FOURTH AND LAST PART.
62. LXII. THE CRY OF DISTRESS. (continued)
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!
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