at last said: 'Away with SUCH
a God! Better to have no God, better to set up destiny on one's own
account, better to be a fool, better to be God oneself!'"

--"What do I hear!" said then the old pope, with intent ears; "O
Zarathustra, thou art more pious than thou believest, with such an
unbelief! Some God in thee hath converted thee to thine ungodliness.

Is it not thy piety itself which no longer letteth thee believe in a
God? And thine over-great honesty will yet lead thee even beyond good
and evil!

Behold, what hath been reserved for thee? Thou hast eyes and hands and
mouth, which have been predestined for blessing from eternity. One doth
not bless with the hand alone.

Nigh unto thee, though thou professest to be the ungodliest one, I feel
a hale and holy odour of long benedictions: I feel glad and grieved
thereby.

Let me be thy guest, O Zarathustra, for a single night! Nowhere on earth
shall I now feel better than with thee!"--

"Amen! So shall it be!" said Zarathustra, with great astonishment; "up
thither leadeth the way, there lieth the cave of Zarathustra.

Gladly, forsooth, would I conduct thee thither myself, thou venerable
one; for I love all pious men. But now a cry of distress calleth me
hastily away from thee.

In my domain shall no one come to grief; my cave is a good haven. And
best of all would I like to put every sorrowful one again on firm land
and firm legs.

Who, however, could take THY melancholy off thy shoulders? For that I am
too weak. Long, verily, should we have to wait until some one re-awoke
thy God for thee.

For that old God liveth no more: he is indeed dead."--

Thus spake Zarathustra.

LXVII. THE UGLIEST MAN.

--And again did Zarathustra's feet run through mountains and forests,
and his eyes sought and sought, but nowhere was he to be seen whom they
wanted to see--the sorely distressed sufferer and crier. On the whole
way, however, he rejoiced in his heart and was full of gratitude. "What
good things," said he, "hath this day given me, as amends for its bad
beginning! What strange interlocutors have I found!

At their words will I now chew a long while as at good corn; small
shall my teeth grind and crush them, until they flow like milk into my
soul!"--

When, however, the path again curved round a rock, all at once the
landscape changed, and Zarathustra entered into a realm of death. Here
bristled aloft black and red cliffs, without any grass, tree, or bird