查拉图斯特拉如是说 英文版 Thus Spake Zarathustra
尼采 Friedrich Nietzsche
XXIII. The Child with the Mirror.
After this Zarathustra returned again into the mountains to the solitude ofhis cave, and withdrew himself from men, waiting like a sower who hathscattered his seed. His soul, however, became impatient and full oflonging 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 keepmodest as a giver.
Thus passed with the lonesome one months and years; his wisdom meanwhileincreased, and caused him pain by its abundance.
One morning, however, he awoke ere the rosy dawn, and having meditated longon 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 tome, carrying a mirror?
keepmodest as a giver.
"O 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: fornot myself did I see therein, but a devil's grimace and derision.
Verily, all too well do I understand the dream's portent and monition: myDOCTRINE is in danger; tares want to be called wheat!
Mine enemies have grown powerful and have disfigured the likeness of mydoctrine, so that my dearest ones have to blush for the gifts that I gavethem.
Lost are my friends; the hour hath come for me to seek my lost ones!--
With these words Zarathustra started up, not however like a person inanguish seeking relief, but rather like a seer and a singer whom the spiritinspireth. With amazement did his eagle and serpent gaze upon him: for acoming bliss overspread his countenance like the rosy dawn.
What hath happened unto me, mine animals?--said Zarathustra. Am I nottransformed? Hath not bliss come unto me like a whirlwind?
Foolish is my happiness, and foolish things will it speak: it is still tooyoung--so have 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! Zarathustracan 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 thevalleys.
Too long have I longed and looked into the distance. Too long hathsolitude possessed me: thus have I unlearned to keep silence.
Utterance have I become altogether, and the brawling of a brook from highrocks: downward into the valleys will I hurl my speech.
And let the stream of my love sweep into unfrequented channels! How shoulda stream not finally find its way to the sea!
Forsooth, there is a lake in me, sequestered and self-sufficing; but thestream of my love beareth this 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 onworn-out soles.
Too slowly runneth all speaking for me:--into thy chariot, O storm, do Ileap! And even thee will I whip with my spite!
Like a cry and an huzza will I traverse wide seas, till I find the HappyIsles where my friends sojourn;-
And mine enemies amongst them! How I now love every one unto whom I maybut speak! Even mine enemies pertain to my bliss.
And when I want to mount my wildest horse, then doth my spear always helpme up best: it is my foot's ever ready servant:--
The spear which I hurl at mine enemies! How grateful am I to mine enemiesthat I may at last hurl it!
Too great hath been the tension of my cloud: 'twixt laughters oflightnings will I cast hail-showers into the depths.
Violently will my breast then heave; violently will it blow its storm overthe mountains: thus cometh its assuagement.
Verily, like a storm cometh my happiness, and my freedom! But mine enemiesshall think that THE EVIL ONE roareth over their heads.
Yea, ye also, my friends, will be alarmed by my wild wisdom; and perhaps yewill flee therefrom, along with mine enemies.
Ah, that I knew how to lure you back with shepherds' flutes! Ah, that mylioness wisdom would learn to roar softly! And much have we alreadylearned with one another!
My wild wisdom became pregnant on the lonesome mountains; on the roughstones did she bear the youngest of her young.
Now runneth she foolishly in the arid wilderness, and seeketh and seekeththe soft sward--mine old, wild wisdom!
On the soft sward of your hearts, my friends!--on your love, would she faincouch her dearest one!--
Thus spake Zarathustra.