Latest / The Philosophy Insights Collection / 23 - Thus Spake Zarathustra - Friedrich Nietzsche
Transcript
- Part two, Chapter twenty three, The Child with the mirror. After this, Zarathustra returned again into the mountains, to the solitude of his cave, and withdrew himself from men waiting, like a sewer who hath scattered his seed. His soul, however, became impatient and full of longing for those whom he loved, because he had still much to give them. For this is hardest of all to close the open hand out of love and keep modest as a giver. Thus passed with the lonesome one months and years. His wisdom meanwhile increased and caused him pain by its abundance. One morning, however, he awoke here the rosy dawned, and, having meditated long on his couch, at last spake thus to his heart, Why did I startle in my dream so that I awoke? Did not a child come to me carrying a mirror? Oh, Zarathustra said the child unto me, look at thyself in the mirror. But when I looked into the mirror, I shrieked, and my heart throbbed, For not myself did I see therein but a devil's grimace and derision. Verily, all too well do I understand the dreams, portent and monition. My doctrine is in danger. Tears wont to be called wheat. Mine enemies have grown powerful and have disfigured the likeness of my doctrine, so that my dearest ones have to blush for the gifts that I gave them. Lost are my friends? The hourreth come for me to seek my lost ones. With these words, Zarathustra started up, not however, like a person in anguish seeking relief, but rather like a seer and a singer whom the spirit inspireth with amazement. Did his eagle and serpent gaze upon him for a coming bliss overspread his countenance like the rosy dawn? What hath happened to me? Mine animals, said Zarathustra, Am I not transformed? Hath not bliss come unto me like a whirlwind? Foolish is my happiness, and foolish things? Will it speak? It is still too young, so half patience with it? Wounded? Am I by my happiness? All sufferers shall be physicians unto me? To my friends? Can I again go down? And also to mine enemies? Zarathustra can again speak and bestow and show his best love to his loved ones. My impatient love overfloweth in streams down towards sunrise and sunset, out of silent mountains, and storms of affliction, rusheth my soul into the valleys. Too long have I longed and looked into the distance? Too long? Hath solitude possessed me? Thus I have unlearned to keep silence utterance? Have I become altogether and the brawling of a brook from high rocks downward into the valleys? Will I hurl my speech and let the stream of my love sweep into unfrequented channels? How should a stream not finally find its way to the sea? Forsooth there is a lake in me, sequestered in self sufficing. But the stream of my love beareth this all along with it down to the sea. New paths do I tread? A new speech cometh unto me? Tired? Have I become like all creators of the old tongues? No longer? Will my spirit walk on? Worn out souls too slowly runneth all speaking for me into thy chariot? Oh storm, do I leap? And even thee will I whip with my spite like a cry and a Huszah, Will I traverse the wide seas till I find the happy isles where my friends sojourn, and my enemies amongst them. How now I love every one unto whom I may but speak. Even mine enemies pertain to my bliss. And when I want to mount my wildest horse, then my spear always help me up best. It is my foot's ever ready servant, the spear which I hurl at mine enemies. How grateful am I to mine enemies, that I may at last hurl it? Too? Great? Hath been the tension of my cloud TwixT laughters of lightning? Will I cast hail showers into the depths violently? Will my breast then heave violently? Will it blow its storm over the mountains? Thus cometh its assuagement? Verily, like a storm cometh my happiness and my freedom. But mine enemies shall think that the evil one roareth over their heads. Yea ye, Also my friends will be alarmed by my wild wisdom, and perhaps ye will flee therefrom along with mine enemies. Ah that I knew how to lure you back with shepherd's flutes, Ah, that my lioness wisdom would learn to roar softly, And much have we already learned with one another. My wild wisdom became pregnant on them lonesome mountains, on the rough stones did she bear the youngest of her young. Now runneth she foolishly in the arid wilderness, and seeketh, and seeketh the soft sword, mine old wild wisdom. On the soft sword of your hearts, my friends, on your love, would she fain couch her dearest one. Thus spake Zarathustra, end of chapter twenty three.