【正文】 is time I was obsessed by an unspeakably sad melody, the refrain of which I recognised in the words, 39。dead through immortality.39。 We remained somewhat too long in Rome that spring, and what with the effect of the increasing heat and the discouraging circumstances already described, my brother resolved not to write any more, or in any case, not to proceed with Zarathustra, although I offered to relieve him of all trouble in connection with the proofs and the publisher. When, however, we returned to Switzerland towards the end of June, and he found himself once more in the familiar and exhilarating air of the mountains, all his joyous creative powers revived, and in a note to me announcing the dispatch of some manuscript, he wrote as follows: I have engaged a place here for three months: forsooth, I am the greatest fool to allow my courage to be sapped from me by the climate of Italy. Now and again I am troubled by the thought: WHAT NEXT? My 39。future39。 is the darkest thing in the world to me, but as there still remains a great deal for me to do, I suppose I ought rather to think of doing this than of my future, and leave the rest to THEE and the gods. The second part of Zarathustra was written between the 26th of June and the 6th July. This summer, finding myself once more in the sacred place where the first thought of 39。Zarathustra39。 flashed across my mind, I conceived the second part. Ten days sufficed. Neither for the second, the first, nor the third part, have I required a day longer. He often used to speak of the ecstatic mood in which he wrote Zarathustra。 how in his walks over hill and dale the ideas would crowd into his mind, and how he would note them down hastily in a notebook from which he would transcribe them on his return, sometimes working till midnight. He says in a letter to me: You can have no idea of the vehemence of such position, and in Ecce Homo (autumn 1888) he describes as follows with passionate enthusiasm the inparable mood in which he created Zarathustra: Has any one at the end of the nineteenth century any distinct notion of what poets of a stronger age understood by the word inspiration? If not, I will describe it. If one had the smallest vestige of superstition in one, it would hardly be possible to set aside pletely the idea that one is the mere incarnation, mouthpiece or medium of an almighty power. The idea of revelation in the sense that something bees suddenly visible and audible with indescribable certainty and accuracy, which profoundly convulses and upsets onedescribes simply the matter of fact. One hears one does not seek。 one takesone does not ask who gives: a thought suddenly flashes up like lightning, it es with necessity, unhesitatinglyI have never had any choice in the matter. There is an ecstasy such that the immense strain of it is sometimes relaxed by a flood of tears, along with which one39。s steps either rush or involuntarily lag, alternately. There is the feeling that one is pletely out of hand, with the very distinct consciousness of an endless number of fine thrills and quiverings to the very toes。there is a depth of happiness in which the painfullest and gloomiest do not operate as antitheses, but as conditioned, as demanded in the sense of necessary shades of colour in such an overflow of light. There is an instinct for rhythmic relations which embraces wide areas of forms (length, the need of a wideembracing rhythm, is almost the measure of the force of an inspiration, a sort of counterpart to its pressure and tension). Everything happens quite involuntarily, as if in a tempestuous outburst of freedom, of absoluteness, of power and divinity. The involuntariness of the figures and similes is the most remarkable thing。 one loses all perception of what constitutes the figure and what constitutes the simile。 everything seems to present itself as the readiest, the correctest and the simplest means of expression. It actually seems, to use one of Zarathustra39。s own phrases, as if all things came unto one, and would fain be similes: 39。Here do all things e caressingly to thy talk and flatter thee, for they want to ride upon thy back. On every simile dost thou here ride to every truth. Here fly open unto thee all being39。s words and wordcabinets。 here all being wanteth to bee words, here all being wanteth to learn of thee how to talk.39。 This is MY experience of inspiration. I do not doubt but that one would have to go back thousands of years in order to find some one who could say to me: It is mine also!