THE SIGN

THE SIGN

BUT IN THE MORNING after this night Zarathustra jumped up from his bed, girded his loins and came out of his cave, glowing and strong, like a morning sun coming out of dark mountains.17

“You great star,” he spoke as he had spoken once before, “you deep eye of happiness, what would be all your happiness if you had not those for whom you shine!

“And if they remained in their chambers while you had awakened and come and given and distributed, how angry would your proud shame be!

“Well! they still sleep, these higher men, while I am awake: they are not my proper companions! Not for them do I wait here in my mountains.

“I want to go to my work, to my day: but they do not understand the signs of my morning, my step-is no awakening call for them.

“They still sleep in my cave, their dream still drinks at my drunken songs. The ear that listens for me—the heedful ear is missing from them.”

-Zarathustra said this to his heart when the sun arose: then he looked inquiringly into the air, for he heard above him the sharp call of his eagle. “Well!” he shouted upward, “so do I like it, so do I deserve it. My animals are awake, for I am awake.

“My eagle is awake, and like me honors the sun. With eagle talons he grasps at the new light. You are my proper animals; I love you.

“But I still lack my proper men!”—

Thus spoke Zarathustra; but then he suddenly became aware that he was surrounded as if by innumerable swarming and fluttering birds: the whirring of so many wings and the crowding around his head, however, was so great that he shut his eyes. And truly, it was as though a cloud descended on him, like a cloud of arrows that pours upon a new enemy. But behold, here it was a cloud of love, and it showered upon a new friend.

“What is happening to me?” thought Zarathustra in his astonished heart, and slowly seated himself on the big stone that lay close to the exit from his cave. But while he grasped about with his hands, around him, above him and below him, and repelled the tender birds, behold, something still stranger happened to him: for he reached unawares into a mass of thick, warm, shaggy hair; but at the same time a roar sounded out,-a long, soft roar of a lion.

“The sign comes,” said Zarathustra, and a change came over his heart. And in truth, when it turned clear before him, there lay a yellow, powerful animal at his feet, resting its head on his knee,unwilling to leave him out of love, and behaving like a dog which again finds its old master. But the doves were no less eager with their love than the lion; and whenever a dove brushed its nose, the lion shook its head and wondered and laughed.18

While all this went on Zarathustra spoke only a sentence: “My children are near, my children”—, then he became quite silent. But his heart was loosed and from his eyes tears dropped down and fell upon his hands. And he took no further notice of anything, but sat there motionless, without repelling the animals further. Then the doves flew to and fro, and perched on his shoulder, and caressed his white hair, and did not tire of their tenderness and joyousness. But the strong lion always licked the tears that fell on Zarathustra’s hands, and roared and growled shyly. Thus these animals acted.—

All this went on for a long time, or a short time: for properly speaking, there is no time on earth for such things-. But meanwhile the higher men had awakened in Zarathustra’s cave, and marshaled themselves for a procession to go to meet Zarathustra, and give him their morning greeting: for they had found when they awakened that he no longer remained with them. But when they reached the door of the cave and the noise of their steps had preceded them, the lion started violently; it turned away suddenly from Zarathustra and, roaring wildly, sprang towards the cave. But the higher men, when they heard the lion roaring, all cried aloud as with one voice, fled back and vanished in an instant.

But Zarathustra himself, stunned and spellbound, rose from his seat, looked around him, stood there astonished, questioned his heart, recollected, and saw he was alone. “What did I hear?” he said at last, slowly, “what happened to me just now?”

And at once his memory returned and he took in at a glance all that had happened between yesterday and today. “Here indeed is the stone,” he said, and stroked his beard, “I sat on it yesterday morning; and here the soothsayer came to me, and here I first heard the cry which I heard just now, the great cry of distress.

“0 you higher men, it was your distress that the old soothsayer foretold to me yesterday morning,—

—“He wanted to seduce and tempt me to your distress: ‘O Zarathustra,’ he said to me, ‘I come to seduce you to your last sin.’

“To my last sin?” cried Zarathustra, and laughed angrily at his own words: “what has been reserved for me as my last sin?”

-And once more Zarathustra became absorbed in himself, and sat down again on the big stone and meditated. Suddenly he sprang up, “Pity! Pity for the higher men!” he cried out, and his face changed to brass. “Well! That—has had its time!

“My suffering and my pity—what do they matter! Should I strive for my happiness? I strive for my work!

“Well! The lion has come, my children are near, Zarathustra has grown ripe, my hour has come:—

“This is my morning, my day begins: arise now, arise, you great noon!”——

Thus spoke Zarathustra and left his cave, glowing and strong, like a morning sun that comes out of dark mountains.