The Sign

In the morning, however, after this night, Zarathustra jumped up from his couch, and, having girded his loins, he came out of his cave glowing and strong, like a morning sun coming out of gloomy mountains.

But the morning after that night, Zarathustra jumped up from his bed and dressed. He came out of his cave glowing and strong, like the morning sun rising from gloomy mountains.

“Thou great star,” spake he, as he had spoken once before, “thou deep eye of happiness, what would be all thy happiness if thou hadst not THOSE for whom thou shinest!

“Great star,” he said, as he had once before, “you deep eye of happiness, what would all your happiness be without THOSE you shine for!

And if they remained in their chambers whilst thou art already awake, and comest and bestowest and distributest, how would thy proud modesty upbraid for it!

And if they stayed in their rooms while you were already awake, coming to give and share, how your proud modesty would reproach them for it!

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

Well! These higher men are still asleep, while I am awake. THEY are not the right companions for me! They are not the ones I am waiting for here in my mountains.

At my work I want to be, at my day: but they understand not what are the signs of my morning, my step—is not for them the awakening-call.

I want to be at work, in my day. But they do not understand the signs of my morning. My footsteps are not their wake-up call.

They still sleep in my cave; their dream still drinketh at my drunken songs. The audient ear for ME—the OBEDIENT ear, is yet lacking in their limbs.”

They still sleep in my cave. Their dream still drinks from my drunken songs. They still lack an ear that listens to ME, an OBEDIENT ear.”

—This had Zarathustra spoken to his heart when the sun arose: then looked he inquiringly aloft, for he heard above him the sharp call of his eagle. “Well!” called he upwards, “thus is it pleasing and proper to me. Mine animals are awake, for I am awake.

Zarathustra had spoken these words to his heart as the sun rose. Then he looked up inquiringly, for he heard the sharp cry of his eagle above him. “Well!” he called up. “That pleases me, and it is as it should be. My animals are awake, for I am awake.

Mine eagle is awake, and like me honoureth the sun. With eagle-talons doth it grasp at the new light. Ye are my proper animals; I love you.

My eagle is awake and, like me, honors the sun. It reaches for the new light with its talons. You are the animals who belong to me. I love you.

But still do I lack my proper men!”—

But I still lack the right men!”

Thus spake Zarathustra; then, however, it happened that all on a sudden he became aware that he was flocked around and fluttered around, as if by innumerable birds,—the whizzing of so many wings, however, and the crowding around his head was so great that he shut his eyes. And verily, there came down upon him as it were a cloud, like a cloud of arrows which poureth upon a new enemy. But behold, here it was a cloud of love, and showered upon a new friend.

So Zarathustra spoke. Then, suddenly, he realized that something was flocking and fluttering around him, like countless birds. The whirring of so many wings and the crowding around his head were so overwhelming that he closed his eyes. And indeed, a cloud seemed to descend upon him, like a cloud of arrows raining down on a new enemy. But look, this was a cloud of love, showering down on a new friend.

“What happeneth unto me?” thought Zarathustra in his astonished heart, and slowly seated himself on the big stone which 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, there then happened to him something still stranger: for he grasped thereby unawares into a mass of thick, warm, shaggy hair; at the same time, however, there sounded before him a roar,—a long, soft lion-roar.

“What is happening to me?” Zarathustra thought in astonishment. He slowly sat down on the large stone near the entrance to his cave. But as he felt around him, above him and below him, and pushed the gentle birds away, something even stranger happened. He accidentally touched a mass of thick, warm, shaggy hair. At the same moment, he heard a roar in front of him. It was a long, soft lion’s roar.

“THE SIGN COMETH,” 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 doing like a dog which again findeth its old master. The doves, however, were no less eager with their love than the lion; and whenever a dove whisked over its nose, the lion shook its head and wondered and laughed.

“THE SIGN IS COMING,” said Zarathustra, and his heart changed. And indeed, when he could see clearly, a powerful yellow animal lay at his feet, its head resting on his knee. It was unwilling to leave him out of love, like a dog that has found its old master again. The doves, however, were no less eager to show their love than the lion. Whenever a dove brushed past his nose, the lion shook his head, wondering and laughing.

When all this went on Zarathustra spake only a word: “MY CHILDREN ARE NIGH, MY CHILDREN”—, then he became quite mute. His heart, however, was loosed, and from his eyes there dropped down tears and fell upon his hands. And he took no further notice of anything, but sat there motionless, without repelling the animals further. Then flew the doves to and fro, and perched on his shoulder, and caressed his white hair, and did not tire of their tenderness and joyousness. The strong lion, however, licked always the tears that fell on Zarathustra’s hands, and roared and growled shyly. Thus did these animals do.—

As all this happened, Zarathustra said only: “MY CHILDREN ARE NEAR, MY CHILDREN.” Then he fell completely silent. But his heart opened, and tears fell from his eyes onto his hands. He paid no further attention to anything. He sat motionless and no longer pushed the animals away. The doves flew back and forth, perched on his shoulder, and stroked his white hair. They never tired of showing their tenderness and joy. The strong lion kept licking the tears that fell on Zarathustra’s hands, roaring and growling shyly. That is what the animals did.

All this went on for a long time, or a short time: for properly speaking, there is NO time on earth for such things—. Meanwhile, however, the higher men had awakened in Zarathustra’s cave, and marshalled 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 tarried with them. When, however, they reached the door of the cave and the noise of their steps had preceded them, the lion started violently; it turned away all at once from Zarathustra, and roaring wildly, sprang towards the cave. The higher men, however, when they heard the lion roaring, cried all aloud as with one voice, fled back and vanished in an instant.

All this went on for a long time, or a short time. Strictly speaking, there is NO time on earth for such things. Meanwhile, the higher men had awakened in Zarathustra’s cave. They found that he was no longer with them, so they formed a procession to meet him and greet him that morning. But when they reached the cave entrance, their footsteps gave them away. The lion started violently, suddenly turned away from Zarathustra, and sprang toward the cave, roaring wildly. When the higher men heard the lion roar, they all cried out as if with one voice. They fled back into the cave and vanished in an instant.

Zarathustra himself, however, stunned and strange, rose from his seat, looked around him, stood there astonished, inquired of his heart, bethought himself, and remained alone. “What did I hear?” said he at last, slowly, “what happened unto me just now?”

Zarathustra, however, rose from his seat, stunned and feeling strange. He looked around and stood there in astonishment. He searched his heart, collected his thoughts, and remained alone. At last, he said slowly, “What did I hear? What just happened to me?”

But soon there came to him his recollection, and he took in at a glance all that had taken place between yesterday and to-day. “Here is indeed the stone,” said he, and stroked his beard, “on IT sat I yester-morn; and here came the soothsayer unto me, and here heard I first the cry which I heard just now, the great cry of distress.

But soon he remembered and saw at a glance all that had happened between yesterday and today. “Here is the stone,” he said, stroking his beard. “I sat on IT yesterday morning. The soothsayer came to me here, and here I first heard the great cry of distress I just heard again.

O ye higher men, YOUR distress was it that the old soothsayer foretold to me yester-morn,—

Oh, higher men, the old soothsayer foretold your distress to me yesterday morning.

—Unto your distress did he want to seduce and tempt me: ‘O Zarathustra,’ said he to me, ‘I come to seduce thee to thy last sin.’

He wanted to lure and tempt me into your distress. ‘O Zarathustra,’ he said to me, ‘I have come to tempt you into your last sin.’

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

“To my last sin?” cried Zarathustra, laughing angrily at his own words. “WHAT has been saved 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,—

Once again, Zarathustra became absorbed in his thoughts. He sat down on the big stone and meditated. Suddenly, he sprang up.

“FELLOW-SUFFERING! FELLOW-SUFFERING WITH THE HIGHER MEN!” he cried out, and his countenance changed into brass. “Well! THAT—hath had its time!

“COMPASSION! COMPASSION FOR THE HIGHER MEN!” he cried, and his face turned to brass. “Well! THAT has had its day!

My suffering and my fellow-suffering—what matter about them! Do I then strive after HAPPINESS? I strive after my WORK!

My suffering and my compassion for others. What do they matter? Do I seek HAPPINESS? I seek my WORK!

Well! The lion hath come, my children are nigh, Zarathustra hath grown ripe, mine hour hath come:—

Well! The lion has come. My children are near. Zarathustra has grown ripe. My hour has come.

This is MY morning, MY day beginneth: ARISE NOW, ARISE, THOU GREAT NOONTIDE!”—

This is MY morning. MY day begins: RISE NOW, RISE, YOU GREAT NOONTIDE!”

Thus spake Zarathustra and left his cave, glowing and strong, like a morning sun coming out of gloomy mountains.

So Zarathustra spoke and left his cave, glowing and strong, like the morning sun rising from the gloomy mountains.