《查拉图斯特拉如是说·第四部》第14节
Ha! Ha! ME—wantest thou? me? —Entire?... Ha! Ha! And torturest me, fool that thou art, Dead-torturest quite my pride? Give LOVE to me—who warm’th me still? Who lov’th me still?— Give ardent fingers, Give heartening charcoal-warmers, Give me, the lonesomest, The ice (ah! seven-fold frozen ice, For very enemies, For foes, doth make one thirst), Give, yield to me, Cruellest foe, —THYSELF!— Away! There fled he surely, My final, only comrade, My greatest foe, Mine unfamiliar— My hangman-God!... —Nay! Come thou back! WITH all of thy great tortures! To me the last of lonesome ones, Oh, come thou back! All my hot tears in streamlets trickle Their course to thee! And all my final hearty fervour— Up-glow’th to THEE! Oh, come thou back, Mine unfamiliar God! my PAIN! My final bliss! —Here, however, Zarathustra could no longer restrain himself; he took his staff and struck the wailer with all his might. “Stop this,” cried he to him with wrathful laughter, “stop this, thou stage-player! Thou false coiner! Thou liar from the very heart! I know thee well! I will soon make warm legs to thee, thou evil magician: I know well how—to make it hot for such as thou!” —“Leave off,” said the old man, and sprang up from the ground, “strike me no more, O Zarathustra! I did it only for amusement! That kind of thing belongeth to mine art. Thee thyself, I wanted to put to the proof when I gave this performance. And verily, thou hast well detected me! But thou thyself—hast given me no small proof of thyself: thou art HARD, thou wise Zarathustra! Hard strikest thou with thy ‘truths,’ thy cudgel forceth from me—THIS truth!” —“Flatter not,” answered Zarathustra, still excited and frowning, “thou stage-player from the heart! Thou art false: why speakest thou—of truth! Thou peacock of peacocks, thou sea of vanity; WHAT didst thou represent before me, thou evil magician; WHOM was I meant to believe in when thou wailedst in such wise?” “THE PENITENT IN SPIRIT,” said the old man, “it was him—I represented; thou thyself once devisedst this expression— —The poet and magician who at last turneth his spirit against himself, the transformed one who freezeth to death by his bad science and conscience. And just acknowledge it: it was long, O Zarathustra, before thou discoveredst my trick and lie! Thou BELIEVEDST in my distress when thou heldest my head with both thy hands,— —I heard thee lament ‘we have loved him too little, loved him too little!’ Because I so far deceived thee, my wickedness rejoiced in me.” “Thou mayest have deceived subtler ones than I,” said Zarathustra sternly. “I am not on my guard against deceivers; I HAVE TO BE without precaution: so willeth my lot.
注释摘要
这段魔法师的哀嚎，是全书最具戏剧性的自我剖白之一，也是查拉图斯特拉在此节遭遇的第一个所谓“较高的人”。查拉图斯特拉正在山中循着那声痛苦的呼号寻找呼救者，转过一块岩石，看见一个肢体抽搐、摔倒在地的老人——正是魔法师本人。查拉图斯特拉起初以为这便是那呼救的较高的人，于是试图扶起他，却扶不起来，老人随即吐出了这段痉挛似的、诗体的独白。整段独白在情境上是一个表演，…