THE WANDERER 2l<)
which maketh hard be praised. I do not praise the land where there flow butter and honey!
In order to see much it is necessary to learn to forget one's self. This hardness is requisite for every mountain-climber.
But whoever is forward with his eyes as a per- ceiver, how could he see more than the foremost rea- sons of all things !
But thou, O Zarathustra, desiredst to see the ground and background of all things. Thus thou art com- pelled to mount above thyself, up, upwards, until thou seest below thyself even thy stars ! '
Ay, to look down unto one's self and even unto one's stars : only that would I call my summit, that hath been reserved for me as my last summit."
Thus Zarathustra spake unto himself, ascending, comforting his heart with hard little sayings ; for his heart was sore as it had never been. And when he reached the top of the mountain ridge, lo ! the other sea lay spread out before him. And he stood still and kept silence for a long time. But the night was cold on that height, and clear and bright with stars.
"I recognize my lot," at last he said sadly. "Up! I am ready. My last loneliness hath just begun.
Oh, that black, sad sea below me ! Oh, that black, night-like peevishness! Oh, fate and sea! Now I have to step down unto you !
Before my highest mountain I stand, and before
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