Zarathustras eye had perceived that a certain youth avoided him. And as he walked alone one evening over the hills surrounding the town called The Pied Cow, behold, there found he the youth sitting leaning against a tree, and gazing with wearied mind into the valley. Zarathustra thereupon laid hold of the tree beside which the youth sat, and spake thus: If I wanted to shake this tree with my hands, I should not be able to do it. But the wind, which we see not, troubleth and bendeth it as it listeth. We are sorest bent and troubled by invisible hands. Thereupon the youth arose disconcerted and said: I hear Zarathustra, and just now was I thinking of him! Zarathustra answered: Why art thou frightened on that account? But it is with man as it is with the tree. The more he seeketh to rise into the height and light, the more vigorously do his roots struggle earthward, downward, into the dark and deep into the evil. Yea, into the evil! cried the youth. How is it possible that thou hast discovered my soul? Zarathustra smiled, and said: Many a soul one will never discover, unless one first invent it. Yea, into the evil! cried the youth once more. Thou saidst the truth, Zarathustra. I trust myself no longer since I sought to rise into the height, and nobody trusteth me any longer; how doth that happen? I change too fast: my to-day refuteth my yesterday. I often skip the steps when I clamber; for that, no step pardoneth me. When I am at the top, I find myself always alone. No one speaketh unto me, the frost of solitude maketh me tremble. What do I seek on the height? My loathing and my longing grow together; the higher I climb, the more I despise him who climbeth. What doth he seek on the height? How ashamed I am of my climbing and stumbling! How I mock at my violent panting! How I hate him who flieth! How tired I am on the height! Here the youth was silent. And Zarathustra contemplated the tree beside which they stood, and spake thus: This tree standeth lonely here on the hills; it hath grown up high above man and beast. And if it wanted to speak, it would have no one who could understand it: so high hath it grown. Now it waiteth and waiteth, for what doth it wait? It dwelleth too close to the seat of the clouds; it waiteth perhaps for the first lightning? When Zarathustra had said this, the youth called out with violent gestures: Yea, Zarathustra, thou speakest the truth. My destruction I longed for, when I desired to be on the height, and thou art the lightning for which I waited! Lo! what have I been since thou hast appeared amongst us? It is my envy of thee that hath destroyed me! Thus spake the youth, and wept bitterly. But Zarathustra put his arm about him, and led him away with him. And when they had walked a while together, Zarathustra began to speak thus: It rendeth my heart. Better than thy words express it, thine eyes tell me all thy danger. As yet thou art not free; thou still seekest freedom. Too unsleeping hath thy seeking made thee, and too wakeful. On the open height wouldst thou be; for the stars thy soul thirsteth. But thy bad impulses also thirst for freedom. Thy wild dogs want liberty; they bark for joy in their cellar when thy spirit endeavoureth to open all prison doors. Still art thou a prisoner it seemeth to me who deviseth liberty for himself: ah! sharp becometh the soul of such prisoners, but also deceitful and wicked. To purify himself, is still necessary for the freedman of the spirit. Much of the prison and the mould still remaineth in him: pure hath his eye still to become. Yea, I know thy danger. But by my love and hope I conjure thee: cast not thy love and hope away!