[Footnote 168: Nietzsche.]
Like the musician that Nietzsche dreamed of,[169] he seems "to hear
ringing in his ears the prelude of a deeper, stronger music, perhaps a
more wayward and mysterious music; a music that is super-German, which,
unlike other music, would not die away, nor pale, nor grow dull beside
the blue and wanton sea and the clear Mediterranean sky; a music
super-European, which would hold its own even by the dark sunsets of the
desert; a music whose soul is akin to the palm trees; a music that knows
how to live and move among great beasts of prey, beautiful and solitary;
a music whose supreme charm is its ignorance of good and evil. Only from
time to time perhaps there would flit over it the longing of the sailor
for home, golden shadows, and gentle weaknesses; and towards it would
come flying from afar the thousand tints of the setting of a moral world
that men no longer understood; and to these belated fugitives it would
extend its hospitality and sympathy." But it is always the North, the
melancholy of the North, and "all the sadness of mankind," mental
anguish, the thought of death, and the tyranny of life, that come and
weigh down afresh his spirit hungering for light, and force it into
feverish speculation and bitter argument.
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