Fenrir's Fangs

44. The Stillest Hour

  WHAT hath happened unto me, my friends? Ye see me troubled, driven
forth, unwillingly obedient, ready to go- alas, to go away from you!
  Yea, once more must Zarathustra retire to his solitude: but
unjoyously this time doth the bear go back to his cave!
  What hath happened unto me? Who ordereth this?- Ah, mine angry
mistress wisheth it so; she spake unto me. Have I ever named her
name to you?
  Yesterday towards evening there spake unto me my stillest hour: that
is the name of my terrible mistress.
  And thus did it happen- for everything must I tell you, that your
heart may not harden against the suddenly departing one!
  Do ye know the terror of him who falleth asleep?-
  To the very toes he is terrified, because the ground giveth way
under him, and the dream beginneth.
  This do I speak unto you in parable. Yesterday at the stillest
hour did the ground give way under me: the dream began.
  The hour-hand moved on, the timepiece of my life drew breath-
never did I hear such stillness around me, so that my heart was
terrified.
  Then was there spoken unto me without voice: "Thou knowest it,
Zarathustra?"-
  And I cried in terror at this whispering, and the blood left my
face: but I was silent.
  Then was there once more spoken unto me without voice: "Thou knowest
it, Zarathustra, but thou dost not speak it!"-
  And at last I answered, like one defiant: "Yea, I know it, but I
will not speak it!"
  Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: "Thou wilt not,
Zarathustra? Is this true? Conceal thyself not behind thy defiance!"-
  And I wept and trembled like a child, and said: "Ah, I would indeed,
but how can I do it! Exempt me only from this! It is beyond my power!"
  Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: "What matter
about thyself, Zarathustra! Speak thy word, and succumb!"
  And I answered: "Ah, is it my word? Who am I? I await the worthier
one; I am not worthy even to succumb by it."
  Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: "What matter
about thyself? Thou art not yet humble enough for me. Humility hath
the hardest skin."-
  And I answered: "What hath not the skin of my humility endured! At
the foot of my height do I dwell: how high are my summits, no one hath
yet told me. But well do I know my valleys."
  Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: "O Zarathustra,
he who hath to remove mountains removeth also valleys and plains."-
  And I answered: "As yet hath my word not removed mountains, and what
I have spoken hath not reached man. I went, indeed, unto men, but
not yet have I attained unto them."
  Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: "What knowest
thou thereof! The dew falleth on the grass when the night is most
silent."-
  And I answered: "They mocked me when I found and walked in mine
own path; and certainly did my feet then tremble.
  And thus did they speak unto me: Thou forgottest the path before,
now dost thou also forget how to walk!"
  Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: "What matter
about their mockery! Thou art one who hast unlearned to obey: now
shalt thou command!
  Knowest thou not who is most needed by all? He who commandeth
great things.
  To execute great things is difficult: but the more difficult task is
to command great things.
  This is thy most unpardonable obstinacy: thou hast the power, and
thou wilt not rule."-
  And I answered: "I lack the lion's voice for all commanding."
  Then was there again spoken unto me as a whispering: "It is the
stillest words which bring the storm. Thoughts that come with doves'
footsteps guide the world.
  O Zarathustra, thou shalt go as a shadow of that which is to come:
thus wilt thou command, and in commanding go foremost."-
  And I answered: "I am ashamed."
  Then was there again spoken unto me without voice: "Thou must yet
become a child, and be without shame.
  The pride of youth is still upon thee; late hast thou become
young: but he who would become a child must surmount even his youth."-
  And I considered a long while, and trembled. At last, however, did I
say what I had said at first. "I will not."
  Then did a laughing take place all around me. Alas, how that
laughing lacerated my bowels and cut into my heart!
  And there was spoken unto me for the last time: "O Zarathustra,
thy fruits are ripe, but thou art not ripe for thy fruits!
  So must thou go again into solitude: for thou shalt yet become
mellow."-
  And again was there a laughing, and it fled: then did it become
still around me, as with a double stillness. I lay, however, on the
ground, and the sweat flowed from my limbs.
  -Now have ye heard all, and why I have to return into my solitude.
Nothing have I kept hidden from you, my friends.
  But even this have ye heard from me, who is still the most
reserved of men- and will be so!
  Ah, my friends! I should have something more to say unto you! I
should have something more to give unto you! Why do I not give it?
Am I then a niggard?-
  When, however, Zarathustra had spoken these words, the violence of
his pain, and a sense of the nearness of his departure from his
friends came over him, so that he wept aloud; and no one knew how to
console him. In the night, however, he went away alone and left his
friends.