Thus Spake Zarathustra [117]
dripped thy song and thy honey: all the hidden ones, the lone-dwellers and the twain-dwellers, have simultaneously said to their hearts:
'Doth Zarathustra still live? It is no longer worth while to live, everything is indifferent, everything is useless: or else--we must live with Zarathustra!'
'Why doth he not come who hath so long announced himself?' thus do many people ask; 'hath solitude swallowed him up? Or should we perhaps go to him?'
Now doth it come to pass that solitude itself becometh fragile and breaketh open, like a grave that breaketh open and can no longer hold its dead. Everywhere one seeth resurrected ones.
Now do the waves rise and rise around thy mountain, O Zarathustra. And however high be thy height, many of them must rise up to thee: thy boat shall not rest much longer on dry ground.
And that we despairing ones have now come into thy cave, and already no longer despair:--it is but a prognostic and a presage that better ones are on the way to thee,--
--For they themselves are on the way to thee, the last remnant of God among men--that is to say, all the men of great longing, of great loathing, of great satiety,
--All who do not want to live unless they learn again to HOPE--unless they learn from thee, O Zarathustra, the GREAT hope!"
Thus spake the king on the right, and seized the hand of Zarathustra in order to kiss it; but Zarathustra checked his veneration, and stepped back frightened, fleeing as it were, silently and suddenly into the far distance. After a little while, however, he was again at home with his guests, looked at them with clear scrutinising eyes, and said:
"My guests, ye higher men, I will speak plain language and plainly with you. It is not for YOU that I have waited here in these mountains."
("'Plain language and plainly?' Good God!" said here the king on the left to himself; "one seeth he doth not know the good Occidentals, this sage out of the Orient!
But he meaneth 'blunt language and bluntly'--well! That is not the worst taste in these days!")
"Ye may, verily, all of you be higher men," continued Zarathustra; "but for me--ye are neither high enough, nor strong enough.
For me, that is to say, for the inexorable which is now silent in me, but will not always be silent. And if ye appertain to me, still it is not as my right arm.
For he who himself standeth, like you, on sickly and tender legs, wisheth above all to be TREATED INDULGENTLY, whether he be conscious of it or hide it from himself.
My arms and my legs, however, I do not treat indulgently, I DO NOT TREAT MY WARRIORS INDULGENTLY: how then could ye be fit for MY warfare?
With you I should spoil all my victories. And many of you would tumble over if ye but heard the loud beating of my drums.
Moreover, ye are not sufficiently beautiful and well-born for me. I require pure, smooth mirrors for my doctrines; on your surface even mine own likeness is distorted.
On your shoulders presseth many a burden, many a recollection; many a mischievous dwarf squatteth in your corners. There is concealed populace also in you.
And though ye be high and of a higher type, much in you is crooked and misshapen. There is no smith in the world that could hammer you right and straight for me.
Ye are only bridges: may higher ones pass over upon you! Ye signify steps: so do not upbraid him who ascendeth beyond you into HIS height!
Out of your seed there may one day arise for me a genuine son and perfect heir: but that time is distant. Ye yourselves are not those unto whom my heritage and name belong.
Not for you do I wait here in these mountains; not with you may I descend for the last time. Ye have come unto me only as a presage that higher ones are on the way to me,--
--NOT the men of great longing, of great loathing, of great satiety, and that which ye call the remnant of God;
--Nay! Nay! Three times Nay! For OTHERS do I wait here in these mountains, and will not lift my foot from thence without them;
--For higher ones, stronger ones, triumphanter ones,
'Doth Zarathustra still live? It is no longer worth while to live, everything is indifferent, everything is useless: or else--we must live with Zarathustra!'
'Why doth he not come who hath so long announced himself?' thus do many people ask; 'hath solitude swallowed him up? Or should we perhaps go to him?'
Now doth it come to pass that solitude itself becometh fragile and breaketh open, like a grave that breaketh open and can no longer hold its dead. Everywhere one seeth resurrected ones.
Now do the waves rise and rise around thy mountain, O Zarathustra. And however high be thy height, many of them must rise up to thee: thy boat shall not rest much longer on dry ground.
And that we despairing ones have now come into thy cave, and already no longer despair:--it is but a prognostic and a presage that better ones are on the way to thee,--
--For they themselves are on the way to thee, the last remnant of God among men--that is to say, all the men of great longing, of great loathing, of great satiety,
--All who do not want to live unless they learn again to HOPE--unless they learn from thee, O Zarathustra, the GREAT hope!"
Thus spake the king on the right, and seized the hand of Zarathustra in order to kiss it; but Zarathustra checked his veneration, and stepped back frightened, fleeing as it were, silently and suddenly into the far distance. After a little while, however, he was again at home with his guests, looked at them with clear scrutinising eyes, and said:
"My guests, ye higher men, I will speak plain language and plainly with you. It is not for YOU that I have waited here in these mountains."
("'Plain language and plainly?' Good God!" said here the king on the left to himself; "one seeth he doth not know the good Occidentals, this sage out of the Orient!
But he meaneth 'blunt language and bluntly'--well! That is not the worst taste in these days!")
"Ye may, verily, all of you be higher men," continued Zarathustra; "but for me--ye are neither high enough, nor strong enough.
For me, that is to say, for the inexorable which is now silent in me, but will not always be silent. And if ye appertain to me, still it is not as my right arm.
For he who himself standeth, like you, on sickly and tender legs, wisheth above all to be TREATED INDULGENTLY, whether he be conscious of it or hide it from himself.
My arms and my legs, however, I do not treat indulgently, I DO NOT TREAT MY WARRIORS INDULGENTLY: how then could ye be fit for MY warfare?
With you I should spoil all my victories. And many of you would tumble over if ye but heard the loud beating of my drums.
Moreover, ye are not sufficiently beautiful and well-born for me. I require pure, smooth mirrors for my doctrines; on your surface even mine own likeness is distorted.
On your shoulders presseth many a burden, many a recollection; many a mischievous dwarf squatteth in your corners. There is concealed populace also in you.
And though ye be high and of a higher type, much in you is crooked and misshapen. There is no smith in the world that could hammer you right and straight for me.
Ye are only bridges: may higher ones pass over upon you! Ye signify steps: so do not upbraid him who ascendeth beyond you into HIS height!
Out of your seed there may one day arise for me a genuine son and perfect heir: but that time is distant. Ye yourselves are not those unto whom my heritage and name belong.
Not for you do I wait here in these mountains; not with you may I descend for the last time. Ye have come unto me only as a presage that higher ones are on the way to me,--
--NOT the men of great longing, of great loathing, of great satiety, and that which ye call the remnant of God;
--Nay! Nay! Three times Nay! For OTHERS do I wait here in these mountains, and will not lift my foot from thence without them;
--For higher ones, stronger ones, triumphanter ones,