Better, however, to be foolish with happiness than foolish with misfor-tune, better to dance awkwardly than walk lamely. So learn, I pray you, my wisdom, you higher men: even the worst thing has two good reverse sides,-
-Even the worst thing has good dancing-legs: so learn, I pray you, you higher men, to put yourselves on your proper legs!
So unlearn, I pray you, the sorrow-sighing, and all the rabble-sadness! Oh, how sad the fools of the rabble seem to me today! This today, however, is that of the rabble.
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20.
Do like to the wind when it rushes forth from its mountain-caves: to its own piping will it dance; the seas tremble and leap under its footsteps.
That which gives wings to asses, that which milks the lionesses:-praised be that good, unruly spirit, which comes like a hurricane to all the present and to all the rabble,-
-Which is hostile to thistle-heads and puzzle-heads, and to all withered leaves and weeds:- praised be this wild, good, free spirit of the storm, which dances upon fens and afflictions, as upon meadows!
Which hates the consumptive rabble-dogs, and all the ill-constituted, sullen brood:- praised be this spirit of all free spirits, the laughing storm, which blows dust into the eyes of all the melanopic and melancholic!
You higher men, the worst thing in you is that you have none of you learned to dance as you ought to dance- to dance beyond yourselves! What does it matter that you have failed!
How many things are still possible! So learn to laugh beyond yourselves! Lift up your hearts, you good dancers, high! higher! And do not forget the good laughter!
This crown of the laughter, this rose-garland crown: to you, my broth-ers, do I cast this crown! Laughing have I consecrated; you higher men, learn, I pray you- to laugh!
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Chapter 14
The Song of Melancholy
1.
WHEN Zarathustra spoke these sayings, he stood nigh to the entrance of his cave; with the last words, however, he slipped away from his guests, and fled for a little while into the open air.
«O pure odours around me,» cried he, «O blessed stillness around me! But where are my animals? Here, here, my eagle and my serpent!
Tell me, my animals: these higher men, all of them- do they perhaps not smell well? O pure odours around me! Now only do I know and feel how I love you, my animals.»
-And Zarathustra said once more: «I love you, my animals!» The eagle, however, and the serpent pressed close to him when he spoke these words, and looked up to him. In this attitude were they all three silent together, and sniffed and sipped the good air with one another. For the air here outside was better than with the higher men.
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2.
Hardly, however, had Zarathustra left the cave when the old magician got up, looked cunningly about him, and said: «He is gone!
And already, you higher men- let me tickle you with this compliment-ary and flattering name, as he himself does- already does my evil spirit of deceit and magic attack me, my melancholy devil,
-Which is an adversary to this Zarathustra from the very heart: forgive it for this! Now does it wish to beseech before you, it has just its hour; in vain do I struggle with this evil spirit.
To all of you, whatever honors you like to assume in your names, whether you call yourselves ‘the free spirits’ or ‘the conscientious,’ or ‘the penitents of the spirit,’ or ‘the unfettered,’ or ‘the great longers,’-
-To all of you, who like me suffer from the great loathing, to whom the old God has died, and as yet no new God lies in cradles and swaddling clothes- to all of you is my evil spirit and magic-devil favorable.
I know you, you higher men, I know him,- I know also this fiend whom I love in spite of me, this Zarathustra: he himself often seems to me like the beautiful mask of a saint,
-Like a new strange mummery in which my evil spirit, the melancholy devil, delights:- I love Zarathustra, so does it often seem to me, for the sake of my evil spirit.-
But already does it attack me and constrain me, this spirit of melan-choly, this evening-twilight devil: and verily, you higher men, it has a longing-
-Open your eyes!- it has a longing to come naked, whether male or fe-male, I do not yet know: but it comes, it constrains me, alas! open your wits!
The day dies out, to all things comes now the evening, also to the best things; hear now, and see, you higher men, what devil- man or woman-this spirit of evening-melancholy is!»
Thus spoke the old magician, looked cunningly about him, and then seized his harp.
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3.
In evening’s limpid air,
What time the dew’s soothings To the earth downpour, Invisibly and unheard-
For tender shoe-gear wear
The soothing dews, like all that’s kind-gentle-: Bethinkst you then, bethinkst you, burning heart, How once you thirstedest
For heaven’s kindly teardrops and dew’s down-droppings, All singed and weary thirstedest,
What time on yellow grass-pathways Wicked, occidental sunny glances Through sombre trees about you sported,
Blindingly sunny glow-glances, gladly-hurting? «Of truth the wooer? You?»- so taunted they-«No! Merely poet!
A brute insidious, plundering, grovelling, That ayou must lie,
That wittingly, wilfully, ayou must lie: For booty lusting,
Motley masked,
Self-hidden, shrouded, Himself his booty-
He- of truth the wooer? No! Mere fool! Mere poet! Just motley speaking,
From mask of fool confusedly shouting, Circumambling on fabricated word-bridges, On motley rainbow-arches,
‘Twixt the spurious heavenly, And spurious earthly,
Round us roving, round us soaring,-Mere fool! Mere poet!
He- of truth the wooer?
Not still, stiff, smooth and cold, Become an image,
A godlike statue,
Set up in front of temples,
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As a God’s own door-guard:
No! hostile to all such truthfulness-statues, In every desert homelier than at temples, With cattish wantonness,
Through every window leaping Quickly into chances,
Every wild forest a-sniffing, Greedily-longingly, sniffing, That you, in wild forests,
‘Mong the motley-speckled fierce creatures, Shouldest rove, sinful-sound and fine-colored, With longing lips smacking,
Blessedly mocking, blessedly hellish, blessedly blood-thirsty, Robbing, skulking, lying- roving:-
Or to eagles like which fixedly, Long adown the precipice look, Adown their precipice:- —
Oh, how they whirl down now, Thereunder, therein,
To ever deeper profoundness whirling!-Then,
Sudden,
With aim aright, With quivering flight,
On lambkins pouncing, Headlong down, sore-hungry, For lambkins longing,
Fierce ‘gainst all lamb-spirits, Furious-fierce all that look
Sheeplike, or lambeyed, or crisp-woolly, -Grey, with lambsheep kindliness!
Even thus,
Eaglelike, pantherlike, Are the poet’s desires,
Are your own desires ‘neath a thousand guises. You fool! you poet!
You who all mankind viewed-So God, as sheep-:
The God to rend within mankind, As the sheep in mankind,
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And in rending laughing-
That, that is your own blessedness! Of a panther and eagle- blessedness! Of a poet and fool- the blessedness!- -In evening’s limpid air,
What time the moon’s sickle, Green, ‘twixt the purple-glowings, And jealous, steal’th forth:
-Of day the foe,
With every step in secret, The rosy garland-hammocks
Downsickling, till they’ve sunken
Down nightwards, faded, downsunken:-Thus had I sunken one day
From mine own truth-insanity,
From mine own fervid day-longings, Of day aweary, sick of sunshine,
-Sunk downwards, evenwards, shadowwards: By one sole trueness
All scorched and thirsty:
-Bethinkst you still, bethinkst you, burning heart, How then you thirstedest?-
That I should banned be From all the trueness! Mere fool! Mere poet!
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Chapter 15 Science
THUS sang the magician; and all who were present went like birds un-awares into the net of his artful and melancholy voluptuousness. Only the spiritually conscientious one had not been caught: he at once snatched the harp from the magician and called out: «Air! Let in good air! Let in Zarathustra! you make this cave sultry and poisonous, you bad old magician!
You seduce, you false one, you subtle one, to unknown desires and deserts. And alas, that such as you should talk and make ado about the truth!
Alas, to all free spirits who are not on their guard against such magi-cians! It is all over with their freedom: you teach and tempt back into prisons,-
-You old melancholy devil, out of your lament sounds a lurement: you resemble those who with their praise of chastity secretly invite to voluptuousness!
Thus spoke the conscientious one; the old magician, however, looked about him, enjoying his triumph, and on that account put up with the annoyance which the conscientious one caused him. «Be still!» said he with modest voice, «good songs want to re-echo well; after good songs one should be long silent.
Thus do all those present, the higher men. You, however, have per-haps understood but little of my song? In you there is little of the magic spirit.
«You praise me,» replied the conscientious one, «in that you separate me from yourself; very well! But, you others, what do I see? You still sit there, all of you, with lusting eyes-:
You free spirits, where has your freedom gone! You almost seem to me to resemble those who have long looked at bad girls dancing naked: your souls themselves dance!
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In you, you higher men, there must be more of that which the magi-cian calls his evil spirit of magic and deceit:- we must indeed be different.
And verily, we spoke and thought long enough together before. Zarathustra came home to his cave, for me not to be unaware that we are different.
We seek different
