The King on the Right

The King on the Right is one of two crowned rulers who cross Zarathustra’s path in the mountains while searching for the Higher Man. Though his royal status is signaled by crown, purple sash, and ceremonial procession, he is willing to question what kings amount to and to acknowledge the limits of his rank. His part in the encounter turns on recognition: he and the other king find in Zarathustra the figure their enemies had distorted, then join his company and take part in the meal that becomes The Last Supper.

Identity and Introduction

The King on the Right appears with another king on a mountain path Zarathustra is descending. The pair are dressed in crowns and purple sashes, conspicuous against the mountain setting, and lead The Ass, laden with goods. Their stately entrance is immediately undercut by Zarathustra’s astonishment that he sees two kings but only one ass. The right-hand king responds not with indignation but with a smile and a remark about how people at home may think such things without daring to say them. His first defining trait is thus a readiness to recognize the distance between what people think and what they openly declare.

The text supplies no personal name or individual history for him. He is identified by his place among the two kings, and the narrative develops him through his speech and responses rather than through a separate biography. Even his royal identity is presented with a comic counterweight: alongside the crowns and sashes is the shared burden of leading one laden animal. The scene allows him to remain a king while making royal dignity available for laughter and scrutiny.

Search for the Higher Man

When Zarathustra reveals himself, he recalls having once asked what kings matter and says he was glad to hear them ask, in turn, what they matter. The King on the Right and his companion respond by beating their breasts and declaring themselves recognized. They explain that they are seeking the Higher Man, someone higher than themselves despite their kingship, and that they have brought The Ass along. The search makes their position explicit: sovereignty has not answered the question of what a higher human being might be, and the kings are prepared to look beyond their own rank.

The right-hand king’s willingness to admit this uncertainty connects his opening remark to the purpose of the journey. At first, his comment concerns the unspoken thoughts people may have about kings; after Zarathustra identifies himself, the kings acknowledge that their own royal standing does not settle their worth. Their admission is collective, but it gives the King on the Right a clear place in the encounter: he is among the rulers who can speak of their limits without treating that acknowledgment as a loss of face.

Recognition of Zarathustra

The King on the Right says that he and his companion were glad to come out and see Zarathustra. Their earlier image of him had come from the mirror held up by his enemies, in which he appeared with a devil’s grimace and mocking laughter. That portrayal had frightened them. Yet his sayings continued to reach their ears and hearts, until they decided that his appearance mattered less than what he said. Their journey therefore brings them into contact not only with the man they were seeking, but with the difference between an adversarial image of Zarathustra and their experience of him.

This recognition does not erase their initial fear; it explains how they passed through it. The king describes an accumulation of sayings that repeatedly stung them, followed by a deliberate change in emphasis: they ceased to make Zarathustra’s appearance decisive. His response to the kings’ candid remark about royal importance also supplies the occasion for their confession. In this exchange, recognition runs both ways: Zarathustra identifies the kings’ distress, and they identify him despite the frightening likeness supplied by his enemies.

Welcome and the Meal

Later, the two kings arrive among Zarathustra’s guests. Zarathustra welcomes them by promising security from the wild animals in his preserve, then offers first a little finger, and, if they take it, his whole hand and heart. The King on the Right replies for the guests. He recognizes Zarathustra in the manner of the welcome, observing that Zarathustra has humbled himself before them and almost injured their respect. Yet, he adds, no one could humble himself with such pride; the gesture lifts and refreshes the guests. His response catches the double character of the greeting: it is an act of welcome that lowers the host’s stance without diminishing his authority.

At the ensuing meal, the King on the Right reacts to Zarathustra’s description of the kind of person he values: merry in war and feasting, untroubled by mournfulness or dreaminess, and ready to meet what is hardest as if it were a feast. Zarathustra also speaks of taking the best when it is not given. The king finds it remarkable to hear such clever words from a philosopher and remarks on how rarely cleverness and wisdom coincide in one. The Ass answers with a bray, and the narrative identifies this meal as the beginning of The Last Supper, during which nothing is discussed but the Higher Man. The king’s admiration thus accompanies the gathering’s sustained attention to the ideal that first brought him and his companion into Zarathustra’s mountains.