Thus Spoke Zarathustra

by Friedrich Nietzsche

  “But we certainly do not want to enter into the kingdom of heaven: we have become men,—so we want the kingdom of Earth.”

  3

  And once more Zarathustra began to speak. “O my new friends,” he said,—“you strange ones, you higher men, how well you please me now,—

  —“Since you have become gay again! Truly you have all blossomed forth: it seems to me that for such flowers as you, new festivals are required.

  —“A little valiant nonsense, some divine service and ass festival, some old gay Zarathustra fool, some blusterer to blow your souls bright.

  “Do not forget this night and this ass festival, you higher men! That you invented with me, that I take as a good omen,-such things only the convalescents invent!

  “And should you celebrate it again, this ass festival, do it from love of yourselves, do it also from love of me! And in memory of me!”14

  Thus spoke Zarathustra.

  THE DRUNKEN SONG15

  1

  MEANWHILE ONE AFTER ANOTHER had gone out into the open air, and into the cool, thoughtful night; but Zarathustra himself led the ugliest man by the hand, so that he might show him his night world, and the great round moon, and the silvery waterfalls near his cave. There at last they stood still beside one another; all of them old people, but with comforted, brave hearts, and astonished in themselves that all was so well with them on earth; but the mystery of the night came closer and closer to their hearts. And once more Zarathustra thought to himself: “Oh, how well do they now please me, these higher men!”—but he did not say it aloud, for he respected their happiness and their silence.—

  But then something happened which in this astonishing long day was most astonishing: the ugliest man began once more and for the last time to gurgle and snort, and when he had at length found expression, behold! a question sprang round and pure from his mouth, a good, deep, clear question, which moved the hearts of all who listened to him.

  “My friends, all of you,” said the ugliest man, “what do you think? For the sake of this day—I am for the first time content to have lived my entire life.

  “And that I testify so much is still not enough for me. It is worthwhile living on the earth: one day, one festival with Zarathustra, has taught me to love the earth.

  “‘Was that—life?’ I will say to death. ‘Well! Once more!’

  “My friends, what do you think? Will you not, like me, say to death: ‘Was that—life? For the sake of Zarathustra, well! Once more!’ ”—

  Thus spoke the ugliest man; but it was not far from midnight. And what took place then, do you think? As soon as the higher men heard his question, they became suddenly conscious of their transformation and convalescence, and of him who was the cause of that: then they rushed up to Zarathustra, thanking, honoring, caressing him, and kissing his hands, each in his own peculiar way; so that some laughed and some wept. The old soothsayer, however, danced with delight; and even if he was then full of sweet wine, as some narrators suppose, he was certainly still fuller of sweet life, and had renounced all weariness. There are even those who say that then the ass danced: for not in vain had the ugliest man previously given it wine to drink. That may be the case, or it may be otherwise; and if in truth the ass did not dance that evening, there nevertheless happened then greater and rarer wonders than the dancing of an ass would have been. In short, as the proverb of Zarathustra says: “What does it matter!”

  2

  But when this happened with the ugliest man, Zarathustra stood there like a drunk: his glance dulled, his tongue faltered and his feet staggered. And who could guess what thoughts then passed through Zarathustra’s soul? But apparently his spirit retreated and fled in advance and was in remote distances, and as it were “wandering on high mountain-ridges,” as it is written, “between two seas, wandering like a heavy cloud between the past and the future.” But gradually, while the higher men held him in their arms, he came back to himself a little, and resisted with his hands the crowd of the honoring and caring ones; but he did not speak. Suddenly, however, he turned his head quickly, for he seemed to hear something: then he laid his finger on his mouth and said: “Come!”

  And immediately it became still and mysterious all around; but from the depth there came up slowly the sound of a bell. Zarathustra listened to it, like the higher men; then, however, he laid his finger on his mouth the second time, and said again: “Come! Come! Midnight approaches!”—and his voice had changed. But still he had not moved from the spot. Then it became yet stiller and more mysterious, and everything listened, even the ass, and Zarathustra’s noble animals, the eagle and the serpent,-likewise the cave of Zarathustra and the big cool moon, and the night itself. Zarathustra, however, laid his hand upon his mouth for the third time, and said:

  Come! Come! Come! Let us now wander! It is the hour: let us wander into the night!

  3

  You higher men, midnight approaches: then I will say something into your ears, as that old bell whispers it into my ear,—

  —As mysteriously, as frightfully, and as cordially as that midnight bell whispers it to me, which has experienced more than any man:

  —Which has already counted the throbbings of your fathers’ hearts—ah! Ah! how it sighs! how it laughs in its dream! the old, deep, deep midnight!

  Hush! Hush! Then many a thing is heard which may not be heard by day; but now in the cool air, when even all the tumult of your hearts has become still,—

  —Now it speaks, now it is heard, now it steals into overwakeful, nocturnal souls: ah! Ah! how the midnight sighs! how it laughs in its dream!

  -Do you not hear how it mysteriously, frightfully, and cordially speaks to you, the old deep, deep midnight?

  O man, take care!

  4

  Woe to me! Where has time gone? Have I not sunk into deep wells? The world sleeps—

  Ah! Ah! the dog howls, the moon shines. I will rather die, die, than say to you what my midnight heart thinks now.

  Already I have died. It is all over. Spider, why do you spin around me? You want blood? Ah! Ah! the dew falls, the hour comes—

  —the hour which chills and freezes, which asks and asks and asks: “Who has heart enough for it?

  —who shall be master of the earth? Who will say: ”thus you shall flow, you great and small streams!—

  —the hour approaches: O man, you higher man, take care! this talk is for fine ears, for your ears—what does the deep midnight declare?

  5

  I am carried away, my soul dances. Day’s-work! Day’s-work! Who shall be master of the earth?

  The moon is cool, the wind is still. Ah! Ah! have you already flown high enough? You have danced: but a leg is not a wing.

  You good dancers, now all delight is over: wine has become dregs, every cup has become brittle, the graves mutter.

  You have not flown high enough: now the graves mutter: “Free the dead! Why is night so long? Doesn’t the moon make us drunk?”

  You higher men, open the graves, awaken the corpses! Ah, why does the worm still burrow? It approaches, it approaches, the hour,—

  —the bell booms, the heart still rattles, the woodworm, the heartworm, still burrows. Ah! Ah! The world is deep!

  6

  Sweet lyre! Sweet lyre! I love your sound, your drunken, croaking sound!-from how long ago, from how far has your sound come to me, from the distance, from the pools of love!

  You old bell, you sweet lyre! Every pain has torn your heart, the pain of a father, fathers’ pain, forefathers’ pain; your speech has become ripe,—

  —ripe like the golden autumn and the afternoon, like my hermit heart—now you say: The world itself has become ripe, the grape turns brown,

  —now it wants to die, to die of happiness. You higher men, do you not feel it? An odor wells up mysteriously,

  —a scent and odor of eternity, a rosy blessed, brown, golden wine odor of old happiness,

  —of drunken midnight’s dying happiness, which sings: the
world is deep, and deeper than day had been aware!

  7

  Leave me! Leave me! I am too pure for you. Do not touch me! Has not my world become perfect just now?

  My skin is too pure for your hands. Leave me, you dull, doltish, stupid day! Is midnight not brighter?

  The purest shall be masters of the earth, the least known, the strongest, the midnight souls, who are brighter and deeper than any day.

  O day, you grope for me? You feel for my happiness? For you I am rich, lonesome, a treasure pit, a gold chamber?

  O world, you want me? Am I worldly to you? Am I spiritual to you? Am I divine to you? But day and world, you are too coarse,—

  —have cleverer hands, grasp after deeper happiness, after deeper unhappiness, grasp after some god; do not grasp after me:

  -my unhappiness, my happiness is deep, you strange day, but yet I am no god, no god’s-hell: deep is its woe.

  8

  God’s woe is deeper, you strange world! Grasp at god’s woe, not at me! What am I! A drunken sweet lyre,—

  —a midnight lyre, a bellfrog, which no one understands, but which must speak before deaf ones, you higher men! For you do not understand me!

  Gone! Gone! O youth! O noon! O afternoon! Now evening and night and midnight have come,-the dog howls, the wind:

  -is the wind not a dog? It whines, it barks, it howls. Ah! Ah! how she sighs! how she laughs, how she wheezes and pants, the midnight!

  How she just now speaks soberly, this drunken poetess! has she perhaps overdrunk her drunkenness? has she become overawake? does she ruminate?

  -she ruminates over her woe, in a dream, the old, deep midnight—and still more her joy. For joy, although woe is deep, joy is deeper yet than agony.

  9

  You grapevine! Why do you praise me? Have I not cut you! I am cruel, you bleed-: what does your praise of my drunken cruelty mean?

  “Whatever has become perfect, everything ripe—wants to die!” so you say. Blessed, blessed is the vintner’s knife! But everything immature wants to live: ah!

  Woe says: “Away! Be gone, you woe!” But everything that suffers wants to live, so that it may become ripe and lively and longing,

  -longing for the further, the higher, the brighter. “I want heirs,” so says everything that suffers, “I want children, I do not want myself”—

  Joy, however, does not want heirs, it does not want children,—joy wants itself, it wants eternity, it wants recurrence, it wants everything eternally like itself.

  Woe says: “Break, bleed, you heart! Wander, you leg! You wing, fly! Onward! upward! You pain!” Well! Cheer up! O my old heart: Woe says: “Go!”

  10

  You higher men, what do you think? Am I a soothsayer? Or a dreamer? Or a drunkard? Or a dreamreader? Or a midnight bell?

  Or a drop of dew? Or a fume and fragrance of eternity? Do you not hear it? Do you not smell it? Just now my world has become perfect, midnight is also midday,—

  Pain is also joy, a curse is also a blessing, night is also a sun,-go away! or you will learn: the wise is also a fool.

  Did you ever say yes to one joy? O my friends, then you said yes to all woe too. All things are entangled, ensnared, enamored,—

  —if ever you wanted one moment to come twice; if ever you said: “you please me, happiness! Instant! Moment!”16 then you wanted everything to return!

  —All new, all eternal, all entangled, ensnared, enamored, oh, then you loved the world,—

  —you eternal ones, you love it eternally and for all time: and to woe too you say: go, but return! For all joy wants—eternity!

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  All joy wants the eternity of all things, it wants honey, wants dregs, wants drunken midnight, wants graves, wants the consolation of the tears of the grave, wants golden evening glow—

  —what doesn’t joy want? It is thirstier, warmer, hungrier, more frightful, more mysterious than all woe: it wants itself, it bites into itself, the ring’s will strives in it,—

  —it wants love, it wants hate, it is overrich, it gives, it throws away, it begs for someone to take from it, it thanks the taker, it would be hated,—

  —so rich is joy that it thirsts for woe, for hell, for hate, for shame, for the cripple, for the world,—for this world, O, yes you know it!

  You higher men, it longs for you, this joy, the irrepressible, blissful-for your woe, you failures! All eternal joy longs for failures.

  For all joy wants itself, therefore it also wants agony! O happiness, O pain! Oh break, heart! You higher men, learn it well, that all joy wants eternity.

  —Joy wants the eternity of all things, it wants deep, deep eternity!

  12

  Have you now learned my song? Have you divined what it means? Well! Come on! You higher men, sing me now my round!

  Now sing yourselves the song whose name is “Once more,” whose meaning is “To all eternity!”—sing, you higher men, Zarathustra’s round!

  O man! Take care!

  What does deep midnight declare?

  “I sleep, I sleep-,

  ”From the deepest dream I awoke:—

  “The world is deep,

  ”And deeper than day had been aware.

  “Deep is its woe—,

  ”Joy—deeper yet than agony:

  “Woe says: Go!

  ”But all joy wants eternity—,

  “wants deep, deep eternity!”

  THE SIGN

  BUT IN THE MORNING after this night Zarathustra jumped up from his bed, girded his loins and came out of his cave, glowing and strong, like a morning sun coming out of dark mountains.17

  “You great star,” he spoke as he had spoken once before, “you deep eye of happiness, what would be all your happiness if you had not those for whom you shine!

  “And if they remained in their chambers while you had awakened and come and given and distributed, how angry would your proud shame be!

  “Well! they still sleep, 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 the signs of my morning, my step-is no awakening call for them.

  “They still sleep in my cave, their dream still drinks at my drunken songs. The ear that listens for me—the heedful ear is missing from them.”

  -Zarathustra said this to his heart when the sun arose: then he looked inquiringly into the air, for he heard above him the sharp call of his eagle. “Well!” he shouted upward, “so do I like it, so do I deserve it. My animals are awake, for I am awake.

  “My eagle is awake, and like me honors the sun. With eagle talons he grasps at the new light. You are my proper animals; I love you.

  “But I still lack my proper men!”—

  Thus spoke Zarathustra; but then he suddenly became aware that he was surrounded as if by innumerable swarming and fluttering birds: the whirring of so many wings and the crowding around his head, however, was so great that he shut his eyes. And truly, it was as though a cloud descended on him, like a cloud of arrows that pours upon a new enemy. But behold, here it was a cloud of love, and it showered upon a new friend.

  “What is happening to me?” thought Zarathustra in his astonished heart, and slowly seated himself on the big stone that lay close to the exit from his cave. But while he grasped about with his hands, around him, above him and below him, and repelled the tender birds, behold, something still stranger happened to him: for he reached unawares into a mass of thick, warm, shaggy hair; but at the same time a roar sounded out,-a long, soft roar of a lion.

  “The sign comes,” said Zarathustra, and a change came over his heart. And in truth, when it turned clear before him, there lay a yellow, powerful animal at his feet, resting its head on his knee,unwilling to leave him out of love, and behaving like a dog which again finds its old master. But the doves were no less eager with their love than the lion; and whenever a dove brushed its nose, the lion shook its head and wondered and
laughed.18

  While all this went on Zarathustra spoke only a sentence: “My children are near, my children”—, then he became quite silent. But his heart was loosed and from his eyes tears dropped down and fell upon his hands. And he took no further notice of anything, but sat there motionless, without repelling the animals further. Then the doves flew to and fro, and perched on his shoulder, and caressed his white hair, and did not tire of their tenderness and joyousness. But the strong lion always licked the tears that fell on Zarathustra’s hands, and roared and growled shyly. Thus these animals acted.—

  All this went on for a long time, or a short time: for properly speaking, there is no time on earth for such things-. But meanwhile the higher men had awakened in Zarathustra’s cave, and marshaled themselves for a procession to go to meet Zarathustra, and give him their morning greeting: for they had found when they awakened that he no longer remained with them. But when they reached the door of the cave and the noise of their steps had preceded them, the lion started violently; it turned away suddenly from Zarathustra and, roaring wildly, sprang towards the cave. But the higher men, when they heard the lion roaring, all cried aloud as with one voice, fled back and vanished in an instant.

  But Zarathustra himself, stunned and spellbound, rose from his seat, looked around him, stood there astonished, questioned his heart, recollected, and saw he was alone. “What did I hear?” he said at last, slowly, “what happened to me just now?”

  And at once his memory returned and he took in at a glance all that had happened between yesterday and today. “Here indeed is the stone,” he said, and stroked his beard, “I sat on it yesterday morning; and here the soothsayer came to me, and here I first heard the cry which I heard just now, the great cry of distress.