Who is the shepherd into whose throat the serpent thus crawled? Who is the man into whose throat all the heaviest and blackest will thus crawl?
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-The shepherd however bit as my cry had admonished him; he bit with a strong bite! Far away did he spit the head of the serpent:- and sprang up.-
No longer shepherd, no longer man- a transfigured being, a light-sur-rounded being, that laughed! Never on earth laughed a man as he laughed!
O my brothers, I heard a laughter which was no human laughter,- and now gnaws a thirst at me, a longing that is never allayed.
My longing for that laughter gnaws at me: oh, how can I still endure to live! And how could I endure to die at present!-
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
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Chapter 3 Involuntary Bliss
WITH such enigmas and bitterness in his heart did Zarathustra sail o’er the sea. When, however, he was four day-journeys from the Blessed isles and from his friends, then had he overcame all his pain:- triumphantly and with firm foot did he again accept his fate. And then talked Zarathustra in this wise to his exulting conscience:
Alone am I again, and like to be so, alone with the pure heaven, and the open sea; and again is the afternoon around me.
On an afternoon did I find my friends for the first time; on an after-noon, also, did I find them a second time:- at the hour when all light be-comes stiller.
For whatever happiness is still on its way ‘twixt heaven and earth, now seeks for lodging a luminous soul: with happiness has all light now become stiller.
O afternoon of my life! Once did my happiness also descend to the val-ley that it might seek a lodging: then did it find those open hospitable souls.
O afternoon of my life! What did I not surrender that I might have one thing: this living plantation of my thoughts, and this dawn of my highest hope!
Companions did the creator once seek, and children of his hope: and lo, it turned out that he could not find them, except he himself should first create them.
Thus am I in the midst of my work, to my children going, and from them returning: for the sake of his children must Zarathustra perfect himself.
For in one’s heart one loves only one’s child and one’s work; and where there is great love to oneself, then is it the sign of pregnancy: so have I found it.
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Still are my children verdant in their first spring, standing nigh one an-other, and shaken in common by the winds, the trees of my garden and of my best soil.
And verily, where such trees stand beside one another, there are Blessed isles!
But one day will I take them up, and put each by itself alone: that it may learn solitude and defiance and prudence.
Gnarled and crooked and with flexible hardness shall it then stand by the sea, a living lighthouse of unconquerable life.
Yonder where the storms rush down into the sea, and the snout of the mountain drinks water, shall each on a time have his day and night watches, for his testing and recognition.
Recognized and tested shall each be, to see if he be of my type and lin-eage:- if he be master of a long will, silent even when he speaks, and giv-ing in such wise that he takes in giving:-
-So that he may one day become my companion, a fellow-creator and fellow-enjoyer with Zarathustra:- such a one as writes my will on my law-tablets, for the fuller perfection of all things.
And for his sake and for those like him, must I perfect myself: there-fore do I now avoid my happiness, and present myself to every misfor-tune- for my final testing and recognition.
And verily, it were time that I went away; and the wanderer’s shadow and the longest tedium and the still hour- have all said to me: «It is the highest time!»
The word blew to me through the keyhole and said «Come!» The door sprang subtly open to me, and said «Go!»
But I lay enchained to my love for my children: desire spread this snare for me- the desire for love- that I should become the prey of my children, and lose myself in them.
Desiring- that is now for me to have lost myself. I possess you, my children! In this possessing shall everything be assurance and nothing desire.
But brooding lay the sun of my love upon me, in his own juice stewed Zarathustra,- then did shadows and doubts fly past me.
For frost and winter I now longed: «Oh, that frost and winter would again make me crack and crunch!» sighed I:- then arose icy mist out of me.
My past burst its tomb, many pains buried alike woke up:- fully slept had they merely, concealed in corpse-clothes.
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So called everything to me in signs: «It is time!» But I- heard not, until at last my abyss moved, and my thought bit me.
Ah, abysmal thought, which are my thought! When shall I find strength to hear you burrowing, and no longer tremble?
To my very throat throbs my heart when I hear them burrowing! your muteness even is like to strangle me, you abysmal mute one!
As yet have I never ventured to call you up; it has been enough that I-have carried you about with me! As yet have I not been strong enough for my final lion-wantonness and playfulness.
Sufficiently formidable to me has your weight ever been: but one day shall I yet find the strength and the lion’s voice which will call you up!
When I shall have overcame myself therein, then will I overcome my-self also in that which is greater; and a victory shall be the seal of my per-fection!-
Meanwhile do I sail along on uncertain seas; chance flatters me, smooth-tongued chance; forward and backward do I gaze-, still see I no end.
As yet has the hour of my final struggle not come to me- or does it come to me perhaps just now? with insidious beauty do sea and life gaze upon me round about:
O afternoon of my life! O happiness before eventide! O haven upon high seas! O peace in uncertainty! How I distrust all of you!
Distrustful am I of your insidious beauty! Like the lover am I, who dis-trusts too sleek smiling.
As he pushes the best-beloved before him- tender even in severity, the jealous one-, so do I push this blissful hour before me.
Away with you, you blissful hour! With you has there come to me an involuntary bliss! Ready for my severest pain do I here stand:- at the wrong time have you come!
Away with you, you blissful hour! Rather harbor there- with my chil-dren! Hasten! and bless them before eventide with my happiness!
There, already approaches eventide: the sun sinks. Away- my happi-ness!-
Thus spoke Zarathustra. And he waited for his misfortune the whole night; but he waited in vain. The night remained clear and calm, and happiness itself came closer and closer to him. Towards morning, however, Zarathustra laughed to his heart, and said mockingly: «Happiness runs after me. That is because I do not run after women. Happiness, however, is a woman.»
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Chapter 4 Before Sunrise
O HEAVEN above me, you pure, you deep heaven! you abyss of light! Gazing on you, I tremble with divine desires.
Up to your height to toss myself- that is my depth! In your purity to hide myself- that is my innocence!
The God veils his beauty: thus hide you your stars. You speak not: thus proclaim you your wisdom to me.
Mute o’er the raging sea have you risen for me to-day; your love and your modesty make a revelation to my raging soul.
In that you came to me beautiful, veiled in your beauty, in that you spoke to me mutely, obvious in your wisdom:
Oh, how could I fail to divine all the modesty of your soul! Before the sun did you come to me- the most lonesome one.
We have been friends from the beginning: to us are grief, gruesome-ness, and ground common; even the sun is common to us.
We do not speak to each other, because we know too much-: we keep silent to each other, we smile our knowledge to each other.
Are you not the light of my fire? have you not the sister-soul of my insight?
Together did we learn everything; together did we learn to ascend beyond ourselves to ourselves, and to smile uncloudedly:-
-Uncloudedly to smile down out of luminous eyes and out of miles of distance, when under us constraint and purpose and guilt stream like rain.
And wandered I alone, for what did my soul hunger by night and in labyrinthine paths? And climbed I mountains, whom did I ever seek, if not you, upon mountains?
And all my wandering and mountain-climbing: a necessity was it merely, and a makeshift of the unhandy one:- to fly only, wants my en-tire will, to fly into you!
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And what have I hated more than passing clouds, and whatever taints you? And my own hatred have I even hated, because it tainted you!
The passing clouds I detest- those stealthy cats of prey: they take from you and me what is common to us- the vast unbounded Yes- and Amen-saying.
These mediators and mixers we detest- the passing clouds: those half-and-half ones, that have neither
