Message #33025

[VoraX]

 62. The Cry of Distress

  THE next day sat Zarathustra again on the stone in front of his
cave, whilst his animals roved about in the world outside to bring
home new food,- also new honey: for Zarathustra had spent and wasted
the old honey to the very last particle. When he thus sat, however,
with a stick in his hand, tracing the shadow of his figure on the
earth, and reflecting- verily! not upon himself and his shadow,- all
at once he startled and shrank back: for he saw another shadow
beside his own. And when he hastily looked around and stood up,
behold, there stood the soothsayer beside him, the same whom he had
once given to eat and drink at his table, the proclaimer of the
great weariness, who taught: "All is alike, nothing is worth while,
the world is without meaning, knowledge strangleth." But his face
had changed since then; and when Zarathustra looked into his eyes, his
heart was startled once more: so much evil announcement and
ashy-grey lightnings passed over that countenance.
  The soothsayer, who had perceived what went on in Zarathustra's
soul, wiped his face with his hand, as if he would wipe out the
impression; the same did also Zarathustra. And when both of them had
thus silently composed and strengthened themselves, they gave each
other the hand, as a token that they wanted once more to recognise
each other.
  "Welcome hither," said Zarathustra, "thou soothsayer of the great
weariness, not in vain shalt thou once have been my messmate and
guest. Eat and drink also with me to-day, and forgive it that a
cheerful old man sitteth with thee at table!"- "A cheerful old man?"
answered the soothsayer, shaking his head, "but whoever thou art, or
wouldst be, O Zarathustra, thou hast been here aloft the longest
time,- in a little while thy bark shall no longer rest on dry
land!"- "Do I then rest on dry land?"- asked Zarathustra, laughing.-
"The waves around thy mountain," answered the soothsayer, "rise and
rise, the waves of great distress and affliction: they will soon raise
thy bark also and carry thee away."- Thereupon was Zarathustra
silent and wondered.- "Dost thou still hear nothing?" continued the
soothsayer: "doth it not rush and roar out of the depth?"- Zarathustra
was silent once more and listened: then heard he a long, long cry,
which the abysses threw to one another and passed on; for none of them
wished to retain it: so evil did it sound.
  "Thou ill announcer," said Zarathustra at last, "that is a cry of
distress, and the cry of a man; it may come perhaps out of a black
sea. But what doth human distress matter to me! My last sin which hath
been reserved for me,- knowest thou what it is called?"
  -"Pity!" answered the soothsayer from an overflowing heart, and
raised both his hands aloft- "O Zarathustra, I have come that I may
seduce thee to thy last sin!"-
  And hardly had those words been uttered when there sounded the cry
once more, and longer and more alarming than before- also much nearer.
"Hearest thou? Hearest thou, O Zarathustra?" called out the
soothsayer, "the cry concerneth thee, it calleth thee: Come, come,
come; it is time, it is the highest time!"-
  Zarathustra was silent thereupon, confused and staggered; at last he
asked, like one who hesitateth in himself: "And who is it that there
calleth me?"
  "But thou knowest it, certainly," answered the soothsayer warmly,
"why dost thou conceal thyself? It is the higher man that crieth for
thee!"
  "The higher man?" cried Zarathustra, horror-stricken: "what
wanteth he? What wanteth he? The higher man! What wanteth he here?"-
and his skin covered with perspiration.
  The soothsayer, however, did not heed Zarathustra's alarm, but
listened and listened in the downward direction. When, however, it had
been still there for a long while, he looked behind, and saw
Zarathustra standing trembling.
  "O Zarathustra," he began, with sorrowful voice, "thou dost not
stand there like one whose happiness maketh him giddy: thou wilt
have to dance lest thou tumble down!
  But although thou shouldst dance before me, and leap all thy
side-leaps, no one may say unto me: 'Behold, here danceth the last
joyous man!'
  In vain would any one come to this height who sought him here: caves
would he find, indeed, and back-caves, hiding-places for hidden
ones; but not lucky mines, nor treasure-chambers, nor new gold-veins
of happiness.
  Happiness- how indeed could one find happiness among such
buried-alive and solitary ones! Must I yet seek the last happiness
on the Happy Isles, and far away among forgotten seas?
  But all is alike, nothing is worth while, no seeking is of
service, there are no longer any Happy Isles!"- -

  Thus sighed the soothsayer; with his last sigh, however, Zarathustra
again became serene and assured, like one who hath come out of a
deep chasm into the light. "Nay! Nay! Three times Nay!" exclaimed he
with a strong voice, and stroked his beard- "that do I know better!
There are still Happy Isles! Silence thereon, thou sighing
sorrow-sack!
  Cease to splash thereon, thou rain-cloud of the forenoon! Do I not
already stand here wet with thy misery, and drenched like a dog?
  Now do I shake myself and run away from thee, that I may again
become dry: thereat mayest thou not wonder! Do I seem to thee
discourteous? Here however is my court.
  But as regards the higher man: well! I shall seek him at once in
those forests: from thence came his cry. Perhaps he is there hard
beset by an evil beast.
  He is in my domain: therein shall he receive no scath! And verily,
there are many evil beasts about me."-
  With those words Zarathustra turned around to depart. Then said
the soothsayer: "O Zarathustra, thou art a rogue!
  I know it well: thou wouldst fain be rid of me! Rather wouldst
thou run into the forest and lay snares for evil beasts!
  But what good will it do thee? In the evening wilt thou have me
again: in thine own cave will I sit, patient and heavy like a block-
and wait for thee!"
  "So be it!" shouted back Zarathustra, as he went away: "and what
is mine in my cave belongeth also unto thee, my guest!
  Shouldst thou however find honey therein, well! Just lick it up,
thou growling bear, and sweeten thy soul! For in the evening we want
both to be in good spirits;
  -In good spirits and joyful, because this day hath come to an end!
And thou thyself shalt dance to my lays, as my dancing-bear.
  Thou dost not believe this? Thou shakest thy head? Well! Cheer up,
old bear! But I also- am a soothsayer."

  Thus spake Zarathustra.