Zarathustra made no answer thereto, but went on his way. When he had gone on for two hours, past forests and swamps, he had heard too much of the hungry howling of the wolves, and he himself became a-hungry. So he halted at a lonely house in which a light was burning.

Hunger attacketh me, said Zarathustra, like a robber. Among forests and swamps my hunger attacketh me, and late in the night.

Strange humours hath my hunger. Often it cometh to me only after a repast, and all day it hath failed to come: where hath it been?

And thereupon Zarathustra knocked at the door of the house. An old man appeared who carried a light, and asked: Who cometh unto me and my bad sleep?

A living man and a dead one, said Zarathustra. Give me something to eat and drink, I forgot it during the day. He that feedeth the hungry refresheth his own soul, saith wisdom.

The old man withdrew, but came back immediately and offered Zarathustra bread and wine. A bad country for the hungry, said he; that is why I live here. Animal and man come unto me, the anchorite. But bid thy companion eat and drink also, he is wearier than thou. Zarathustra answered: My companion is dead; I shall hardly be able to persuade him to eat. That doth not concern me, said the old man sullenly; he that knocketh at my door must take what I offer him. Eat, and fare ye well!

Thereafter Zarathustra again went on for two hours, trusting to the path and the light of the stars: for he was an experienced night-walker, and liked to look into the face of all that slept. When the morning dawned, however, Zarathustra found himself in a thick forest, and no path was any longer visible. He then put the dead man in a hollow tree at his head — for he wanted to protect him from the wolves — and laid himself down on the ground and moss. And immediately he fell asleep, tired in body, but with a tranquil soul.

9

Long slept Zarathustra; and not only the rosy dawn passed over his head, but also the morning. At last, however, his eyes opened, and amazedly he gazed into the forest and the stillness, amazedly he gazed into himself. Then he arose quickly, like a seafarer who all at once seeth the land; and he shouted for joy, for he saw a new truth. And he spake thus to his heart:

A light hath dawned upon me: I need companions — living ones, not dead companions and corpses, which I carry with me where I will.

But I need living companions who will follow me because they want to follow themselves — and to the place where I will.

A light hath dawned upon me. Not to the people is Zarathustra to speak, but to companions! Zarathustra shall not be the herd’s herdsman and hound!

To allure many from the herd — for that purpose have I come. The people and the herd must be angry with me: a robber shall Zarathustra be called by the herdsmen.

Herdsmen, I say, but they call themselves the good and just. Herdsmen, I say, but they call themselves the believers in the orthodox belief.

Behold the good and just! Whom do they hate most? Him who breaketh up their tables of values, the breaker, the law-breaker: he, however, is the creator.

Behold the believers of all beliefs! Whom do they hate most? Him who breaketh up their tables of values, the breaker, the law-breaker: he, however, is the creator.