FOURTH AND LAST PART.
71. LXXI. THE GREETING. (continued)
Now do the waves rise and rise around thy mountain, O Zarathustra. And
however high be thy height, many 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.
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