And talk first and foremost to mine
animals!
Nietzsche - v11 - Thus Spake Zarathustra
And
all at once there came over Zarathustra a great
shame, because he had gazed on such a thing.
Blushing up to the very roots of his white hair, he
turned aside his glance, and raised his foot that he
might leave this ill-starred place. Then, however,
became the dead wilderness vocal: for from the
ground a noise welled up, gurgling and rattling, as
water gurgleth and rattleth at night through
stopped-up water-pipes; and at last it turned into
human voice and human speech :-it sounded thụs :
"Zarathustra! Zarathustra! Read my riddle !
Say, say! What is the revenge on the witness ?
I entice thee back; here is smooth ice! See to
it, see to it, that thy pride do not here break its
legs !
Thou thinkest thyself wise, thou proud Zara-
thustra! Read then the riddle, thou hard nut-
cracker,—the riddle that I am! Say then : who
am I! "
-When however Zarathustra had heard these
words,—what think ye then took place in his soul ?
Pity overcame him; and he sank down all at once,
like an oak that hath long withstood many tree-
## p. 322 (#476) ############################################
322
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
fellers,—heavily, suddenly, to the terror even of
those who meant to fell it. But immediately he
got up again from the ground, and his countenance
became stern.
"I know thee well,” said he, with a brazen voice,
" thou art the murderer of God! Let me go.
Thou couldst not endure him who beheld thee,
-who ever beheld thee through and through, thou
ugliest man. Thou tookest revenge on this
witness ! ”
Thus spake Zarathustra and was about to go;
but the nondescript grasped at a corner of his
garment and began anew to gurgle and seek for
words. “Stay,” said he at last-
_"Stay! Do not pass by! I have divined what
axe it was that struck thee to the ground: hail to
thee, O Zarathustra, that thou art again upon
thy feet !
Thou hast divined, I know it well, how the man
feeleth who killed him,—the murderer of God.
Stay! Sit down here beside me; it is not to no
purpose.
To whom would I go but unto thee? Stay, sit
down! Do not however look at me! Honour thus
-mine ugliness!
They persecute me: now art thou my last refuge.
Not with their hatred, not with their bailiffs ;-Oh,
such persecution would I mock at, and be proud
and cheerful !
Hath not all success hitherto been with the well-
persecuted ones? And he who persecuteth well
learneth readily to be obsequent-when once he is,
put behind! But it is their pity-
## p. 323 (#477) ############################################
LXVII. —THE UGLIEST MAN.
323
-Their pity is it from which I flee away and flee
to thee. O Zarathustra, protect me, thou, my last
refuge, thou sole one who divinedst me:
- Thou hast divined how the man feeleth who
killed him. Stay! And if thou wilt go, thou im-
patient one, go not the way that I came. That
way is bad.
Art thou angry with me because I have already
racked language too long? Because I have already
counselled thee? But know that it is I, the ugliest
man,
-Who have also the largest, heaviest feet.
Where I have gone, the way is bad. I tread all
paths to death and destruction.
But that thou passedst me by in silence, that thou
blushedst— I saw it well : thereby did I know thee
as Zarathustra.
Every one else would have thrown to me his alms,
his pity, in look and speech. But for that, I am
not beggar enough: that didst thou divine.
For that I am too rich, rich in what is great,
frightful, ugliest, most unutterable! Thy shame, O
Zarathustra, honoured me!
With difficulty did I get out of the crowd of the
pitiful,—that I might find the only one who at
present teacheth that 'pity is obtrusive'-thyself,
O Zarathustra !
-Whether it be the pity of a God, or whether it
be human pity, it is offensive to modesty. And
unwillingness to help may be nobler than the virtue
that rusheth to do so.
That however-namely, pity-is called virtue
itself at present by all petty people :they have
## p. 324 (#478) ############################################
324
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
no reverence for great misfortune, great ugliness,
great failure.
Beyond all these do I look, as a dog looketh over
the backs of thronging flocks of sheep. They are
petty, good-wooled, good-willed, grey people.
As the heron looketh contemptuously at shallow
pools, with backward-bent head, so do I look at the
throng of grey little waves and wills and souls.
Too long have we acknowledged them to be
right, those petty people : so we have at last given
them power as well ;—and now do they teach that
'good is only what petty people call good. '
And truth' is at present what the preacher spake
who himself sprang from them, that singular saint
and advocate of the petty people, who testified of
himself: ‘I-am the truth. '
That immodest one hath long made the petty
people greatly puffed up, he who taught no small
error when he taught: 'I-am the truth. '
Hath an immodest one ever been answered
more courteously ? —Thou, however, O Zarathustra,
passedst him by, and saidst : ‘Nay! Nay! Three
times Nay! ”.
Thou warnedst against his error; thou warnedst
-the first to do so—against pity :—not every one,
not none, but thyself and thy type.
Thou art ashamed of the shame of the great
sufferer ; and verily when thou sayest: ‘From pity
there cometh a heavy cloud; take heed ye men! '
-When thou teachest : ‘All creators are hard,
all great love is beyond their pity:' O Zarathustra,
how well versed dost thou seem to me in weather-
signs !
## p. 325 (#479) ############################################
LXVII. —THE UGLIEST MAN. 325
Thou thyself, however,—warn thyself also against
thy pity! For many are on their way to thee,
many suffering, doubting, despairing, drowning,
freezing ones—
I warn thee also against myself. Thou hast read
my best, my worst riddle, myself, and what I have
done. I know the axe that felleth thee.
But he—had to die: he looked with eyes which
beheld everything,—he beheld men's depths and
dregs, all his hidden ignominy and ugliness.
His pity knew no modesty: he crept into my
dirtiest corners. This most prying, over-intrusive,
over-pitiful one had to die.
He ever beheld me: on such a witness I would
have revenge—or not live myself.
The God who beheld everything, and also man:
that God had to die! Man cannot endure it that
such a witness should live. "
Thus spake the ugliest man. Zarathustra how-
ever got up, and prepared to go on: for he felt
frozen to the very bowels.
"Thou nondescript," said he, " thou warnedst me
against thy path. As thanks for it I praise mine
to thee. Behold, up thither is the cave of
Zarathustra.
My cave is large and deep and hath many
corners; there findeth he that is most hidden his
hiding-place. And close beside it, there are a
hundred lurking-places and by-places for creeping,
fluttering, and hopping creatures.
Thou outcast, who hast cast thyself out, thou
wilt not live amongst men and men's pity? Well
## p. 326 (#480) ############################################
324
THUS SPAK KE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
Tius wilt thou learn also froi
meth.
foremost to mine animals!
md the wisest animal-
right counsellors for cs
no reverence for gre
great failure.
Beyond all these d(
the backs of throngir
Petty. good-wooled, g(
As the heron looket
pools, with backward-t
throng of grey little Wc
Too long have we
right, those petty peopl;
them power as well;—;
'good is only what petb
And ' truth' is at prest
who himself sprang fron
and advocate of the pel
himself: 'I—am the trut
That immodest one h*
people greatly puffed up, X
error when he taught: 'I
Hath an immodest o
more courteously? —Thou^rw-
passedst him by, and said "it
times Nay! '
Thouwarnedst against I'^esi-n«
—the first to do so—again ^at -no«
not none, but thyself and tl^at ^
Thou art ashamed of r
sufferer; and verily when tl
there cometh a heavy cloud
—When thou teachest:
all great love is beyond theii^*^1 . in mw^
how well versed dost thou st"
signs!
id went his way, more
• than before: for he
A hardly knew what
hought he in hii
w full of hidden
^elf. Ah, how
ich contempt
'5 he hath
-th he is,
^ughly
Mas,
-J
tTSER.
## p. 327 (#481) ############################################
VOLUNTARY BEGGAR.
327
,::
,x
-l»to thee.
:*» Ihx«e
-e.
~-", *ye which
'^deprhs aad
-^pt mto ray
-"^cr-mtruave.
^xas I would
'**i »im man . .
', «4«r* it that
*rathustra here-
on: for be <elt
011 wamedst me
it I praise mine
is the cave of
and hath many
s most hidden*^
laces for creep
^ th°u
thy** °f *•*
men's Plry
lows, though also sometimes
les where formerly perhaps
ad made its bed, then he
ler and heartier again.
led unto me? " he asked
irm and living quickeneth
iighbourhood.
alone; unconscious com-
e around me; their warm
ed about and sought for
esomeness, behold, there
ogether on an eminence,
ll had warmed his heart.
i to listen eagerly to a
of him who approached.
a was quite nigh unto
nly that a human voice
ne; and apparently all
ds towards the speaker.
speedily and drove the
d that some one had
the pity of the kine
j. But in this he was
a man on the ground
he animals to have no
ind Preacher-on-the-
Iness itself preached.
"called out Zara-
nswered he: "the
:hief-maker! that is
/
## p. 327 (#482) ############################################
326
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
then, do like me! Thus wilt thou learn also from
me; only the doer learneth.
And talk first and foremost to mine animals!
The proudest animal and the wisest animal-
they might well be the right counsellors for us
both ! "--
Thus spake Zarathustra and went his way, more
thoughtfully and slowly even than before: for he
asked himself many things, and hardly knew what
to answer.
“How poor indeed is man,” thought he in his
heart, “how ugly, how wheezy, how full of hidden
shame!
They tell me that man loveth himself. Ah, how
great must that self-love be! How much contempt
is opposed to it!
Even this man hath loved himself, as he hath
despised himself,—a great lover methinketh he is,
and a great despiser.
No one have I yet found who more thoroughly
despised himself: even that is elevation. Alas,
was this perhaps the higher man whose cry. I
heard ?
I love the great despisers. Man is something
that hath to be surpassed. "--
LXVIII. —THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR.
When Zarathustra had left the ugliest man, he
was chilled and felt lonesome: for much coldness
and lonesomeness came over his spirit, so that even
his limbs became colder thereby. When, how-
ever, he wandered on and on, uphill and down, at
## p. 327 (#483) ############################################
LXVIII. —THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR. 327
times past green meadows, though also sometimes
over wild stony couches where formerly perhaps
an impatient brook had made its bed, then he
turned all at once warmer and heartier again.
"What hath happened unto me? " he asked
himself, "something warm and living quickeneth
me; it must be in the neighbourhood.
Already am I less alone; unconscious com-
panions and brethren rove around me; their warm
breath toucheth my soul. "
When, however, he spied about and sought for
the comforters of his lonesomeness, behold, there
were kine there standing together on an eminence,
whose proximity and smell had warmed his heart.
The kine, however, seemed to listen eagerly to a
speaker, and took no heed of him who approached.
When, however, Zarathustra was quite nigh unto
them, then did he hear plainly that a human voice
spake in the midst of the kine; and apparently all
of them had turned their heads towards the speaker.
Then ran Zarathustra up speedily and drove the
animals aside; for he feared that some one had
here met with harm, which the pity of the kine
would hardly be able to relieve. But in this he was
deceived; for behold, there sat a man on the ground
who seemed to be persuading the animals to have no
fear of him, a peaceable man and Preacher-on-the-
Mount, out of whose eyes kindness itself preached.
"What dost thou seek here? " called out Zara-
thustra in astonishment.
"What do I here seek? " answered he: "the
same that thou seekest, thou mischief-maker! that is
to say, happiness upon earth.
## p. 327 (#484) ############################################
326 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
then, do like me! Thus wilt thou learn also from
me; only the doer learneth.
And talk first and foremost to mine animals!
The proudest animal and the wisest animal—
they might well be the right counsellors for us
both! "
Thus spake Zarathustra and went his way, more
thoughtfully and slowly even than before: for he
asked himself many things, and hardly knew what
to answer.
"How poor indeed is man," thought he in his
heart, "how ugly, how wheezy, how full of hidden
shame!
They tell me that man loveth himself. Ah, how
great must that self-love be! How much contempt
is opposed to it!
Even this man hath loved himself, as he hath
despised himself,—a great lover methinketh he is,
and a great despiser.
No one have I yet found who more thoroughly
despised himself: even that is elevation. Alas,
was this perhaps the higher man whose cry I
heard?
I love the great despisers. Man is something
that hath to be surpassed. "
LXVIII. —THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR.
When Zarathustra had left the ugliest man, he
was chilled and felt lonesome: for much coldness
and lonesomeness came over his spirit, so that even
his limbs became colder thereby. When, how-
ever, he wandered on and on, uphill and down, at
1
## p. 327 (#485) ############################################
LXVIII. —THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR. 327
times past green meadows, though also sometimes
over wild stony couches where formerly perhaps
an impatient brook had made its bed, then he
turned all at once warmer and heartier again.
"What hath happened unto me? " he asked
himself, "something warm and living quickeneth
me; it must be in the neighbourhood.
Already am I less alone; unconscious com-
panions and brethren rove around me; their warm
breath toucheth my soul. "
When, however, he spied about and sought for
the comforters of his lonesomeness, behold, there
were kine there standing together on an eminence,
whose proximity and smell had warmed his heart.
The kine, however, seemed to listen eagerly to a
speaker, and took no heed of him who approached.
When, however, Zarathustra was quite nigh unto
them, then did he hear plainly that a human voice
spake in the midst of the kine; and apparently all
of them had turned their heads towards the speaker.
Then ran Zarathustra up speedily and drove the
animals aside; for he feared that some one had
here met with harm, which the pity of the kine
would hardly be able to relieve. But in this he was
deceived; for behold, there sat a man on the ground
who seemed to be persuading the animals to have no
fear of him, a peaceable man and Preacher-on-the-
Mount, out of whose eyes kindness itself preached.
"What dost thou seek here? " called out Zara-
thustra in astonishment.
"What do I here seek? " answered he: "the
same that thou seekest, thou mischief-maker! that is
to say, happiness upon earth.
## p. 327 (#486) ############################################
326 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
then, do like me! Thus wilt thou learn also from
me; only the doer learneth.
And talk first and foremost to mine animals!
The proudest animal and the wisest animal—
they might well be the right counsellors for us
both! "
Thus spake Zarathustra and went his way, more
thoughtfully and slowly even than before: for he
asked himself many things, and hardly knew what
to answer.
"How poor indeed is man," thought he in his
heart, "how ugly, how wheezy, how full of hidden
shame!
They tell me that man loveth himself. Ah, how
great must that self-love be! How much contempt
is opposed to it!
Even this man hath loved himself, as he hath
despised himself,—a great lover methinketh he is,
and a great despiser.
No one have I yet found who more thoroughly
despised himself: even that is elevation. Alas,
was this perhaps the higher man whose cry I
heard?
I love the great despisers. Man is something
that hath to be surpassed. "
LXVIII. —THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR.
When Zarathustra had left the ugliest man, he
was chilled and felt lonesome: for much coldness
and lonesomeness came over his spirit, so that even
his limbs became colder thereby. When, how-
ever, he wandered on and on, uphill and down, at
r
1
## p. 327 (#487) ############################################
LXVIII. —THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR. 327
times past green meadows, though also sometimes
over wild stony couches where formerly perhaps
an impatient brook had made its bed, then he
turned all at once warmer and heartier again.
"What hath happened unto me? " he asked
himself, "something warm and living quickeneth
me; it must be in the neighbourhood.
Already am I less alone; unconscious com-
panions and brethren rove around me; their warm
breath toucheth my soul. "
When, however, he spied about and sought for
the comforters of his lonesomeness, behold, there
were kine there standing together on an eminence,
whose proximity and smell had warmed his heart.
The kine, however, seemed to listen eagerly to a
speaker, and took no heed of him who approached.
When, however, Zarathustra was quite nigh unto
them, then did he hear plainly that a human voice
spake in the midst of the kine; and apparently all
of them had turned their heads towards the speaker.
Then ran Zarathustra up speedily and drove the
animals aside; for he feared that some one had
here met with harm, which the pity of the kine
would hardly be able to relieve. But in this he was
deceived; for behold, there sat a man on the ground
who seemed to be persuading the animals to have no
fear of him, a peaceable man and Preacher-on-the-
Mount, out of whose eyes kindness itself preached.
"What dost thou seek here? " called out Zara-
thustra in astonishment.
"What do I here seek? " answered he: "the
same that thou seekest, thou mischief-maker! that is
to say, happiness upon earth.
## p. 327 (#488) ############################################
326 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
then, do like me! Thus wilt thou learn also from
me; only the doer learneth.
And talk first and foremost to mine animals!
The proudest animal and the wisest animal—
they might well be the right counsellors for us
both! "
Thus spake Zarathustra and went his way, more
thoughtfully and slowly even than before: for he
asked himself many things, and hardly knew what
to answer.
"How poor indeed is man," thought he in his
heart, "how ugly, how wheezy, how full of hidden
shame!
They tell me that man loveth himself. Ah, how
great must that self-love be! How much contempt
is opposed to it!
Even this man hath loved himself, as he hath
despised himself,—a great lover methinketh he is,
and a great despiser.
No one have I yet found who more thoroughly
despised himself: even that is elevation. Alas,
was this perhaps the higher man whose cry I
heard?
I love the great despisers. Man is something
that hath to be surpassed. "
LXVIII. —THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR.
When Zarathustra had left the ugliest man, he
was chilled and felt lonesome: for much coldness
and lonesomeness came over his spirit, so that even
his limbs became colder thereby. When, how-
ever, he wandered on and on, uphill and down, at
1
## p. 327 (#489) ############################################
LXVIII. —THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR. 327
times past green meadows, though also sometimes
over wild stony couches where formerly perhaps
an impatient brook had made its bed, then he
turned all at once warmer and heartier again.
"What hath happened unto me? " he asked
himself, "something warm and living quickeneth
me; it must be in the neighbourhood.
Already am I less alone; unconscious com-
panions and brethren rove around me; their warm
breath toucheth my soul. "
When, however, he spied about and sought for
the comforters of his lonesomeness, behold, there
were kine there standing together on an eminence,
whose proximity and smell had warmed his heart.
The kine, however, seemed to listen eagerly to a
speaker, and took no heed of him who approached.
When, however, Zarathustra was quite nigh unto
them, then did he hear plainly that a human voice
spake in the midst of the kine; and apparently all
of them had turned their heads towards the speaker.
Then ran Zarathustra up speedily and drove the
animals aside; for he feared that some one had
here met with harm, which the pity of the kine
would hardly be able to relieve. But in this he was
deceived; for behold, there sat a man on the ground
who seemed to be persuading the animals to have no
fear of him, a peaceable man and Preacher-on-the-
Mount, out of whose eyes kindness itself preached.
"What dost thou seek here? " called out Zara-
thustra in astonishment.
"What do I here seek? " answered he: "the
same that thou seekest, thou mischief-maker! that is
to say, happiness upon earth.
## p. 327 (#490) ############################################
328 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
To that end, however, I would fain learn of these
kine. For I tell thee that I have already talked
half a morning unto them, and just now were they
about to give me their answer. Why dost thou
disturb them?
Except we be converted and become as kine, we
shall in no wise enter into the kingdom of heaven.
For we ought to learn from them one thing:
ruminating.
And verily, although a man should gain the
whole world, and yet not learn one thing, rumi-
nating, what would it profit him! He would not
be rid of his affliction,
—His great affliction : that, however, is at present
called disgust. Who hath not at present his heart,
his mouth and his eyes full of disgust? Thou also!
Thou also! But behold these kine! "—
Thus spake the Preacher-on-the-Mount, and
turned then his own look towards Zarathustra—for
hitherto it had rested lovingly on the kine—: then,
however, he put on a different expression. "Who
is this with whom I talk? " he exclaimed frightened,
and sprang up from the ground.
"This is the man without disgust, this is Zara-
thustra himself, the surmounter of the great disgust,
this is the eye, this is the mouth, this is the heart
of Zarathustra himself. "
And whilst he thus spake he kissed with o'erflow-
ing eyes the hands of him with whom he spake,
and behaved altogether like one to whom a precious
gift and jewel hath fallen unawares from heaven.
The kine, however, gazed at it all and wondered.
"Speak not of me, thou strange one! thou
•
## p. 327 (#491) ############################################
LXVIII. —THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR. 327
times past green meadows, though also sometimes
over wild stony couches where formerly perhaps
an impatient brook had made its bed, then he
turned all at once warmer and heartier again.
"What hath happened unto me? " he asked
himself, "something warm and living quickeneth
me; it must be in the neighbourhood.
Already am I less alone; unconscious com-
panions and brethren rove around me; their warm
breath toucheth my soul. "
When, however, he spied about and sought for
the comforters of his lonesomeness, behold, there
were kine there standing together on an eminence,
whose proximity and smell had warmed his heart.
The kine, however, seemed to listen eagerly to a
speaker, and took no heed of him who approached.
When, however, Zarathustra was quite nigh unto
them, then did he hear plainly that a human voice
spake in the midst of the kine; and apparently all
of them had turned their heads towards the speaker.
Then ran Zarathustra up speedily and drove the
animals aside; for he feared that some one had
here met with harm, which the pity of the kine
would hardly be able to relieve. But in this he was
deceived; for behold, there sat a man on the ground
who seemed to be persuading the animals to have no
fear of him, a peaceable man and Preacher-on-the-
Mount, out of whose eyes kindness itself preached.
"What dost thou seek here? " called out Zara-
thustra in astonishment.
"What do I here seek? " answered he: "the
same that thou seekest, thou mischief-maker ! that is
to say, happiness upon earth.
## p. 328 (#492) ############################################
328 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
To that end, however, I would fain learn of these
kine. For I tell thee that I have already talked
half a morning unto them, and just now were they
about to give me their answer. Why dost thou
disturb them?
Except we be converted and become as kine, we
shall in no wise enter into the kingdom of heaven.
For we ought to learn from them one thing:
ruminating.
And verily, although a man should gain the
whole world, and yet not learn one thing, rumi-
nating, what would it profit him! He would not
be rid of his affliction,
—His great affliction : that, however, is at present
called disgust. Who hath not at present his heart,
his mouth and his eyes full of disgust? Thou also!
Thou also! But behold these kine! "—
Thus spake the Preacher-on-the-Mount, and
turned then his own look towards Zarathustra—for
hitherto it had rested lovingly on the kine—: then,
however, he put on a different expression. "Who
is this with whom I talk ? " he exclaimed frightened,
and sprang up from the ground.
"This is the man without disgust, this is Zara-
thustra himself, the surmounterof the great disgust,
this is the eye, this is the mouth, this is the heart
of Zarathustra himself. "
And whilst he thus spake he kissed with o'erflow-
ing eyes the hands of him with whom he spake,
and behaved altogether like one to whom a precious
gift and jewel hath fallen unawares from heaven.
The kine, however, gazed at it all and wondered.
"Speak not of me, thou strange one! thou
## p. 329 (#493) ############################################
LXVIII. —THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR. 329
amiable one ! " said Zarathustra, and restrained his
affection, " speak to me firstly of thyself! Art thou
not the voluntary beggar who once cast away great
riches,—
—Who was ashamed of his riches and of the
rich, and fled to the poorest to bestow upon them
his abundance and his heart? But they received
him not. "
"But they received me not," said the voluntary
beggar, " thou knowest it, forsooth. So I went at
last to the animals and to those kine. "
"Then learnedst thou," interrupted Zarathustra,
"how much harder it is to give properly than to
take properly, and that bestowing well is an art—
the last, subtlest master-art of kindness. "
"Especially nowadays," answered the voluntary
beggar: "at present, that is to say, when everything
low hath become rebellious and exclusive and
haughty in its manner—in the manner of the
populace.
For the hour hath come, thou knowest it forsooth,
for the great, evil, long, slow mob-and-slave-insur-
rection: it extendeth and extendeth!
Now doth it provoke the lower classes, all
benevolence and petty giving; and the overrich
may be on their guard!
Whoever at present drip, like bulgy bottles out
of all-too-small necks:—of such bottles at present
one willingly breaketh the necks.
Wanton avidity, bilious envy, careworn revenge,
populace-pride: all these struck mine eye. It is
no longer true that the poor are blessed. The'
kingdom of heaven, however, is with the kine. "
## p. 330 (#494) ############################################
330
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
“And why is it not with the rich ? ” asked Zara-
thustra temptingly, while he kept back the kine
which sniffed familiarly at the peaceful one.
“Why dost thou tempt me? "answered the other.
“Thou knowest it thyself better even than I. What
was it drove me to the poorest, O Zarathustra ?
Was it not my disgust at the richest ?
--At the culprits of riches, with cold eyes and
rank thoughts, who pick up profit out of all kinds
of rubbish—at this rabble that stinketh to heaven,
-At this gilded, falsified populace, whose fathers
were pickpockets, or carrion-crows, or rag-pickers,
with wives compliant, lewd and forgetful :- for
they are all of them not far different from harlots-
Populace above, populace below! What are
'poor' and 'rich' at present! That distinction
did I unlearn,—then did I flee away further and
ever further, until I came to those kine. ”
Thus spake the peaceful one, and puffed himself
and perspired with his words: so that the kine
wondered anew. Zarathustra, however, kept looking
into his face with a smile, all the time the man
talked so severely—and shook silently his head.
“Thou doest violence to thyself, thou Preacher-
on-the-Mount, when thou usest such severe words.
For such severity neither thy mouth nor thine eye
have been given thee.
Nor, methinketh, hath thy stomach either : unto
it all such rage and hatred and foaming-over is
repugnant. Thy stomach wanteth softer things :
thou art not a butcher.
Rather seemest thou to me a plant-eater and a
root-man. Perhaps thou grindest corn. Certainly,
## p. 331 (#495) ############################################
LXVIII. —THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR. 33 T
however, thou art averse to fleshly joys, and thou
lovest honey. "
"Thou hast divined me well," answered the
voluntary beggar, with lightened heart. "I love
honey, I also grind corn; for I have sought out
what tasteth sweetly and maketh pure breath:
—Also what requireth a long time, a day's-work
and a mouth's-work for gentle idlers and sluggards.
Furthest, to be sure, have those kine carried it:
they have devised ruminating and lying in the sun.
They also abstain from all heavy thoughts which
inflate the heart. "
—" Well! " said Zarathustra, " thou shouldst also
see mine animals, mine eagle and my serpent,—
their like do not at present exist on earth.
Behold, thither leadeth the way to my cave: be
to-night its guest. And talk to mine animals of the
happiness of animals,—
—Until I myself come home. For now a cry of
distress calleth me hastily away from thee. Also,
shouldst thou find new honey with me, ice-cold,
golden-comb-honey, eat it!
Now, however, take leave at once of thy kine, thou
strange one! thou amiable one! though it be hard
for thee. For they are thy warmest friends and
preceptors! "—
—" One excepted, whom I hold still dearer,"
answered the voluntary beggar. "Thou thyself art
good, O Zarathustra, and better even than a cow! "
"Away, away with thee! thou evil flatterer! "
cried Zarathustra mischievously, "why dost thou
spoil me with such praise and flattery-honey? "
"Away, away from me! " cried he once more,
## p. 332 (#496) ############################################
332
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
and heaved his stick at the fond beggar, who, how-
ever, ran nimbly away.
LXIX. —THE SHADOW.
Scarcely however was the voluntary beggar gone
in haste, and Zarathustra again alone, when he
heard behind him a new voice which called out:
“Stay! Zarathustra! Do wait! It is myself, for-
sooth, O Zarathustra, myself, thy shadow ! ” But
Zarathustra did not wait; for a sudden irritation
came over him on account of the crowd and the
crowding in his mountains. “Whither hath my
lonesomeness gone? " spake he.
" It is verily becoming too much for me; these
mountains swarm; my kingdom is no longer of
this world; I require new mountains.
My shadow calleth me? What matter about
my shadow!
all at once there came over Zarathustra a great
shame, because he had gazed on such a thing.
Blushing up to the very roots of his white hair, he
turned aside his glance, and raised his foot that he
might leave this ill-starred place. Then, however,
became the dead wilderness vocal: for from the
ground a noise welled up, gurgling and rattling, as
water gurgleth and rattleth at night through
stopped-up water-pipes; and at last it turned into
human voice and human speech :-it sounded thụs :
"Zarathustra! Zarathustra! Read my riddle !
Say, say! What is the revenge on the witness ?
I entice thee back; here is smooth ice! See to
it, see to it, that thy pride do not here break its
legs !
Thou thinkest thyself wise, thou proud Zara-
thustra! Read then the riddle, thou hard nut-
cracker,—the riddle that I am! Say then : who
am I! "
-When however Zarathustra had heard these
words,—what think ye then took place in his soul ?
Pity overcame him; and he sank down all at once,
like an oak that hath long withstood many tree-
## p. 322 (#476) ############################################
322
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
fellers,—heavily, suddenly, to the terror even of
those who meant to fell it. But immediately he
got up again from the ground, and his countenance
became stern.
"I know thee well,” said he, with a brazen voice,
" thou art the murderer of God! Let me go.
Thou couldst not endure him who beheld thee,
-who ever beheld thee through and through, thou
ugliest man. Thou tookest revenge on this
witness ! ”
Thus spake Zarathustra and was about to go;
but the nondescript grasped at a corner of his
garment and began anew to gurgle and seek for
words. “Stay,” said he at last-
_"Stay! Do not pass by! I have divined what
axe it was that struck thee to the ground: hail to
thee, O Zarathustra, that thou art again upon
thy feet !
Thou hast divined, I know it well, how the man
feeleth who killed him,—the murderer of God.
Stay! Sit down here beside me; it is not to no
purpose.
To whom would I go but unto thee? Stay, sit
down! Do not however look at me! Honour thus
-mine ugliness!
They persecute me: now art thou my last refuge.
Not with their hatred, not with their bailiffs ;-Oh,
such persecution would I mock at, and be proud
and cheerful !
Hath not all success hitherto been with the well-
persecuted ones? And he who persecuteth well
learneth readily to be obsequent-when once he is,
put behind! But it is their pity-
## p. 323 (#477) ############################################
LXVII. —THE UGLIEST MAN.
323
-Their pity is it from which I flee away and flee
to thee. O Zarathustra, protect me, thou, my last
refuge, thou sole one who divinedst me:
- Thou hast divined how the man feeleth who
killed him. Stay! And if thou wilt go, thou im-
patient one, go not the way that I came. That
way is bad.
Art thou angry with me because I have already
racked language too long? Because I have already
counselled thee? But know that it is I, the ugliest
man,
-Who have also the largest, heaviest feet.
Where I have gone, the way is bad. I tread all
paths to death and destruction.
But that thou passedst me by in silence, that thou
blushedst— I saw it well : thereby did I know thee
as Zarathustra.
Every one else would have thrown to me his alms,
his pity, in look and speech. But for that, I am
not beggar enough: that didst thou divine.
For that I am too rich, rich in what is great,
frightful, ugliest, most unutterable! Thy shame, O
Zarathustra, honoured me!
With difficulty did I get out of the crowd of the
pitiful,—that I might find the only one who at
present teacheth that 'pity is obtrusive'-thyself,
O Zarathustra !
-Whether it be the pity of a God, or whether it
be human pity, it is offensive to modesty. And
unwillingness to help may be nobler than the virtue
that rusheth to do so.
That however-namely, pity-is called virtue
itself at present by all petty people :they have
## p. 324 (#478) ############################################
324
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
no reverence for great misfortune, great ugliness,
great failure.
Beyond all these do I look, as a dog looketh over
the backs of thronging flocks of sheep. They are
petty, good-wooled, good-willed, grey people.
As the heron looketh contemptuously at shallow
pools, with backward-bent head, so do I look at the
throng of grey little waves and wills and souls.
Too long have we acknowledged them to be
right, those petty people : so we have at last given
them power as well ;—and now do they teach that
'good is only what petty people call good. '
And truth' is at present what the preacher spake
who himself sprang from them, that singular saint
and advocate of the petty people, who testified of
himself: ‘I-am the truth. '
That immodest one hath long made the petty
people greatly puffed up, he who taught no small
error when he taught: 'I-am the truth. '
Hath an immodest one ever been answered
more courteously ? —Thou, however, O Zarathustra,
passedst him by, and saidst : ‘Nay! Nay! Three
times Nay! ”.
Thou warnedst against his error; thou warnedst
-the first to do so—against pity :—not every one,
not none, but thyself and thy type.
Thou art ashamed of the shame of the great
sufferer ; and verily when thou sayest: ‘From pity
there cometh a heavy cloud; take heed ye men! '
-When thou teachest : ‘All creators are hard,
all great love is beyond their pity:' O Zarathustra,
how well versed dost thou seem to me in weather-
signs !
## p. 325 (#479) ############################################
LXVII. —THE UGLIEST MAN. 325
Thou thyself, however,—warn thyself also against
thy pity! For many are on their way to thee,
many suffering, doubting, despairing, drowning,
freezing ones—
I warn thee also against myself. Thou hast read
my best, my worst riddle, myself, and what I have
done. I know the axe that felleth thee.
But he—had to die: he looked with eyes which
beheld everything,—he beheld men's depths and
dregs, all his hidden ignominy and ugliness.
His pity knew no modesty: he crept into my
dirtiest corners. This most prying, over-intrusive,
over-pitiful one had to die.
He ever beheld me: on such a witness I would
have revenge—or not live myself.
The God who beheld everything, and also man:
that God had to die! Man cannot endure it that
such a witness should live. "
Thus spake the ugliest man. Zarathustra how-
ever got up, and prepared to go on: for he felt
frozen to the very bowels.
"Thou nondescript," said he, " thou warnedst me
against thy path. As thanks for it I praise mine
to thee. Behold, up thither is the cave of
Zarathustra.
My cave is large and deep and hath many
corners; there findeth he that is most hidden his
hiding-place. And close beside it, there are a
hundred lurking-places and by-places for creeping,
fluttering, and hopping creatures.
Thou outcast, who hast cast thyself out, thou
wilt not live amongst men and men's pity? Well
## p. 326 (#480) ############################################
324
THUS SPAK KE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
Tius wilt thou learn also froi
meth.
foremost to mine animals!
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## p. 327 (#481) ############################################
VOLUNTARY BEGGAR.
327
,::
,x
-l»to thee.
:*» Ihx«e
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~-", *ye which
'^deprhs aad
-^pt mto ray
-"^cr-mtruave.
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'**i »im man . .
', «4«r* it that
*rathustra here-
on: for be <elt
011 wamedst me
it I praise mine
is the cave of
and hath many
s most hidden*^
laces for creep
^ th°u
thy** °f *•*
men's Plry
lows, though also sometimes
les where formerly perhaps
ad made its bed, then he
ler and heartier again.
led unto me? " he asked
irm and living quickeneth
iighbourhood.
alone; unconscious com-
e around me; their warm
ed about and sought for
esomeness, behold, there
ogether on an eminence,
ll had warmed his heart.
i to listen eagerly to a
of him who approached.
a was quite nigh unto
nly that a human voice
ne; and apparently all
ds towards the speaker.
speedily and drove the
d that some one had
the pity of the kine
j. But in this he was
a man on the ground
he animals to have no
ind Preacher-on-the-
Iness itself preached.
"called out Zara-
nswered he: "the
:hief-maker! that is
/
## p. 327 (#482) ############################################
326
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
then, do like me! Thus wilt thou learn also from
me; only the doer learneth.
And talk first and foremost to mine animals!
The proudest animal and the wisest animal-
they might well be the right counsellors for us
both ! "--
Thus spake Zarathustra and went his way, more
thoughtfully and slowly even than before: for he
asked himself many things, and hardly knew what
to answer.
“How poor indeed is man,” thought he in his
heart, “how ugly, how wheezy, how full of hidden
shame!
They tell me that man loveth himself. Ah, how
great must that self-love be! How much contempt
is opposed to it!
Even this man hath loved himself, as he hath
despised himself,—a great lover methinketh he is,
and a great despiser.
No one have I yet found who more thoroughly
despised himself: even that is elevation. Alas,
was this perhaps the higher man whose cry. I
heard ?
I love the great despisers. Man is something
that hath to be surpassed. "--
LXVIII. —THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR.
When Zarathustra had left the ugliest man, he
was chilled and felt lonesome: for much coldness
and lonesomeness came over his spirit, so that even
his limbs became colder thereby. When, how-
ever, he wandered on and on, uphill and down, at
## p. 327 (#483) ############################################
LXVIII. —THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR. 327
times past green meadows, though also sometimes
over wild stony couches where formerly perhaps
an impatient brook had made its bed, then he
turned all at once warmer and heartier again.
"What hath happened unto me? " he asked
himself, "something warm and living quickeneth
me; it must be in the neighbourhood.
Already am I less alone; unconscious com-
panions and brethren rove around me; their warm
breath toucheth my soul. "
When, however, he spied about and sought for
the comforters of his lonesomeness, behold, there
were kine there standing together on an eminence,
whose proximity and smell had warmed his heart.
The kine, however, seemed to listen eagerly to a
speaker, and took no heed of him who approached.
When, however, Zarathustra was quite nigh unto
them, then did he hear plainly that a human voice
spake in the midst of the kine; and apparently all
of them had turned their heads towards the speaker.
Then ran Zarathustra up speedily and drove the
animals aside; for he feared that some one had
here met with harm, which the pity of the kine
would hardly be able to relieve. But in this he was
deceived; for behold, there sat a man on the ground
who seemed to be persuading the animals to have no
fear of him, a peaceable man and Preacher-on-the-
Mount, out of whose eyes kindness itself preached.
"What dost thou seek here? " called out Zara-
thustra in astonishment.
"What do I here seek? " answered he: "the
same that thou seekest, thou mischief-maker! that is
to say, happiness upon earth.
## p. 327 (#484) ############################################
326 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
then, do like me! Thus wilt thou learn also from
me; only the doer learneth.
And talk first and foremost to mine animals!
The proudest animal and the wisest animal—
they might well be the right counsellors for us
both! "
Thus spake Zarathustra and went his way, more
thoughtfully and slowly even than before: for he
asked himself many things, and hardly knew what
to answer.
"How poor indeed is man," thought he in his
heart, "how ugly, how wheezy, how full of hidden
shame!
They tell me that man loveth himself. Ah, how
great must that self-love be! How much contempt
is opposed to it!
Even this man hath loved himself, as he hath
despised himself,—a great lover methinketh he is,
and a great despiser.
No one have I yet found who more thoroughly
despised himself: even that is elevation. Alas,
was this perhaps the higher man whose cry I
heard?
I love the great despisers. Man is something
that hath to be surpassed. "
LXVIII. —THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR.
When Zarathustra had left the ugliest man, he
was chilled and felt lonesome: for much coldness
and lonesomeness came over his spirit, so that even
his limbs became colder thereby. When, how-
ever, he wandered on and on, uphill and down, at
1
## p. 327 (#485) ############################################
LXVIII. —THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR. 327
times past green meadows, though also sometimes
over wild stony couches where formerly perhaps
an impatient brook had made its bed, then he
turned all at once warmer and heartier again.
"What hath happened unto me? " he asked
himself, "something warm and living quickeneth
me; it must be in the neighbourhood.
Already am I less alone; unconscious com-
panions and brethren rove around me; their warm
breath toucheth my soul. "
When, however, he spied about and sought for
the comforters of his lonesomeness, behold, there
were kine there standing together on an eminence,
whose proximity and smell had warmed his heart.
The kine, however, seemed to listen eagerly to a
speaker, and took no heed of him who approached.
When, however, Zarathustra was quite nigh unto
them, then did he hear plainly that a human voice
spake in the midst of the kine; and apparently all
of them had turned their heads towards the speaker.
Then ran Zarathustra up speedily and drove the
animals aside; for he feared that some one had
here met with harm, which the pity of the kine
would hardly be able to relieve. But in this he was
deceived; for behold, there sat a man on the ground
who seemed to be persuading the animals to have no
fear of him, a peaceable man and Preacher-on-the-
Mount, out of whose eyes kindness itself preached.
"What dost thou seek here? " called out Zara-
thustra in astonishment.
"What do I here seek? " answered he: "the
same that thou seekest, thou mischief-maker! that is
to say, happiness upon earth.
## p. 327 (#486) ############################################
326 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
then, do like me! Thus wilt thou learn also from
me; only the doer learneth.
And talk first and foremost to mine animals!
The proudest animal and the wisest animal—
they might well be the right counsellors for us
both! "
Thus spake Zarathustra and went his way, more
thoughtfully and slowly even than before: for he
asked himself many things, and hardly knew what
to answer.
"How poor indeed is man," thought he in his
heart, "how ugly, how wheezy, how full of hidden
shame!
They tell me that man loveth himself. Ah, how
great must that self-love be! How much contempt
is opposed to it!
Even this man hath loved himself, as he hath
despised himself,—a great lover methinketh he is,
and a great despiser.
No one have I yet found who more thoroughly
despised himself: even that is elevation. Alas,
was this perhaps the higher man whose cry I
heard?
I love the great despisers. Man is something
that hath to be surpassed. "
LXVIII. —THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR.
When Zarathustra had left the ugliest man, he
was chilled and felt lonesome: for much coldness
and lonesomeness came over his spirit, so that even
his limbs became colder thereby. When, how-
ever, he wandered on and on, uphill and down, at
r
1
## p. 327 (#487) ############################################
LXVIII. —THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR. 327
times past green meadows, though also sometimes
over wild stony couches where formerly perhaps
an impatient brook had made its bed, then he
turned all at once warmer and heartier again.
"What hath happened unto me? " he asked
himself, "something warm and living quickeneth
me; it must be in the neighbourhood.
Already am I less alone; unconscious com-
panions and brethren rove around me; their warm
breath toucheth my soul. "
When, however, he spied about and sought for
the comforters of his lonesomeness, behold, there
were kine there standing together on an eminence,
whose proximity and smell had warmed his heart.
The kine, however, seemed to listen eagerly to a
speaker, and took no heed of him who approached.
When, however, Zarathustra was quite nigh unto
them, then did he hear plainly that a human voice
spake in the midst of the kine; and apparently all
of them had turned their heads towards the speaker.
Then ran Zarathustra up speedily and drove the
animals aside; for he feared that some one had
here met with harm, which the pity of the kine
would hardly be able to relieve. But in this he was
deceived; for behold, there sat a man on the ground
who seemed to be persuading the animals to have no
fear of him, a peaceable man and Preacher-on-the-
Mount, out of whose eyes kindness itself preached.
"What dost thou seek here? " called out Zara-
thustra in astonishment.
"What do I here seek? " answered he: "the
same that thou seekest, thou mischief-maker! that is
to say, happiness upon earth.
## p. 327 (#488) ############################################
326 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
then, do like me! Thus wilt thou learn also from
me; only the doer learneth.
And talk first and foremost to mine animals!
The proudest animal and the wisest animal—
they might well be the right counsellors for us
both! "
Thus spake Zarathustra and went his way, more
thoughtfully and slowly even than before: for he
asked himself many things, and hardly knew what
to answer.
"How poor indeed is man," thought he in his
heart, "how ugly, how wheezy, how full of hidden
shame!
They tell me that man loveth himself. Ah, how
great must that self-love be! How much contempt
is opposed to it!
Even this man hath loved himself, as he hath
despised himself,—a great lover methinketh he is,
and a great despiser.
No one have I yet found who more thoroughly
despised himself: even that is elevation. Alas,
was this perhaps the higher man whose cry I
heard?
I love the great despisers. Man is something
that hath to be surpassed. "
LXVIII. —THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR.
When Zarathustra had left the ugliest man, he
was chilled and felt lonesome: for much coldness
and lonesomeness came over his spirit, so that even
his limbs became colder thereby. When, how-
ever, he wandered on and on, uphill and down, at
1
## p. 327 (#489) ############################################
LXVIII. —THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR. 327
times past green meadows, though also sometimes
over wild stony couches where formerly perhaps
an impatient brook had made its bed, then he
turned all at once warmer and heartier again.
"What hath happened unto me? " he asked
himself, "something warm and living quickeneth
me; it must be in the neighbourhood.
Already am I less alone; unconscious com-
panions and brethren rove around me; their warm
breath toucheth my soul. "
When, however, he spied about and sought for
the comforters of his lonesomeness, behold, there
were kine there standing together on an eminence,
whose proximity and smell had warmed his heart.
The kine, however, seemed to listen eagerly to a
speaker, and took no heed of him who approached.
When, however, Zarathustra was quite nigh unto
them, then did he hear plainly that a human voice
spake in the midst of the kine; and apparently all
of them had turned their heads towards the speaker.
Then ran Zarathustra up speedily and drove the
animals aside; for he feared that some one had
here met with harm, which the pity of the kine
would hardly be able to relieve. But in this he was
deceived; for behold, there sat a man on the ground
who seemed to be persuading the animals to have no
fear of him, a peaceable man and Preacher-on-the-
Mount, out of whose eyes kindness itself preached.
"What dost thou seek here? " called out Zara-
thustra in astonishment.
"What do I here seek? " answered he: "the
same that thou seekest, thou mischief-maker! that is
to say, happiness upon earth.
## p. 327 (#490) ############################################
328 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
To that end, however, I would fain learn of these
kine. For I tell thee that I have already talked
half a morning unto them, and just now were they
about to give me their answer. Why dost thou
disturb them?
Except we be converted and become as kine, we
shall in no wise enter into the kingdom of heaven.
For we ought to learn from them one thing:
ruminating.
And verily, although a man should gain the
whole world, and yet not learn one thing, rumi-
nating, what would it profit him! He would not
be rid of his affliction,
—His great affliction : that, however, is at present
called disgust. Who hath not at present his heart,
his mouth and his eyes full of disgust? Thou also!
Thou also! But behold these kine! "—
Thus spake the Preacher-on-the-Mount, and
turned then his own look towards Zarathustra—for
hitherto it had rested lovingly on the kine—: then,
however, he put on a different expression. "Who
is this with whom I talk? " he exclaimed frightened,
and sprang up from the ground.
"This is the man without disgust, this is Zara-
thustra himself, the surmounter of the great disgust,
this is the eye, this is the mouth, this is the heart
of Zarathustra himself. "
And whilst he thus spake he kissed with o'erflow-
ing eyes the hands of him with whom he spake,
and behaved altogether like one to whom a precious
gift and jewel hath fallen unawares from heaven.
The kine, however, gazed at it all and wondered.
"Speak not of me, thou strange one! thou
•
## p. 327 (#491) ############################################
LXVIII. —THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR. 327
times past green meadows, though also sometimes
over wild stony couches where formerly perhaps
an impatient brook had made its bed, then he
turned all at once warmer and heartier again.
"What hath happened unto me? " he asked
himself, "something warm and living quickeneth
me; it must be in the neighbourhood.
Already am I less alone; unconscious com-
panions and brethren rove around me; their warm
breath toucheth my soul. "
When, however, he spied about and sought for
the comforters of his lonesomeness, behold, there
were kine there standing together on an eminence,
whose proximity and smell had warmed his heart.
The kine, however, seemed to listen eagerly to a
speaker, and took no heed of him who approached.
When, however, Zarathustra was quite nigh unto
them, then did he hear plainly that a human voice
spake in the midst of the kine; and apparently all
of them had turned their heads towards the speaker.
Then ran Zarathustra up speedily and drove the
animals aside; for he feared that some one had
here met with harm, which the pity of the kine
would hardly be able to relieve. But in this he was
deceived; for behold, there sat a man on the ground
who seemed to be persuading the animals to have no
fear of him, a peaceable man and Preacher-on-the-
Mount, out of whose eyes kindness itself preached.
"What dost thou seek here? " called out Zara-
thustra in astonishment.
"What do I here seek? " answered he: "the
same that thou seekest, thou mischief-maker ! that is
to say, happiness upon earth.
## p. 328 (#492) ############################################
328 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
To that end, however, I would fain learn of these
kine. For I tell thee that I have already talked
half a morning unto them, and just now were they
about to give me their answer. Why dost thou
disturb them?
Except we be converted and become as kine, we
shall in no wise enter into the kingdom of heaven.
For we ought to learn from them one thing:
ruminating.
And verily, although a man should gain the
whole world, and yet not learn one thing, rumi-
nating, what would it profit him! He would not
be rid of his affliction,
—His great affliction : that, however, is at present
called disgust. Who hath not at present his heart,
his mouth and his eyes full of disgust? Thou also!
Thou also! But behold these kine! "—
Thus spake the Preacher-on-the-Mount, and
turned then his own look towards Zarathustra—for
hitherto it had rested lovingly on the kine—: then,
however, he put on a different expression. "Who
is this with whom I talk ? " he exclaimed frightened,
and sprang up from the ground.
"This is the man without disgust, this is Zara-
thustra himself, the surmounterof the great disgust,
this is the eye, this is the mouth, this is the heart
of Zarathustra himself. "
And whilst he thus spake he kissed with o'erflow-
ing eyes the hands of him with whom he spake,
and behaved altogether like one to whom a precious
gift and jewel hath fallen unawares from heaven.
The kine, however, gazed at it all and wondered.
"Speak not of me, thou strange one! thou
## p. 329 (#493) ############################################
LXVIII. —THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR. 329
amiable one ! " said Zarathustra, and restrained his
affection, " speak to me firstly of thyself! Art thou
not the voluntary beggar who once cast away great
riches,—
—Who was ashamed of his riches and of the
rich, and fled to the poorest to bestow upon them
his abundance and his heart? But they received
him not. "
"But they received me not," said the voluntary
beggar, " thou knowest it, forsooth. So I went at
last to the animals and to those kine. "
"Then learnedst thou," interrupted Zarathustra,
"how much harder it is to give properly than to
take properly, and that bestowing well is an art—
the last, subtlest master-art of kindness. "
"Especially nowadays," answered the voluntary
beggar: "at present, that is to say, when everything
low hath become rebellious and exclusive and
haughty in its manner—in the manner of the
populace.
For the hour hath come, thou knowest it forsooth,
for the great, evil, long, slow mob-and-slave-insur-
rection: it extendeth and extendeth!
Now doth it provoke the lower classes, all
benevolence and petty giving; and the overrich
may be on their guard!
Whoever at present drip, like bulgy bottles out
of all-too-small necks:—of such bottles at present
one willingly breaketh the necks.
Wanton avidity, bilious envy, careworn revenge,
populace-pride: all these struck mine eye. It is
no longer true that the poor are blessed. The'
kingdom of heaven, however, is with the kine. "
## p. 330 (#494) ############################################
330
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
“And why is it not with the rich ? ” asked Zara-
thustra temptingly, while he kept back the kine
which sniffed familiarly at the peaceful one.
“Why dost thou tempt me? "answered the other.
“Thou knowest it thyself better even than I. What
was it drove me to the poorest, O Zarathustra ?
Was it not my disgust at the richest ?
--At the culprits of riches, with cold eyes and
rank thoughts, who pick up profit out of all kinds
of rubbish—at this rabble that stinketh to heaven,
-At this gilded, falsified populace, whose fathers
were pickpockets, or carrion-crows, or rag-pickers,
with wives compliant, lewd and forgetful :- for
they are all of them not far different from harlots-
Populace above, populace below! What are
'poor' and 'rich' at present! That distinction
did I unlearn,—then did I flee away further and
ever further, until I came to those kine. ”
Thus spake the peaceful one, and puffed himself
and perspired with his words: so that the kine
wondered anew. Zarathustra, however, kept looking
into his face with a smile, all the time the man
talked so severely—and shook silently his head.
“Thou doest violence to thyself, thou Preacher-
on-the-Mount, when thou usest such severe words.
For such severity neither thy mouth nor thine eye
have been given thee.
Nor, methinketh, hath thy stomach either : unto
it all such rage and hatred and foaming-over is
repugnant. Thy stomach wanteth softer things :
thou art not a butcher.
Rather seemest thou to me a plant-eater and a
root-man. Perhaps thou grindest corn. Certainly,
## p. 331 (#495) ############################################
LXVIII. —THE VOLUNTARY BEGGAR. 33 T
however, thou art averse to fleshly joys, and thou
lovest honey. "
"Thou hast divined me well," answered the
voluntary beggar, with lightened heart. "I love
honey, I also grind corn; for I have sought out
what tasteth sweetly and maketh pure breath:
—Also what requireth a long time, a day's-work
and a mouth's-work for gentle idlers and sluggards.
Furthest, to be sure, have those kine carried it:
they have devised ruminating and lying in the sun.
They also abstain from all heavy thoughts which
inflate the heart. "
—" Well! " said Zarathustra, " thou shouldst also
see mine animals, mine eagle and my serpent,—
their like do not at present exist on earth.
Behold, thither leadeth the way to my cave: be
to-night its guest. And talk to mine animals of the
happiness of animals,—
—Until I myself come home. For now a cry of
distress calleth me hastily away from thee. Also,
shouldst thou find new honey with me, ice-cold,
golden-comb-honey, eat it!
Now, however, take leave at once of thy kine, thou
strange one! thou amiable one! though it be hard
for thee. For they are thy warmest friends and
preceptors! "—
—" One excepted, whom I hold still dearer,"
answered the voluntary beggar. "Thou thyself art
good, O Zarathustra, and better even than a cow! "
"Away, away with thee! thou evil flatterer! "
cried Zarathustra mischievously, "why dost thou
spoil me with such praise and flattery-honey? "
"Away, away from me! " cried he once more,
## p. 332 (#496) ############################################
332
THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV.
and heaved his stick at the fond beggar, who, how-
ever, ran nimbly away.
LXIX. —THE SHADOW.
Scarcely however was the voluntary beggar gone
in haste, and Zarathustra again alone, when he
heard behind him a new voice which called out:
“Stay! Zarathustra! Do wait! It is myself, for-
sooth, O Zarathustra, myself, thy shadow ! ” But
Zarathustra did not wait; for a sudden irritation
came over him on account of the crowd and the
crowding in his mountains. “Whither hath my
lonesomeness gone? " spake he.
" It is verily becoming too much for me; these
mountains swarm; my kingdom is no longer of
this world; I require new mountains.
My shadow calleth me? What matter about
my shadow!
