thoughtlessly, perhaps even indifferently or ironically--this praise has in any case not originated out of the spirit of unselfishness! The "neighbour" praises unselfishness because _he profits by it!_ If the neighbour were "unselfishly" disposed himself, he would reject that destruction of power, that injury for _his_ advantage, he would thwart such inclinations in their origin, and above all he would manifest his unselfishness just by _not giving it a good name!_ The fundamental contradiction in that morality which at present stands in high honour is here indicated: the _motives_ to such a morality are in antithesis to its _principle!_ That with which this morality wishes to prove itself, refutes it out of its criterion of what is moral! The maxim, "Thou shalt renounce thyself and offer thyself as a sacrifice," in order not to be inconsistent with its own morality, could only be decreed by a being who himself renounced his own advantage thereby, and who perhaps in the required self-sacrifice of individuals brought about his own dissolution. As soon; however, as the neighbour (or society) recommended altruism _on account of its utility,_ the precisely antithetical proposition, "Thou shalt seek thy advantage even at the expense of everybody else," was brought into use: accordingly, "thou shalt," and "thou shalt not," are preached in one breath! 22. _L'Ordre du jour pour le Roi.--_The day commences: let us begin to arrange for this day the business and fêtes of our most gracious lord, who at present is still pleased to repose. His Majesty has bad weather to-day: we shall be careful not to call it bad; we shall not speak of the weather,--but we shall go through to-day's business somewhat more ceremoniously and make the fêtes somewhat more festive than would otherwise be necessary. His Majesty may perhaps even be sick: we shall give the last good news of the evening at breakfast, the arrival of M. Montaigne, who knows how to joke so pleasantly about his sickness,--he suffers from stone. We shall receive several persons (persons!--what would that old inflated frog, who will be among them, say, if he heard this word! "I am no person," he would say, "but always the thing itself")--and the reception will last longer than is pleasant to anybody; a sufficient reason for telling about the poet who wrote over his door, "He who enters here will do me an honour; he who does not--a favour."--That is, forsooth, saying a discourteous thing in a courteous manner! And perhaps this poet is quite justified on his part in being discourteous; they say that his rhymes are better than the rhymester. Well, let him still make many of them, and withdraw himself as much as possible from the world: and that is doubtless the significance of his well-bred rudeness! A prince, on the other hand, is always of more value than his "verse," even when--but what are we about? We gossip,' and the whole court believes that we have already been at work and