ABSTRACT
In January 1889, in Turin, Italy, a drayman was whipping an old horse in the street: a common enough, although unpleasant, sight in those days. One of the passers-by, a thin man with pince-nez glasses and an enormous moustache, was terribly moved by the spectacle. He rushed forwards, threw his arms around the horse’s neck to stave o the whip, and collapsed. Friedrich Nietzsche regained consciousness, but he was totally insane for the rest of his life.1
