THE CRY OF DISTRESS

THE CRY OF DISTRESS

THE NEXT DAY ZARATHUSTRA was again sitting on the stone in front of his cave, while his animals roved about in the world outside to bring home new food-new honey too: for Zarathustra had spent and squandered the old honey to the very last drop. But as he was sitting there with a stick in his hand, tracing the shadow of his figure in the ground, reflecting, and truly! not about himself and his shadow,-suddenly 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 who had once eaten and drunk at his table, the proclaimer of the great weariness, who taught: “All is the same, nothing is worthwhile, the world is without meaning, knowledge chokes.” But his face had changed since then; and when Zarathustra looked into his eyes, his heart was startled once more: so many evil prophecies and ashen lightning bolts ran over that face.

The soothsayer, who had perceived what went on in Zarathustra’s soul, wiped his face with his hand as if he wanted to wipe it away; Zarathustra did the same. And when both of them had thus silently composed and strengthened themselves, they shook hands as a sign that they wanted to recognize each other.

“Welcome,” said Zarathustra, “you soothsayer of the great weariness, not in vain shall you once have been guest at my table. Eat and drink with me again today, and forgive a cheerful old man for sitting at the table with you!”—“A cheerful old man?” replied the soothsayer, shaking his head, “but whoever you are, or would be, 0 Zarathustra, you shall not be up here much longer—in a little while your boat shall no longer be stuck on dry land!”—“Am I stuck on dry land?“—asked Zarathustra laughing.—”The waves around your mountain,” answered the soothsayer, ”rise and rise, the waves of great distress and misery: they will soon raise your boat too, and carry you away.“—At that Zarathustra was silent and wondered. ”Do you still hear nothing?” continued the soothsayer: ”does 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 wished to keep it: so evil did it sound.

“You proclaimer of bad tidings,” Zarathustra said at last, “that is a cry of distress and the cry of a man; it may well come out of a black sea. But what does human distress matter to me! My last sin, which has been reserved for me, do you know what it is called?”

—“Pity!” answered the soothsayer from an overflowing heart, and raised both his hands—“O Zarathustra, I have come to seduce you to your last sin!”1—

And hardly had those words been uttered when the cry sounded once more, and longer and more anxious than before, also much nearer. “Do you hear? Do you hear, 0 Zarathustra?” cried the soothsayer, “the cry is for you, it calls you: come, come, come, it is time, it is high time!”—

Zarathustra was silent at that, confused and shaken; at last he asked like one who is hesitant in his own mind: “And who is it that calls me?”

“But you know it, certainly,” answered the soothsayer vehemently, “why do you conceal yourself? It is the higher man that cries for you!”

“The higher man?” cried Zarathustra, horror-stricken: “what does he want? What does he want? The higher man! What does he want here?”—and his skin was bathed in sweat.

The soothsayer, however, did not hear Zarathustra’s alarm, but listened and listened toward the depth. But when it had been still there for a long while, he looked back and saw Zarathustra standing there trembling.

“O Zarathustra,” he began in a sorrowful voice, “you do not stand there like one whose happiness makes him giddy: you better dance or else you will fall!

“But even if you dance for me, leaping all your side-leaps, no one may say to me: ‘Behold, here dances the last cheerful man!’

“In vain would anyone come to this height who sought him here: he would find caves, indeed, and caves behind caves, hiding places for the hidden, but not mines of happiness nor treasure chambers nor new gold veins of happiness.

“Happiness—how indeed could one find happiness among the buried and the hermits! Must I yet seek the last happiness on the happy islands and far away among forgotten seas?

“But all is the same, nothing is worthwhile, seeking is pointless, there are no happy islands any more!”

Thus sighed the soothsayer; with his last sigh, however, Zarathustra again became serene and assured, like one who has come out of a deep chasm into the light. “No! No! Three times no!” he exclaimed with a strong voice, and stroked his beard—“I know better than that! There are still happy islands! Silence about that, you sighing bag of sorrows!

“Stop splashing on that, you rain cloud of morning! Do I not stand here already wet with your misery and drenched like a dog?

“Now I shall shake myself and run away from you, so that I may become dry again: don’t be surprised at that! Do I seem discourteous to you? But this is my court.

“But as regards the higher man: well! I shall seek him at once in those forests: his cry came from there. Perhaps he is being attacked by an evil beast.

“He is in my domain: here he shall not come to harm! And truly, there are many evil beasts about me.”—

With those words Zarathustra turned to go. Then the soothsayer said: “O Zarathustra, you are a rogue!

“I know it well: you would like to be rid of me! You would rather run into the forest and lay snares for evil beasts!

“But what good will it do you? In the evening you will have me back again; I will sit in your own cave, patient and heavy as a block-and wait for you!”

“So be it!” shouted back Zarathustra as he went away: “and whatever is mine in my cave is yours too, my guest!

“But if you find honey in there, well! just lick it up, you growling bear, and sweeten your soul! For in the evening we must both be cheerful;

—“cheerful and gay, because this day has come to an end! And you yourself will dance to my songs, as my dancing bear.

“Don’t you believe it? You shake your head? Well! Cheer up, old bear! But I too—am a soothsayer.”

Thus spoke Zarathustra.