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Part 49. The BitWorthing Virtue.
One. When Zarathustra was again on the continent,
he did not go straight way to his mountains and his cave,
but made many wanderings and questionings, and ascertained this and that,
so that he said of himself gestingly.
Lower river that flow is back onto its source, in many windings.
For he wanted to learn what had taken place among men during the interval,
whether they had become greater or smaller.
And once, when he saw a row of new houses, he marveled and said,
what do these houses mean?
Verily, no great soul put them up as it's simile.
Did perhaps a silly child take them out of its toy box?
Would that another child put them again into the box?
And these rooms and chambers can men go out and in there?
They seem to be made for silk dolls or for dainty eaters who perhaps let others eat with them.
And Zarathustra stood still and meditated, but last he said sorrowfully,
there has everything become smaller.
Everywhere do I see lower doorways, he who is of my type can still go there through,
but he must stoop.
Oh, when shall I arrive again at my home?
Where shall no longer have to stoop?
Shall no longer have to stoop before the small ones?
And Zarathustra sighed and gazed into the distance.
The same day, however, he gave his discourse on the bedwarfing virtue.
Two, I pass through this people and keep my eyes open.
They do not forgive me for not envying their virtues.
They bite at me because I say unto them that for small people, small virtues are necessary.
And because it is hard for me to understand that small people are necessary.
Here I am still a cock in a strange farm yard, at which even the hens pick,
but on that account I am not unfriendly to the hens.
I am courteous towards them, as towards all small annoyances,
to be prickly towards what is small seemeth to me wisdom for hedgehogs.
They all speak of me when they sit around their fire in the evening,
they speak of me but no one sinkers of me.
This is the new stillness which I have experienced.
Their noise around me spread as a mantle over my thoughts.
They shout to one another, what is this gloomy cloud about to do to us?
Let us see that it does not bring a plague upon us.
And recently did a woman seize upon her child that was coming unto me,
take the children away, cried shee, such eyes scored children's souls.
They cough when I speak, they sink coughing and objection to strong winds.
They divine nothing of the boisterousness of my happiness.
We have not yet time for Zarathistra so they object,
but what matter about a time that has no time for Zarathistra?
And if they should all together praise me, how could I get a sleep on their praise?
A girdle of spines is their praise unto me, it scratches me even when I take it off.
And this also did I learn among them, the praise adois as if he gave back,
in truth however he want us more to be given him.
Ask my foot if their lording and luring strains please it,
fairly to such measure and tic-tac, it like us neither to dance nor to stand still.
To small virtues would they feign lure and lord me, to the tic-tac of small happiness would
they feign persuade my foot. I pass through this people and keep my eyes open,
they have become smaller and ever become smaller, the reason they are of is their doctrine of
happiness and virtue. For they are moderate also in virtue because they want comfort,
with comfort however moderate virtue only is compatible.
To be sure they also learn in their way to stride on and stride forward,
that I call their hobbling, thereby they become a hindrance to all who are in haste.
And many of them go forward and look backwards thereby, with different necks,
those do alike to run up against. Foot and eye shall not lie, nor give the lie to each other,
but there is much lying amongst more people. Some of them will, but most of them are willed.
Some of them are genuine, but most of them are bad actors.
There are actors without knowing it amongst them, and actors without intending it.
The genuine ones are always rare, especially the genuine actors.
Of man there is little here, therefore do their women masculinize themselves.
For only he who is man enough will save the woman in woman.
And this hypocrisy, found I worst amongst them, that even those who command feign the virtues of
those who serve. I serve thou service we serve, so chanteth here even the hypocrisy of the rulers,
and alas if the First Lord be only the first servant.
Ah, even upon the hypocrisy did mine eyes curiosity a light, and welded a divine
all their fly happiness, and their buzzing around sunny window pains.
So much kindness, so much weakness do I see, so much justice and pity, so much weakness.
Round fair and considerate are they to one another, as grains of sand around fair and considerate
to grains of sand. Modestly to embrace small happiness, that's to their call submission,
and at the same time they appear modestly after a new small happiness.
In the hearts they want simply one thing most of all, that no one hurt them.
Thus do they anticipate everyone's wishes, and do well unto everyone.
That however is cowardice, though it be called virtue, and when they chance to speak harshly,
those small people, then do I hear they're in only their horseless. Every draft of air
make us them horse. Shroud indeed are they, their virtues have shrewd fingers,
but they lack fists, their fingers do not know how to creep behind fists.
Virtue for them is what make us modest and tame. Their whiz have they made the wolf a dog,
and man himself, man's best domestic animal. We set our chair in the midst,
so Seth theirs murking unto me, and as far from dying gladiators as from satisfied swine.
That however is mediocrity, though it be called moderation.
Three, I pass through this people and let fall many words, but they know neither how to take,
nor how to retain them. They wonder why I came not to revile venery and vice,
and verily I came not to warn against big pockets either.
They wonder why I am not ready to abet and wet their wisdom, as if they had not yet enough
of whizakers, whose voices great on mine ear like slate pencils.
And when I call out, curse all the cowardly devils in you, that would feign whimper and
fill the hands and a door, then do they shout, Zara Sustra is godless.
And especially do their teachers of submission shout this, but precisely in their ears do I love
to cry, yay I am Zara Sustra the godless. Those teachers of submission, whether there is
odd puny or sickly or scabby, there do they creep like lice, and only my disgust preventes me
from cracking them. Well, this is my sermon for their ears. I am Zara Sustra the godless,
who says, who is more godless than I, that I may enjoy his teaching. I am Zara Sustra the godless,
where do I find mine equal, and all those are mine equals, who give unto themselves their will,
and divest themselves of all submission. I am Zara Sustra the godless, I cook every chance
in my pot, and only when it has been quite cooked do I welcome it as my food.
And verily many a chance came empiriously unto me, but still more empiriously did my will speak
unto it, then did lie imploringly upon its knees, imploring that it might find home and heart
with me, and saying flatteringly, see O Zara Sustra, how friend only cometh unto friend.
But why talk I, when no one has mine ears, and so will I shout it out unto all the winds.
He ever becomes smaller, he is small people, he crumble away, he comfortable ones, he will yet perish.
By your many small virtues, by your many small emissions, and by your many small submissions,
two tender, two yielding, so is your soil, but for a tree to become great, it seeketh to twine hard
roots around hard rocks. Also what you emit weavers at the web of all the human future,
even your naught is a cobweb, and a spider that liveth on the blood of the future.
And when he take, then it is like stealing, he small virtues ones, but even among naves,
honors says that one shall only steal when one cannot rob.
It gives itself, that is also a doctrine of submission, but I say unto you, he comfortable ones,
that it takes us to itself, and will ever take more and more from you.
Ah, that you would renounce all half-willing, and would decide for idleness as he decide for action.
Ah, that he understood my word, do ever what he will, but first be such as can will.
Love every neighbor as yourselves, but first be such as love themselves,
such as love with great love, such as love with great contempt, thus speaketh
as a sister of the godless. But why talk I, where no one has mine ears, it is still an hour too early
for me here. My own four-runner I am among this people, my own cockroach in dark lanes.
But there our cometh, and there cometh also mine, hourly do they become smaller, poorer,
unfruitfuler, poor herbs, poor earth. And soon shall they stand before me like dry grass
and prairie, and verily weary of themselves, and panting for fire, more than for water.
No blessed hour of the lightning, no mystery before noontide, running fires will our one-day
make of them, and heralds with flaming tongues. Herald shall day one day with flaming tongues.
It cometh, it is nigh, the great noontide, thus speak Sarasustra.
End of part 49
