"Poor Nietzsche in Turin, eating sausage his mother
Mails to him from Basel."
- Robert Hass, 'A Supple Wreath of Myrtle'
Yes, poor Nietzsche. First his own life let him down, then history. A being betrayed by existence.
All that survives of him now is what survives of any mind - trivia - pieces of evidence the clerks have kept not because they are conclusive, but because they are shiny. The package of sausages, the beaten horse.
Beyond the human, beyond tragedy, beyond good and evil, what remains is anecdote. Like the story of the man who stood at the base of a great mountain, laughing at the shapes of the fallen stones.