查拉图斯特拉如是说 英文版 Thus Spake Zarathustra
尼采 Friedrich Nietzsche
LXX. Noon-Tide.
--And Zarathustra ran and ran, but he found no one else, and was alone andever found himself again; he enjoyed and quaffed his solitude, and thoughtof good things--for hours. About the hour of noontide, however, when thesun stood exactly over Zarathustra's head, he passed an old, bent andgnarled tree, which was encircled round by the ardent love of a vine, andhidden from itself; from this there hung yellow grapes in abundance,confronting the wanderer. Then he felt inclined to quench a little thirst,and to break off for himself a cluster of grapes. When, however, he hadalready his arm out-stretched for that purpose, he felt still more inclinedfor something else--namely, to lie down beside the tree at the hour ofperfect noontide and sleep.
"Hush! Hush! Hath not the world now become perfect? What hath happenedunto me?
As a delicate wind danceth invisibly upon parqueted seas, light, feather-light, so--danceth sleep upon me.
No eye doth it close to me, it leaveth my soul awake. Light is it, verily,feather-light.
It persuadeth me, I know not how, it toucheth me inwardly with a caressinghand, it constraineth me. Yea, it constraineth me, so that my soulstretcheth itself out:--
--How long and weary it becometh, my strange soul! Hath a seventh-dayevening come to it precisely at noontide? Hath it already wandered toolong, blissfully, among good and ripe things?
It stretcheth itself out, long--longer! it lieth still, my strange soul.Too many good things hath it already tasted; this golden sadness oppressethit, it distorteth its mouth.
--As a ship that putteth into the calmest cove:--it now draweth up to theland, weary of long voyages and uncertain seas. Is not the land morefaithful?
As such a ship huggeth the shore, tuggeth the shore:--then it sufficeth fora spider to spin its thread from the ship to the land. No stronger ropesare required there.
As such a weary ship in the calmest cove, so do I also now repose, nigh tothe earth, faithful, trusting, waiting, bound to it with the lightestthreads.
O happiness! O happiness! Wilt thou perhaps sing, O my soul? Thou liestin the grass. But this is the secret, solemn hour, when no shepherdplayeth his pipe.
Take care! Hot noontide sleepeth on the fields. Do not sing! Hush! Theworld is perfect.
Do not sing, thou prairie-bird, my soul! Do not even whisper! Lo--hush!The old noontide sleepeth, it moveth its mouth: doth it not just now drinka drop of happiness--
--An old brown drop of golden happiness, golden wine? Something whiskethover it, its happiness laugheth. Thus--laugheth a God. Hush!--
--'For happiness, how little sufficeth for happiness!' Thus spake I onceand thought myself wise. But it was a blasphemy: THAT have I now learned.Wise fools speak better.
The least thing precisely, the gentlest thing, the lightest thing, alizard's rustling, a breath, a whisk, an eye-glance--LITTLE maketh up theBEST happiness. Hush!
--What hath befallen me: Hark! Hath time flown away? Do I not fall?Have I not fallen--hark! into the well of eternity?
--What happeneth to me? Hush! It stingeth me--alas--to the heart? To theheart! Oh, break up, break up, my heart, after such happiness, after sucha sting!
--What? Hath not the world just now become perfect? Round and ripe? Oh,for the golden round ring--whither doth it fly? Let me run after it!Quick!
Hush--" (and here Zarathustra stretched himself, and felt that he wasasleep.)
"Up!" said he to himself, "thou sleeper! Thou noontide sleeper! Wellthen, up, ye old legs! It is time and more than time; many a good stretchof road is still awaiting you--
Now have ye slept your fill; for how long a time? A half-eternity! Wellthen, up now, mine old heart! For how long after such a sleep mayest thou--remain awake?"
(But then did he fall asleep anew, and his soul spake against him anddefended itself, and lay down again)--"Leave me alone! Hush! Hath not theworld just now become perfect? Oh, for the golden round ball!--
"Get up," said Zarathustra, "thou little thief, thou sluggard! What!Still stretching thyself, yawning, sighing, failing into deep wells?
Who art thou then, O my soul!" (and here he became frightened, for asunbeam shot down from heaven upon his face.)
"O heaven above me," said he sighing, and sat upright, "thou gazest at me?Thou hearkenest unto my strange soul?
When wilt thou drink this drop of dew that fell down upon all earthlythings,--when wilt thou drink this strange soul--
--When, thou well of eternity! thou joyous, awful, noontide abyss! whenwilt thou drink my soul back into thee?"
Thus spake Zarathustra, and rose from his couch beside the tree, as ifawakening from a strange drunkenness: and behold! there stood the sunstill exactly above his head. One might, however, rightly infer therefromthat Zarathustra had not then slept long.