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 finds a trembling old man on the ground, who laments in verse to a cruel huntsman-God who tortures him. He begs the God to come back, to be his pain and his 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…

Zarathustra beats the wailer with his staff and calls him a stage-player and false coiner. The old man admits it was a performance, says he played the penitent in spirit, and that Zarathustra had believed him.

“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. Thou, however,—MUST deceive: so far do I know thee!…

Zarathustra says the magician must deceive and has no lie left for himself. The magician claims to be the greatest man, then admits he sought greatness and failed. Zarathustra honours this one genuine moment.

I SEEK ZARATHUSTRA.

Asked what he sought and how he tested Zarathustra, the magician says he seeks a perfectly honest great man, and that he seeks 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,…

Zarathustra, after a long silence, points the magician to his cave and his animals. He says he has seen no great man, only inflated frogs, and goes on laughing, comforted.

It was late in the afternoon only when Zarathustra, after long useless searching and strolling about, again came home to his cave. When, however, he stood over against it, not more than twenty paces therefrom, the thing…

Returning home, Zarathustra hears the cry of distress again, this time from his own cave. He finds all the men he met that day sitting there, and greets them with courteous curiosity.

Hardly, however, had Zarathustra left the cave when the old magician got up, looked cunningly about him, and said: “He is gone! And already, ye higher men—let me tickle you with this complimentary and flattering name,…

As soon as Zarathustra is gone, the old magician says his melancholy devil is attacking him. He mocks Zarathustra as a saint's mask, then seizes his harp as evening falls.

In evening’s limpid air, What time the dew’s soothings Unto the earth downpour, Invisibly and unheard— For tender shoe-gear wear The soothing dews, like all that’s kind-gentle—: Bethinkst thou then, bethinkst thou,…

In the first part of the song the taunting voices call the burning-hearted singer a mere poet and fool who must lie. The song sets him against truth-statues and compares his desires to a bird of prey diving on lambs.

In evening’s limpid air, What time the moon’s sickle, Green, ‘twixt the purple-glowings, And jealous, steal’th forth: —Of day the foe, With every step in secret, The rosy garland-hammocks Downsickling, till they’ve…

The song turns to evening and the moon's sickle cutting down the day's garlands. The singer says he sank from his own truth-madness, and ends with the refrain 'Mere fool! Mere poet!'

Thus sang the magician; and all who were present went like birds unawares into the net of his artful and melancholy voluptuousness. Only the spiritually conscientious one had not been caught: he at once snatched the…

After the magician's song, the conscientious one snatches the harp and calls for fresh air and for Zarathustra. He accuses the magician of tempting free spirits back into prison. The magician answers that the man has understood little of the song.

“ZARATHUSTRA!” cried all of them there assembled, as if with one voice, and burst out at the same time into a great laughter; there arose, however, from them as it were a heavy cloud. Even the magician laughed, and said…

The company cries out 'Zarathustra!' and laughs, and the magician says his evil spirit is gone. He teases that Zarathustra loves his enemies but takes revenge on his friends. Zarathustra goes round shaking hands, then longs for the good air and his animals and wishes to steal out.

“Go not away!” said then the wanderer who called himself Zarathustra’s shadow, “abide with us—otherwise the old gloomy affliction might again fall upon us. Now hath that old magician given us of his worst for our good,…

The shadow asks Zarathustra not to go. He says the magician's song, the pope's tears and the kings' pretended composure show the old melancholy still lurking. He recalls an after-dinner song he once made among Oriental maidens, then takes the magician's harp and begins to sing.

All on a sudden however, Zarathustra’s ear was frightened: for the cave which had hitherto been full of noise and laughter, became all at once still as death;—his nose, however, smelt a sweet-scented vapour and…

The cave falls silent and fills with incense. Zarathustra looks in and finds all the higher men kneeling and praying to the ass, and the ugliest man begins a litany.

—“And thou,” said Zarathustra, “thou bad old magician, what didst thou do! Who ought to believe any longer in thee in this free age, when THOU believest in such divine donkeyism? It was a stupid thing that thou didst;…

Zarathustra scolds the magician, who concedes it was stupid and repugnant to him. The spiritually conscientious one says the spectacle does his conscience good and warns that Zarathustra himself could become an ass through superabundance of wisdom.