The Stillest Hour

Friedrich Nietzsche — Thus Spoke Zarathustra

What happened to me, my friends? You see me distraught, chased away, reluctantly obedient, prepared to go – alas, to go away from you!

Yes, once again Zarathustra must return to his solitude; but this time the bear returns to his cave unwillingly!

What happened to me? Who commanded this? – Alas, my angry mistress wills it so, she spoke to me – did I ever mention her name to you?

Yesterday toward evening my stillest hour spoke to me: that is the name of my terrible mistress.

And this is how it happened – for I must tell you everything, so your hearts do not harden against the one who must depart abruptly! Do you know the terror of the one who is falling asleep? – He is stricken with terror down to his toes because the ground is fading and the dream begins.

This I say to you as a parable. Yesterday, at the stillest hour, the ground faded from me, the dream began. The hand advanced, the clock of my life drew a breath – never had I heard such stillness around me, so that my heart was terrified.

Then without voice it spoke to me: "You know it, Zarathustra?" – And I cried out in terror on hearing this whispering, and the blood drained from my face, but I kept silent.

Then it spoke to me once more without voice: "You know it Zarathustra, but you do not speak it!" –

And at last I answered defiantly: "Indeed, I know it, but I do not want to speak it!"

Then it spoke to me again without voice: "You do not want to, Zarathustra? Is this even true? Do not hide in your defiance!" –

And I wept and trembled like a child and spoke: "Oh, I wanted to, yes, but how can I? Spare me this one thing! It is beyond my strength!"

Then it spoke to me again without voice: "What do you matter, Zarathustra? Speak your word and break!" –

And I answered: "Alas, is it my word? Who am I? I am waiting for one more worthy; I am not worthy even of breaking under it."

Then it spoke to me again without voice: "What do you matter? You are not yet humble enough for me. Humility has the toughest hide." –

And I answered: "What has the hide of my humility not borne already! I dwell at the foot of my height; how high are my peaks? No one yet has told me. But well do I know my valleys."

Then it spoke to me again without voice: "Oh Zarathustra, whoever has mountains to move must also move valleys and hollows." –

And I answered: "As of yet my words have moved no mountains, and what I spoke did not reach mankind. I went to human beings, to be sure, but I have not yet arrived among them."

Then it spoke to me again without voice: "What do you know of that! The dew lands on the grass when the night is most silent." –

And I answered: "They mocked me when I found and walked my own way; and in truth my feet trembled at that time. And thus they spoke to me: 'You have forgotten the way, and now you are forgetting how to walk too!'"

Then it spoke to me again without voice: "What does their mockery matter! You are one who has forgotten how to obey; now you shall command! Do you not know who is needed most by everyone? The one who commands great things. To accomplish great things is difficult; but what is even more difficult is to command great things. That is what is most unforgivable in you: you have the power, and you do not want to rule." –

And I answered: "I lack the lion's voice for all commanding."

Then it spoke to me again like a whispering: "The stillest words are those that bring the storm. Thoughts that come on the feet of doves steer the world. Oh Zarathustra, you shall go as a shadow of that which must come; thus you will command and lead the way commanding." –

And I answered: "I am ashamed."

Then it spoke to me again without voice: "You must become a child again and without shame. The pride of youth is still on you, you became young at a late time; but whoever would become a child must also overcome his youth." –

And I thought for a long time and trembled. At last however I said what I had said at first: "I do not want to."

Then laughter broke out around me. Alas, how this laughter tore my entrails and slit open my heart!

And it spoke to me one last time: "Oh Zarathustra, your fruits are ripe but you are not ripe for your fruits! Thus you must return to your solitude, for you shall yet become mellow." –

And again there was laughing and it vanished; then it became still around me as if with twofold stillness. But I lay on the ground and the sweat poured from my limbs.

Now you have heard everything, and why I must return to my solitude. I withheld nothing from you, my friends.

But hear this from me as well, I who am still the most tightlipped of human beings – and want to be so!

Oh my friends! There is still something I could tell you, there is still something I could give you! Why do I not give it? Am I stingy? –

But when Zarathustra had spoken these words he was overcome by the force of his pain and the nearness of parting from his friends, so that he wept out loud; and no one was able to comfort him. At night, however, he went away alone and left his friends.