No More Learning

Thus spake the devil unto me,
once on a time: "Even God
hath his hell: it is his love for
man. "
And lately did I hear him say
these words: "God is dead: of
his pity for man hath God died. "
—ZARATHUSTRA, II. , "The
Pitiful" (pp. 104-5),
/""


## p. 286 (#410) ############################################



## p. 287 (#411) ############################################

LXI. —THE HONEY SACRIFICE.
—AND again passed moons and years over
Zarathustra's soul, and he heeded it not; his hair,
however, became white. One day when he sat on
a stone in front of his cave, and gazed calmly into
the distance—one there gazeth out on the sea,
and away beyond sinuous abysses,—then went his
animals thoughtfully round about him, and at last
set themselves in front of him.
“O Zarathustra," said they, “gazest thou out
perhaps for thy happiness ? "_"Of what account
is my happiness ! ” answered he, “I have long
ceased to strive any more for happiness, I strive
for my work. ”—“O Zarathustra," said the animals
once more, “that sayest thou as one who hath
overmuch of good things. Liest thou not in a sky-
blue lake of happiness ? "_“Ye wags," answered
Zarathustra, and smiled, “how well did ye choose
the simile! But ye know also that my happiness
is heavy, and not like a fluid wave of water: it
presseth me and will not leave me, and is like
molten pitch. "-
Then went his animals again thoughtfully around
him, and placed themselves once more in front of
him. “O Zarathustra," said they, “it is conse-
quently for that reason that thou thyself always
becometh yellower and darker, although thy hair
looketh white and flaxen? Lo, thou sittest in


## p. 288 (#412) ############################################

288 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
thy pitch! "—" What do ye say, mine animals? "
said Zarathustra, laughing; "verily I reviled when
I spake of pitch. As it happeneth with me, so
is it with all fruits that turn ripe. It is the honey
in my veins that maketh my blood thicker, and
also my soul stiller. "—"So will it be, O Zarathustra,"
answered his animals, and pressed up to him; "but
wilt thou not to-day ascend a high mountain?
The air is pure, and to-day one seeth more of the
world than ever. "—" Yea, mine animals," answered
he, "ye counsel admirably and according to my
heart: I will to-day ascend a high mountain! But
see that honey is there ready to hand, yellow, white,
good, ice-cool, golden-comb-honey. For know-
that when aloft I will make the honey-sacrifice. "—
When Zarathustra, however, was aloft on the
summit, he sent his animals home that had
accompanied him, and found that he was now
alone:—then he laughed from the bottom of his
heart, looked around him, and spake thus:
That I spake of sacrifices and honey-sacrifices,
it was merely a ruse in talking and verily, a useful
folly! Here aloft can I now speak freer than in
front of mountain-caves and anchorites' domestic
animals.
What to sacrifice! I squander what is given
me, a squanderer with a thousand hands: how
could I call that—sacrificing!
And when I desired honey I only desired bait,
and sweet mucus and mucilage, for which even the
mouths of growling bears, and strange, sulky, evil
birds, water:


## p. 289 (#413) ############################################

LXI. —THE HONEY SACRIFICE. 289
—The best bait, as huntsmen and fishermen
require it. For if the world be as a gloomy forest
of animals, and a pleasure-ground for all wild
huntsmen, it seemeth to me rather—and preferably
—a fathomless, rich sea;
—A sea full of many-hued fishes and crabs, for
which even the Gods might long, and might be
tempted to become fishers in it, and casters of
nets,—so rich is the world in wonderful things,
great and small!
Especially the human world, the human sea :—
towards it do I now throw out my golden
angle-rod and say: Open up, thou human abyss!
Open up, and throw unto me thy fish and shining
crabs! With my best bait shall I allure to myself
to-day the strangest human fish!
—My happiness itself do I throw out into all
places far and wide 'twixt orient, noontide, and
Occident, to see if many human fish will not learn
to hug and tug at my happiness ;—
Until, biting at my sharp hidden hooks, they
have to come up unto my height, the motleyest
abyss-groundlings, to the wickedest of all fishers
of men.
For this am I from the heart and from the
beginning—drawing, hither-drawing, upward-draw-
ing, upbringing; a drawer, a trainer, a training-
master, who not in vain counselled himself once
on a time: "Become what thou art! "
Thus may men now come up to me; for as yet
do I await the signs that it is time for my down-
going; as yet do I not myself go down, as I must
do, amongst men.
T


## p. 290 (#414) ############################################

290 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
Therefore do I here wait, crafty and scornful
upon high mountains, no impatient one, no patient
one; rather one who hath even unlearnt patience,
—because he no longer " suffereth. "
For my fate giveth me time: it hath forgotten
me perhaps? Or doth it sit behind a big stone
and catch flies?
And verily, I am well-disposed to mine eternal
fate, because it doth not hound and hurry me, but
leaveth me time for merriment and mischief; so
that I have to-day ascended this high mountain
to catch fish.
Did ever any one catch fish upon high moun-
tains? And though it be a folly what I here seek
and do, it is better so than that down below I
should become solemn with waiting, and green and
yellow—
—A posturing wrath-snorter with waiting, a holy
howl-storm from the mountains, an impatient one
that shouteth down into the valleys: "Hearken,
else I will scourge you with the scourge of God! "
Not that I would have a grudge against such
wrathful ones on that account: they are well
enough for laughter to me! Impatient must they
now be, those big alarm-drums, which find a voice
now or never!
Myself, however, and my fate—we do not talk
to the Present, neither do we talk to the Never:
for talking we have patience and time and more
than time. For one day must it yet come, and
may not pass by.
What must one day come and may not pass by?
Our great Hazar, that is to say, our great, remote


## p. 291 (#415) ############################################

LXI. --THE HONEY SACRIFICE.
291
human-kingdom, the Zarathustra-kingdom of a
thousand years--
How remote may such“ remoteness” be? What
doth it concern me? But on that account it is
none the less sure unto me, with both feet stand
I secure on this ground;
-On an eternal ground, on hard primary rock, on
this highest, hardest, primary mountain-ridge, unto
which all winds come, as unto the storm-parting,
asking Where? and Whence? and Whither ?
Here laugh, laugh, my hearty, healthy wicked-
ness! From high mountains cast down thy
glittering scorn-laughter! Allure for me with
thy glittering the finest human fish!
And whatever belongeth unto me in all seas, my
in-and-for-me in all things—fish that out for me,
bring that up to me: for that do I wait, the
wickedest of all fish-catchers.
Out! out! my fishing-hook! In and down, thou
bait of my happiness! Drip thy sweetest dew,
thou honey of my heart! Bite, my fishing-hook,
into the belly of all black affliction !
Look out, look out, mine eye! Oh, how many
seas round about me, what dawning human futures!
And above me what rosy red stillness! What
unclouded silence!
LXII. —THE CRY OF DISTRESS.
The next day sat Zarathustra again on the stone
in front of his cave, whilst his animals roved about
in the world outside to bring home new food,—also
new honey : for Zarathustra had spent and wasted


## p. 291 (#416) ############################################

2CjO THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
Therefore do I here wait, crafty and scornful
upon high mountains, no impatient one, no patient
one; rather one who hath even unlearnt patience,
—because he no longer "suffereth. "
For my fate giveth me time: it hath forgotten
me perhaps? Or doth it sit behind a big stone
and catch flies?
And verily, I am well-disposed to mine eternal
fate, because it doth not hound and hurry me, but
leaveth me time for merriment and mischief; so
that I have to-day ascended this high mountain
to catch fish.
Did ever any one catch fish upon high moun-
tains? And though it be a folly what I here seek
and do, it is better so than that down below I
should become solemn with waiting, and green and
yellow—
—A posturing wrath-snorter with waiting, a holy
howl-storm from the mountains, an impatient one
that shouteth down into the valleys: "Hearken,
else I will scourge you with the scourge of God! "
Not that I would have a grudge against such
wrathful ones on that account: they are well
enough for laughter to me! Impatient must they
now be, those big alarm-drums, which find a voice
now or never!
Myself, however, and my fate—we do not talk
to the Present, neither do we talk to the Never:
for talking we have patience and time and more
than time. For one day must it yet come, and
may not pass by.
What must one day come and may not pass by?
Our great Hazar, that is to say, our great, remote
"I


## p. 291 (#417) ############################################

LXI. —THE HONEY SACRIFICE. 291
human-kingdom, the Zarathustra-kingdom of a
thousand years
How remote may such " remoteness " be? What
doth it concern me? But on that account it is
none the less sure unto me—, with both feet stand
I secure on this ground;
—On an eternal ground, on hard primary rock, on
this highest, hardest, primary mountain-ridge, unto
which all winds come, as unto the storm-parting,
asking Where? and Whence? and Whither?
Here laugh, laugh, my hearty, healthy wicked-
ness! From high mountains cast down thy
glittering scorn-laughter! Allure for me with
thy glittering the finest human fish!
And whatever belongeth unto me in all seas, my
in-and-for-me in all things—fish that out for me,
bring that up to me: for that do I wait, the
wickedest of all fish-catchers.
Out! out! my fishing-hook! In and down, thou
bait of my happiness! Drip thy sweetest dew,
thou honey of my heart! Bite, my fishing-hook,
into the belly of all black affliction!
Look out, look out, mine eye! Oh, how many
seas round about me, what dawning human futures!
And above me—what rosy red stillness! What
unclouded silence!
LXIL—THE CRY OF DISTRESS.
The next day sat Zarathustra again on the stone
in front of his cave, whilst his animals roved about
in the world outside to bring home new food,—also
new honey: for Zarathustra had spent and wasted


## p. 291 (#418) ############################################

290 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
Therefore do I here wait, crafty and scornful
upon high mountains, no impatient one, no patient
one; rather one who hath even unlearnt patience,
—because he no longer " suffereth. "
For my fate giveth me time: it hath forgotten
me perhaps? Or doth it sit behind a big stone
and catch flies?
And verily, I am well-disposed to mine eternal
fate, because it doth not hound and hurry me, but
leaveth me time for merriment and mischief; so
that I have to-day ascended this high mountain
to catch fish.
Did ever any one catch fish upon high moun-
tains? And though it be a folly what I here seek
and do, it is better so than that down below I
should become solemn with waiting, and green and
yellow—
—A posturing wrath-snorter with waiting, a holy
howl-storm from the mountains, an impatient one
that shouteth down into the valleys: "Hearken,
else I will scourge you with the scourge of God! "
Not that I would have a grudge against such
wrathful ones on that account: they are well
enough for laughter to me! Impatient must they
now be, those big alarm-drums, which find a voice
now or never!
Myself, however, and my fate—we do not talk
to the Present, neither do we talk to the Never:
for talking we have patience and time and more
than time. For one day must it yet come, and
may not pass by.
What must one day come and may not pass by?
Our great Hazar, that is to say, our great, remote
^


## p. 291 (#419) ############################################

LXI. —THE HONEY SACRIFICE. 291
human-kingdom, the Zarathustra-kingdom of a
thousand years
How remote may such " remoteness " be? What
doth it concern me? But on that account it is
none the less sure unto me—, with both feet stand
I secure on this ground;
—On an eternal ground, on hard primary rock, on
this highest, hardest, primary mountain-ridge, unto
which all winds come, as unto the storm-parting,
asking Where? and Whence? and Whither?
Here laugh, laugh, my hearty, healthy wicked-
ness! From high mountains cast down thy
glittering scorn-laughter! Allure for me with
thy glittering the finest human fish!
And whatever belongeth unto me in all seas, my
in-and-for-me in all things—fish that out for me,
bring that up to me: for that do I wait, the
wickedest of all fish-catchers.
Out! out! my fishing-hook! In and down, thou
bait of my happiness! Drip thy sweetest dew,
thou honey of my heart! Bite, my fishing-hook,
into the belly of all black affliction!
Look out, look out, mine eye! Oh, how many
seas round about me, what dawning human futures!
And above me—what rosy red stillness! What
unclouded silence!
LXII. —THE CRY OF DISTRESS.
The next day sat Zarathustra again on the stone
in front of his cave, whilst his animals roved about
in the world outside to bring home new food,—also
new honey: for Zarathustra had spent and wasted


## p. 291 (#420) ############################################

2CJO THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
Therefore do I here wait, crafty and scornful
upon high mountains, no impatient one, no patient
one; rather one who hath even unlearnt patience,
—because he no longer " suffereth. "
For my fate giveth me time: it hath forgotten
me perhaps? Or doth it sit behind a big stone
and catch flies?
And verily, I am well-disposed to mine eternal
fate, because it doth not hound and hurry me, but
leaveth me time for merriment and mischief; so
that I have to-day ascended this high mountain
to catch fish.
Did ever any one catch fish upon high moun-
tains? And though it be a folly what I here seek
and do, it is better so than that down below I
should become solemn with waiting, and green and
yellow—
—A posturing wrath-snorter with waiting, a holy
howl-storm from the mountains, an impatient one
that shouteth down into the valleys: "Hearken,
else I will scourge you with the scourge of God! "
Not that I would have a grudge against such
wrathful ones on that account: they are well
enough for laughter to me! Impatient must they
now be, those big alarm-drums, which find a voice
now or never!
Myself, however, and my fate—we do not talk
to the Present, neither do we talk to the Never:
for talking we have patience and time and more
than time. For one day must it yet come, and
may not pass by.
What must one day come and may not pass by?
Our great Hazar, that is to say, our great, remote
-"
"


## p. 291 (#421) ############################################

LXI. —THE HONEY SACRIFICE. 291
human-kingdom, the Zarathustra-kingdom of a
thousand years
How remote may such " remoteness " be? What
doth it concern me? But on that account it is
none the less sure unto me—, with both feet stand
I secure on this ground;
—On an eternal ground, on hard primary rock, on
this highest, hardest, primary mountain-ridge, unto
which all winds come, as unto the storm-parting,
asking Where? and Whence? and Whither?
Here laugh, laugh, my hearty, healthy wicked-
ness! From high mountains cast down thy
glittering scorn-laughter! Allure for me with
thy glittering the finest human fish!
And whatever belongeth unto me in all seas, my
in-and-for-me in all things—fish that out for me,
bring that up to me: for that do I wait, the
wickedest of all fish-catchers.
Out! out! my fishing-hook! In and down, thou
bait of my happiness! Drip thy sweetest dew,
thou honey of my heart! Bite, my fishing-hook,
into the belly of all black affliction!
Look out, look out, mine eye! Oh, how many
seas round about me, what dawning human futures!
And above me—what rosy red stillness! What
unclouded silence!
LXII. —THE CRY OF DISTRESS.
The next day sat Zarathustra again on the stone
in front of his cave, whilst his animals roved about
in the world outside to bring home new food,—also
new honey: for Zarathustra had spent and wasted


## p. 291 (#422) ############################################

200 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
Therefore do I here wait, crafty and scornful
upon high mountains, no impatient one, no patient
one; rather one who hath even unlearnt patience,
—because he no longer " suffereth. "
For my fate giveth me time: it hath forgotten
me perhaps? Or doth it sit behind a big stone
and catch flies?
And verily, I am well-disposed to mine eternal
fate, because it doth not hound and hurry me, but
leaveth me time for merriment and mischief; so
that I have to-day ascended this high mountain
to catch fish.
Did ever any one catch fish upon high moun-
tains?
And though it be a folly what I here seek
and do, it is better so than that down below I
should become solemn with waiting, and green and
yellow—
—A posturing wrath-snorter with waiting, a holy
howl-storm from the mountains, an impatient one
that shouteth down into the valleys: "Hearken,
else I will scourge you with the scourge of God! "
Not that I would have a grudge against such
wrathful ones on that account: they are well
enough for laughter to me! Impatient must they
now be, those big alarm-drums, which find a voice
now or never!
Myself, however, and my fate—we do not talk
to the Present, neither do we talk to the Never:
for talking we have patience and time and more
than time. For one day must it yet come, and
may not pass by.
What must one day come and may not pass by?
Our great Hazar, that is to say, our great, remote
^
";


## p. 291 (#423) ############################################

LXI. —THE HONEY SACRIFICE. 291
human-kingdom, the Zarathustra-kingdom of a
thousand years
How remote may such " remoteness " be? What
doth it concern me? But on that account it is
none the less sure unto me—, with both feet stand
I secure on this ground;
—On an eternal ground, on hard primary rock, on
this highest, hardest, primary mountain-ridge, unto
which all winds come, as unto the storm-parting,
asking Where? and Whence? and Whither?
Here laugh, laugh, my hearty, healthy wicked-
ness! From high mountains cast down thy
glittering scorn-laughter! Allure for me with
thy glittering the finest human fish!
And whatever belongeth unto me in all seas, my
in-and-for-me in all things—fish that out for me,
bring that up to me: for that do I wait, the
wickedest of all fish-catchers.
Out! out! my fishing-hook! In and down, thou
bait of my happiness! Drip thy sweetest dew,
thou honey of my heart! Bite, my fishing-hook,
into the belly of all black affliction!
Look out, look out, mine eye! Oh, how many
seas round about me, what dawning human futures!
And above me—what rosy red stillness! What
unclouded silence!
LXII. —THE CRY OF DISTRESS.
The next day sat Zarathustra again on the stone
in front of his cave, whilst his animals roved about
in the world outside to bring home new food,—also
new honey: for Zarathustra had spent and wasted


## p. 291 (#424) ############################################

200 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
Therefore do I here wait, crafty and scornful
upon high mountains, no impatient one, no patient
one; rather one who hath even unlearnt patience,
—because he no longer " suflereth. "
For my fate giveth me time: it hath forgotten
me perhaps? Or doth it sit behind a big stone
and catch flies?
And verily, I am well-disposed to mine eternal
fate, because it doth not hound and hurry me, but
leaveth me time for merriment and mischief; so
that I have to-day ascended this high mountain
to catch fish.
Did ever any one catch fish upon high moun-
tains? And though it be a folly what I here seek
and do, it is better so than that down below I
should become solemn with waiting, and green and
yellow—
—A posturing wrath-snorter with waiting, a holy
howl-storm from the mountains, an impatient one
that shouteth down into the valleys: "Hearken,
else I will scourge you with the scourge of God! "
Not that I would have a grudge against such
wrathful ones on that account: they are well
enough for laughter to me! Impatient must they
now be, those big alarm-drums, which find a voice
now or never!
Myself, however, and my fate—we do not talk
to the Present, neither do we talk to the Never:
for talking we have patience and time and more
than time. For one day must it yet come, and
may not pass by.
What must one day come and may not pass by?
Our great Hazar, that is to say, our great, remote
""
",


## p. 291 (#425) ############################################

LXI. —THE HONEY SACRIFICE. 291
human-kingdom, the Zarathustra-kingdom of a
thousand years
How remote may such " remoteness " be? What
doth it concern me? But on that account it is
none the less sure unto me—, with both feet stand
I secure on this ground;
—On an eternal ground, on hard primary rock, on
this highest, hardest, primary mountain-ridge, unto
which all winds come, as unto the storm-parting,
asking Where? and Whence? and Whither?
Here laugh, laugh, my hearty, healthy wicked-
ness! From high mountains cast down thy
glittering scorn-laughter! Allure for me with
thy glittering the finest human fish!
And whatever belongeth unto me in all seas, my
in-and-for-me in all things—fish that out for me,
bring that up to me: for that do I wait, the
wickedest of all fish-catchers.
Out! out! my fishing-hook! In and down, thou
bait of my happiness! Drip thy sweetest dew,
thou honey of my heart! Bite, my fishing-hook,
into the belly of all black affliction!
Look out, look out, mine eye! Oh, how many
seas round about me, what dawning human futures!
And above me—what rosy red stillness! What
unclouded silence!
LXIL—THE CRY OF DISTRESS.
The next day sat Zarathustra again on the stone
in front of his cave, whilst his animals roved about
in the world outside to bring home new food,—also
new honey: for Zarathustra had spent and wasted


## p. 292 (#426) ############################################

292 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
the old honey to the very last particle. When he
thus sat, however, with a stick in his hand, tracing
the shadow of his figure on the earth, and reflect-
ing—verily! not upon himself and his shadow,—all
at once he startled and shrank back: for he saw
another shadow beside his own. And when he
hastily looked around and stood up, behold, there
stood the soothsayer beside him, the same whom
he had once given to eat and drink at his table,
the proclaimer of the great weariness, who taught:
"All is alike, nothing is worth while, the world
is without meaning, knowledge strangleth. " But
his face had changed since then; and when
Zarathustra looked into his eyes, his heart was
startled once more: so much evil announcement and
ashy-grey lightnings passed over that countenance.
The soothsayer, who had perceived what went
on in Zarathustra's soul, wiped his face with his
hand, as if he would wipe out the impression; the
same did also Zarathustra. And when both of
them had thus silently composed and strengthened
themselves, they gave each other the hand, as a
token that they wanted once more to recognise
each other.
"Welcome hither," said Zarathustra, "thou sooth-
sayer of the great weariness, not in vain shalt thou
once have been my messmate and guest. Eat
and drink also with me to-day, and forgive it that
a cheerful old man sitteth with thee at table! "—
"A cheerful old man? " answered the soothsayer,
shaking his head, " but whoever thou art, or wouldst
be, O Zarathustra, thou hast been here aloft the
longest time,—in a little while thy bark shall no


## p. 293 (#427) ############################################

LXII. —THE CRY OF DISTRESS. 293
longer rest on dry land ! "—" Do I then rest on dry
land ? "—asked Zarathustra laughing. —" The waves
around thy mountain," answered the soothsayer,
"rise and rise, the waves of great distress and
affliction: they will soon raise thy bark also and
carry thee away. " — Thereupon was Zarathustra
silent and wondered. —" Dost thou still hear no-
thing" continued the soothsayer: "doth it not rush
and roar out of the depth ? "—Zarathustra was silent
once more and listened: then heard he a long, long
cry, which the abysses threw to one another and
passed on; for none of them wished to retain it:
so evil did it sound.
"Thou ill announcer," said Zarathustra at last,
"that is a cry of distress, and the cry of a man; it
may come perhaps out of a black sea. But what
doth human distress matter to me! My last sin
which hath been reserved for me,—knowest thou
what it is called? "
—"Pity! " answered the soothsayer from an
overflowing heart, and raised both his hands aloft—
"O Zarathustra, I have come that I may seduce
thee to thy last sin ! "—
And hardly had those words been uttered when
there sounded the cry once more, and longer and
more alarming than before—also much nearer.
"Hearest thou? Hearest thou, O Zarathustra? "
called out the soothsayer, " the cry concerneth thee,
it calleth thee: Come, come, come; it is time, it
is the highest time! "—
Zarathustra was silent thereupon, confused and
staggered; at last he asked, like one who hesitateth
in himself: "And who is it that there calleth me? "


## p. 294 (#428) ############################################

294
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
“But thou knowest it, certainly,” answered the
soothsayer warmly," why dost thou conceal thyself?
It is the higher man that crieth for thee! ”
“The higher man? ” cried Zarathustra, horror-
stricken : “what wanteth he? What wanteth he?
The higher man! What wanteth he here? ”—and
his skin covered with perspiration.
The soothsayer, however, did not heed Zara-
thustra's alarm, but listened and listened in the
downward direction. When, however, it had been
still there for a long while, he looked bebind, and
saw Zarathustra standing trembling.
"O Zarathustra,” he began, with sorrowful voice,
"thou dost not stand there like one whose happiness
maketh him giddy : thou wilt have to dance lest
thou tumble down!
But although thou shouldst dance before me, and
leap all thy side-leaps, no one may say unto me :
'Behold, here danceth the last joyous man! '.
In vain would any one come to this height who
sought him here : caves would he find, indeed, and
back-caves, hiding-places for hidden ones; but not
lucky mines, nor treasure-chambers, nor new gold-
veins of happiness.
Happiness-how indeed could one find happiness
among such buried-alive and solitary ones! Must I
yet seek the last happiness on the Happy Isles, and
far away among forgotten seas?
But all is alike, nothing is worth while, no seek-
ing is of service, there are no longer any Happy
Isles ! "- -
Thus sighed the soothsayer ; with his last sigh,


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LXII. —THE CRY OF DISTRESS. 295
Lowever, Zarathustra again became serene and
issured, like one who hath come out of a deep chasm
nto the light. "Nay! Nay! Three times Nay! "
exclaimed he with a strong voice, and stroked his
beard—" that do I know better! There are still
Happy Isles! Silence thereon, thou sighing sorrow-
sack!
Cease to splash thereon, thou rain-cloud of the
forenoon! Do I not already stand here wet with
thy misery, and drenched like a dog?
Now do I shake myself and run away from thee,
that I may again become dry: thereat mayest thou
not wonder! Do I seem to thee discourteous?
Here however is my court.
But as regards the higher man : well! I shall seek
him at once in those forests: from thence came his
cry. Perhaps he is there hard beset by an evil beast.
He is in my domain: therein shall he receive no
scath! And verily, there are many evil beasts
about me. "—
With those words Zarathustra turned around to
depart. Then said the soothsayer: "O Zara-
thustra, thou art a rogue!
I know it well: thou wouldst fain be rid of me!
Rather wouldst thou run into the forest and lay
snares for evil beasts!
But what good will it do thee? In the evening
wilt thou have me again: in thine own cave will I
sit, patient and heavy like a block—and wait for
thee! "
"So be it! " shouted back Zarathustra, as he went
away: "and what is mine in my cave belongeth
also unto thee, my guest |



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296
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
Shouldst thou however find honey therein, well !
just lick it up, thou growling bear, and sweeten thy
soul! For in the evening we want both to be in
good spirits;
-In good spirits and joyful, because this day
hath come to an end! And thou thyself shalt
dance to my lays, as my dancing-bear.
Thou dost not believe this? Thou shakest thy
head? Well! Cheer up, old bear! But I also,
am a soothsayer. ”
Thus spake Zarathustra.
LXIII. -TALK WITH THE KINGS.
Ere Zarathustra had been an hour on his way in
the mountains and forests, he saw all at once a
strange procession. Right on the path which he
was about to descend came two kings walking,
bedecked with crowns and purple girdles, and
variegated like flamingoes : they drove before them
a laden ass. “What do these kings want in my
domain ? ” said Zarathustra in astonishment to
his heart, and hid himself hastily behind a
thicket. When however the kings approached
to him, he said half-aloud, like one speaking
only to himself: “Strange! Strange! How doth
this harmonise? Two kings do I see—and only
one ass! "
Thereupon the two kings made a halt; they
smiled and looked towards the spot whence the


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LXIII. —TALK WITH THE KINGS. 297
voice proceeded, and afterwards looked into each
other's faces. "Such things do we also think
among ourselves," said the king on the right, " but
we do not utter them. "
The king on the left, however, shrugged his
shoulders and answered: "That may perhaps be a
goat herd. Or an anchorite who hath lived too
long among rocks and trees. For no society at all
spoileth also good manners. "
"Good manners? " replied angrily and bitterly
the other king: "what then do we run out of the
way of? Is it not 'good manners'? Our 'good
society'?
Better, verily, to live among anchorites and goat-
herds, than with our gilded, false, over-rouged
populace—though it call itself' good society. '
—Though it call itself' nobility. ' But there all is
false and foul, above all the blood—thanks to old
evil diseases and worse curers.
The best and dearest to me at present is still a
sound peasant, coarse, artful, obstinate and en-
during: that is at present the noblest type.
The peasant is at present the best; and the
peasant type should be master! But it is the
kingdom of the populace—I no longer allow any-
thing to be imposed upon me. The populace,
however—that meaneth, hodgepodge.
Populace-hodgepodge: therein is everything
mixed with everything, saint and swindler, gentle-
man and Jew, and every beast out of Noah's ark.
Good manners! Everything is false and foul with
us. No one knoweth any longer how to reverence:
it is that precisely that we run away from. They


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298
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
are fulsome obtrusive dogs; they gild palm-
leaves.
This loathing choketh me, that we kings our-
selves have become false, draped and disguised with
the old faded pomp of our ancestors, show-pieces
for the stupidest, the craftiest, and whosoever at
present trafficketh for power.
We are not the first men—and have nevertheless
to stand for them: of this imposture have we at
last become weary and disgusted.
From the rabble have we gone out of the way,
from all those bawlers and scribe-blowflies, from
the trader-stench, the ambition-fidgeting, the bad
breath : fie, to live among the rabble ;
-Fie, to stand for the first men among the
rabble! Ah, loathing! Loathing! Loathing !
What doth it now matter about us kings ! "-
" Thine old sickness seizeth thee,” said here the
king on the left,“thy loathing seizeth thee, my poor
brother. Thou knowest, however, that some one
heareth us.