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
When, however, Stanislas Leszcysski the Pole became king, our supposed ancestor became involved in a conspiracy in favour of the Saxons and Protestants.Page 31
is not unworthy of the greatest hero to long for a continuation of life, ay, even as a day-labourer.Page 40
_The strophic form of the popular song_ points to the same phenomenon, which I always beheld with astonishment, till at last I found this explanation.Page 46
in an Apollonian world of pictures.Page 54
With the glory of passivity I now contrast the glory of activity which illuminates the _Prometheus_ of Ãschylus.Page 56
a medley of different worlds, for instance, a Divine and a human world, each of which is in the right individually, but as a separate existence alongside of another has to suffer for its individuation.Page 57
--are but masks of this original hero, Dionysus.Page 65
_ This is the new antithesis: the Dionysian and the Socratic, and the art-work of Greek tragedy was wrecked on it.Page 72
But where unconquerable native capacities bore up against the Socratic maxims, their power, together with the momentum of his mighty character, still sufficed to force poetry itself into new and hitherto unknown channels.Page 74
Socrates, the dialectical hero in Platonic drama, reminds us of the kindred nature of the Euripidean hero, who has to defend his actions by arguments and counter-arguments, and thereby so often runs the risk of forfeiting our tragic pity; for who could mistake the _optimistic_ element in the essence of dialectics, which celebrates a jubilee in every conclusion, and can breathe only in cool clearness and consciousness: the optimistic element, which, having once forced its way into tragedy, must gradually overgrow its Dionysian regions, and necessarily impel it to self-destruction--even to the death-leap into the bourgeois drama.Page 81
In Dionysian art and its tragic symbolism the same nature speaks to us with its true undissembled voice: "Be as I am! Amidst the ceaseless change of phenomena the eternally creative primordial mother, eternally impelling to existence, self-satisfying eternally with this change of phenomena!"  Cf.Page 93
We cannot designate the intrinsic substance of Socratic culture more distinctly than by calling it _the culture of the opera_: for it is in this department that culture has expressed itself with special naÃ¯vetÃ© concerning its aims and perceptions, which is sufficiently surprising when we compare the genesis of the opera and the facts of operatic development with the eternal truths of the Apollonian and Dionysian.Page 95
It was in accordance with the laically unmusical crudeness of these views that the combination of music, picture and expression was effected in the beginnings of the opera: in the spirit of this Ã¦sthetics the first experiments were also made in the leading laic circles of Florence by the poets and singers patronised there.Page 97
But what is to be expected for art itself from the operation of a form of art, the beginnings of which do not at all lie in the Ã¦sthetic province; which has rather stolen over from a half-moral sphere into the artistic domain, and has been able only now and then to delude us concerning this hybrid origin? By what sap is this parasitic opera-concern nourished, if not by that of true art? Must we not suppose that the highest and indeed the truly serious task of art--to free the eye from its glance into the horrors of night and to deliver the "subject" by the healing balm of appearance from the spasms of volitional agitations--will degenerate under the influence of its idyllic seductions and Alexandrine adulation to an empty dissipating tendency, to pastime? What will become of the eternal truths.Page 112
The stupendous historical exigency of the unsatisfied modern culture, the gathering around one of countless other cultures, the consuming desire for knowledge--what does all this point to, if not to the loss of myth, the loss of the mythical home, the mythical source? Let us ask ourselves whether the feverish and so uncanny stirring of this culture is aught but the eager seizing and snatching at food of the hungerer--and who would care to contribute anything more to a.Page 115
Perhaps many a one will be of opinion that this spirit must begin its struggle with the elimination of the Romanic element: for which it might recognise an external preparation and encouragement in the victorious bravery and bloody glory of the late war, but must seek the inner constraint in the emulative zeal to be for ever worthy of the sublime protagonists on this path, of Luther as well as our great artists and poets.Page 119