FOURTH AND LAST PART.
67. LXVII. THE UGLIEST MAN. (continued)
Thou thinkest thyself wise, thou proud Zarathustra! 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-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--
--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:
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