How such a ship moors and nestles itself to the land - now it's enough foraspider to spin a web to it from the land. It needs no stronger lines now. Like such a weary ship in the stillest bay, thus I too rest now close to the earth, faithfully, trusting, waiting, bound to it with the lightest threads. Oh happiness, oh happiness! Do you want to sing, oh my soul? You lie in the grass. But this is the secret solemn hour when no shepherd plays his flute. Stand back! Hot noon sleeps on the meadows. Do not sing! Still! The world is perfect. Do not sing, you winged bug in the grass, oh my soul! Do not even whisper! Look here - still! Old noon is sleeping, he's moving his mouth: didn't he just drink a drop of happiness - -anold brown drop of golden happiness, golden wine? It flits over him, his happiness is laughing. Thus laughs - a god. Still! - - 'Happily, how little suffices for happiness!' Thus I spoke once, and deemed myself clever. But it was a blasphemy: this I learned now. Clever fools speak better. Precisely the least, the softest, the lightest, a lizard's rustling, a breath, a wink, a blink of an eye a little is the stuff of the best happiness. Still! - What happened to me: listen! Didn't time just fly away? Am I not falling? Did I not fall - listen! - into the well of eternity? - What's happening to me? Still! Something is stinging me - oh no in the heart? In the heart? Oh break, break, heart, after such happiness, after such a sting! - What? Did the world not become perfect just now? Round and ripe? Oh the golden round ring - where is it flying to now? I'll run after it! Rush! Still - (and here Zarathustra stretched and felt that he was sleeping). 'Getup!'hesaidtohimself, 'you sleeper! You noon sleeper! Well then, well now, you old legs! It's time and overtime, many a good piece of road is still waiting for you -


Now you've slept yourself out, for how long? Half an eternity! Well then, well now, my old heart! How long after such a sleep will it take you to wake yourself out? (Butthenhefellasleepanew,andhissoulspokeagainsthimandresisted and laid itself down again) - 'Let me be! Still! Didn't the world become perfect just now? Oh the golden round ball!' - 'Get up,' spoke Zarathustra, 'you little thief, you loafing thief! What? Still stretching, yawning, sighing, falling down into deep wells? Who are you? Oh my soul!' (and here he started, because a sunbeam fell down from the sky onto his face) 'Oh sky above me,' he said, sighing, and sat upright. 'You're looking at me? You're listening to my strange soul? When will you drink this drop of dew that has fallen upon all earthly things - when will you drink this strange soul - when, well of eternity! You cheerful, dreadful noon abyss! When will you drink my soul back into yourself?' Thus spoke Zarathustra and he rose from his sleeping place at the tree as if from a strange drunkenness; and behold, the sun was still standing straight over his head. But from this one might justifiably infer that Zarathustra had not slept long.


It was not until late afternoon that Zarathustra returned home to his cave after much searching and roaming around in vain. But as he stood facing the cave, not more than twenty paces away from it, something happened that he least expected now: once again he heard the great cry of distress . And, amazingly, this time it came from his own cave! But it was a protracted, manifold, peculiar cry, and Zarathustra clearly differentiated that it was composed of many voices; even if, heard from a distance, it sounded like the cry of a single mouth. ThenZarathustra bounded toward his cave, and behold, what an eyeful awaited him after this earful! Indeed, there sitting all together were the ones he had passed by during the day: the king on the right and king on the left, the old magician, the pope, the voluntary beggar, the shadow, the conscientious of spirit, the sad soothsayer and the ass; the ugliest human being, however, had donned a crown and draped two purple sashes around


himself - for like all ugly people he loved to disguise himself and act beautiful. But in the midst of this gloomy company stood Zarathustra's eagle, bristling and restless because he was pressed to answer too much for which his pride had no answer; meanwhile the wise snake hung around his neck. All of this Zarathustra observed with great amazement; then he examined each one of his guests with affable curiosity, read their souls and was amazed once more. In the meantime the assembled had risen from their seats and they waited respectfully for Zarathustra to speak. But Zarathustra spoke thus: 'You despairing ones! You strange ones! So it was your cry of distress I heard? And now I also know where to find the one whom I have sought in vain today: the higher man - : - in my own cave he's sitting, the higher man! But why am I amazed? Did I myself not lure him to me with honey sacrifices and the cunning calls of my happiness? Yet it seems to me you are not fit company for each other; sitting here together you strain each other's nerves, you criers of distress. First someone has to come, - someone to make you laugh again, a good gay buffoon, a dancer and a wind and wildcat, some old fool - what do you think? Forgive me please, you despairing ones, for speaking to you with such small words, unworthy, truly, of such guests! But you cannot guess what makes my heart so mischievous - You yourselves are responsible, and how you look, forgive me! After all, everyone who looks at a despairing person becomes mischievous. To give encouragement to someone who despairs - for that everyone thinks they're strong enough. Youyourselves gave me this strength - a good gift, my elevated guests! Arighteous gift for your host! Well then, don't be angry now when I offer you something of my own. This here is my kingdom and my dominion; but whatever is mine shall be yours for this evening and this night. My animals shall serve you; my cave shall be your resting place! In my home and house no one shall despair; in my territory I protect everyone from his wild animals. And that is the first thing I offer you: security! Fourth and Final Part


But the second thing is: my little finger. And once you've got hold of it , just go ahead and take the whole hand! And my heart too! Welcome to this place, welcome, my guests! ' Thus spoke Zarathustra and he laughed with love and malice. After this welcome his guests bowed repeatedly and maintained a respectful silence; then the king on the right responded in their name. 'By the manner, oh Zarathustra, that you offered us your hand and your greeting, we recognize you as Zarathustra. You humbled yourself before us; you almost offended our sense of respect - - but who is able to humble himself like you with such pride? That in itself uplifts us, it refreshes our eyes and hearts. To behold this alone we would have gladly climbed higher mountains than this one here. We came hungry for something to behold, we wanted to see what brightens gloomy eyes. And behold, already we have ceased all our crying of distress. Already our minds and hearts stand open and are delighted. Little is missing and our spirits will become spirited. Nothing more delightful grows on earth, oh Zarathustra, than a tall, strong will: that is the earth's most beautiful plant. An entire landscape is invigorated by one such tree. Whoever grows tall like you, oh Zarathustra, I compare to the stonepine: long, silent, hard, solitary, of the most resilient wood, magnificent - -but in the end reaching out with strong green branches for its dominion, asking strong questions before the winds and weather and whatever else is at home in the heights, - answering even more strongly, a commander, a victor: oh who would not climb high mountains to look upon such plants? Even the gloomy, the failures are invigorated by your tree, oh Zarathustra, even the hearts of the unsteady are made sure and are healed at the sight of you. And truly, many eyes today are trained on your mountain and tree; a great longing has opened up, and many have learned to ask: who is Zarathustra? Andthose into whose ears you ever dripped your song and your honey: all the hidden ones, the solitary and the dualitary, said at once to their hearts: Thus Spoke Zarathustra


'Does Zarathustra still live? It's not worth it anymore to live, all is the same, all is in vain: or - we must live with Zarathustra!' 'Why does he not come, he who announced himself for so long?' thus many ask. 'Did solitude swallow him up? Or should we perhaps go to him?' Now it happens that solitude itself is becoming brittle and is breaking apart, like a grave that breaks open and can no longer contain its dead. Everywhere one sees the resurrected. Now the waves rise and rise around your mountain, oh Zarathustra. And as high as your height may be, many must go up to you; your skiff shall not be on the rocks much longer. And that we who despair have now come to your cave and no longer despair: this is merely a token and an omen that better ones are on their way to you - - for what is on its way to you is nothing less than the last remnant of God among human beings, that is: all human beings of great longing, of great nausea, of great surfeit, - all who do not want to live unless they once again learn to hope -unless they learn from you, oh Zarathustra, the great hope!' Thus spoke the king on the right and he grasped Zarathustra's hand in order to kiss it; but Zarathustra rebuffed his veneration and stepped back startled, silent, and as if he were fleeing suddenly into remote distances. But after a brief while he was once again among his guests, looking at them with bright, piercing eyes, and he said: 'My guests, you higher men, I want to speak in German and intelligibly with you. Not for you did I wait here in these mountains. ('In German and intelligibly? May God have mercy!' said the king on the left, as an aside. 'One notices that he does not know our dear Germans, this wise man from the East! But he really means 'in German and in-eptly' - well then! Nowadays that is not the worst of tastes!') 'You may indeed be higher men, collectively,' Zarathustra continued. 'But for me - you are not high and strong enough.


Forme, that is: for the inexorable that remains silent in me but will not always remain silent. And if you belong to me, then surely not as my right arm. For whoever stands on sick and frail legs himself, as you do, wants above all to be spared , whether he knows it or conceals it from himself. Fourth and Final Part But I do not spare my arms and legs, I do not spare my warriors : how could you be fit for my war? With you I would only ruin every victory. And many of you would already fall over just to hear the loud pounding of my drums. Nor are you beautiful enough for me and wellborn. I need clean, smooth mirrors for my teachings; on your surfaces even my own image is distorted. Your shoulders are weighed down by many a burden, many a memory; in your corners many a wicked dwarf crouches. There is hidden rabble in you as well. Andeven if you are higher and of a higher kind: much in you is crooked anddeformed.There'snosmithintheworldwhocouldhammeryouright and straight for me. You are mere bridges - may higher people stride across on you! You represent steps - so do not be angered by the one who steps over you into his height! Fromyourseed perhaps a genuine son and perfect heir will grow someday for me; but that is far off. You yourselves are not the ones to whom my inheritance and my name belong. Not for you do I wait here in these mountains, not with you shall I go down for the last time. You came to me only as an omen that higher ones are on their way to me - -not the people of great longing, of great nausea, of great surfeit and that which you called the remnant of God. - No! No! Three times no! I wait for others here in these mountains and will not lift a foot from here without them, -for higher, stronger, more victorious, more cheerful ones, those who are built right-angled in body and soul: laughing lions must come! Oh my guests, you strange ones - have you not yet heard anything of my children? And that they are on their way to me? Speak to me of my gardens, of my blessed isles, of my beautiful new species - why don't you speak to me of that?


This host's gift I beg of your love, that you speak of my children. It is for this that I am rich, for this that I became poor: what did I not give, Kaufmann in his translation deleted the word 'species' ( Art ), writing instead: 'Speak to me of my gardens, of my blessed isles, of my new beauty.' Nietzsche referred to the overman as a new species, even while he insisted that the current human being cannot be 'leaped over' in the pursuit of the overman. - what would I not give just to have this one thing: these children, this living plantation, these life-trees of my will and my highest hope!' ThusspokeZarathustraandsuddenlyhestoppedinhisspeech,because his longing overcame him, and his eyes and his mouth were closed by the turmoil in his heart. And all his guests were silent as well, and they stood still and dismayed; except that the old soothsayer made signs and gestures with his hands.


At this point, however, the soothsayer interrupted the welcome of Zarathustra and his guests; he pushed forward like someone who has no time to lose, grabbed Zarathustra's hand and shouted: 'But Zarathustra! Onething is more needful than the other, so you yourself say: well then, one thing is more needful to me now than everything else. Aword at the right time: did you not invite me to supper ? And here are many who traveled a long way. Surely you do not intend to feed us with speeches? Also, you have all given too much thought already to freezing, drowning, suffocating and other bodily emergencies: but no one has thought about my emergency, namely starving -' (Thus spoke the soothsayer; but when Zarathustra's animals heard thesewords,theyranawayterrified,seeingthatwhatevertheyhadbrought home by day would not suffice to stuff even this one soothsayer.) 'Including dying of thirst,' continued the soothsayer. 'And even though I hear water splashing here, like the speeches of wisdom, namely abundantly and tirelessly, I want wine ! Not everyone is a born water drinker, like Zarathustra. Nor is water fit for the weary and the wilted: we deserve wine - only it provides sudden convalescence and instant health!' At this opportunity, since the soothsayer demanded wine, it happened that the king on the left, the silent one, also spoke up at last. ' We have taken care of the wine,' he said, 'I together with my brother, the king on the right: we have wine enough - an entire ass-load. So nothing is lacking but bread.' 'Bread?' countered Zarathustra, and he laughed. 'Bread is the one thing hermits do not have. But man does not live by bread alone, but also on the meat of good lambs, of which I have two:


-These we'll quickly slaughter and spice with sage; that's how I love it. Andwedonotlackforrootsandfruits, good enough even for sweet-tooths and big eaters; nor for nuts and other riddles to crack. And so we'll make a good meal in short order. But whoever wants to share in the eating must also lend a hand, even the kings. In Zarathustra's home, even a king may be a cook.' This suggestion appealed to the hearts of everyone, except that the voluntary beggar objected to meat and wine and spices. 'Just listen to this glutton Zarathustra!' he said jokingly. 'Is that why people go into caves and high mountains, to prepare such meals? Now indeed I understand what he once taught us: 'Praised be a small poverty!' And why he wants to get rid of beggars.' 'Cheer up,' answered Zarathustra, 'as I am cheered. Stick to your custom, you excellent man, crunch your grains, drink your water, praise your cuisine - if only it makes you cheerful! I am a law only for my own, I am no law for everyone. But whoever belongs to me must be of strong bones, also light of foot - -must be eager for wars and festivals, no gloomy Gus, no dreamy Joe, just as ready for what is hardest as for his festival, healthy and hale. What's best belongs to mine and to me; if one doesn't give it to us, then we take it - the best food, the clearest sky, the strongest thoughts, the most beautiful women!' - Thus spoke Zarathustra; but the king on the right retorted: 'That's odd! Did anyone ever hear such clever things from the mouth of a wise man? And truly, the oddest thing about a wise man is when, on top of everything else, he is also clever and not an ass.' Thus spoke the king on the right and he was amazed; but the ass responded to his remarks malevolently with 'hee-yaw.' And this was the beginning of that long meal which is called 'the last supper' in the history books. During the same, however, nothing was discussed but the higher man .


WhenIcametomankindfor the first time, I committed the hermit's folly, the great folly: I situated myself in the market place. Thus Spoke Zarathustra And when I spoke to all, I spoke to none. But by evening my companions were tightrope walkers, and corpses, and I myself almost a corpse. But with the new morning a new truth came to me; then I learned to say: 'What do the market place and the rabble and the rabble noise and long rabble ears matter to me!' You higher men, learn this from me: in the market place no one believes in higher men. And if you want to speak there, well then! But the rabble blinks 'we are all equal. You higher men' - thus blinks the rabble - 'there are no higher men, we are all equal, human is human, before God - we are all equal!' Before God! - Now, however, this God has died. But we do not want to be equal before the rabble. You higher men, go away from the market place! Before God! - But now this god has died! You higher men, this god was your greatest danger. It is only now, since he lies in his grave, that you are resurrected. Only now the great noon comes, only now the higher man becomes ruler! Have you understood these words, oh my brothers? You are frightened; do your hearts become dizzy? Does the abyss yawn before you here? Does the hell hound yelp before you here? Well then! Well now! You higher men! Only now is the mountain in labor with humanity's future. God died: now we want - the overman to live. Thosewhocaremosttodayask:'Howarehumanbeingstobepreserved?' But Zarathustra is the only one and the first one to ask: 'How shall human being be overcome ?'


Neither 'lord' nor 'master' fits here for Herr ,'ruler.' See 'On the Three Evils' where Nietzsche defends Herrschsucht , 'lust to rule,' a noun based on herrschen , 'to rule,' which in turn is based on Herr , ruler. Nietzsche's motif for TSZ Part is 'who shall be ruler of the earth.' The earth can neither be 'lorded' nor 'mastered,' but according to Nietzsche, it shall be ruled.


The overman is in my heart, that is my first and my only concern and not human beings; not the neighbor, not the poorest, not the most suffering, not the best - Oh my brothers, what I am able to love in human beings is that they are a going over and a going under. And in you, too, there is much that makes me love and hope. That you despise, you higher men, that makes me hope. For the great despisers are the great reverers. That you have despaired, there is much to revere in that. For you did not learn how to surrender, you did not learn petty prudence. For today the little people have become ruler: they all preach surrender andresignationandprudenceandindustryandconsiderationandthelong etcetera of little virtues. What is effeminate, what comes from the servant's ilk and especially the rabble mishmash: that nowwantstobecomerulerofall human destiny - oh nausea! Nausea! Nausea! That asks and asks and does not tire: 'How do human beings preserve themselves best, longest, most pleasantly?' With that - they are the rulers of today. Overcome these rulers of today for me, oh my brothers - these little people: they are the overman's greatest danger! Overcome for me, you higher men, the little virtues, the little prudence, the sand-grain sized considerations, the detritus of swarming ants, the pitiful contentedness, the 'happiness of the greatest number'! Anddespairratherthansurrender.Andtruly,Iloveyoufornotknowing how to live today, you higher men! For thus you live - best! Doyouhavecourage,ohmybrothers?Areyoubraveofheart? Not courage before witnesses, but the courage of hermits and eagles, which not even a god looks at anymore. Cold souls, mules, the blind, the drunk - these I do not call brave of heart. Whoever has heart knows fear, but conquers fear ; sees the abyss, but with pride . Whoever sees the abyss, but with eagle's eyes, whoever grasps the abyss with eagle's talons: he has courage. - Thus Spoke Zarathustra


'Human beings are evil' - thus spoke all the wisest to comfort me. Oh, if only it were still true today! Because evil is a human being's best power. 'Mankind must become better and more evil' - thus I teach. What is most evil is necessary for the overman's best. It may have been good for that preacher of the little people that he suffered and labored under the sins of mankind. But I enjoy the greatest sin as my greatest comfort . - But such things are not said for long ears. Every word does not belong in every snout. These are fine and faraway things: sheeps' hooves should not reach for them! You higher men, do you think I am here to make good what you made bad? Or that I have come henceforth to bed you suffering ones more comfortably?Ortoshownew,easierpathstothoseofyouwhoareunsteady, lost, and have climbed astray? No! No! Three times no! Ever more, ever better of your kind shall perish - for you shall have it ever worse and ever harder. Only thus - - only thus do human beings grow into that height, where lightning strikes and breaks them: high enough for lightning! Mymind and my longing are trained on the few, the long, the distant: what do I care about your many little brief miseries? Youdonotsufferenoughinmyopinion!Foryousufferfromyourselves, youhaven't yet suffered from human beings . And you would be lying if you said otherwise! All of you do not suffer from what I suffered. - It is not enough for me that lightning no longer causes damage. I do not want to divert it: it shall learn to work - for me . Mywisdom has gathered itself for a long time like a cloud, it becomes stiller and darker. Thus does every wisdom that shall one day give birth to lightning. Fourth and Final Part To these people of today I do not want to be light , nor be called light. Them - I want to blind: lightning of my wisdom - put out their eyes! Will nothing beyond your capacity: there is a wicked falseness among those who will beyond their capacity. Especially when they will great things! For they arouse mistrust against great things, these fine counterfeiters and actors -


-untilatlast they are false before themselves, cross-eyed, white-washed wormfood, cloaked by strong words, by showy virtues, by gleaming false works. Be very careful there, you higher men! For I regard nothing more precious and rare today than honesty. Is this today not of the rabble? But rabble does not know what is great, what is small, what is straight and honest: it is innocently crooked, it always lies. Have a good mistrust today, you higher men, you brave-hearted, you open-hearted ones! And keep your grounds secret! For this today is of the rabble. What the rabble once learned to believe without grounds, how could anyone overthrow that with grounds? In the market place one convinces with gestures. But grounds make the rabble mistrustful. And if ever truth was victorious there, then ask yourselves with good mistrust: 'Which strong error fought for it?' And beware also of the scholars! They hate you, because they are sterile! They have cold, dried up eyes; before them every bird lies plucked. Such types boast that they do not lie: but powerlessness to lie is by no means love for the truth. Beware! Freedom from fever is by no means knowledge! I do not believe spirits that have cooled down. Whoever cannot lie does not know what truth is. Thus Spoke Zarathustra If you want to climb high and beyond, then use your own legs! Do not let yourselves be carried up, do not seat yourselves on strangers' backs and heads! But you mount your horse? You ride swiftly up to your goal? Well then, my friend! But your lame foot is also mounted on your horse! When you've reached your goal, when you leap from your horse, precisely at your height , you higher man - you will stumble! You creators, you higher men! One is pregnant only with one's own child. Do not let yourselves be misled and spoon-fed! Who after all is your neighbor? And even if you act 'for your neighbor' - still you don't create for him! Unlearn this 'for,' you creators; your virtue itself wants that you do nothing 'for' and 'in order' and 'because.' You should plug your ears against these false little words.


'For your neighbor' is the virtue of only small people; there they say 'birds of a feather' and 'one hand washes the other' - they have neither the right nor the strength to your self-interest. In your self-interest, you creators, are the precaution and providence of the pregnant! What no one yet has laid eyes on, the fruit: your whole love shelters and spares and nourishes it. Where your whole love is, with your children, there too your whole virtue is! Your work, your will is your 'neighbor' - do not let yourself be spoon-fed any false values! You creators, you higher men! Whoever must give birth is sick; but whoever has given birth, is unclean. Ask women: one does not give birth because it is enjoyable. Pain makes hens and poets cackle. You creators, in you there is much that is unclean. That's because you had to be mothers. A new child - oh how much new filth also came into the world! Step aside! And whoever has given birth should wash his soul clean! Donotbevirtuous beyond your strengths! And will nothing of yourselves that is contrary to probability! Walk in the footsteps where your fathers' virtue walked before! How could you climb high if your fathers' will did not climb with you? But whoever would be a firstling should see to it that he does not also become a lastling! And where the vices of your fathers are, there you should not pretend to be saints! If your fathers took to women and strong wine and boar swine, what would be the use of demanding chastity of yourself? It would be a folly! To me it truly seems like much if such a man belonged to one or two or three women. And if he founded monasteries and wrote above the door: 'This way to sainthood' - I would still say: What for! It's a new folly! He founded himself a guardhouse and safeguard: good for him! But I don't believe in it. Whatever one brings into solitude grows in it, even the inner beast. On this score, solitude is ill-advised for many. Was there ever anything filthier on earth than saints of the wilderness? Around them not only hell broke loose - but pigs too.


Timid, ashamed, awkward, like a tiger whose leap has failed; thus, you higher men, I often saw you slinking aside. A throw failed you. But what does it matter, you dice throwers! You did not learn to gamble and banter as one should gamble and banter! Are we not always sitting at a great bantering and gaming table? And when something great failed you, are you yourselves therefore failures? And if you yourselves failed, did humanity therefore fail? But if humanity failed: well then, well now! Thus Spoke Zarathustra The higher its kind, the more seldom a thing succeeds. You higher men here, haven't all of you - failed? Beofgoodcheer, what does it matter! How much is still possible! Learn to laugh at yourselves as one must laugh! And no wonder that you failed and half succeeded, you half-broken ones! Does humanity's future not push and shove within you? What is most distant, deepest, highest to the stars in humanity, its prodigious power: does all that not foam against each other in your pot? Nowondermanyapotbreaks!Learntolaugh at yourselves as one must laugh! You higher men, oh how much is still possible! And truly, how much has succeeded already! How rich is this earth in small, good, perfect things, in things that turned out well! Place small, good, perfect things around you, you higher men! Their golden ripeness heals the heart. Perfection teaches us to hope. What was the greatest sin here on earth until now? Was it not the words of him who spoke: 'Woe to you who laugh now!' Did he himself find no reasons to laugh on earth? Then he searched badly. Even a child finds reasons here. He - did not love enough; or else he would have loved us too, we who laugh! But he hated and heckled us, howling and gnashing of teeth he heralded for us. Must one curse right away where one does not love? That - seems to mein bad taste. But that is how he acted, this unconditional one. He came from the rabble. And he himself just did not love enough; or else he would have been less angry that people did not love him. All great love does not want love - it wants more.


Get out of the way of all such unconditional ones! That is a poor sick kind, a rabble kind; they look harshly at this life, they have the evil eye for this earth. Get out of the way of all such unconditional ones! They have heavy feet and sultry hearts - they do not know how to dance. How could the earth be light to them? Fourth and Final Part Crookedly all good things approach their goal. Like cats they arch their backs, they purr inwardly with their impending happiness - all good things laugh. A person's stride betrays whether one is striding on his course: just look at me walk! But whoever approaches his goal dances. And truly, I have not become a statue, I do not yet stand there stiff, stunned, stony, a column; I love swift running. And even though there are bogs and thick depressions on earth, whoever has light feet runs over and past the mud and dances as if on cleanswept ice. Lift up your hearts, my brothers, high! higher! And don't forget your legs either! Lift up your legs as well, you good dancers, and better still: stand on your heads too! This crown of the laughing one, this rose-wreath crown - I myself put on this crown, I myself pronounced my laughter holy. I found no other strong enough for it today. Zarathustra the dancer, Zarathustra the light one who waves with his wings, the flightworthy, waving to all birds, worthy and ready, a blissful lightweight - Zarathustra the soothsayer, Zarathustra the soothlaugher, not impatient, not unconditional, someone who loves capers and escapades; I myself put on this crown! Lift up your hearts, my brothers, high! higher! And don't forget your legs either! Lift up your legs as well, you good dancers, and better still: stand on your heads too! Even in happiness there are heavy creatures, there are born ponderipedes. Quaintly they struggle, like an elephant struggling to stand on its head. But it is better to be foolish with happiness than foolish with unhappiness, better to dance ponderously than to walk lamely. So learn this wisdom from me: even the worst thing has two good reverse sides -


-even the worst thing has good legs for dancing: so learn from me, you higher men, to stand yourselves on your right legs! So unlearn moping and all rabble sadness! Oh how sad even today's rabble clowns seem to me! But this today is of the rabble. Make like the wind when he plunges from his mountain caves: he wants to dance to his own pipe, the seas tremble and skip under his footsteps. Praised be this good unruly spirit who gives wings to asses and milks the lionesses, who comes upon all that is today and all rabble like a storm wind - - who is hostile to thistle-heads and hair-splitters and all wilted leaves and weeds: praised be this good, free storm spirit, who dances on bogs and depressions as upon meadows! Who hates the rabble's mindless swindlers and all botched gloomy brood: praised be this spirit of all free spirits, the laughing storm who blows dust into the eyes of all fusspots and pus-pots! You higher men, your worst part is that all of you have not learned to dance as one must dance - dance over and past yourselves! What does it matter that you didn't turn out well? How much is still possible! So learn to laugh over and past yourselves! Lift up your hearts, you good dancers, high! higher! And don't forget good laughter either! This crown of the laughing one, this rose-wreath crown: to you, my brothers, I throw this crown! I pronounced laughter holy; you higher men, learn - to laugh!


As Zarathustra made these speeches he stood close to the entrance of his cave; with the last words, however, he slipped away from his guests and fled for a short while into the open. 'Oh clean fragrance around me,' he cried out, 'oh blissful stillness around me! But where are my animals? Come here, come here my eagle and my snake! Fourth and Final Part Tell me, my animals: these higher men all together - do they perhaps not smell good? Oh clean fragrances around me! Only now do I know and feel how I love you, my animals.' - And Zarathustra spoke again. 'I love you, my animals!' But the eagle andsnakepressed up against him as he spoke these words, and they looked upat him. In such a manner the three of them together sniffled and sipped the good air. For the air here outside was better than among the higher men. But scarcely had Zarathustra left his cave when the old magician stood up, looked around cunningly and said: 'He's gone out! Andalready, you higher men - if I may tickle you with this complimentary and flattering name, even as he did - already my wicked deceiving and magic spirit befalls me, my melancholy devil, -who is an adversary of Zarathustra from the ground up: forgive him! Now he wants to conjure before you, right now is his hour; I wrestle in vain with this evil spirit. All of you, whatever honors you may give yourselves with words, whether you call yourselves 'the free spirits' or 'the truthful' or 'penitents of the spirit' or 'the unbound' or 'the great longing ones' - - all of you who suffer from the great nausea like me, for whom the old God died and no new god is lying yet in cradles and crib clothes - all of you are favored by my evil spirit and magic devil. I know you, you higher men, I know him - I also know this monster whom I love against my will, this Zarathustra: he himself often seems to me like a beautiful mask of a saint, - like a new wondrous masquerade in which my evil spirit, the melancholy devil, enjoys himself - I love Zarathustra, so it often seems to me, for the sake of my evil spirit. -


But already he befalls me and forces me, this spirit of melancholy, this evening twilight devil; and truly, you higher men, he is fond - - just open your eyes! - he is fond of coming naked , whether male or female I do not yet know; but he is coming, he is forcing me, oh no! Open your senses!


The day is winding down, to all things evening now is coming, even to the best things; listen now and see, you higher men, what kind of devil, whether man or woman, this spirit of evening melancholy is!' Thus spoke the old magician, glanced around cunningly and then reached for his harp. When the air grows dim, When already the dew's consolation Wells down to earth, Invisible, and unheard For delicate shoes wears The dewy consoler, like all who mildly console Do you recall then, do you recall, hot heart, How once you thirsted, For tears from the sky and dribbles of dew, Parched and weary, thirsted While on yellow grass paths Malicious evening sun glances Ran through black trees around you, Blinding sun-ember glances, delighting in your pain? 'The wooer of truth ? You?' - thus they mocked 'No! Mere fool! A beast, a cunning, preying, creeping beast That must lie, That must knowingly, willingly lie: Lusting for prey, Camouflaged, A mask to itself, Prey to itself That - the wooer of truth? No! Mere fool! Mere poet! 'Bei abgehellter Luft' means literally when the air has cleared or brightened. Nietzsche is borrowing the exact phrase used by the German poet Paul Fleming ( - )inhis sonnet 'Auf Mons. Jakob Schevens seinen Geburtstag' ( Gedichte von Paul Fleming , ed. Julius Tittmann (Leipzig: F. A. Brockhaus, ), p. ). Grimms' Deutsches W orterbuch , the authoritative dictionary of the Germanlanguage, quotes both Fleming and Nietzsche for abhellen .However, in this context Nietzsche appears to use the verb abhellen to mean 'dimming' or 'darkening.'


Merely speaking colorfully, From fools' masks shouting colorfully, Climbing around on lying word bridges, On colorful rainbows, Between false skies And false earths, Roaming around, hovering around - Mere fool! Mere poet! That - the wooer of truth? Not still, stiff, smooth, cold, Turned to statue, To a pillar of God, Not erected before temples, A god's gatekeeper: No! Hostile to such statues of truth, More at home in any wilderness than before temples, Full of feline mischief, Leaping through every window Swish! into every chance, Sniffing toward every jungle, Greedily, longingly sniffing, So that in jungles Among dappled beasts of prey You could run, sinfully healthy and colorful and beautiful, With lusty lips, Blissfully mocking, blissfully hellish, blissfully bloodthirsty, Run preying, creeping, lying - Or, like the eagle that long, Long gazes fixedly into abysses, Into its own abysses - Oh how they wind downward here, Down low, down into, Into ever deeper depths! Then, Suddenly, straight and tight, You spring to flight, Pounce on lambs, Steeply down, ravenously, Lusting for lambs, Wroth to all lamb souls,


Grimly wroth to everything that looks Sheepish, lamb-eyed, curly wooled, Gray, with lamb and sheep benevolence! Thus eagle-like, panther-like Are the poet's longings, Are your longings beneath a thousand masks, You fool! You poet! You who viewed mankind As god and sheep - : Tearing to pieces the god in mankind, Like the sheep in mankind, And laughing while tearing - That , that is your bliss! A panther's and eagle's bliss! A poet's and fool's bliss!' - When the air grows dim, When already the moon's sickle Creeps along green, between Purple reds, and jealously: - hostile to day, With every step secretly Scything away at rosy hammocks Until they sink, Sink down into night, sink down, pale - Thus I myself once sank From my own truth-madness, From my longings of the day, Weary of the day, sick from light, - sank downward, eveningward, shadowward: By one truth Burned and thirsty: - do you still recall, do you recall, hot heart, How you thirsted then? - To be banned From all truth, Mere fool! Mere poet!


Thus sang the magician; and all who were together went unwittingly, like birds, into the net of his cunning and melancholy rapture. Only the conscientious of spirit was not captured; he snatched the harp away from the magician and cried: 'Air! Let in the good air! Let Zarathustra in! You make this cave sultry and poisonous, you wicked old magician! You seduce us, you faker, you fine one, to unknown desires and wildernesses. And watch out when such as you start making speeches and fuss about truth ! Woe to all free spirits who are not on their guard for such magicians! Their freedom is done for: you teach and tempt us back into prisons - - you old melancholy devil, out of your lament rings a bird call; you resemble those who secretly incite sexual desires with their praise of chastity!' Thusspoke the conscientious one; but the old magician looked around, enjoyed his triumph, and for its sake swallowed the annoyance that the conscientious one caused him. 'Be quiet!' he said with a modest voice. 'Good songs want to reverberate well; one should remain silent for a long time after good songs. That is what all these do, the higher men. But you perhaps have understood little of my song? In you there is little of a magic spirit.' 'You praise me,' retorted the conscientious one. 'In so far as you distinguish me from yourself, well good! But you others, what do I see here? You're all still sitting there with lusting eyes - You free souls, where is your freedom now? Almost, it seems to me, you resemble those who have long watched wicked, dancing naked girls: your very souls are dancing! In you, you higher men, there must be more of that which the magician calls his evil magic and deceiving spirit - we must surely be very different. And truly, we spoke and thought enough together, before Zarathustra came home to his cave, to let me know that we are different. We are seeking something different up here too, you and I. I for one am seeking more security , that is why I came to Zarathustra. For he is still the most solid tower and will -


- today, when everything is wobbling, when the whole earth is quaking. But you, when I look at the eyes that you make, it almost seems to me you are seeking more insecurity , Thus Spoke Zarathustra - more thrills, more danger, more earthquakes. What you are fond of, I almost suppose, but forgive my posing, you higher men - - what you are fond of is the worst, most dangerous life, the one that frightens me the most; the life of wild animals, woods, caves, steep mountains and labyrinthine gorges. Andnottheleaders away fromdangerdoyoulikebest,butinsteadthose who lead you astray from all paths, the seducers. But, if such fondness is real in you, then it seems to me impossible nonetheless. Fear, after all - that is a human being's original and basic feeling; from fear everything can be explained, original sin and original virtue. From fear my virtue also grew, it is called: science. For the fear of wild animals - it was bred longest in human beings, including the animal that he conceals within himself and fears - Zarathustra calls it 'the inner beast.' Such a long old fear, refined at last, made spiritual, intellectual - today, it seems to me, it is called: science .' - Thus spoke the conscientious one; but Zarathustra, who had just returned to his cave and heard and guessed the last speech, tossed a hand full of roses to the conscientious one and laughed at his 'truths.' 'What!' he cried. 'What did I hear just now? Truly, it seems to me, you are a fool or I myself am one; and your 'truth' I stand wham-bam on its head. Fear you see - is our exception. But courage and adventure and pleasure in uncertainty, in what is undared courage seems to me humanity's whole prehistory. Heenvied and robbed the wildest, most courageous animals of all their virtues: only thus did he become - human. This courage, refined at last, made spiritual, intellectual, this human courage with eagle's wings and snake's cleverness: it ,itseems to me, today is called - '


' Zarathustra !' cried everyone sitting together, as if with one mouth, and they raised a great laughter then, and it rose from them like a heavy cloud. Even the magician laughed and said cleverly: 'Well then, he's gone, my evil spirit! And did I myself not warn you about him when I said that he was a deceiver and a cheat- and deceit spirit? Especially, you see, when he shows himself naked. But what can I do about his tricks! Did I create him and the world?


Well then! Let's be good again and be cheerful! And even though Zarathustra looks angry - just look at him, he grudges me - - before night comes he will learn again to love and laud me, he cannot live long without committing such follies. He -loves his enemies: this art he understands best of all whom I have seen. But he takes revenge for it - on his friends!' Thus spoke the old magician, and the higher men applauded him, such that Zarathustra went around and shook the hands of his friends with malice and love - like someone who has to make up for something and apologize to everyone. But when in doing so he reached the door of his cave, then once again he had a craving for the good air outside and for his animals - and he wanted to slip out.


'Do not go away!' said the wanderer who called himself the shadow of Zarathustra. 'Stay with us, or else our old dull depression could befall us again. Already that old magician has regaled us with his worst, and just look, the good pious pope there has tears in his eyes and once again he's completely shipped out on the sea of melancholy. These kings may well put on a good face before us; of all of us today they learned that best after all! But if they did not have witnesses, I bet that the evil game would begin again with them too - - the evil game of drifting clouds, of damp melancholy, of veiled skies, of stolen suns, of howling autumn winds, - the evil game of our howling and crying in distress; stay with us, oh Zarathustra! Here there is much hidden misery that wants to speak, much evening, much cloud, much musty air! You nourished us with strong, manly fare and strong sayings: do not permit the wimpy womanish spirits to befall us again for dessert! You alone make the air around you strong and clear! Have I ever on earth found such good air as here with you in your cave? Many lands indeed have I seen, my nose learned to test and assess many kinds of air; but in your cave my nostrils taste their greatest treat!


Unless - unless - oh forgive an old memory! Forgive me an old dessert song that I once composed among daughters of the desert - - for among them there was likewise good, bright, oriental air; there I was furthest from cloudy, damp, melancholy old Europe! Back then I loved such Oriental girls and a different blue sky, over which no clouds and no thoughts hang. You wouldn't believe how decently they sat there when they weren't dancing; deep, but without thoughts, like little secrets, like beribboned riddles, like dessert nuts - colorful and foreign to be sure! but without clouds; riddles that can be guessed: as a favor to such girls I then thought up a dessert psalm.' Thus spoke the wanderer and shadow; and before anyone answered him, he had already grasped the old magician's harp, crossed his legs and looked around dignified and wisely; but with his nostrils he slowly and questioningly inhaled the air like someone in new lands who savors the new, strange air. Then he began to sing with a kind of roaring voice. The desert grows: woe to him who harbors deserts! - Ha! Solemn! Indeed solemn! A worthy beginning! African solemn! Worthy of a lion, Or of a moral howling monkey - - but nothing for you, My most lovely lady friends, At whose feet I, For the first time, A European among palm trees, Ampermitted to sit. Selah. Wonderful truly! Here I sit now, Near the desert and already So distant again from the desert, Even in this nothingness ravaged:


Namely swallowed By this smallest oasis - - it just now yawned wide open Its lovely mouth. The most fragrant of all little mouths: Then I fell in, Down, down through - among you, My most lovely lady friends! Selah. Hail, hail to that whale If he thus let his guest Be comfortable! - you understand My learned allusion? Hail to his belly If it was thus Such a lovely oasis belly, Like this one: which I doubt, however, - that's why I come from Europe, Which is more doubt ridden than all Elderly married women. May God improve it! Amen! Here I sit now, In this smallest oasis, Like a date, Brown, sweetened through, oozing gold, lusting For a rounded maiden's mouth, But even more for maidenly Ice-cold snowy-white incisor Front teeth: for these, after all, Languish the hearts of all hot dates. Selah. To the aforementioned southerly fruits Similar, all too similar I lie here, little Winged bugs Dancing and playing around me, Likewise even smaller More foolish malicious Wishes and fantasies - Besieged by you,


You silent, you foreboding She-cats, Dudu and Suleika, -besphinxed , to stuff much feeling Into a single word: (Forgive me God This sin of language!) - I sit here, sniffing the best air, Paradise air truly, Bright light air, streaked with gold, Air as good as ever Fell down from the moon - Whether by chance, Or did it happen from mischief, As the ancient poets tell? I the doubter, however, Doubt it; that's why I come From Europe, Which is more doubt ridden than all Elderly married women. May God improve it! Amen! Drinking this most beautiful air, With nostrils swollen like cups, Without future, without memories, Thus I sit here, my Most lovely lady friends, And watch the palm tree As she, like a dancer, Sways and dips and swivels her hips, - one does it too if one watches too long! Like a dancer who, it seems to me, Already too long, dangerously long Always, always stood on one foot only? - which is why she forgot, it seems to me, The other leg? In vain, at least I looked for the missing Twin jewel - namely the other leg -


In the holy proximity Of her most lovely, most delicate Little fan and flutter and flitter tinsel skirt. Indeed, my beautiful lady friends, if you would Believe me entirely: She's lost it! It's gone! Forever gone! The other leg! Oh what a shame about this other lovely leg! Where - might it while and grieve forlorn? The lonely leg? In fear perhaps of a Grim golden blond-locked Lion monster? Or perhaps even Gnawed off, nibbled away - Miserable, oh no! oh no! Nibbled away. Selah. Oh do not weep, Soft hearts! Do not weep, you Date hearts! Milk bosoms! You licorice-heart Little pouches! Weep no more, Pale Dudu! Be a man, Suleika! Courage! Courage! - Or is perhaps Something fortifying, heart-fortifying Called for here? An anointed saying? A solemn exhortation? - Ha! Up now, dignity! Blow, blow again, Bellows of virtue! Ha! Roar once more, Roar morally! As a moral lion Before daughters of the desert, roar! - For the howling of virtue,


My most lovely lady friends, Is more than all European fervor, European voraciousness! And here I stand already, As a European, I cannot do otherwise, God help me! Amen! The desert grows: woe to him who harbors deserts !


After the song of the wanderer and shadow all at once the cave became full of noise and laughter; and because the assembled guests all spoke at the same time, and even the ass no longer kept quiet amidst such encouragement, Zarathustra was overcome by a slight aversion and a bit of scorn for his visitors, even though he was glad for their cheerfulness. This, it seemed to him, was a sign of their convalescence. And so he slipped out into the open and spoke to his animals. 'Where is their distress now?' he said, and already he himself was relieved of his minor annoyance. 'In my company, it seems to me, they have unlearned their crying in distress! - Though unfortunately, not their crying.' And Zarathustra covered his ears, for just then the hee-yaw of the ass blended oddly with the noisy jubilation of these higher men. 'They're having fun,' he began again, 'and who knows? Perhaps at the expense of their host; and if they learned to laugh from me, then still it is not my laughing that they learned. But what does it matter? They're old people; they convalesce in their way, they laugh in their way: my ears have endured worse already without becoming testy. This day is a triumph; he is already retreating, he's fleeing, the spirit of gravity , my old arch-enemy! How well this day wants to end, which began so badly and so hard! And it wants to end. Already evening is coming; over the sea he rides, this good rider! How he sways, the blissful, homecoming one, in his purple saddle!


The sky looks on clearly, the world lies deep; oh all you strange people who came to me, it's worth it indeed to live with me!' Thusspoke Zarathustra. And again the cries and laughter of the higher men came from the cave, so he began again. 'They are biting, my bait is working, their enemy is retreating from them too, the spirit of gravity. Already they're learning to laugh at themselves: do I hear correctly? Mymanlyfareisworking,myvimandvigorsayings;andtruly,Ididnot nourish them with gassy vegetables! But with warrior fare, with conqueror fare - I awakened new desires in them. New hopes live in their arms and legs, their hearts expand. They are finding new words, soon their spirit will breathe mischief. Such fare may not be for children, to be sure, nor for longing little women, old and young; their entrails are persuaded differently, their physician and teacher I am not. Nausea retreats from these higher men - well then! That is my victory. In my kingdom they're becoming secure, all their stupid shame runs away, they're pouring themselves out. They're pouring out their hearts, good hours are returning to them, they celebrate and ruminate - they're becoming grateful . That I take as the best sign; they're becoming grateful. It won't be long now and they will invent festivals and erect monuments to their old joys. They are convalescing !' Thus spoke Zarathustra gaily to his heart and he gazed outward; but his animals pressed up against him and honored his happiness and his silence. Suddenly, however, Zarathustra's ears were startled; for the cave which up till now had been full of noise and laughter became deathly still all at once - but his nose sensed an aromatic smoke and incense, as of burning pine cones. 'Whatis happening? What are they doing?' he asked himself and crept closer to the entrance, in order to watch his guests surreptitiously. But, wonder of wonders! What did he have to behold with his own eyes? '[S]ie denken sich Feste aus und stellen Denksteine ihren alten Freuden auf.' Kaufmann misread Freuden (joys) as Freunden (friends).


'They've all gone pious again, they're praying , they're mad!' - he said and he was amazed beyond measure. And, in truth, all these higher men, the two kings, the retired pope, the wicked magician, the voluntary beggar, the wanderer and his shadow, the old soothsayer, the conscientious of spirit and the ugliest human being - they all kneeled there like children and devout little old women, and they worshiped the ass. And just then the ugliest human being began to gurgle and snort as though something unspeakable wanted to get out of him; but when he actually put it into words, behold, it was a pious, remarkable litany praising the worshiped and censed ass. This litany, however, sounded thus: Amen! And praise and honor and wisdom and thanks and glory and strength be to our god, from everlasting to everlasting! - But to this the ass brayed Hee-yaw. He carries our burden, he adopted the form of a servant, he is patient from the heart and never says No; and whoever loves his god, chastises him. - But to this the ass brayed Hee-yaw. He does not speak, unless it be to say Yaw to the world that he created; thus he praises his world. It is his slyness that does not speak; this way he is rarely found to be wrong. - But to this the ass brayed Hee-yaw. Homely he walks through the world. Gray is the body color in which he cloaks his virtue. If he has spirit, then he conceals it; but everyone believes in his long ears. - But to this the ass brayed Hee-yaw. What hidden wisdom is it, that he has long ears and always says Yaw and never No! Has he not created the world in his image, namely as stupid as possible? - But to this the ass brayed Hee-yaw. You walk ways that are straight and crooked; it matters little to you what seems straight or crooked to us human beings. Your kingdom is beyond good and evil. It is your innocence not to know what innocence is. - But to this the ass brayed Hee-yaw.


See now, how you push no one away, not the beggars, not the kings. The little children you let come to you, and when the mean boys bait you, then you simplemindedly say Hee-yaw. - But to this the ass brayed Hee-yaw.


Youlove she-asses and fresh figs, you are no picky eater. A thistle tickles your heart if you happen to be hungry. Therein lies the wisdom of a god. - But to this the ass brayed Hee-yaw.


At this point in the litany, however, Zarathustra could no longer control himself, cried Hee-yaw himself even louder than the ass, and leaped into the midst of his guests, who had gone mad. 'But what are you doing, you mortal children?' he cried, as he pulled the praying men off the floor and to their feet. 'Watch out that someone other than Zarathustra should see you: Anyone would conclude that with your new faith you were the most vicious blasphemers or the most foolish of all old little women! Andyouyourself, you old pope, how can you reconcile for yourself that you worship this ass here as God?' - 'Oh Zarathustra,' responded the pope, 'forgive me, but in matters of God I am more enlightened even than you. And that's how it should be. Better to worship God in this form, than in no form at all! Think about this dictum, my exalted friend; you will quickly realize that there is wisdom in such a dictum. He who said 'God is a spirit' - he took the biggest step and leap ever on earth toward disbelief: such words are not easy to rectify on earth! My old heart leaps and skips at the fact that there is still something to worship on earth. Forgive, oh Zarathustra, an old pious pope's heart! -' - 'And you,' said Zarathustra to the wanderer and shadow, 'you call andconsider yourself a free spirit? And yet here you perform such idolatry and popery? Your performance here is more wicked indeed than it is with your wicked brown girls, you wicked new believer!' 'Wicked enough,' answered the wanderer and shadow, 'you're right; but what can I do about it? The old God lives again, oh Zarathustra, say what you will. The ugliest human being is to blame for everything; he has awakened him again. And when he says that he once killed him: death is always a mere prejudice among gods.' Thus Spoke Zarathustra - 'And you,' said Zarathustra, 'you wicked old magician, what have you done! Who in these liberated times is supposed to believe in you anymore, if you believe in such asinine divinities?


What you did was a stupidity; how could you, you clever one, commit such a stupidity!' 'Oh Zarathustra,' replied the clever magician, 'you're right, it was a stupidity - and it's been hard enough for me.' -'And you most of all,' said Zarathustra to the conscientious of spirit, 'lean your head on your hand and consider! Doesn't anything here go against your conscience? Isn't your spirit too clean for this praying and the steam of these Holy Joes?' 'There is something about it,' answered the conscientious one, leaning his head on his hand, 'there is something about this spectacle that actually does my spirit good. Maybe because I am not allowed to believe in God; but it is certain that God in this form seems most believable to me. God should be eternal, according to the witnessing of the most pious; whoever has that much time, takes his time. As slowly and as stupidly as possible: that way such a one can indeed go very far. And whoever has too much spirit, he may well become a fool even for stupidity and folly. Think about your own case, oh Zarathustra! Youyourself - indeed! Even you could well become an ass from superabundance and wisdom. Does a perfectly wise man not like to walk on crooked paths? Appearances would indicate this, oh Zarathustra your appearance!' -'Andfinally you yourself,' said Zarathustra and he turned toward the ugliest human being, who still lay on the floor, reaching up with his arm to the ass (for he was giving it wine to drink). 'Speak, you unspeakable one: what have you done here! You seem transformed to me, your eyes glow, the cloak of the sublime lies about your ugliness: What have you done? Is what they say true after all, that you awakened him again? And why? Were there not good grounds for killing and getting rid of him? Youyourself seem awakened to me; what have you done? Why did you revert? Why did you convert? Speak, you unspeakable one!' 'Oh Zarathustra,' replied the ugliest human being, 'you are a rogue!


Whether he still lives or lives again or is thoroughly dead - which of us two knows that best? I ask you. Fourth and Final Part But I know one thing - it was from you yourself that I once learned, oh Zarathustra: whoever wants to kill most thoroughly, laughs . 'One kills not by wrath, but by laughter' - thus you once spoke. Oh Zarathustra, you hidden one, you annihilator without wrath, you dangerous saint - you are a rogue!' But then it happened that Zarathustra, astounded by the sheer number of such roguish answers, bounded back to the door of his cave and, facing all of his guests, cried out with a strong voice: 'Oh you foolish rascals, the lot of you, you jesters! Why do you dissemble and disguise yourselves before me? How the hearts of each of you squirmed with glee and malice that at last you had become as little children again, namely pious - - that at last you did again as children do, namely prayed, folded your hands and said 'dear God!' But now leave me this nursery, my own cave, where today all manner of childishness is at home. Cool your hot children's mischief and your heart's noise out here! To be sure, unless you become as little children, you shall not enter that kingdom of heaven. (And Zarathustra gestured upward with his hands.) But we do want to enter the kingdom of heaven at all: we have become men and so we want the kingdom of the earth .' And once again Zarathustra began to speak. 'Oh my new friends,' he said - 'you strange, you higher men, how well I like you now - - since you've become gay again! All of you have truly blossomed; it seems to me that flowers such as you require new festivals , -asmall brave nonsense, some kind of divine worship and ass festival, some kind of old gay Zarathustra fool, a sweeping wind that blows your souls bright. Do not forget this night and this ass festival, you higher men! This you invented in my cave, this I take as a good omen - such things are invented only by the convalescing!


And if you celebrate it again, this ass festival, do it for your own sake, do it also for my sake! And in remembrance of me !' Thus spoke Zarathustra.


Meanwhile, however, one after another had stepped outdoors into the open and into the cool, pensive night; but Zarathustra himself led the ugliest human being by the hand, to show him his night world and the big round moon and the silver waterfalls near his cave. There at last they all stood together, nothing but old people, but with comforted, brave hearts and inwardly amazed that they felt so good on earth; but the mystery of the night came closer and closer to their hearts. And Zarathustra thought again to himself: 'Oh how well I like them now, these higher men!' but he did not say it aloud, for he honored their happiness and their silence. - But then something happened that was the most amazing thing of that amazing long day: the ugliest human being began once more and for the last time to gurgle and to snort, and when he had managed to put it in words, behold, a question leaped round and ready from his mouth, a good, deep, clear question, which moved the hearts of all who were listening to him. 'My friends, all of you,' spoke the ugliest human being, 'what do you think? For the sake of this day I amsatisfied for the first time that I have lived my entire life. And it's still not enough for me to attest as much as I do. It's worth it to live on earth: one day, one festival with Zarathustra taught me to love the earth. 'Was that - life?' I want to say to death. 'Well then! One More Time!' My friends, what do you think? Do you not want to say to death, as I do: Was that - life? For Zarathustra's sake, well then! One More Time!' - Thus spoke the ugliest human being; but it was not long before midnight. And what do you think happened then? As soon as the higher men had heard his question, all at once they became aware of their transformation and convalescence, and of who gave it to them. Then they


rushed toward Zarathustra, thanking, honoring, caressing him, kissing his hands, each in his own manner; such that some laughed, some wept. But the old soothsayer danced with joy; and even if, as some chroniclers opine, he was full of sweet wine at the time, then he was certainly even more full of sweet life and he had renounced all weariness. There are even some who say that the ass also danced then; not for nothing, after all, had the ugliest human being earlier given it wine to drink. Now this may have happened thus or otherwise, and if in truth on that evening the ass did not dance, then clearly even greater and rarer wonders took place there, than the dancing of an ass would have been. In sum, as Zarathustra's saying goes: 'What does it matter!' But as this went on with the ugliest human being, Zarathustra stood there like a drunken man; his tongue slurred, his feet faltered. And who could even guess what thoughts were speeding then through Zarathustra's soul? Visibly, however, his spirit receded and flew ahead and was in remote distances and at the same time 'upon a high ridge,' as it is written, 'between two seas, -betweenthepast and the future, wandering as a heavy cloud.' Gradually, however, as the higher men held him in their arms, he came to himself a bit and used his hands to fend away the throng of the revering and the worrying; yet he did not speak. All at once though he quickly turned his head, because he seemed to hear something: then he put his finger to his lips and said: ' Come !'


And immediately it became still and mysterious all around; but from the depths the sound of a bell rose slowly. Zarathustra listened for it, as did the higher men; then he put his finger to his lips once more and said again: ' Come! Come! It's going on midnight !' - And his voice had changed.Butstill he did not stir from his place; then it grew even more still and mysterious, and everything listened, even the ass, and Zarathustra's animals of honor, the eagle and the snake, and also the cave of Zarathustra and the big cool moon and the very night. But Zarathustra put his hand to his lips for the third time and said: ' Come! Come! Come! Let us walk now! It is the hour: let us walk now into the night! ' Thus Spoke Zarathustra You higher men, it's going on midnight; I want to whisper something in your ears, like that old bell whispers it into my ear - - as secretly, as terribly, as cordially as that midnight bell, which has experienced more than any human, says it to me: - which long ago tallied the heartbeat beatings of your fathers - oh! oh! how it sighs! How it laughs in dream delight, the old, the deep deep midnight! Still! Still! Then things are heard that by day may not be said; but now, in the cool air, where the noise of your hearts has fled - -now it speaks, now it listens, now it creeps into nocturnal, over-awake souls - oh! oh! how it sighs! How it laughs in dream delight! - don't you hear, how it secretly, terribly, cordially speaks to you , the old, the deep deep midnight? Oh mankind, pray! Woe to me! Where has time gone? Did I not sink into deep wells? The world sleeps - Alas! Alas! The dog howls, the moon shines. I would sooner die, die, than tell you what my midnight heart is thinking right now. Now I've died already. It's gone. Spider, why do you spin around me? Do you want blood? Oh! Oh! The dew falls, the hour comes -


- the hour when I shiver and freeze, which asks and asks and asks: 'who has enough heart for it? - who shall be the ruler of the earth? Who wants to say: thus you shall flow, you great and little streams!' -the hour approaches: oh mankind, you higher men, pray! This speech is for fine ears, for your ears what does deep midnight have to say ? It carries me away, my soul dances. Day's work! Day's work! Who shall be ruler of the earth? The moon is cool, the wind is silent. Alas! Alas! Have you flown high enough? You dance: but a leg is not a wing. Fourth and Final Part You good dancers, now all joy is gone, wine became resin, every cup became brittle, the graves stammer. You did not fly high enough; now the graves stammer: 'Redeem the dead! Why is it night for so long? Does the moon not make us drunk?' You higher men, redeem the graves, awaken the corpses! Oh, why does the worm still bore? It approaches, the hour approaches - - the bell growls, the heart still rattles, the wood worm still bores, the heart worm. Alas! Alas! The world is deep! Sweet lyre! Sweet lyre! I love your tone, your drunken, sunken croaking tone! - From how long ago, from how far away your tone comes to me, from afar, from ponds of love! You old bell, you sweet lyre! Every pain tore into your heart, father pain, fathers' pain, forefathers' pain, your speech grew ripe - - ripe like golden autumns and afternoons, like my hermit's heart now you speak: the world itself became ripe, the grape turns brown, - now it wants to die, die of happiness. You higher men, do you not smell it? A fragrance wells up mysteriously, -afragrance and aroma of eternity, a rosy blissful, brown golden wine aroma of ancient happiness, - of drunken, midnight, dying happiness, which sings: the world is deep and deeper than the grasp of day! Let me be! Let me be! I am too pure for you. Do not touch me! Did my world not just become perfect?


My skin is too pure for your hands. Let me be, you stupid, clumsy, stifling day! Is midnight not brighter? The purest shall be rulers of the earth, the least known, strongest, the midnight-souled, who are brighter and deeper than any day. Oh day, you grope for me? You fumble for my happiness? I seem rich to you, lonely, buried treasure, a chamber of gold? Oh world, you want me ? Am I worldly to you? Am I spiritual to you? AmI godlike to you? But day and world, you are too crude - Thus Spoke Zarathustra - have smarter hands, reach for deeper happiness, for deeper unhappiness, reach for some kind of god - do not reach for me: -myunhappiness, my happiness is deep, you strange day, but still I am no god, no god's hell: deep is its pain . God's pain is deeper, you strange world! Reach for god's pain, not for me! What am I? A drunken sweet lyre - a midnight lyre, a bell-toad that no one understands, but that must speak, before the deaf, you higher men! For you do not understand me! Gone! Gone! Oh youth! Oh noon! Oh afternoon! Now evening's come and night and midnight - the dog howls, the wind: - is the wind not a dog? It whimpers, it yelps, it howls. Alas! Oh how midnight sighs, how it laughs, how it rattles and wheezes! How she speaks soberly just now, this drunken poetess! Perhaps she overdrank her drunkenness? She became over-awake? She ruminates? - she ruminates her pain, in dream, the old deep midnight, and even more her joy. Because joy, even if pain is deep: Joy is deeper still than misery . Yougrapevine! Why do you praise me! I cut you! I am cruel, you bleed what does your praise want of my drunken cruelty? 'What became perfect, everything ripe - wants to die!' so you speak. Blessed, blessed be the vintner's knife! But everything unripe wants to live, alas! Pain says: 'Refrain! Away, you pain!' But everything that suffers wants to live, to become ripe and joyful and longing,


- longing for what is farther, higher, brighter. 'I want heirs,' thus speaks all that suffers, 'I want children, I do not want myself ' - But joy does not want heirs, not children - joy wants itself, wants eternity, wants recurrence, wants everything eternally the same. Pain says: 'Break, bleed, heart! Walk, legs! Wings, fly! Up! Upward! Pain!' Well then, well now, old heart! Pain says: 'Refrain! ' Fourth and Final Part You higher men, what do you think? Am I a soothsayer? A dreamer? A drunk? A dream interpreter? A midnight bell? A drop of dew? A haze and fragrance of eternity? Do you not hear it? Do you not smell it? Just now my world became perfect, midnight is also noon - Pain is also a joy, a curse is also a blessing, night is also a sun - go away or else you will learn: a wise man is also a fool. Have you ever said Yes to one joy? Oh my friends, then you also said Yes t o all pain. All things are enchained, entwined, enamored - - if you ever wanted one time two times, if you ever said 'I like you, happiness! Whoosh! Moment!' then you wanted everything back! -Everything anew, everything eternal, everything enchained, entwined, enamored, oh thus you loved the world - - you eternal ones, love it eternally and for all time; and say to pain also: refrain, but come back! For all joy wants - eternity! All joy want the eternity of all things, wants honey, wants resin, wants drunken midnight, wants graves, wants tomb-tears' solace, wants gilded sunset - -what doesjoynotwant?Itisthirstier, heartier, hungrier, more terrible, more mysterious than all pain, it wants itself ,itbites into itself , the ring's will wrestles in it - - it wants love, it wants hate, it is super-rich, bestows, throws away, begs for someone to take it, thanks the taker, it would like to be hated - -sorich is its joy that it thirsts for pain, for hell, for hate, for disgrace, for the cripple, for world - this world, oh you know it well!


You higher men, it longs for you, does joy, the unruly, blissful one - for your pain, you failures! All eternal joy longs for failures. For all joy wants itself, and therefore it wants all misery too! Oh happiness, oh pain! Oh break, my heart! You higher men, learn this, joy wants eternity, - Joy wants the eternity of all things, wants deep, wants deep eternity! Thus Spoke Zarathustra Have you now learned my song? Have you guessed what it means? Well then! Well now! You higher men, then sing me my new roundelay! Sing me this song yourselves now, whose name is 'One More Time,' whose meaning is 'in all eternity!' - sing, you higher men, Zarathustra's roundelay! Oh mankind, pray! What does deep midnight have to say? 'From sleep, from sleep From deepest dream I made my way: The world is deep, And deeper than the grasp of day. Deep is its pain -, Joy - deeper still than misery: Pain says: Refrain! Yet all joy wants eternity - - Wants deep, wants deep eternity.'


But in the morning after this night Zarathustra sprang from his sleeping place, girded his loins and came out from his cave, glowing and strong, like a morning sun that emerges from dark mountains. 'You great star,' he said, as he had said before, 'what would all your happiness be if you did not have those for whom you shine? Andif they stayed in their rooms while you are already awake and come and bestow and distribute - how would your proud shame be angered! Well then! They're sleeping still, these higher men, while I am awake: they are not my proper companions! Not for them do I wait here in my mountains. I want to go to my work, to my day; but they do not understand what the signs of my morning are, my step - is not a wake up call for them. They are sleeping still in my cave, their dream still ruminates on my midnights. The ear that hearkens for me - the heeding ear is still lacking in their limbs.' - Thus Zarathustra spoke to his heart as the sun was rising; then he glanced questioning into the heights, for he heard above him the sharp Fourth and Final Part call of his eagle. 'Well then!' he shouted upward, 'thus it pleases and suits me. My animals are awake, because I am awake. My eagle is awake and like me he honors the sun. With eagle's talons he grasps for the new light. You are my proper animals; I love you. But I still lack the proper human beings!' - Thus spoke Zarathustra; but then it happened that he suddenly heard himself swarmed and fluttered around as if by countless birds - but the whirring of so many wings and the thronging around his head was so great that he had to close his eyes. And truly, like a cloud it descended upon him, like a cloud of arrows pouring down upon a new enemy. But see, here it was a cloud of love, and it poured over a new friend.


'What is happening to me?' thought Zarathustra in his astonished heart, and he sat down slowly on the big stone that lay near the exit of his cave. But as he reached with his hands around and above and below himself, warding off the affectionate birds, something even more extraordinary happened to him: he reached unwittingly into a thick, warm tangle of hair, and at the same time a roar sounded before him - a soft, long lion's roar. ' The sign is coming ' said Zarathustra and his heart transformed. And in truth, as it grew brighter around him, there at his feet lay a yellow, powerful beast, and it pressed its head against his knee and did not want to leave him out of love, acting like a dog that finds its old master again. And the doves with their love were no less eager than the lion; and each time when a dove flitted over the nose of the lion, the lion shook its head and was amazed and laughed. To all of this Zarathustra had only one thing to say: ' My children are near, my children ' - then he became completely mute. But his heart was freed, and from his eyes tears dropped down and fell onto his hands. And he heeded nothing more and sat there, unmoving and not even warding off the animals. Then the doves flew back and forth and lighted on his shoulders and caressed his white hair and did not tire of tenderness and jubilation. But the strong lion kept licking the tears that fell onto Zarathustra's hands, roaring and growling bashfully. Thus acted these animals. - All this lasted a long time, or a short time: for, properly speaking, there is no time on earth for such things -. Meanwhile, however, the higher men in Zarathustra's cave had awakened and were forming a procession, in order to approach Zarathustra and offer their morning greeting. For Thus Spoke Zarathustra they had discovered, when they awakened, that he was no longer among them. But as they reached the door of the cave, and the noise of their footsteps preceded them, the lion started violently, turned suddenly away from Zarathustra and leaped, roaring wildly, toward the cave; and the higher men, when they heard it roaring, all cried out as if with one voice, and fled back and disappeared in a flash.