fellow-rejoicers, Zarathustra seeketh: what hath he to do with herds
and herdsmen and corpses!

  And thou, my first companion, rest in peace! Well have I buried thee
in thy hollow tree; well have I hid thee from the wolves.

  But I part from thee; the time hath arrived. 'Twixt rosy dawn and
rosy dawn there came unto me a new truth.

  I am not to be a herdsman, I am not to be a grave-digger. Not any
more will I discourse unto the people; for the last time have I spoken
unto the dead.

  With the creators, the reapers, and the rejoicers will I
associate: the rainbow will I show them, and all the stairs to the
Superman.

  To the lone-dwellers will I sing my song, and to the twain-dwellers;
and unto him who hath still ears for the unheard, will I make the
heart heavy with my happiness.

  I make for my goal, I follow my course; over the loitering and tardy
will I leap. Thus let my on-going be their down-going!

                            10.

  This had Zarathustra said to his heart when the sun stood at
noon-tide. Then he looked inquiringly aloft,- for he heard above him
the sharp call of a bird. And behold! An eagle swept through the air
in wide circles, and on it hung a serpent, not like a prey, but like a
friend: for it kept itself coiled round the eagle's neck.

  "They are mine animals," said Zarathustra, and rejoiced in his
heart.

  "The proudest animal under the sun, and the wisest animal under
the sun,- they have come out to reconnoitre.

  They want to know whether Zarathustra still liveth. Verily, do I
still live?

  More dangerous have I found it among men than among animals; in
dangerous paths goeth Zarathustra. Let mine animals lead me!

  When Zarathustra had said this, he remembered the words of the saint
in the forest. Then he sighed and spake thus to his heart:

  "Would that I were wiser! Would that I were wise from the very
heart, like my serpent!

  But I am asking the impossible. Therefore do I ask my pride to go
always with my wisdom!

  And if my wisdom should some day forsake me:- alas! it loveth to fly
away!- may my pride then fly with my folly!"

  Thus began Zarathustra's down-going.

                       FIRST PART.

                1. The Three Metamorphoses

  THREE metamorphoses of the spirit do I designate to you: how the
spirit becometh a camel, the camel a lion, and the lion at last a
child.

  Many heavy things are there for the spirit, the strong
load-bearing spirit in which reverence dwelleth: for the heavy and the
heaviest longeth its strength.

  What is heavy? so asketh the load-bearing spirit; then kneeleth it
down like the camel, and wanteth to be well laden.

  What is the heaviest thing, ye heroes? asketh the load-bearing
spirit, that I may take it upon me and rejoice in my strength.

  Is it not this: To humiliate oneself in order to mortify one's
pride? To exhibit one's folly in order to mock at one's wisdom?

  Or is it this: To desert our cause when it celebrateth its
triumph? To ascend high mountains to tempt the tempter?

  Or is it this: To feed on the acorns and grass of knowledge, and for
the sake of truth to suffer hunger of soul?

  Or is it this: To be sick and dismiss comforters, and make friends
of the deaf, who never hear thy requests?

  Or is it this: To go into foul water when it is the water of
truth, and not disclaim cold frogs and hot toads?

  Or is it this: To love those who despise us, and give one's hand
to the phantom when it is going to frighten us?

  All these heaviest things the load-bearing spirit taketh upon
itself: and like the camel, which, when laden, hasteneth into the
wilderness, so hasteneth the spirit into its wilderness.

  But in the loneliest wilderness happeneth the second
metamorphosis: here the spirit becometh a lion; freedom will it