--- title: "Thus Spake Zarathustra" author: "Friedrich Nietzsche" translator: "Thomas Common" languages: [en] shelf: "Philosophy" section: 27 of 95 url: https://scriptura.si/works/nietzsche-zarathustra/27/ cite: "Friedrich Nietzsche, tr. Thomas Common, Thus Spake Zarathustra, section 27. Scriptura (scriptura.si), https://scriptura.si/works/nietzsche-zarathustra/27/" --- # Thus Spake Zarathustra *Friedrich Nietzsche, tr. Thomas Common* A prophet comes down from his mountain to teach the overman, in sermons and songs. ## 27. XXIII. The Child with the Mirror Source: https://scriptura.si/works/nietzsche-zarathustra/27/ · cite a paragraph as https://scriptura.si/works/nietzsche-zarathustra/27/#p-N ### Second Part [¶1] After this Zarathustra returned again into the mountains to the solitude of his cave, and withdrew himself from men, waiting like a sower 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. [¶2] Thus passed with the lonesome one months and years; his wisdom meanwhile increased, and caused him pain by its abundance. [¶3] One morning, however, he awoke ere the rosy dawn, and having meditated long on his couch, at last spake thus to his heart: [¶4] Why did I startle in my dream, so that I awoke? Did not a child come to me, carrying a mirror? [¶5] “O Zarathustra”—said the child unto me—“look at thyself in the mirror!” [¶6] 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. [¶7] Verily, all too well do I understand the dream’s portent and monition: my DOCTRINE is in danger; tares want to be called wheat! [¶8] 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. [¶9] Lost are my friends; the hour hath come for me to seek my lost ones!— [¶10] 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. [¶11] What hath happened unto me, mine animals?—said Zarathustra. Am I not transformed? Hath not bliss come unto me like a whirlwind? [¶12] Foolish is my happiness, and foolish things will it speak: it is still too young—so have patience with it! [¶13] Wounded am I by my happiness: all sufferers shall be physicians unto me! [¶14] 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! [¶15] 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. [¶16] Too long have I longed and looked into the distance. Too long hath solitude possessed me: thus have I unlearned to keep silence. [¶17] Utterance have I become altogether, and the brawling of a brook from high rocks: downward into the valleys will I hurl my speech. [¶18] And let the stream of my love sweep into unfrequented channels! How should a stream not finally find its way to the sea! [¶19] Forsooth, there is a lake in me, sequestered and self-sufficing; but the stream of my love beareth this along with it, down—to the sea! [¶20] 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 soles. [¶21] Too slowly runneth all speaking for me:—into thy chariot, O storm, do I leap! And even thee will I whip with my spite! [¶22] Like a cry and an huzza will I traverse wide seas, till I find the Happy Isles where my friends sojourn;— [¶23] And mine enemies amongst them! How I now love every one unto whom I may but speak! Even mine enemies pertain to my bliss. [¶24] And when I want to mount my wildest horse, then doth my spear always help me up best: it is my foot’s ever ready servant:— [¶25] The spear which I hurl at mine enemies! How grateful am I to mine enemies that I may at last hurl it! [¶26] Too great hath been the tension of my cloud: ‘twixt laughters of lightnings will I cast hail-showers into the depths. [¶27] Violently will my breast then heave; violently will it blow its storm over the mountains: thus cometh its assuagement. [¶28] Verily, like a storm cometh my happiness, and my freedom! But mine enemies shall think that THE EVIL ONE roareth over their heads. [¶29] Yea, ye also, my friends, will be alarmed by my wild wisdom; and perhaps ye will flee therefrom, along with mine enemies. [¶30] Ah, that I knew how to lure you back with shepherds’ flutes! Ah, that my lioness wisdom would learn to roar softly! And much have we already learned with one another! [¶31] My wild wisdom became pregnant on the lonesome mountains; on the rough stones did she bear the youngest of her young. [¶32] Now runneth she foolishly in the arid wilderness, and seeketh and seeketh the soft sward—mine old, wild wisdom! [¶33] On the soft sward of your hearts, my friends!—on your love, would she fain couch her dearest one!— [¶34] Thus spake Zarathustra.