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We are both of us genuine ne’er-do-wells and ne’er-do-ills. Beyond good and evil found we our island and our green meadow—we two alone! Therefore must we be friendly to each other!
And even should we not love each other from the bottom of our hearts,—must we then have a grudge against each other if we do not love each other perfectly?
And that I am friendly to thee, and often too friendly, that knowest thou: and the reason is that I am envious of thy Wisdom. Ah, this mad old fool, Wisdom!
If thy Wisdom should one day run away from thee, ah! then would also my love run away from thee quickly.”—
Thereupon did Life look thoughtfully behind and around, and said softly: “O Zarathustra, thou art not faithful enough to me!
Thou lovest me not nearly so much as thou sayest; I know thou thinkest of soon leaving me.
There is an old heavy, heavy, booming-clock: it boometh by night up to thy cave:—
—When thou hearest this clock strike the hours at midnight, then thinkest thou between one and twelve thereon—
—Thou thinkest thereon, O Zarathustra, I know it—of soon leaving me!”—
“Yea,” answered I, hesitatingly, “but thou knowest it also”—And I said something into her ear, in amongst her confused, yellow, foolish tresses.
“Thou KNOWEST that, O Zarathustra? That knoweth no one—”
And we gazed at each other, and looked at the green meadow o’er which the cool evening was just passing, and we wept together.—Then, however, was Life dearer unto me than all my Wisdom had ever been.—
Thus spake Zarathustra.
3.
One!
O man! Take heed!
Two!
What saith deep midnight’s voice indeed?
Three!
“I slept my sleep—
Four!
“From deepest dream I’ve woke and plead:—
Five!
“The world is deep,
Six!
“And deeper than the day could read.
Seven!
“Deep is its woe—
Eight!
“Joy—deeper still than grief can be:
Nine!
“Woe saith: Hence! Go!
Ten!
“But joys all want eternity—
Eleven!
“Want deep profound eternity!”
Twelve!
1.
If I be a diviner and full of the divining spirit which wandereth on high mountain-ridges, ‘twixt two seas,—
Wandereth ‘twixt the past and the future as a heavy cloud—hostile to sultry plains, and to all that is weary and can neither die nor live:
Ready for lightning in its dark bosom, and for the redeeming flash of light, charged with lightnings which say Yea! which laugh Yea! ready for divining flashes of lightning:—
—Blessed, however, is he who is thus charged! And verily, long must he hang like a heavy tempest on the mountain, who shall one day kindle the light of the future!—
Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity and for the marriage-ring of rings—the ring of the return?
Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY! 2.
If ever my wrath hath burst graves, shifted landmarks, or rolled old shattered tables into precipitous depths:
If ever my scorn hath scattered mouldered words to the winds, and if I have come like a besom to cross-spiders, and as a cleansing wind to old charnel-houses:
If ever I have sat rejoicing where old Gods lie buried, world-blessing, world-loving, beside the monuments of old world-maligners:—
—For even churches and Gods’-graves do I love, if only heaven looketh through their ruined roofs with pure eyes; gladly do I sit like grass and red poppies on ruined churches—
Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of rings—the ring of the return?
Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY! 3.
If ever a breath hath come to me of the creative breath, and of the heavenly necessity which compelleth even chances to dance star-dances:
If ever I have laughed with the laughter of the creative lightning, to which the long thunder of the deed followeth, grumblingly, but obediently:
If ever I have played dice with the Gods at the divine table of the earth, so that the earth quaked and ruptured, and snorted forth fire-streams:—
—For a divine table is the earth, and trembling with new creative dictums and dice-casts of the Gods:
Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of rings—the ring of the return?
Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY! 4.
If ever I have drunk a full draught of the foaming spice- and confection-bowl in which all things are well mixed:
If ever my hand hath mingled the furthest with the nearest, fire with spirit, joy with sorrow, and the harshest with the kindest:
If I myself am a grain of the saving salt which maketh everything in the confection-bowl mix well:—
—For there is a salt which uniteth good with evil; and even the evilest is worthy, as spicing and as final over-foaming:—
Oh, how could I not be ardent for Eternity, and for the marriage-ring of rings—the ring of the return?
Never yet have I found the woman by whom I should like to have children, unless it be this woman whom I love: for I love thee, O Eternity!
FOR I LOVE THEE, O ETERNITY! 5.
If I be fond of the sea, and all that is sealike, and fondest of it when it angrily contradicteth me:
If the exploring delight be in me, which impelleth sails to the undiscovered, if the seafarer’s delight be in my delight:
If ever my rejoicing hath called out: “The shore hath vanished,—now hath fallen from me the last chain—
