«Not at all,» said Zarathustra, «you have made danger your calling; there is nothing contemptible in that. Now you perish by your calling: therefore I will bury you with my own hands.»
When Zarathustra had said this the dying one did not reply further; but he moved his hand as if he sought the hand of Zarathustra in gratitude.
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7.
Meanwhile the evening came on, and the market-place veiled itself in gloom. Then the people dispersed, for even curiosity and terror become fatigued. Zarathustra, however, still sat beside the dead man on the ground, absorbed in thought: so he forgot the time. But at last it became night, and a cold wind blew upon the lonely one. Then Zarathustra rose and said to his heart:
A fine catch of fish has Zarathustra made to-day! It is not a man he has caught, but a corpse.
Human life is inexplicable, and still without meaning: a fool may de-cide its fate.
I will teach men the meaning of their existence: the Superman, the lightning out of the dark cloud- man.
But I am still far from them, and my sense does not speak to their sense. To men I am something between a fool and a corpse.
Gloomy is the night, gloomy are the ways of Zarathustra. Come, you cold and stiff companion! I carry you to the place where I shall bury you with my own hands.
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8.
When Zarathustra had said this to his heart, he put the corpse upon his shoulders and set out on his way. Yet he had not gone a hundred steps, when a man stole up to him and whispered in his ear- and lo! It was the fool from the tower. «Leave this town, O Zarathustra,» said he, «there are too many here who hate you. The good and the just hate you, and call you their enemy and despiser; the believers in the orthodox belief hate you, and call you a danger to the multitude. It was your good fortune to be laughed at: and verily you spoke like a fool. It was your good fortune to stoop to the dead dog; by so lowering yourself you have saved your life today. Depart, however, from this town,- or tomorrow I shall jump over you, a living man over a dead one.» And when he had said this, the fool vanished; but Zarathustra went on through the dark streets.
At the gate of the town the grave-diggers met him: they shone their torch on his face, and, recognizing Zarathustra, they sorely derided him. «Zarathustra is carrying away the dead dog: a fine thing that Zarathustra has become a grave-digger! For our hands are too clean for that roast. Will Zarathustra steal a bite from the devil? Well then, good luck! If only the devil were not a better thief than Zarathustra!- he will steal them both, he will devour them both!» And they laughed among themselves, and put their heads together.
Zarathustra did not answer them, but went on his way. When he had gone on for two hours, past forests and swamps, he had heard too much of the hungry howling of the wolves, and he himself became hungry. So he halted at a lonely house in which a light was burning.
«Hunger attacks me,» said Zarathustra, «like a robber. Among forests and swamps my hunger attacks me, and late in the night.
«My hunger has strange moods. Often it comes to me only after a meal, and all day it has failed to come: where has it been?»
And so Zarathustra knocked at the door of the house. An old man ap-peared, who carried a light, and asked: «Who comes to me and my bad sleep?»
«A living man and a dead one,» said Zarathustra. «Give me something to eat and drink, I forgot it during the day. He that feeds the hungry re-freshes his own soul, says wisdom.»
The old man withdrew, but came back immediately and offered Zarathustra bread and wine. «A bad country for the hungry,» said he; «that is why I live here. Animal and man come to me, the hermit. But bid your companion eat and drink also, he is wearier than you.» Zarathustra
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answered: «My companion is dead; I can hardly persuade him to eat.» «That does not concern me,» said the old man sullenly; «he that knocks at my door must take what I offer him. Eat, and fare you well!»-
Thereafter Zarathustra went on again for two hours, trusting to the path and the light of the stars: for he was an experienced night-walker, and liked to look into the face of all that slept. When the morning dawned, however, Zarathustra found himself in a thick forest, and no path was any longer visible. He then put the dead man in a hollow tree at his head- for he wanted to protect him from the wolves- and laid down on the ground and moss. And immediately he fell asleep, tired in body, but with a tranquil soul.
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9.
Long slept Zarathustra; and not only the rosy dawn passed over his head, but also the morning. At last, however, his eyes opened, and amazedly he gazed into the forest and the stillness, amazedly he gazed into himself. Then he arose quickly, like a seafarer who all at once sees the land; and he shouted for joy: for he saw a new truth. And he spoke thus to his heart:
A light has dawned upon me: I need companions- living ones; not dead companions and corpses, which I carry with me whereever I go.
But I need living companions, who will follow me because they want to follow themselves- and to the place where I will. A light has dawned upon me. Zarathustra is not to speak to the people, but to companions! Zarathustra will not be shepherd and hound of the herd!
To steal many from the herd- for that purpose I have come. The people and the herd will be angry with me: the sheperds shall call Zarathustra a robber.
Shepherds, I say, but they call themselves the good and just. Shep-herds, I say, but they call themselves the believers in the orthodox belief.
Behold the good and just! Whom do they hate most? The man who breaks their tables of values, the breaker, the lawbreaker:- yet he is the creator.
Behold the believers of all beliefs! Whom do they hate most? The man who breaks up their tables of values, the breaker, the law-breaker- yet he is the creator.
The creator seeks companions, not corpses- and not herds or believers either. The creator seeks fellow-creators — those who grave new values on new law-tablets.
The creator seeks companions and fellow-reapers: for everything is ripe for the harvest with him. But he lacks the hundred sickles: so he plucks the ears of corn and is vexed.
The creator seeks companions, and such as know how to whet their sickles. They will be called destroyers, and despisers of good and evil. But they are the reapers and rejoicers.
Zarathustra seeks fellow-creators, fellow-reapers and fellow-rejoicers: what are herds and shepherds and corpses to him!
And you, my first companion, rest in peace! I have buried you well in your hollow tree; I have hidden you well from the wolves.
But I leave you; the time has arrived. Between rosy dawn and rosy dawn there came to me a new truth.
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I am not to be a shepherd, I am not to be a grave-digger. No longer will I speak to the people; for the last time I have spoken to the dead.
I will join the creators, the reapers, and the rejoicers: I will show them the rainbow, and all the steps to the Superman.
I will sing my song to the lonesome and to the twosome; and to who-ever who still has ears for the unheard, I will make his heart heavy with my happiness.
I make for my goal, I follow my course; over the loitering and tardy I will leap. Thus let my on-going be their down-going!
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10.
This had Zarathustra said to his heart when the sun stood at noon-tide. Then he looked inquiringly aloft,- for he heard above him the sharp call of a bird. And behold! An eagle swept through the air in wide circles, and on it hung a serpent, not like a prey, but like a friend: for it kept it-self coiled round the eagle’s neck.
«They are my animals,» said Zarathustra, and rejoiced in his heart. «The proudest animal under the sun, and the wisest animal under the
sun,- they have come out to search for me.
They want to know whether Zarathustra still lives. Do I still live?
I found it more dangerous among men than among animals; Zarathus-tra walks dangerous paths. Let my animals lead me!
When Zarathustra had said this, he remembered the words of the saint in the forest. Then he sighed and spoke thus to his heart:
«If only I were wiser! If only I were wise from the very heart, like my serpent!
But I am asking the impossible. Therefore I ask my pride to go always with my wisdom!
And if my wisdom should some day forsake me:- alas! it loves to fly away!- may my pride then fly with my folly!»
Thus began Zarathustra’s down-going.
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Part 2 Book 1
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Chapter 1
The Three Metamorphoses
OF THREE metamorphoses of the spirit do I tell you: how
