Chapter 47 Thus Spoke Zarathustra Book VIII

thus spoke Zarathustra Volume Eight ugliest person Again Zarathustra walked through the mountains and forests, seeking and seeking, but at last found nowhere what he was looking for—the one who, in great despair, cried out for help.On the way he was happy and thankful.He said, "Everything is so good today, it has corrected the bad morning that started today. What a novel interlocutor I have found! Now long will I chew all kinds of words, like well-chewed grain; my teeth shall redden and grind them till they flow like milk into my soul! "— But when the road rounded the rocks, the scene changed again, and Zarathustra came to the land of the dead.There are black and purple hanging stones high here, and there is no grass or tree, and there is no sound of birds.It was a gorge where all animals, even beasts of prey, were extinct, except for a race of hideous, bloated, green vipers that did not die here when they grew old and weary.So the shepherds named it "Valley of the Dead Snake".

Again Zarathustra was immersed in dark memories, for he seemed to have been in such valleys before.A kind of weight weighed on his heart, so he walked slowly, more and more slowly, and finally he stood.But then he opened his eyes, and he saw something, sitting by the side of the road, something human but not human, something indescribable.Seeing such a thing, he immediately felt a great humiliation.The roots of his hair were flushed with shame, and he looked sideways and raised his feet to leave the ominous place.But this dead wilderness gave a voice; from the ground a voice came, moaning and moaning, like the moaning and moaning of a choked-up water in the night; at last it became a human voice, and human speech cries thus: "Zara Stura! Zarathustra! Solve! My riddle! Speak, Speak! What is vengeance against the witnesses? I tempt thee; here is smooth ice! Look, look! , Your pride will not break your legs!

You proud Zarathus, you think you are wise!Solve my riddle then, you good solver of riddles!The mystery is me, tell me, who am I? " What changed in Zarathustra's heart when he heard these words?Mercy overcame him: at once he fell like an oak that had long resisted the loggers, suddenly and with such force that it surprised even those who tried to overthrow it.But in an instant he got up from the ground again, and his countenance became serious. "I know very well," he said, in a dull voice, "you are the assassin of God! Let me go. You ugliest one, whoever sees you, sees you clearly, embarrasses you, and you take revenge on such witnesses! "

Thus spoke Zarathustra, and was about to leave; but the "four different images" gripped him by a corner of his hem and began to resent and complain again. "Stop!" he said. "Hold on—don't go away! I guess what ax fell you to the ground. O Zarathustra, congratulations, you are on your feet again! I know very well that you know best what an assassin of God is.Stay and sit by my side, it will not be in vain. Who shall I seek but you?Sit down!But don't look at me!Respect my ugliness! They persecute me!Now you are my last refuge.Not their hatred, not their arrests!O, I mock such persecution, I am proud and glad!

Haven't the most persecuted people ever succeeded?The more persecuting people are, the easier it is to follow others!But it was their mercy— In order to escape their mercy, I fled to find you.O Zarathustra, protect me, you, my last refuge, you alone who see me! You see how the assassin is.stay!If you go, you impatient, don't come the way I came.That's not a good way. Are you angry with me because I speak so long?Even I advise you?But I want you to understand, that's me, the ugliest person. —He has huge, heavy feet.Everywhere I went, the roads were bad.I tread all the roads to death and desolation.

But you passed me silently, shyly,—I saw it clearly: Therefore I know you are Zarathustra. Others wish to give me his comfort, his mercy, in word and manner.But for that I am not a beggar enough; you know that well! I am too rich, rich in the great, the terrible, the ugliest, the most inexpressible!O Zarathustra, honor me with your shame! With difficulty I have escaped from the oppression of mercy,—the only one I can find now who teaches that mercy is abrupt and pretentious,—that is yourself, O Zarathustra! Whether it is divine mercy or human mercy, that is always an assault on humility.There is a nobler morality in not helping than in helping.

But now mercy is called a virtue by all shabby people:—they have no respect for great misfortunes, great ugliness, great failures. Above all this I peered like a dog peering over the back of a herd of golden sheep.They were scraps, good-haired, good-willed docile folk. As the heron holds its head up in contemplation, looking down contemptuously on the shallow lake, so I watch the little gray waves and will and soul push back and forth. For a long time the humble people were the despots of right: so at last they also became the despots of might;--and now they teach that only the so-called good of the humble people is good.

Now only the preacher who rises from them is the truth, the strange saint and apologist of the poor people.He himself said that I - is the truth. For a long time, the arrogant have fostered the pride of the poor people-he has taught many mistakes, when he taught people: I-is the truth. Did the arrogant get a polite answer? —O Zarathustra, but you pass him by, and say: No!no!The third no! You warn man about his error; you are the first to guard against mercy! —not all, not none, but a warning to yourself and your kind. Ashamed of you of the great sufferer's shame; verily, when you say: From mercy descends a heavy black cloud, beware, you people!

When you teach: that all creators are strong, and all great loves rise above their mercy: O Zarathustra, what an exact sign of the climate you are to me! But yourself—warn against your own mercy!So many are coming to you, many suffering, doubting, disappointed, blind, frozen people. I warn you against yourself too.You once figured out my best and my worst riddle, which is myself, and what I've done.I know the ax that fell you. But he - cannot but die: he sees with omniscient eyes - he sees the depths of man, all his secret shame and ugliness. His mercy knows no shame: he crawls into my dirtiest corners.The most discerning, the deepest, the most compassionate man cannot but die.

He saw me: I would have vengeance on such a witness—otherwise, I would die voluntarily. God sees everything and man: therefore he must die!The immortality of such a witness is intolerable to mankind. " Says the ugliest man.But Zarathustra stood up and was about to go away: For he was cold in the depths of his brain. "You are not like you," said he, "you warned me not to go your way. I thank you for my way. Behold, there is the cave of Zarathustra." "My cave is wide and deep, with many corners; there the hermit finds his most secluded places. Next to the cave, there are a hundred caves and paths of crawling, flying, and leaping creatures.

You throw yours out, don't you live in people and people's mercy?Well, just like me!You will learn from me; only a doer can learn. Talk to my animals first!Proudest of animals and wisest of animals, they would be proper counselors to both of us! " Thus spake Zarathustra, and went away, more thoughtful and more sluggish than before; Because he asked himself many things, but he did not know how to answer them. "Wow, how poor are human beings," he thought to himself. "How ugly, how asthmatic, how full of secret shame! They tell me that human beings love themselves.O, how great this self-love must be!How many have rebelled against the scorn of self-love! But this man loves himself even as he despises—he is a great lover and a great despiser. I have yet to see a man who utterly despises himself: utter contempt is even noble.Alas, I heard his cry, or is it this kind of expert? I love the great despisers.Man is a thing to be surpassed. "— willing beggar Zarathustra left the ugliest man, and he felt cold and lonely: for the thought of cold and lonely rose in his heart, so his limbs were cold; but as he walked and walked, up and down hills, When he passed the green grassland and the barren sand ditch where the stream had dried up, he suddenly became warmer and happier again. "What have I come across?" he asked himself, "something warm and lively cheers me up; it must be around here. I am no longer alone; strangers and brothers roam about me; their warm breath touches my own soul. " But as he spied around for his solitary comforter, behold, there were many cows standing on the high hills, and the nearer they were, the warmer his heart was.But these cows seem to be listening to the speech enthusiastically, and ignore the person coming.Zarathustra went on further, and he distinctly heard someone speaking among the cows; evidently the heads of the cows were all turned towards the speaker. Zarathustra ran up and scattered the cows; for he feared that here some should suffer, which the mercy of the cows could not relieve.But he guessed wrong; for, behold, there was a man sitting on the ground, as if speaking to the animals, a man of peace, a preacher on the hill. "What do you seek here?" exclaimed Zarathustra in amazement. "What do I seek here?" he answered, "like you, you disturber of the peace; that is to say, I seek happiness on earth. "For that purpose, I like to learn from these cows. I tell you, I've been talking to them half the morning, and about now they're going to answer me. Why did you drive them away?" Unless we change and become cows, we shall not enter the Kingdom of Heaven.Because we should learn from them: Rumination. Really, what good is it for a man to have the whole world and not chew the cud?He should not be able to forsake his sorrow.His great sorrow: now that is called abomination!Whose heart, mouth, and eyes are not full of hatred now?the same as you!the same as you!But look at these cows! " Thus spoke the Preacher on the mountain, and turned to look at Zarathustra--for he had looked kindly at the cow--and then again he changed the subject. "Who is this man I'm talking to?" he exclaimed, jumping up from the ground. "This is he who has no hatred, this is Zarathustra, the conqueror of the great hatred, this is the eye, the mouth, and the heart of Zarathustra." Thus he spoke, with his eyes glowing, and kissing the hand of Zarathustra, like one who has suddenly received gifts and jewels from heaven.But the cows stared at all this and wondered. "Don't speak of me, you strange one; you lovely one!" said Zarathustra, suppressing his tenderness, "tell yourself first! You are not a voluntary beggar who threw away great riches what? Ashamed of his riches and his own opulence, he fled to the destitute and bestowed upon them his abundance and his kindness.But they don't accept him. " "They don't accept me," said the willing beggar, "really, I think you know it well. So at last I went to the animals, to the cows. " "Know then how much more difficult it is to give properly than to take properly," said Zarathustra, "and this is an art—the last, finest, and excellent art of love. " "Especially now," replied the voluntary beggar, "now, when all that is base becomes rebellious, unapproachable, and walks its own way of arrogance. Verily, you know, the time has come for a great, wicked, long, long-lasting, rogue and slave rebellion: that rebellion widens and widens! Now all favors and petty gifts anger the lowly; beware the great and rich! Now whoever wants to drip, like a bottle with a long neck and a big belly:—this bottle can be interrupted at any time. Vain greed, surly jealousy, angry vengeance, vulgar pride; all these leap before my eyes.Blessed are the poor, that is no longer true.The kingdom of heaven is with the cow. " "Why isn't the Kingdom of Heaven with the rich?" asked Zarathustra tentatively, while driving away the cows that were lovingly sniffing the peaceful man. "Why do you tempt me?" replied the man, "you understand better than I. O Zarathura! Who drove me to the poorest? Was it not because I hated the richest? With cold eyes and loathsome thoughts I loathe the sinful rich who make a small profit out of the filth,--these stinking rascals. Hate these plated, hypocritical rascals whose ancestors were pickpockets, carrion crows, and ragpickers with lascivious and lazy wives who have no other grudge than whores. The upper class is a rascal, and the lower class is also a rascal. What is poverty and wealth now!I didn't know the difference--so I fled farther and farther and farther until I came to the cows. " And the Peaceful One gasped and sweated as he spoke: So again the cows were amazed.But still Zarathustra smiled into his face,--and silently shook his head. "You Preacher on the Mount, you exalt yourself when you speak such violent words. Such violence is neither the work of your mouth nor your eyes. I don't think it's your stomach either!All so-called rage and hatred and wrath are also incompatible with your stomach.Your stomach demands something soft: because you're not a butcher. It seems to me that you are a vegetarian, a plant and root eater, or that you chew grains.But surely, you have your enjoyment, you love to swallow honey. " "You guessed me!" replied the willing beggar, with a lighter heart. "I love honey, and I chew the grain; for I seek that which tastes sweet, and which breathes clean, and which takes time, for the gentle sloth and idler, that would be a day's work and a day's work. months of work. Verily, the cows are remarkable; they invented the cud and lay in the sun.They also abstain from all thoughts that weigh down the heart. " "Well then," said Zarathustra, "see also my animals, my eagle and my serpent,--there are none of their kind in the earth now. Behold—there is the way to my cave: be my guest tonight, and talk to my animals about their happiness— until I return.For now a cry for advice has driven me from you, and you too have found fresh, cold, golden honey from the hive in my house, taste that honey! You strange one, you dear one, leave your herd now--even if it is embarrassing to you, for they are your most ardent friends and teachers. " "But one cow is my favorite," replied the willing beggar. "O Zarathustra, you are gentler and sweeter than a cow." "Go away, go away, you useless flatterer!" cried Zarathustra playfully, "why do you offend me with such compliments, with such sweet words of flattery?" "Go away, go away!" he cried again, raising his stick to the gentle beggar.But he has moved away quickly. shadow The willing beggar had just hurried away, and Zarathustra was alone again.Then he heard a new cry behind him: "Halt! Zarathustra, wait a moment! It is I, verily, O Zarathustra, it is I, thy shadow!" "But Zarathustra did not stand still; suddenly he became irritated by the support and noise on the hill. "Where has my loneliness gone?" he said. "Verily, that is too many; the swarms of the hills; my kingdom is not in this world; I need new hills. Does my shadow call me?What is my shadow!Let it chase me!I would - ran away from it! " Thus said Zarathustra in his heart, and ran on.But the shadow pressed on him.So there were then three runners, one after the other—that is, first, the willing beggar, second, Zarathustra, and third, his shadow.But after they had run away, Zarathustra gradually felt his stupidity, and his anger and hatred were at once relieved. "What!" said he, "doesn't the most sudden things always happen between us old hermits and saints? Verily, my folly once grew up in the mountains!Now I hear six old fool's legs chasing each other! Shall Zarathustra fear his shadow?After all, I thought, it had longer legs than me. " Thus saith Zarathustra, heart and eyes full of joy, standing still, and turning hastily—behold, with this he almost threw his shadow to the ground, which so closely followed His heels, he was so weak.Zarathustra looked at the shadow gravely, as if struck by the sudden appearance of this follower, so thin, swarthy, hollow, and withered. "Who are you?" asked Zarathustra fervently, "what do you do here? Why do you call yourself my shadow?You do not please me. " "Forgive me," replied the Shadow, "that is I; and if I cannot please you—then, O Zarathustra! I praise you and your fine taste. I am a wanderer, I have followed your heels; always walking, but without aim and destination: so I am not a Jew, nor a perpetual, but I am no different from a perpetual wanderer Jewish. how?Do I have to walk forever?Must be blown by all strong winds, uncertain, wandering in all directions?O earth, you are too round for me! I have fallen on all planes like languid sand, I have slept on all mirrors and windows: take everything from me and give me nothing; I grow thinner.I was almost a phantom. O Zarathustra, long have I traveled with you; though I hid myself from you, I was still your best shadow: where you were, I was also. You and I roam the remotest and coldest worlds, like voluntarily dreaming of winter roofs and ghosts in snow.I go with you into all forbidden places, all the worst and furthest places: if I have any virtue, it is that I fear no prohibitions. You and I smashed what my heart honored; I tore down all boundary stones and idols; I chased the most dangerous desires—truly, I crossed all evils. Neither you nor I have learned faith, words and worth and great names.When the devil casts off his skin, does not his name also peel off?Because that's skin too. Or the evil spirit itself is just a piece of skin. Nothing is real, everything is legal: so I say to myself.I throw my body and mind into the coldest water.O, therefore how I used to stand there naked, like a red crab. O, where are all my goodness, all my shame, all my belief in goodness!O, where have all my deceitful innocence, the innocence of the good and the noble hypocrisy of the good have gone! Verily, I have often followed the heels of truth!The heel of truth kicked my head.Sometimes I think I'm lying, but behold!Only then did I hit -- the truth. Many things revealed to me!Now I ignore it.What I love is no more—how can I love myself? To live as I love, or not to live at all!So I will; so will even the holiest, but alas, how can I still have what I love? Do I still have a purpose?Is there a harbor to which my sails push? Is there still a good wind?Only he who knows where he is sailing knows the good wind, the tail wind that is good for him. What is left for me?A weary and restless heart; a restless will; erratic wings; a broken spine. This seeks my home; O Zarathustra, do you know this seeks me; it devours me. Where is my home?I inquired and searched, I searched, but I did not find, oh where eternal joy goes, oh eternal nowhere, oh eternal--in vain! " Thus spoke the Shadow, and Zarathustra grimaced at his words. "You are his shadow!" he said earnestly at last. "You free spirit and wanderer, you are in no small danger! You have bad days: beware of worse nights! For homeless people like you, it seems that prison is happiness.Have you seen how the captive sinner sleeps?They sleep peacefully, they enjoy their new security. Beware, I am afraid that in the end, a narrow belief, a ruthless, cruel temptation will capture you!Because everything that is narrow and fixed is tempting you and testing you now. You have lost your purpose.Alas, how can you get rid of that loss?Therefore - you also lose your access! You poor wanderer and sentimentalist, you weary butterfly!Would you like a place to rest and a home tonight?Come to my cave, if you like! That's the way to my cave.I'm leaving you now.It's like a shadow has already attached to me. I would like to run alone to make my surroundings bright again.So I have to go far and be happy.But dance with me there in the evening! "— Thus spake Zarathustra. noon Zarathustra ran on again, but he found no one, he was still alone, and found only himself forever; enjoying and leaving his solitude, thinking good thoughts, hour by hour passed.But at noon, when the sun shone on Zarathustra's head, he passed an ancient tangled tree, and hid himself in the loving embrace of the vine, facing the wanderer, Ripe grapes are hanging high.He suddenly felt thirsty and wanted to pick grapes.Just as he stretched out his hand, he thought of something else—he wanted to lie down and sleep by the tree at noon. Thereupon Zarathustra lay down; and in the peace and mystery of the colorful green grass he forgot his thirst and fell into a deep sleep.For as Zarathustra's proverb says, "This one thing is more necessary than another." But his eyes are still open:—they do not tire of looking and admiring this old tree, this love of the vine: but in Thus said Zarathustra to himself in his sleep: Notice!Be quiet!Isn't the world a beauty now?What happened to me? Sleep dances on me, like a gust of smoke, dancing invisible on the rippling sea, light, light as a feather. It does not close my eyes, it clears my soul.Really, as light as a feather. It persuades me, I don't know how, it soothes me lovingly and oppresses me.Yes!It oppresses me so my soul burns out. How my strange soul became weary and relieved!Did not the evening of the seventh day come at the noon of the day?Hasn't it been too long now to enjoy between good and mature things? It stretches more and stretches your waist even more!It lies still, O my strange soul, which has tasted too many good things; the sorrow of gold oppresses it, and it twists its mouth. Like a ship at anchor in a still harbour;—weary of the long distance and the rough sea, it is now coming in.Isn't land more trustworthy? Such a ship draws near to the shore, draws near to the shore:—so that a spider weaves its silk from the ship to the land, and that is enough, no stronger rope is needed. I believe, trust, and expect so much now, just like a tired boat in Jinggang, close to the earth, connected with the earth with the thinnest gossamer. Oh happiness!Yo, happy!O my soul, will you sing?You lie on the grass.But this is the hour of mystical dignity, and no shepherd boy is playing on his flute. Well, pay attention!In the hot afternoon, sleeping soundly in the field.don't sing!Be quiet!The world is perfect. You pine bird, oh my soul, don't sing!Even you don't whisper!Behold, be still: the old day sleeps soundly at noon, it chatters its lips; now, at this moment, is it not drinking the nectar of happiness? Drinking the golden wine, the brown nectar of golden happiness, his countenance changes, his happiness laughs.Laugh like a god.Be quiet! For happiness, how little happiness!That's it!I have said so before, and take myself as wisdom, but that is blasphemy.I have learned it now.A fool speaks wiser. No, it's the little things, the gentlest, the slightest things, a lizard's wriggle, a breath, a flick, a blink of an eye--tinyness makes the best happiness.Be quiet! What happened; listen!Has time passed?Didn't I fall?listen!Didn't I fall into the face of the fountain of eternity? What happened?Look, did it stab me—oh—in the heart?Stabbed to the heart!O, shattered, shattered, my heart, after such a bliss, after such a prick! What?Isn't the world perfect just now?Is it round and ripe?O golden round and ripe - where does it fly?let me chase it!hurry up! Be quiet! "(Here Zarathus stretches himself, and thinks he is fast asleep.) "You sleeper, you sleeper of the noonday, get up!" he said to himself. "Stand up, you old legs! This is the time, the more urgent time; Lots of flat avenues await you! You sleep now in your overflow; how long will you sleep?Half an eternity!Well, rise up now, my old heart!How long after such a deep sleep can you wake up? " (But he is fast asleep again, and his soul opposes him, and defends itself, but lies down again.) "Oh, let me rest, be still! Isn't the world perfect now? O, the golden ball! " "Arise!" said Zarathustra, "you little thief of time, you idler! What? Will you stretch, and yawn, and sigh, and fall under the blanket of deep springs? O my soul, then Who are you!" (Here, he becomes frightened as a ray of sunlight hits his face from the sky.) "O heaven above me," he sighed and sat up, "do you look at me? Do you hear my strange spirit? When will you drink the nectar of all that falls to earth—when will you Will drink this strange soul? O fountain of eternity, abyss of the noon of joy and horror, when did you suck my soul back into you? " Thus spake Zarathustra, and arose from where he had rested by the tree, as if awakened from a strange drunkenness.And behold!There the sun still shone on his head.Hence one would think that Zarathustra did not sleep very long. salute It was late when Zarathustra returned to his cave after his vain search and wandering.When he was about twenty paces from his cave, the unexpected happened again: he heard again the loud cry for help.Ah, wonderful!This time the cry came from his cave.It was a peculiar cry, long and complex, and Zarathustra distinctly heard the combination of many voices; though at a distance it seemed to come from one man's mouth. So Zarathustra ran straight to his cave, but behold!What a performance awaited him after that prelude!For all the people he met in the day gathered and sat there: the king on the left, and the king on the right, the old magician, the priest, the willing beggar, the shadow, the wise man, the mournful seer, and the donkey; the ugliest Man wore a crown and two purple sash--for he, like all ugly people, loved to adorn himself, and to be pretty.In the midst stood the eagle of Zarathustra, irritated and troubled, because they asked him too many questions, which his pride would not answer; and the serpent of wisdom was still wound around his neck. All this Zarathustra saw with great astonishment; and with polite curiosity he examined each of the guests in turn, and talked of their souls, and wondered anew.Simultaneously these assembled persons rose from their seats, reverently expecting Zarathustra to speak.But thus says Zarathustra: "You hopeless ones! You strange ones! Is it your cry for help that I hear? Now I know where to find him, and the one I haven't found this day: the Master! An expert is sitting in my cave!Why should I be surprised!Did I not lure them to me with the gift of my honey and the call of my happiness? But it seems to me like you're all discordant couples, when you get together here, you cry for help, you trouble each other's hearts.One must come first— He who makes you laugh again, a merry buffoon, a dancer, a gust of wind, a naughty girl, an old fool;—but what do you think? Forgive me, you hopeless ones, for speaking such unworthy commonplace words in the presence of such guests!But you don't know what cheers me up! That's you and what's special about you: every one becomes brave because he sees the hopeless!Encourage a Desperate Man—Everyone thinks he has enough strength! You have given me this power—a good gift, my guests!The gift of a righteous guest, well, don't scold me when I present you my gift too. This is my kingdom and my domain; all that are mine are yours tonight.My animals will serve you; my cave is your dwelling! Those who live with me should not despair; within my borders I keep all from the dangers of wild beasts.This is my first gift to you: Safety! The second gift is my little finger.When you have it, you have the whole hand, yes, and the whole heart!Welcome, welcome, my guests! " Thus spoke Zarathustra, and laughed with love and pain.His guests, after such salutations, bowed again and again, and were reverently silent; but the king on the left answered him in their name: "O Zarathustra, you thus give us your hand, your salutation, we know you as Zarathustra. You humbled yourself before us; you almost wounded us for you respected by: Who can so haughtily humble oneself as thou art: that exalts us, that refreshes our minds. As long as we see this, we wish to happily ascend to a mountain higher than this.We are the more ardent seekers; we shall see what brightens our dull eyes. But behold!Now all our cries for help are over.Now our hearts are calm and joyful.We have no lack of bravery to make our hearts unbridled! O Zarathustra, what grows on the earth gives more joy than a tall and strong will: it is the fairest of plants.Such a tree changes the whole landscape. O Zarathustra, who grows like you, we compare him to a fir-pine--solitary, quiet, hard and regular, the best and most useful wood! —But on the treetops, with strong green branches, stretching out their domains, asking questions about the strong wind, about the storm, about all the highest places. —and answered more resolutely, a conqueror, a victor: O!Who doesn't often ascend to the high mountains to see such woods: O Zarathustra, the mourner, and the despairing, rejoice at thy tree: even the restless seeth thou firmed, and healeth his heart. Verily, now all eyes are upon your mountains and your trees; a great longing has arisen, and many have learned to ask: Is it Zarathustra? Those whose ears you have always heard with your songs and drops of honey, all the hermits, the hermits and hermites, say in their hearts at the same time: Is Zarathustra still alive?It is not worth living now, all is the same, all is vanity, unless we are with Zarathustra! Why hasn't he come after so long?Many have asked thus; has solitude swallowed him up?Or should we seek him? My now lonely self is ripe and cracked as a grave cracks and can no longer hide the body in the grave.Resurrected people can be seen everywhere. O Zarathustra, now are the waves round and round your mountain.However high you may be, many will come to you; and your little boats will not stay long on dry land. We despairing ones have now come to your cave, and despair no more: that is a herald and a good omen that stronger ones are coming to seek you! For they are on the way, among men, the last remnants of the gods, that is to say, all those who desire, loathe, and satiate— All lives no longer, except those who learn hope again—unless they learn great hope from you, O Zarathustra! " Thus spoke the king on the left, and took Zarathustra's hand, intending to kiss him; but Zarathustra rejected his salute, and backed away in terror, and left abruptly as if fleeing, not a moment later When he came back, he looked at his guest again with clear and inquisitive eyes, and said: "My guests, you superiors, I would speak frank German and speak frankly to you. It is not you that I am expecting here on the hills." ("Frank German and speak frankly? Oh, merciful God!" Here the king on the left says to himself; "that is clear, the saint from the East does not know the lovely Germans!" But he meant it in German and said bluntly—well, that's not the worst taste these days! ) "True, you may be tall men," continued Zarathustra, "but for me—you are not tall enough, neither are you strong. For me, that is to say, for the indomitable spirit in me, it is now silent, but not always silent.If you were all mine, it would be as good as one of my arms. For a man who walks on weak and limp legs like you, whether he feels it or not, desires, above all, to be treated with appeasement. But I do not appease my arms and my legs, I do not appease my warriors: How can you be fit for my war? With you, I shall lose my chance of victory.If you had heard my drum beat, many of you would have fallen on the ground in terror. Also, for me, you are not beautiful enough, and you are not good enough.I need clear and smooth mirrors to reflect my teachings; in your faces even my own visage is distorted. Many burdens have been carried upon your shoulders, many memories; many ominous gnomes lurk in the corners of your caves.There are secret rascals in your hearts too. Although you are tall people and a race of tall people, there are still many distortions and deformations in your hearts.There is not a blacksmith in the world who can hammer you straight and straight for Me. Ye are but bridges; over you a higher man crosses to the other side, and you stand like ladders: grieve not against him who ascends over you and attains his own height! One day a true son and a perfect heir will be born to me from your offspring: but that time is far off.You are not the heirs of my heritage and title. It is not you that I look forward to here on the mountains; nor with you can I make my last descent.Your coming to me is but a sign that higher ones are coming to me; Not the remnants of what you call gods, not the people who long for, loathe, and satiate; no!no!The third no!Here on the hills I wait for others, I would not lift my foot without them; I look forward to stronger people, more superior people, and happier people; I look forward to people who are physically and mentally healthy, and the laughing lions will surely come! O my guests, you strange ones, - have you heard anything about my children?Are they coming for me? Tell me about my garden, my island of happiness, my new and beautiful race—why won't you tell me about these? I beg this gift of guests from your love, and you tell me of my children.For this I am rich, for this I am poor: what have I not to give? For that, what would I not give: for these children, for these living plants, for the tree of life of my will and my highest hope! " Thus spake Zarathustra, and stopped suddenly: for his longing came, and with the convulsion of his heart he closed his eyes and his mouth.His guests were also silent and stood in a daze, only the old prophet was making gestures with his face and hands. dinner Here the prophet interrupts the salutation of Zarathustra and his guests: at once he rushes forward like a man who does not want to lose time, takes Zarathustra's hand, and cries: "But Zarathustra! Did you not say that this was more necessary than any other? Well, now this is more necessary to me than anything else! To put it bluntly: Didn't you invite us to dinner?Here are many people from afar. Didn't you feed us with nothing but empty words? Besides, you think too much of freezing, of drowning, of suffocation, and of other physical dangers: but not of my danger, that of starvation. "— (Thus spoke the prophet. The animals of Zarathustra ran away in astonishment. They saw that all that they brought home during the day would not be enough for the prophet alone.) "Also died of thirst," continued the seer. "Though I hear the fountain murmuring like words of wisdom—that is to say, I'm thirsty for wine! No one is born a drinker of water like Zarathustra.Water is not for the old and languid: we need wine--and wine alone gives us quick recovery, and vigorous health. " Just at this moment, the prophet longs for wine, and the king on the left, the one who is silent, gets another chance to speak. "As for the wine," he said, "we have prepared, me and my brother, the king on the right: we have enough wine. There was a whole load of donkeys, so there was nothing missing, except bread. " "Bread," Zarashitura replied with a smile. "What the hermits don't have is bread. But they live not only on bread, but also on some lamb, and I have two goat kids. They are slaughtered immediately and cooked with care.There is no shortage of roots and fruit for the healthy eater and the taste-seeker--nor the walnut, and the enigma to crack the shell. We'll be having a good meal soon.But whoever dines with us must work together, even emperors.Because with Zarathrathu, the emperor can also be a cook. " This proposal was accepted by all, except the voluntary beggars who objected to wine, meat, and spices. "Listen to that gluttonous Zarathustra!" he said jestingly, "for such feasts do men go to mountains and caves? Now I do understand what he taught us earlier: Moderate poverty is admirable!And why he excluded beggars. " "Be merry," answered Zarathustra, "as I am. Do as you please, thou sublime one! Eat vegetables, drink water, praise your own cooking--if that alone pleases you! I am only the law of my own kind; I am not the law of all.But those who belong to me must have strong bones and light feet— Rejoice in battle and feasting, not in melancholy, not in twilight, go to a feast as to the hardest work, must be strong and healthy. The best belongs to me and myself; if it is not given to us, we have to take it:—take the best food, the clearest sky, the strongest thought, the most beautiful woman! " Thus spoke Zarathustra, and the king on the right answered: "Wonderful, has anyone ever heard such wise things come out of the mouth of a wise man? Verily, it is strangest in the mind of a wise man, so long as he is thoroughly wise, and not an ass. " The king on the right said so and was amazed; but the donkey replied "xi-ha" mischievously, thus beginning a long dinner, which is called dinner in history.Nothing is said here except the higher ones.