《查拉图斯特拉如是说·第四部》第13节
LXV. THE MAGICIAN. When however Zarathustra had gone round a rock, then saw he on the same path, not far below him, a man who threw his limbs about like a maniac, and at last tumbled to the ground on his belly. “Halt!” said then Zarathustra to his heart, “he there must surely be the higher man, from him came that dreadful cry of distress,—I will see if I can help him.” When, however, he ran to the spot where the man lay on the ground, he found a trembling old man, with fixed eyes; and in spite of all Zarathustra’s efforts to lift him and set him again on his feet, it was all in vain. The unfortunate one, also, did not seem to notice that some one was beside him; on the contrary, he continually looked around with moving gestures, like one forsaken and isolated from all the world. At last, however, after much trembling, and convulsion, and curling-himself-up, he began to lament thus: Who warm’th me, who lov’th me still? Give ardent fingers! Give heartening charcoal-warmers! Prone, outstretched, trembling, Like him, half dead and cold, whose feet one warm’th— And shaken, ah! by unfamiliar fevers, Shivering with sharpened, icy-cold frost-arrows, By thee pursued, my fancy! Ineffable! Recondite! Sore-frightening! Thou huntsman ’hind the cloud-banks! Now lightning-struck by thee, Thou mocking eye that me in darkness watcheth: —Thus do I lie, Bend myself, twist myself, convulsed With all eternal torture, And smitten By thee, cruellest huntsman, Thou unfamiliar—GOD... Smite deeper! Smite yet once more! Pierce through and rend my heart! What mean’th this torture With dull, indented arrows? Why look’st thou hither, Of human pain not weary, With mischief-loving, godly flash-glances? Not murder wilt thou, But torture, torture? For why—ME torture, Thou mischief-loving, unfamiliar God?— Ha! Ha! Thou stealest nigh In midnight’s gloomy hour?... What wilt thou? Speak! Thou crowdst me, pressest— Ha! now far too closely! Thou hearst me breathing, Thou o’erhearst my heart, Thou ever jealous one! —Of what, pray, ever jealous? Off! Off! For why the ladder? Wouldst thou GET IN? To heart in-clamber? To mine own secretest Conceptions in-clamber? Shameless one! Thou unknown one!—Thief! What seekst thou by thy stealing? What seekst thou by thy hearkening? What seekst thou by thy torturing? Thou torturer! Thou—hangman-God! Or shall I, as the mastiffs do, Roll me before thee? And cringing, enraptured, frantical, My tail friendly—waggle! In vain! Goad further! Cruellest goader! No dog—thy game just am I, Cruellest huntsman! Thy proudest of captives, Thou robber ’hind the cloud-banks ... Speak finally! Thou lightning-veiled one! Thou unknown one! Speak! What wilt thou, highway-ambusher, from—ME? What WILT thou, unfamiliar—God? What? Ransom-gold? How much of ransom-gold? Solicit much—that bid’th my pride! And be concise—that bid’th mine other pride!
注释摘要
查拉图斯特拉追着那声悲苦的呼唤绕过大石，看见小径下方一个男人像着了魔一样四肢乱舞，最后脸朝下摔在地上。查拉图斯特拉起初以为这就是他正在寻找的“高人”，就是那呼救声的来源。但这并不是高人。这是一个在表演中淹没了自己的演员，一个精神上的魔术师。尼采把这个人物称作“魔术师”，这本身就已是嘲讽：他并非真的被神折磨到崩溃边缘，而是把崩溃表演出来，一边表演一边被自己的…