XLVII. INVOLUNTARY BLISS.

When Zarathustra was again on the continent, he did not go straightway to his mountains and his cave, but made many wanderings and questionings, and ascertained this and that; so that he said of himself jestingly: “Lo, a river that floweth back unto 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 marvelled, and said: And then talked Zarathustra in this wise to his exulting conscience:

“What do these houses mean?

Did perhaps a silly child take them out of its toy-box?

And these rooms and chambers—can MEN go out and in there?

And Zarathustra stood still and meditated. At last he said sorrowfully: “There hath EVERYTHING become smaller!

Everywhere do I see lower doorways: he who is of MY type can still go therethrough, but—he must stoop! What did I not surrender that I might have one thing: this living plantation of my thoughts, and this dawn of my highest hope!

Oh, when shall I arrive again at my home, where I 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.

2.

I pass through this people and keep mine 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 am I still like a cock in a strange farm-yard, at which even the hens peck: 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 thinketh—of me!

This is the new stillness which I have experienced: their noise around me spreadeth a mantle over my thoughts.

They shout to one another: “What is this gloomy cloud about to do to us?

And recently did a woman seize upon her child that was coming unto me: “Take the children away,” cried she, “such eyes scorch children’s souls.”

They cough when I speak: they think coughing an objection to strong winds—they divine nothing of the boisterousness of my happiness!

“We have not yet time for Zarathustra”—so they object; but what matter about a time that “hath no time” for Zarathustra?

And if they should altogether praise me, how could I go to sleep on THEIR praise?

And this also did I learn among them: the praiser doeth as if he gave back; in truth, however, he wanteth more to be given him! I POSSESS YOU, MY CHILDREN! In this possessing shall everything be assurance and nothing desire.

Ask my foot if their lauding and luring strains please it!

To small virtues would they fain lure and laud me; to the ticktack of small happiness would they fain persuade my foot.

I pass through this people and keep mine eyes open; they have become SMALLER, and ever become smaller:—THE REASON THEREOF IS THEIR DOCTRINE OF HAPPINESS AND VIRTUE.

For they are moderate also in virtue,—because they want comfort.

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. When shall I find strength to hear thee burrowing, and no longer tremble?

And many of them go forward, and look backwards thereby, with stiffened necks: those do I like to run up against. Thy muteness even is like to strangle me, thou abysmal mute one!

Foot and eye shall not lie, nor give the lie to each other. But there is much lying among small people.

Some of them WILL, but most of them are WILLED.

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 masculinise themselves.

And this hypocrisy found I worst amongst them, that even those who command feign the virtues of those who serve. Verily, with insidious beauty do sea and life gaze upon me round about:

“I serve, thou servest, we serve”—so chanteth here even the hypocrisy of the rulers—and alas! if the first lord be ONLY the first servant! O happiness before eventide! O haven upon high seas! O peace in uncertainty! How I distrust all of you!

Ah, even upon their hypocrisy did mine eyes’ curiosity alight; and well did I divine all their fly-happiness, and their buzzing around sunny window-panes. Like the lover am I, who distrusteth too sleek smiling.

So much kindness, so much weakness do I see.

Round, fair, and considerate are they to one another, as grains of sand are round, fair, and considerate to grains of sand. With thee hath there come to me an involuntary bliss! Ready for my severest pain do I here stand:—at the wrong time hast thou come!

Modestly to embrace a small happiness—that do they call “submission”! and at the same time they peer modestly after a new small happiness. Rather harbour there—with my children! Hasten! and bless them before eventide with MY happiness!

In their hearts they want simply one thing most of all: that no one hurt them. Thus do they anticipate every one’s wishes and do well unto every one.

Thus spake Zarathustra. And he waited for his misfortune the whole night; but he waited in vain. The night remained clear and calm, and happiness itself came nigher and nigher unto him. Towards morning, however, Zarathustra laughed to his heart, and said mockingly: “Happiness runneth after me. That is because I do not run after women. Happiness, however, is a woman.”