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 Zarathustras 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 warmth me, who lovth me still?
Give ardent fingers!
Give heartening charcoal-warmers!
Like him, half dead and cold, whose feet one warmth
And shaken, ah! by unfamiliar fevers,
with sharpened, icy-cold frost-arrows,
By thee pursued, my fancy! Ineffable! Recondite! Sore-frightening!
huntsman hind the cloud-banks!
Now lightning-struck by thee,
Thou mocking eye that me in darkness
Thus do I lie,
Bend myself, twist myself, convulsed
With all eternal torture,
Thou unfamiliar God
Smite yet once more!
Pierce through and rend
What meanth this torture
With dull, indented arrows?
Why lookst thou hither,
Of human pain not
With mischief-loving, godly flash-glances?
Not murder wilt thou,
But torture, torture?
For why me
Thou mischief-loving, unfamiliar God?
Thou stealest nigh
In midnights gloomy hour?
What wilt thou?
Thou crowdst me, pressest
Ha! now far too closely!
Thou hearst me breathing,
Thou oerhearst my heart,
Thou ever jealous one
Of what, pray, ever jealous?
For why the ladder?
Wouldst thou get in?
To heart in-clamber?
mine own secretest
Shameless one! Thou unknown one! Thief!
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,
tail friendly waggle!
No dog thy game just am I,
Thy proudest of captives,
Thou robber hind the cloud-banks
one! Thou unknown one!
What wilt thou, highway-ambusher. From me?
What wilt thou, unfamiliar
How much of ransom-gold?
Solicit much that bidth my pride!
And be concise that bidth mine other pride!
Me wantst thou? Me?
And torturest me, fool that thou art,
Dead-torturest quite my pride?
Give love to me who warmth
Who lovth me still?
Give ardent fingers
Give heartening charcoal-warmers,
Give me, the lonesomest,
ice (ah! seven-fold frozen ice
For very enemies,
For foes, doth make one thirst)
Give, yield to me,
There fled he surely,
My final, only comrade.
My greatest foe,
Come thou back!
With all of thy great tortures!
To me the last of lonesome ones,
Oh, come thou back!
my hot tears in streamlets trickle
Their course to thee!
And all my final hearty fervour
Oh, come thou back,
Mine unfamiliar God! My pain!
My final bliss!
Here, however, Zarathustra could no longer restrain himself; he took his staff and struck the wailer with
all his might. Stop this, cried he to him with wrathful laughter. Stop this, thou stage-player! Thou false
coiner! Thou liar from the very heart! I know thee well!
I will soon make warm legs to thee, thou evil magician: I know well how to make it hot for such as