(1844 - 1900)
Thus Spake Zarathustra
sublime one saw I today, a solemn one, a penitent of the
spirit: Oh, how my soul laughed at his ugliness! (thus
WITH such enigmas and bitterness
in his heart did Zarathustra sail o'er the sea. When, however,
he was four day-journeys from the Happy Isles and from his
friends, then had he surmounted all his pain:- triumphantly
and with firm foot did he again accept his fate. And then
talked Zarathustra in this wise to his exulting conscience:
Alone am I again, and like
to be so, alone with the pure heaven, and the open sea; and
again is the afternoon around me.
On an afternoon did I find
my friends for the first time; on an afternoon, also, did
I find them a second time:- at the hour when all light becometh
For whatever happiness is still
on its way 'twixt heaven and earth, now seeketh for lodging
a luminous soul: with happiness hath all light now become
O afternoon of my life! Once
did my happiness also descend to the valley that it might
seek a lodging: then did it find those open hospitable souls.
O afternoon of my life! What
did I not surrender that I might have one thing: this living
plantation of my thoughts, and this dawn of my highest hope!
Companions did the creating
one once seek, and children of his hope: and lo, it turned
out that he could not find them, except he himself should
first create them.
Thus am I in the midst of my
work, to my children going, and from them returning: for the
sake of his children must Zarathustra perfect himself.
For in one's heart one loveth
only one's child and one's work; and where there is great
love to oneself, then is it the sign of pregnancy: so have
I found it.
Still are my children verdant
in their first spring, standing nigh one another, and shaken
in common by the winds, the trees of my garden and of my best
And verily, where such trees
stand beside one another, there are Happy Isles!
But one day will I take them
up, and put each by itself alone: that it may learn lonesomeness
and defiance and prudence.
Gnarled and crooked and with
flexible hardness shall it then stand by the sea, a living
lighthouse of unconquerable life.
Yonder where the storms rush
down into the sea, and the snout of the mountain drinketh
water, shall each on a time have his day and night watches,
for his testing and recognition.
Recognised and tested shall
each be, to see if he be of my type and lineage:- if he be
master of a long will, silent even when he speaketh, and giving
in such wise that he taketh in giving:-So that he may one
day become my companion, a fellow-creator and fellow-enjoyer
with Zarathustra:- such a one as writeth my will on my tables,
for the fuller perfection of all things.
And for his sake and for those
like him, must I perfect myself: therefore do I now avoid
my happiness, and present myself to every misfortune- for
my final testing and recognition.
And verily, it were time that
I went away; and the wanderer's shadow and the longest tedium
and the stillest hour- have all said unto me: "It is
the highest time!"
The word blew to me through
the keyhole and said "Come!" The door sprang subtly
open unto me, and said "Go!"
But I lay enchained to my love
for my children: desire spread this snare for me- the desire
for love- that I should become the prey of my children, and
lose myself in them.
Desiring- that is now for me
to have lost myself. I possess you, my children! In this possessing
shall everything be assurance and nothing desire.
But brooding lay the sun of
my love upon me, in his own juice stewed Zarathustra,- then
did shadows and doubts fly past me.
For frost and winter I now
longed: "Oh, that frost and winter would again make me
crack and crunch!" sighed I:- then arose icy mist out
My past burst its tomb, many
pains buried alike woke up:- fully slept had they merely,
concealed in corpse-clothes.
So called everything unto me
in signs: "It is time!" But I- heard not, until
at last mine abyss moved, and my thought bit me.
Ah, abysmal thought, which
art my thought! When shall I find strength to hear thee burrowing,
and no longer tremble?
To my very throat throbbeth
my heart when I hear them burrowing! Thy muteness even is
like to strangle me, thou abysmal mute one!
As yet have I never ventured
to call thee up; it hath been enough that I- have carried
thee about with me! As yet have I not been strong enough for
my final lion-wantonness and playfulness.
Sufficiently formidable unto
me hath thy weight ever been: but one day shall I yet find
the strength and the lion's voice which will call thee up!
When I shall have surmounted
myself therein, then will I surmount myself also in that which
is greater; and a victory shall be the seal of my perfection!Meanwhile
do I sail along on uncertain seas; chance flattereth me, smooth-tongued
chance; forward and backward do I gaze-, still see I no end.
As yet hath the hour of my
final struggle not come to me- or doth it come to me perhaps
just now? Verily, with insidious beauty do sea and life gaze
upon me round about:
O afternoon of my life! O happiness
before eventide! O haven upon high seas! O peace in uncertainty!
How I distrust all of you!
Verily, distrustful am I of
your insidious beauty! Like the lover am I, who distrusteth
too sleek smiling.
As he pusheth the best-beloved
before him- tender even in severity, the jealous one-, so
do I push this blissful hour before me.
Away with thee, thou blissful
hour! With thee hath there come to me an involuntary bliss!
Ready for my severest pain do I here stand:- at the wrong
time hast thou come!
Away with thee, thou blissful
hour! Rather harbour there- with my children! Hasten! and
bless them before eventide with my happiness!
There, already approacheth
eventide: the sun sinketh. Away- my happiness!Thus spake Zarathustra.
And he waited for his misfortune the whole night; but he waited
in vain. The night remained clear and calm, and happiness
itself came nigher and nigher unto him. Towards morning, however,
Zarathustra laughed to his heart, and said mockingly: "Happiness
runneth after me. That is because I do not run after women.
Happiness, however, is a woman."
qu'on fait n'est jamais compris mais seulement loué ou blâmé.
Nietzsche, Gay Science