Читать книгу Thus Spoke Zarathustra - FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE, Friedrich Nietzsche - Страница 41

Then, however, something happened which made every mouth mute and every eye fixed. In the meantime, of course, the rope‐dancer had commenced his performance: he had come out at a little door, and was going along the rope which was stretched between two towers, so that it hung above the market‐place and the people. When he was just midway across, the little door opened once more, and a gaudily‐dressed fellow like a buffoon sprang out, and went rapidly after the first one. “Go on, halt‐foot,” cried his frightful voice, “go on, lazy‐bones, interloper, sallow‐face! – lest I tickle you with my heel! What do you here between the towers? In the tower is the place for you, you should be locked up; to one better than thyself you block the way!” – And with every word he came nearer and nearer the first one. When, however, he was but a step behind, there happened the frightful thing which made every mouth mute and every eye fixed – he uttered a yell like a devil, and jumped over the other who was in his way. The latter, however, when he thus saw his rival triumph, lost at the same time his head and his footing on the rope; he threw his pole away, and shot downwards faster than it, like an eddy of arms and legs, into the depth. The market‐place and the people were like the sea when the storm comes on: they all flew apart and in disorder, especially where the body was about to fall.

Zarathustra, however, remained standing, and just beside him fell the body, badly injured and disfigured, but not yet dead. After a while consciousness returned to the shattered man, and he saw Zarathustra kneeling beside him. “What are you doing there?” said he at last, “I knew long ago that the devil would trip me up. Now he drags me to hell: will you prevent him?”

“On mine honor, my friend,” answered Zarathustra, “there is nothing of all that whereof you speak: there is no devil and no hell. Your soul will be dead even sooner than your body: fear, therefore, nothing any more!”

The man looked up distrustfully. “If you speak the truth,” said he, “I lose nothing when I lose my life. I am not much more than an animal which has been taught to dance by blows and scanty fare.”

“Not at all,” said Zarathustra, “you have made danger your calling; therein there is nothing contemptible. Now you perish by your calling: therefore will I bury you with my own hands.”

When Zarathustra had said this the dying one did not reply further; but he moved his hand as if he sought the hand of Zarathustra in gratitude.