and his disciples
through the forest; and when he sought for a well,
lo, he lighted upon a green meadow peacefully
surrounded with trees and bushes, where maidens
were dancing together. As soon as the maidens
## p. 127 (#209) ############################################
XXXII. —THE DANCE-SONG. 127
recognised Zarathustra, they ceased dancing; Zara-
thustra, however, approached them with friendly
mein and spake these words:
Cease not your dancing, ye lovely maidens! No
game-spoiler hath come to you with evil eye, no
enemy of maidens.
God's advocate am I with the devil: he, however,
is the spirit of gravity. How could I, ye light-
footed ones, be hostile to divine dances? Or to
maidens' feet with fine ankles?
To be sure, I am a forest, and a night of dark
trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will
find banks full of roses under my cypresses.
And even the little God may he find, who is
dearest to maidens: beside the well lieth he quietly,
with closed eyes.
Verily, in broad daylight did he fall asleep, the
sluggard! Had he perhaps chased butterflies too
much?
Upbraid me not, ye beautiful dancers, when I
chasten the little God somewhat! He will cry,
certainly, and weep—but he is laughable even when
weeping!
And with tears in his eyes shall he ask you for a
dance; and I myself will sing a song to his dance:
A dance-song and satire on the spirit of gravity
my supremest, powerfulest devil, who is said to be
"lord of the world. "—
And this is the song that Zarathustra sang when
Cupid and the maidens danced together:
Of late did I gaze into thine eye, O Life! And
into the unfathomable did I there seem to sink.
## p. 128 (#210) ############################################
128
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, II.
But thou pulledst me out with a golden angle ;
derisively didst thou laugh when I called thee
unfathomable.
“Such is the language of all fish,” saidst thou ;
“what they do not fathom is unfathomable.
But changeable am I only, and wild, and alto-
gether a woman, and no virtuous one:
Though I be called by you men the 'profound
one, or the "faithful one,' the eternal one,' 'the
mysterious one. '
But ye men endow us always with your own
virtues—alas, ye virtuous ones! ”
Thus did she laugh, the unbelievable one; but
never do I believe her and her laughter, when she
speaketh evil of herself.
And when I talked face to face with my wild
Wisdom, she said to me angrily: “Thou willest,
thou cravest, thou lovest; on that account alone
dost thou praise Life ! ”
Then had I almost answered indignantly and
told the truth to the angry one; and one cannot
answer more indignantly than when one "telleth
the truth” to one's Wisdom.
For thus do things stand with us three. In my
heart do I love only Life—and verily, most when I
hate her!
