FOURTH AND LAST PART.
65. LXV. 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
to his heart, "he there must surely be the higher man, from him came that
dreadful cry of distress,--I will see if I can help him." When, however,
he ran to the spot where the man lay on the ground, he found a trembling
old man, with fixed eyes; and in spite of all Zarathustra's efforts to lift
him and set him again on his feet, it was all in vain. The unfortunate
one, also, did not seem to notice that some one was beside him; on the
contrary, he continually looked around with moving gestures, like one
forsaken and isolated from all the world. At last, however, after much
trembling, and convulsion, and curling-himself-up, he began to lament thus:
Who warm'th me, who lov'th me still?
Give ardent fingers!
Give heartening charcoal-warmers!
Prone, outstretched, trembling,
Like him, half dead and cold, whose feet one warm'th--
And shaken, ah! by unfamiliar fevers,
Shivering with sharpened, icy-cold frost-arrows,
By thee pursued, my fancy!
Ineffable! Recondite! Sore-frightening!
Thou huntsman 'hind the cloud-banks!
Now lightning-struck by thee,
Thou mocking eye that me in darkness watcheth:
--Thus do I lie,
Bend myself, twist myself, convulsed
With all eternal torture,
By thee, cruellest huntsman,
Smite yet once more!
Pierce through and rend my heart!
What mean'th this torture
With dull, indented arrows?
Why look'st thou hither,
Of human pain not weary,
With mischief-loving, godly flash-glances?
Not murder wilt thou,
But torture, torture?
For why--ME torture,
Thou mischief-loving, unfamiliar God?--
Thou stealest nigh
In midnight's gloomy hour?...
What wilt thou?
Thou crowdst me, pressest--
Ha! now far too closely!
Thou hearst me breathing,
Thou o'erhearst my heart,
Thou ever jealous one!
--Of what, pray, ever jealous?
For why the ladder?
Wouldst thou GET IN?
To heart in-clamber?
To mine own secretest
Shameless one! Thou unknown one!--Thief!
What seekst thou by thy stealing?
What seekst thou by thy hearkening?
What seekst thou by thy torturing?
Or shall I, as the mastiffs do,
Roll me before thee?
And cringing, enraptured, frantical,
My tail friendly--waggle!