Part 11

The editor begs to state that, contrary to his announcement in the Editorial Note to _The Joyful Wisdom,_ in which he declared his intention of publishing all of Nietzsche's poetry, he has nevertheless withheld certain less important verses from publication. This alteration in his plans is due to his belief that it is an injustice and an indiscretion on the part of posterity to surprise an author, as it were, in his _négligé,_ or, in plain English, "in his shirt-sleeves." Authors generally are very sensitive on this point, and rightly so: a visit behind the scenes is not precisely to the advantage of the theatre, and even finished pictures not yet framed are not readily shown by the careful artist. As the German edition, however, contains nearly all that Nietzsche left behind, either in small notebooks or on scraps of paper, the editor could not well suppress everything that was not prepared for publication by Nietzsche himself, more particularly as some of the verses are really very remarkable. He has, therefore, made a very plentiful selection from the _Songs and Epigrams,_ nearly all of which are to be found translated here, and from the Fragments of the Dionysus Dithyrambs, of which over half have been given. All the complete Dionysus Dithyrambs appear in this volume, save those which are duplicates of verses already translated in the Fourth Part of _Zarathustra._ These Dionysus Dithyrambs were prepared ready for press by Nietzsche himself. He wrote the final manuscript during the summer of 1888 in Sils Maria; their actual composition, however, belongs to an earlier date.

All the verses, unless otherwise stated, have been translated by Mr. Paul Victor Cohn.

SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC.

SONGS

TO MELANCHOLY[1]

O Melancholy, be not wroth with me That I this pen should point to praise thee only, And in thy praise, with head bowed to the knee, Squat like a hermit on a tree-stump lonely. Thus oft thou saw'st me,--yesterday, at least,-- Full in the morning sun and its hot beaming, While, visioning the carrion of his feast, The hungry vulture valleyward flew screaming.

Yet didst thou err, foul bird, albeit I, So like a mummy 'gainst my log lay leaning! Thou couldst not see these eyes whose ecstasy Rolled hither, thither, proud and overweening. What though they did not soar unto thine height, or reached those far-off, cloud-reared precipices, For _that_ they sank the deeper so they might Within themselves light Destiny's abysses.

Thus oft in sullenness perverse and free, Bent hideous like a savage at his altar, There, Melancholy, held I thought of thee, A penitent, though youthful, with his psalter.

So crouched did I enjoy the vulture's span, The thunder of the avalanche's paces, Thou spakest to me--nor wast false like man, Thou spakest, but with stern and dreadful faces.

Harsh goddess thou of Nature wild and stark, Mistress, that com'st with threats to daunt and quell me, To point me out the vulture's airy are And laughing avalanches, to repel me. Around us gnashing pants the lust to kill, The torment to win life in all its changes; Alluring on some cliff, abrupt and chill, Some flower craves the butterfly that ranges.

All this am I--shuddering I feel it all-- O butterfly beguiled, O lonely flower, The vulture and the ice-pent waterfall, The moaning storm--all symbols of thy power,-- Thou goddess grim before whom deeply bowed, With head on knee, my lips with pæans bursting, I lift a dreadful song and cry aloud For Life, for Life, for Life--forever thirsting!

O vengeful goddess, be not wroth, I ask, That I to mesh thee in my rhymes have striven. He trembles who beholds thine awful mask; He quails to whom thy dread right hand is given. Song upon trembling song by starts and fits I chant, in rhythm all my thought unfolding, The black ink flows, the pointed goose-quill spits, O goddess, goddess--leave me to my scolding!

AFTER A NIGHT STORM[2]

To-day in misty veils thou hangest dimly, Gloomy goddess, o'er my window-pane. Grimly whirl the pallid snow-flakes, grimly Roars the swollen brook unto the plain.

Ah, by light of haggard levins glaring, 'Neath the untamed thunder's roar and roll, 'Midst the valley's murk wast thou preparing-- Sorceress! thy dank and poisoned bowl.

Shuddering, I heard through midnight breaking Raptures of thy voice--and howls of pain. Saw thy bright orbs gleam, thy right hand shaking With the mace of thunder hurled amain.

Near my dreary couch I heard the crashes Of thine armoured steps, heard weapons slam, Heard thy brazen chain strike 'gainst the sashes, And thy voice: "Come! hearken who I am!

The immortal Amazon they call me; All things weak and womanish I shun; Manly scorn and hate in war enthral me; Victress I and tigress all in one!

Where I tread there corpses fall before me; From mine eyes the furious torches fly, And my brain thinks poisons. Bend, adore me! Worm of Earth and Will o' Wisp--or die!"

HYMNS TO FRIENDSHIP

(_Two Fragments_)

1

Goddess Friendship, deign to hear the song That we sing in friendship's honour! Where the eye of friendship glances, Filled with all the joy of friendship Come thou nigh to aid me, Rosy dawn in thy gaze and In holy hand the faithful pledge of youth eternal.

2

Morning's past: the sun of noonday Scorches with hot ray our heads. Let us sit beneath the arbour Singing songs in praise of friendship. Friendship was our life's red dawning, And its sunset red shall be.

THE WANDERER[3]

All through the night a wanderer walks Sturdy of stride, With winding vale and sloping height E'er at his side. Fair is the night: On, on he strides, nor slackens speed, And knows not where his path will lead.

A bird's song in the night is heard, "Ah me, what hast thou done, O bird, How dost thou grip my sense and feet And pourest heart-vexation sweet Into mine ear--I must remain, To hearken fain: Why lure me with inviting strain?"

The good bird speaks, staying his song: "I lure not thee,--no, thou art wrong-- With these my trills I lure my mate from off the hills-- Nor heed thy plight. To me alone the night's not fair. What's that to thee? Forth must thou fare, On, onward ever, resting ne'er.

Why stand'st thou now? What has my piping done to thee, Thou roaming wight?" The good bird pondered, silent quite, "Why doth my piping change his plight? Why stands he now, That luckless, luckless, roaming wight?"

TO THE GLACIER

At noontide hour, when first, Into the mountains Summer treads, Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary, Then too he speaks, Yet we can only see his speech.

His breath is panting, like the sick man's breath On fevered couch. The glacier and the fir tree and the spring Answer his call --Yet we their answer only see. For faster from the rock leaps down The torrent stream, as though to greet, And stands, like a white column trembling, All yearning there. And darker yet and truer looks the fir-tree Than e'er before. And 'twixt the ice-mass and the cold grey stone A sudden light breaks forth-- Such light I once beheld, and marked the sign.

Even the dead man's eye Surely once more grows light, When, sorrowful, his child Gives him embrace and kiss: Surely once more the flame of light Wells out, and glowing into life The dead eye speaks: "My child! Ah child, you know I love you true!"

So all things glow and speak--the glacier speaks, The brook, the fir, Speak with their glance the selfsame words: We love you true, Ah, child, you know we love you, love you true!

And he, Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary, Woe-worn, gives kisses More ardent ever, And will not go: But like to veils he blows his words From out his lips, His cruel words: "My greeting's parting, My coming going, In youth I die."

All round they hearken And scarcely breathe (No songster sings), And shuddering run Like gleaming ray Over the mountain; All round they ponder,-- Nor speak--

Twas at the noon, At noontide hour, when first Into the mountains Summer treads, Summer, the boy with eyes so hot and weary.

AUTUMN[4]

'Tis Autumn:--Autumn yet shall break thy heart! Fly away! fly away!-- The sun creeps 'gainst the hill And climbs and climbs And rests at every step.

How faded grew the world! On weary, slackened strings the wind Playeth his tune. Fair Hope fled far-- He waileth after.

'Tis Autumn:--Autumn yet shall break thy heart! Fly away! fly away! O fruit of the tree, Thou tremblest, fallest? What secret whispered unto thee The Night, That icy shudders deck thy cheek, Thy cheek of purple hue?

Silent art thou, nor dost reply-- Who speaketh still?--

'Tis Autumn:--Autumn yet shall break thy heart! Fly away! fly away!-- "I am not fair,"-- So speaks the lone star-flower,-- "Yet men I love And comfort men-- Many flowers shall they behold, And stoop to me, And break me, ah!-- So that within their eyes shall gleam Remembrance swift, _Remembrance of far fairer things than I_:-- I see it--see it--and I perish so."

'Tis Autumn:--Autumn yet shall break thy heart! Fly away! fly away!

CAMPO SANTO DI STAGLIENO[5]

Maiden, in gentle wise You stroke your lamb's soft fleece, Yet flashing from your eyes Both light and flame ne'er cease. Creature of merry jest And favourite near and far, Pious with kindness blest, Amorosissima!

What broke so soon the chain, What does your heart deplore? And who, pray, would not fain, If you loved him, adore?-- You're mute, but from your eye, The tear-drop is not far, You're mute: you'll yearn and die, Amorosissima?

THE LITTLE BRIG NAMED "LITTLE ANGEL"[6]

"Little Angel" call they me!-- Now a ship, but once a girl, Ah, and still too much a girl! My steering-wheel, so bright to see, But for sake of love doth whirl.

"Little Angel" call they me, With hundred flags to ornament, A captain smart, on glory bent, Steers me, puffed with vanity (He himself's an ornament).

"Little Angel" call they me, And where'er a little flame Gleams for me, I, like a lamb, Go my journey eagerly (I was always such a lamb!).

"Little Angel" call they me-- Think you I can bark and whine Like a dog, this mouth of mine Throwing smoke and flame full free? Ah, a devil's mouth is mine.

"Little Angel" call they me-- Once I spoke a bitter word, That my lover, when he heard, Fast and far away did flee: Yes, I killed him with that word!

"Little Angel" call they me: Hardly heard, I sprang so glib From the cliff and broke a rib: From my frame my soul went free, Yes, escaped me through that rib.

"Little Angel" call they me-- Then my soul, like cat in flight Straight did on this ship alight Swiftly bounding--one, two, three! Yes, its claws are swift to smite.

"Little Angel" call they me!-- Now a ship, but once a girl, Ah, and still too much a girl! My steering-wheel, so bright to see, For sake of love alone doth whirl.

MAIDEN'S SONG

Yesterday with seventeen years Wisdom reached I, a maiden fair, I am grey-haired, it appears, Now in all things--save my hair.

Yesterday, I had a thought, Was't a thought?--you laugh and scorn! Did you ever have a thought? Rather was a feeling born.

Dare a woman think? This screed Wisdom long ago begot: "Follow woman must, not lead; If she thinks, she follows not."

Wisdom speaks--I credit naught: Rather hops and stings like flea: "Woman seldom harbours thought; If she thinks, no good is she!"

To this wisdom, old, renowned, Bow I in deep reverence: Now my wisdom I'll expound In its very quintessence.

A voice spoke in me yesterday As ever--listen if you can: "Woman is more beauteous aye, But more interesting--man!"

"PIA, CARITATEVOLE, AMOROSISSIMA"[7]

Cave where the dead ones rest, O marble falsehood, thee I love: for easy jest My soul thou settest free.

To-day, to-day alone, My soul to tears is stirred, At thee, the pictured stone, At thee, the graven word.

This picture (none need wis) I kissed the other day. When there's so much to kiss Why did I kiss the--clay?

Who knows the reason why? "A tombstone fool!" you laugh: I kissed--I'll not deny-- E'en the long epitaph.

TO FRIENDSHIP

Hail to thee, Friendship! My hope consummate, My first red daybreak! Alas, so endless Oft path and night seemed, And life's long road Aimless and hateful! Now life I'd double In thine eyes seeing Dawn-glory, triumph, Most gracious goddess!

PINE TREE AND LIGHTNING

O'er man and beast I grew so high, And speak--but none will give reply.

Too lone and tall my crest did soar: I wait: what am I waiting for?

The clouds are grown too nigh of late, 'Tis the first lightning I await.

TREE IN AUTUMN

Why did ye, blockheads, me awaken While I in blissful blindness stood? Ne'er I by fear more fell was shaken-- Vanished my golden dreaming mood.

Bear-elephants, with trunks all greedy, Knock first! Where have your manners fled? I threw--and fear has made me speedy-- Dishes of ripe fruit--at your head.

AMONG FOES (OR AGAINST CRITICS)

(_After a Gipsy Proverb_)

Here the gallows, there the cord, And the hangman's ruddy beard. Round, the venom-glancing horde:-- Nothing new to me's appeared. Many times I've seen the sight, Now laughing in your face I cry, "Hanging me is useless quite: Die? Nay, nay, I cannot die!"

Beggars all! Ye envy me Winning what ye never won! True, I suffer agony, But for you--your life is done. Many times I've faced death's plight, Yet steam and light and breath am I. Hanging me is useless quite: Die? Nay, nay, I cannot die!

THE NEW COLUMBUS[8]

"Dearest," said Columbus, "never Trust a Genoese again. At the blue he gazes ever, Distance doth his soul enchain.

Strangeness is to me too dear-- Genoa has sunk and passed-- Heart, be cool! Hand, firmly steer! Sea before me: land--at last?

Firmly let us plant our feet, Ne'er can we give up this game-- From the distance what doth greet? One death, one happiness, one fame.

IN LONESOMENESS[9]

The cawing crows Townwards on whirring pinions roam; Soon come the snows-- Thrice happy now who hath a home!

Fast-rooted there, Thou gazest backwards--oh, how long! Thou fool, why dare Ere winter come, this world of wrong?

This world--a gate To myriad deserts dumb and hoar! Who lost through fate What thou hast lost, shall rest no more.

Now stand'st thou pale, A frozen pilgrimage thy doom, Like smoke whose trail Cold and still colder skies consume.

Fly, bird, and screech, Like desert-fowl, thy song apart! Hide out of reach, Fool! in grim ice thy bleeding heart.

Firmly let us plant our feet, Ne'er can we give up this game-- From the distance what doth greet? One death, one happiness, one fame.

The cawing crows Townwards on whirring pinions roam: Soon come the snows-- Woe unto him who hath no home!

_My Answer_

The man presumes-- Good Lord!--to think that I'd return To those warm rooms Where snug the German ovens burn

My friend, you see 'Tis but thy folly drives me far,-- Pity for _thee_ And all that German blockheads are!

VENICE

ON the bridge I stood, Mellow was the night, Music came from far-- Drops of gold outpoured On the shimmering waves. Song, gondolas, light, Floated a-twinkling out into the dusk.

The chords of my soul, moved By unseen impulse, throbbed Secretly into a gondola song, With thrills of bright-hued ecstasy. Had I a listener there?

[Footnote 1: Translated by Herman Scheffauer.]

[Footnote 2: Translated by Herman Scheffauer.]

[Footnote 3: This poem was written on the betrothal of one of Nietzsche's Bâle friends.--TR.]

[Footnote 4: Translated by Herman Scheffauer.]

[Footnote 5: Campo Santo di Staglieno is the cemetery of Staglieno, near Genoa. The poem was inspired by the sight of a girl with a lamb on the tombstone, with the words underneath-- "Pia, caritatevole, amorosissima."]

[Footnote 6: Published by Nietzsche himself. The poem was inspired by a ship that was christened _Angiolina,_ in memory of a love-sick girl who leapt into the sea.--TR.]

[Footnote 7: See above, p. 157. Both poems were inspired by the same tombstone.--TR.]

[Footnote 8: The Genoese is Nietzsche himself, who lived a great part of his life at Genoa.--TR.]

[Footnote 9: Translated by Herman Scheffauer.]

EPIGRAMS

CAUTION: POISON![1]

He who cannot laugh at this had better not start reading;

For if he read and do not laugh, physic he'll be needing!

HOW TO FIND ONE'S COMPANY

With jesters it is good to jest: Who likes to tickle, is tickled best.

THE WORD

I dearly love the living word, That flies to you like a merry bird, Ready with pleasant nod to greet, E'en in misfortune welcome, sweet, Yet it has blood, can pant you deep: Then to the dove's ear it will creep: And curl itself, or start for flight-- Whate'er it does, it brings delight.

Yet tender doth the word remain, Soon it is ill, soon well again: So if its little life you'd spare, O grasp it lightly and with care, Nor heavy hand upon it lay, For e'en a cruel glance would slay! There it would lie, unsouled, poor thing! All stark, all formless, and all cold, Its little body changed and battered, By death and dying rudely shattered.

A dead word is a hateful thing, A barren, rattling, ting-ting-ting. A curse on ugly trades I cry That doom all little words to die!

THE WANDERER AND HIS SHADOW

_A Book_

You'll ne'er go on nor yet go back? Is e'en for chamois here no track?

So here I wait and firmly clasp What eye and hand will let me grasp!

Five-foot-broad ledge, red morning's breath, And under me--world, man, and death!

JOYFUL WISDOM

This is no book--for such, who looks? Coffins and shrouds, naught else, are books! What's dead and gone they make their prey, Yet in my book lives fresh To-day.

This is no book--for such, who looks? Who cares for coffins, shrouds, and spooks? This is a promise, an act of will, A last bridge-breaking, for good or ill; A wind from sea, an anchor light, A whirr of wheels, a steering right. The cannon roars, white smokes its flame, The sea--the monster--laughs and scents its game.

DEDICATION[2]

He who has much to tell, keeps much Silent and unavowed. He who with lightning-flash would touch Must long remain a cloud!

THE NEW TESTAMENT[3]

Is this your Book of Sacred Lore, For blessing, cursing, and such uses?-- Come, come now: at the very door God some one else's wife seduces?

THE "TRUE GERMAN"

"O Peuple des meillures Tartuffes, To you I'm true, I wis." He spoke, but in the swiftest skiff Went to Cosmopolis.

TO THE DARWINIANS[4]

A fool this honest Britisher Was not ... But a Philosopher! As _that_ you really rate him? Set Darwin up by Goethe's side? But majesty you thus deride-- _Genii majestatem_!

To HAFIZ

(_Toast Question of a Water-Drinker_)

What you have builded, yonder inn, O'ertops all houses high: The posset you have brewed therein The world will ne'er drink dry. The bird that once appeared on earth As phœnix, is your, guest. The mouse that gave a mountain birth Is you yourself confessed! You're all and naught, you're inn and wine, You're phœnix, mountain, mouse. Back to yourself to come you pine Or fly from out your house. Downward from every height you've sunk, And in the depths still shine: The drunkenness of all the drunk, Why do you ask for--wine?

TO SPINOZA

Of "All in One" a fervent devotee _Amore Dei,_ of reasoned piety, Doff shoes! A land thrice holy this must be!-- Yet underneath this love there sate A torch of vengeance, burning secretly The Hebrew God was gnawed by Hebrew hate. Hermit! Do I aright interpret thee?

ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER

That which he taught, has had its day, That which he lived, shall live for aye: Look at the man! No bondsman he! Nor e'er to mortal bowed his knee!

TO RICHARD WAGNER

O You who chafe at every fetter's link, A restless spirit, never free: Who, though victorious aye, in bonds still cowered, Disgusted more and more, and flayed and scoured, Till from each cup of balm you poison drink, Alas! and by the Cross all helpless sink, You too, you too, among the overpowered!

For long I watched this play so weirdly shaped, Breathing an air of prison, vault, and dread, With churchly fragrance, clouds of incense spread, And yet I found all strange/in terror gaped. But now I throw my fool's cap o'er my head, For I escaped!

MUSIC OF THE SOUTH[5]

All that my eagle e'er saw clear, I see and feel in heart to-day (Although my hope was wan and gray) Thy song like arrow pierced mine ear, A balm to touch, a balm to hear, As down from heaven it winged its way.

So now for lands of southern fire To happy isles where Grecian nymphs hold sport! Thither now turn the ship's desire-- No ship e'er sped to fairer port.

A RIDDLE

A riddle here--can you the answer scent? "When man discovers, woman must invent."----

TO FALSE FRIENDS

You stole, your eye's not clear to-day. You only stole a thought, sir? nay, Why be so rudely modest, pray? Here, take another handful--stay, Take all I have, you swine--you may Eat till your filth is purged away.

FRIEND YORICK

Be of good cheer, Friend Yorick! If this thought gives pain, As now it does, I fear, Is it not "God"? And though in error lain, 'Tis but your own dear child, Your flesh and blood, That tortures you and gives you pain, Your little rogue and do-no-good, See if the rod will change its mood!

In brief, friend Yorick, leave that drear Philosophy--and let me now Whisper one word as medicine, My own prescription, in your ear, My remedy against such spleen-- "Who loves his God, chastises him, I ween,"

RESOLUTION

I should be wise to suit my mood, Not at the beck of other men: God made as stupid as he could The world--well, let me praise him then.

And if I make not straight my track, But, far as may be, wind and bend, That's how the sage begins his tack, And that is how the fool will--end.

* * * * *

The world stands never still, Night loves the glowing day-- Sweet sounds to ear "I will!" And sweeter still "I may!"

THE HALCYONIAN[6]

Addressing me most bashfully, A woman to-day said this: "What would you be like in ecstasy, If sober you feel such bliss?"

FINALE[6]