(1844 - 1900)
Thus Spake Zarathustra
sublime one saw I today, a solemn one, a penitent of the
spirit: Oh, how my soul laughed at his ugliness! (thus
When Zarathustra had said this to his heart,
he put the corpse upon his shoulders and set out on his way. Yet had he
not gone a hundred steps, when there stole a man up to him and whispered
in his ear- and lo! he that spake was the buffoon from the tower. "Leave
this town, O Zarathustra," said he, "there are too many here
who hate thee. The good and just hate thee, and call thee their enemy
and despiser; the believers in the orthodox belief hate thee, and call
thee a danger to the multitude. It was thy good fortune to be laughed
at: and verily thou spakest like a buffoon. It was thy good fortune to
associate with the dead dog; by so humiliating thyself thou hast saved
thy life to-day. Depart, however, from this town,- or tomorrow I shall
jump over thee, a living man over a dead one." And when he had said
this, the buffoon vanished; Zarathustra, however, went on through the
At the gate of the town the grave-diggers
met him: they shone their torch on his face, and, recognising Zarathustra,
they sorely derided him. "Zarathustra is carrying away the dead dog:
a fine thing that Zarathustra hath turned a grave-digger! For our hands
are too cleanly for that roast. Will Zarathustra steal the bite from the
devil? Well then, good luck to the repast! If only the devil is not a
better thief than Zarathustra!- he will steal them both, he will eat them
both!" And they laughed among themselves, and put their heads together.
Zarathustra made no answer thereto, 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 attacketh me," said Zarathustra,
"like a robber. Among forests and swamps my hunger attacketh me,
and late in the night.
"Strange humours hath my hunger. Often
it cometh to me only after a repast, and all day it hath failed to come:
where hath it been?"
And thereupon Zarathustra knocked at the
door of the house. An old man appeared, who carried a light, and asked:
"Who cometh unto 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 feedeth the hungry refresheth his own soul, saith
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 unto me, the
anchorite. But bid thy companion eat and drink also, he is wearier than
thou." Zarathustra answered: "My companion is dead; I shall
hardly be able to persuade him to eat." "That doth not concern
me," said the old man sullenly; "he that knocketh at my door
must take what I offer him. Eat, and fare ye well!"Thereafter Zarathustra
again went on 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 himself down on the ground and moss. And
immediately he fell asleep, tired in body, but with a tranquil soul.
qu'on fait n'est jamais compris mais seulement loué ou blâmé.
Nietzsche, Gay Science