head only the bowels of his heart; his heart, however, causeth his
down-going.

  I love all who are like heavy drops falling one by one out of the
dark cloud that lowereth over man: they herald the coming of the
lightning, and succumb as heralds.

  Lo, I am a herald of the lightning, and a heavy drop out of the
cloud: the lightning, however, is the Superman.-

                            5.

  When Zarathustra had spoken these words, he again looked at the
people, and was silent. "There they stand," said he to his heart;
"there they laugh: they understand me not; I am not the mouth for
these ears.

  Must one first batter their ears, that they may learn to hear with
their eyes? Must one clatter like kettledrums and penitential
preachers? Or do they only believe the stammerer?

  They have something whereof they are proud. What do they call it,
that which maketh them proud? Culture, they call it; it distinguisheth
them from the goatherds.

  They dislike, therefore, to hear of 'contempt' of themselves. So I
will appeal to their pride.

  I will speak unto them of the most contemptible thing: that,
however, is the last man!"

  And thus spake Zarathustra unto the people:

  It is time for man to fix his goal. It is time for man to plant
the germ of his highest hope.

  Still is his soil rich enough for it. But that soil will one day
be poor and exhausted, and no lofty tree will any longer be able to
grow thereon.

  Alas! there cometh the time when man will no longer launch the arrow
of his longing beyond man- and the string of his bow will have
unlearned to whizz!

  I tell you: one must still have chaos in one, to give birth to a
dancing star. I tell you: ye have still chaos in you.

  Alas! There cometh the time when man will no longer give birth to
any star. Alas! There cometh the time of the most despicable man,
who can no longer despise himself.

  Lo! I show you the last man.

  "What is love? What is creation? What is longing? What is a
star?"- so asketh the last man and blinketh.

  The earth hath then become small, and on it there hoppeth the last
man who maketh everything small. His species is ineradicable like that
of the ground-flea; the last man liveth longest.

  "We have discovered happiness"- say the last men, and blink thereby.

  They have left the regions where it is hard to live; for they need
warmth. One still loveth one's neighbour and rubbeth against him;
for one needeth warmth.

  Turning ill and being distrustful, they consider sinful: they walk
warily. He is a fool who still stumbleth over stones or men!

  A little poison now and then: that maketh pleasant dreams. And
much poison at last for a pleasant death.

  One still worketh, for work is a pastime. But one is careful lest
the pastime should hurt one.

  One no longer becometh poor or rich; both are too burdensome. Who
still wanteth to rule? Who still wanteth to obey? Both are too
burdensome.

  No shepherd, and one herd! Everyone wanteth the same; everyone is
equal: he who hath other sentiments goeth voluntarily into the
madhouse.

  "Formerly all the world was insane,"- say the subtlest of them,
and blink thereby.

  They are clever and know all that hath happened: so there is no
end to their raillery. People still fall out, but are soon reconciled-
otherwise it spoileth their stomachs.

  They have their little pleasures for the day, and their little
pleasures for the night, but they have a regard for health.

  "We have discovered happiness,"- say the last men, and blink
thereby.-

  And here ended the first discourse of Zarathustra, which is also
called "The Prologue", for at this point the shouting and mirth of the
multitude interrupted him. "Give us this last man, O Zarathustra,"-
they called out- "make us into these last men! Then will we make