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:

When Zarathustra came around a rock, he saw a man on the same path, a little way below him. The man was flailing his limbs like a maniac, and finally fell on his stomach. “Wait!” Zarathustra said to his heart. “That man must surely be the higher man. That dreadful cry of distress came from him. I will see if I can help him.” But when Zarathustra ran to the spot where the man lay, he found a trembling old man with a fixed stare. Zarathustra tried everything to lift him and get him back on his feet, but nothing worked. The unfortunate man did not even seem to notice that someone was beside him. Instead, he kept looking around and making gestures, like someone abandoned and cut off from the whole world. At last, after much trembling, convulsing, and curling up, he began to lament:

—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!

At this, however, Zarathustra could no longer restrain himself. He took his staff and struck the wailer with all his might. “Stop this!” he cried, laughing in anger. “Stop this, you actor! You counterfeiter! You liar to the core! I know you well!”

I will soon make warm legs to thee, thou evil magician: I know well how—to make it hot for such as thou!”

I’ll soon warm your legs, you evil magician. I know well how to make things hot for the likes of you!”

—“Leave off,” said the old man, and sprang up from the ground, “strike me no more, O Zarathustra! I did it only for amusement!

“Stop,” said the old man, jumping up from the ground. “Don't hit me anymore, Zarathustra! I did it only for fun!

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!

That kind of thing is part of my art. I wanted to test you when I gave this performance. And indeed, you saw right through 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!”

But you yourself have given me ample proof of what you are: you are HARD, wise Zarathustra! You strike hard with your ‘truths.’ Your club forces THIS truth out of me!”

—“Flatter not,” answered Zarathustra, still excited and frowning, “thou stage-player from the heart! Thou art false: why speakest thou—of truth!

“Don't flatter me,” Zarathustra answered, still agitated and frowning. “You are an actor to the core! You are false. Why do you speak 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?”

You peacock of peacocks, you sea of vanity, WHAT were you pretending to be before me, you evil magician? WHOM was I supposed to believe in when you wailed like that?”

“THE PENITENT IN SPIRIT,” said the old man, “it was him—I represented; thou thyself once devisedst this expression—

“THE PENITENT IN SPIRIT,” said the old man, “he was the one I represented. You yourself once coined that 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.

The poet and magician who finally turns his spirit against himself, the transformed one who freezes to death from 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,—

Just admit it, Zarathustra. It took you a long time to discover my trick and my lie! You BELIEVED I was in distress when you held my head in both 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.”

I heard you cry, ‘we loved him too little, loved him too little!’ My wickedness rejoiced because I had deceived you so completely.”

“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.

“You may have deceived people more discerning than I am,” said Zarathustra sternly. “I am not on my guard against deceivers. I HAVE TO live without caution, for that is my fate.”

Thou, however,—MUST deceive: so far do I know thee! Thou must ever be equivocal, trivocal, quadrivocal, and quinquivocal! Even what thou hast now confessed, is not nearly true enough nor false enough for me!

But you MUST deceive. I know you that well! You must always speak with two, three, four, or five meanings! Even what you have just confessed is nowhere near true enough or false enough for me!

Thou bad false coiner, how couldst thou do otherwise! Thy very malady wouldst thou whitewash if thou showed thyself naked to thy physician.

You bad counterfeiter, how could you do otherwise! Even if you stood naked before your doctor, you would disguise your illness.

Thus didst thou whitewash thy lie before me when thou saidst: ‘I did so ONLY for amusement!’ There was also SERIOUSNESS therein, thou ART something of a penitent-in-spirit!

You covered up your lie to me when you said: ‘I did it ONLY for amusement!’ You were SERIOUS too. You ARE something of a penitent in spirit!

I divine thee well: thou hast become the enchanter of all the world; but for thyself thou hast no lie or artifice left,—thou art disenchanted to thyself!

I see through you: you have become the enchanter of all the world. But you have no lies or tricks left for yourself. You are disenchanted with yourself!

Thou hast reaped disgust as thy one truth. No word in thee is any longer genuine, but thy mouth is so: that is to say, the disgust that cleaveth unto thy mouth.”—

You have harvested disgust as your only truth. None of your words are genuine anymore, but your mouth is genuine. That is to say, the disgust that clings to your mouth is genuine.”

—“Who art thou at all!” cried here the old magician with defiant voice, “who dareth to speak thus unto ME, the greatest man now living?”—and a green flash shot from his eye at Zarathustra. But immediately after he changed, and said sadly:

“Who are you, anyway!” the old magician cried defiantly. “Who dares speak like that to ME, the greatest man alive?” A green flash shot from his eye at Zarathustra. But he immediately changed and said sadly:

“O Zarathustra, I am weary of it, I am disgusted with mine arts, I am not GREAT, why do I dissemble! But thou knowest it well—I sought for greatness!

“O Zarathustra, I am tired of it. I am disgusted with my arts. I am not GREAT. Why do I pretend otherwise? But you know it well. I sought greatness!

A great man I wanted to appear, and persuaded many; but the lie hath been beyond my power. On it do I collapse.

I wanted to seem like a great man, and I convinced many people. But I could not sustain the lie. I collapse under it.

O Zarathustra, everything is a lie in me; but that I collapse—this my collapsing is GENUINE!”—

O Zarathustra, everything in me is a lie. But my collapse is REAL!”

“It honoureth thee,” said Zarathustra gloomily, looking down with sidelong glance, “it honoureth thee that thou soughtest for greatness, but it betrayeth thee also. Thou art not great.

“It honors you,” Zarathustra said gloomily, looking down with a sidelong glance. “It honors you that you sought greatness, but it also gives you away. You are not great.

Thou bad old magician, THAT is the best and the honestest thing I honour in thee, that thou hast become weary of thyself, and hast expressed it: ‘I am not great.’

You wicked old magician, the best and most honest thing I honor in you is that you have grown tired of yourself. You have admitted it: ‘I am not great.’

THEREIN do I honour thee as a penitent-in-spirit, and although only for the twinkling of an eye, in that one moment wast thou—genuine.

In that, I honor you as someone who is repentant in spirit. And although it lasted only an instant, in that moment you were genuine.

But tell me, what seekest thou here in MY forests and rocks? And if thou hast put thyself in MY way, what proof of me wouldst thou have?—

But tell me, what are you looking for here in MY forests and rocks? And if you have put yourself in MY path, what proof of me do you want?

—Wherein didst thou put ME to the test?”

How did you put ME to the test?”

Thus spake Zarathustra, and his eyes sparkled. But the old magician kept silence for a while; then said he: “Did I put thee to the test? I—seek only.

Thus spoke Zarathustra, and his eyes sparkled. But the old magician was silent for a while. Then he said: “Did I test you? I only seek.

O Zarathustra, I seek a genuine one, a right one, a simple one, an unequivocal one, a man of perfect honesty, a vessel of wisdom, a saint of knowledge, a great man!

Zarathustra, I am looking for a genuine, upright, simple, and clear-cut man. A man of perfect honesty, a vessel of wisdom, a saint of knowledge, a great man!

Knowest thou it not, O Zarathustra? I SEEK ZARATHUSTRA.”

Don't you know, Zarathustra? I AM LOOKING FOR ZARATHUSTRA.”

—And here there arose a long silence between them: Zarathustra, however, became profoundly absorbed in thought, so that he shut his eyes. But afterwards coming back to the situation, he grasped the hand of the magician, and said, full of politeness and policy:

A long silence followed between them. Zarathustra, however, became so absorbed in thought that he closed his eyes. But afterward, he returned to the situation, took the magician’s hand, and spoke with great politeness and tact:

“Well! Up thither leadeth the way, there is the cave of Zarathustra. In it mayest thou seek him whom thou wouldst fain find.

“Well! The path leads up there, to Zarathustra’s cave. In the cave, you may look for the person you want to find.

And ask counsel of mine animals, mine eagle and my serpent: they shall help thee to seek. My cave however is large.

And ask my animals, my eagle and my serpent, for advice. They will help you search. But my cave is large.

I myself, to be sure—I have as yet seen no great man. That which is great, the acutest eye is at present insensible to it. It is the kingdom of the populace.

I myself, to be sure, have not yet seen a great man. Even the sharpest eyes cannot recognize greatness today. This is the reign of the masses.

Many a one have I found who stretched and inflated himself, and the people cried: ‘Behold; a great man!’ But what good do all bellows do! The wind cometh out at last.

I have met many people who puffed themselves up, and the crowd cried: ‘Look, a great man!’ But what good are all those bellows! The air comes out in the end.

At last bursteth the frog which hath inflated itself too long: then cometh out the wind. To prick a swollen one in the belly, I call good pastime. Hear that, ye boys!

At last, a frog that has puffed itself up too long bursts, and the air comes out. I call it good fun to prick a swollen one in the belly. Hear that, boys!

Our to-day is of the populace: who still KNOWETH what is great and what is small! Who could there seek successfully for greatness! A fool only: it succeedeth with fools.

Our age belongs to the masses. Who still knows what is great and what is small? Who could successfully search for greatness here? Only a fool. Fools succeed at it.

Thou seekest for great men, thou strange fool? Who TAUGHT that to thee? Is to-day the time for it? Oh, thou bad seeker, why dost thou—tempt me?”—

You’re looking for great men, you strange fool? Who TAUGHT you to do that? Is today the time for it? Oh, you poor seeker, why do you tempt me?”

Thus spake Zarathustra, comforted in his heart, and went laughing on his way.

That is what Zarathustra said. Comforted in his heart, he went on his way laughing.