And he who has too much spirit might well become infatuated with stupidity and folly. Think of yourself, O Zarathustra!
You yourself- verily! even you could well become an ass through su-perabundance of wisdom.
Do not the true sage willingly walk on the crookedest paths? The evid-ence teaches it, O Zarathustra,- your own evidence!»
-«And you yourself, finally,» said Zarathustra, and turned towards the ugliest man, who still lay on the ground stretching up his arm to the ass (for he gave it wine to drink). «Say, you nondescript, what have you been about!
You seem to me transformed, your eyes glow, the mantle of the sub-lime covers your ugliness: what did you do?
Is it then true what they say, that you have again awakened him? And why? Was he not for good reasons killed and made away with?
You yourself seem to me awakened: what did you do? why did you turn round? Why did you get converted? Speak, you nondescript!»
«O Zarathustra,» answered the ugliest man, «you are a rogue!
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Whether he yet lives, or again lives, or is thoroughly dead- which of us both knows that best? I ask you.
One thing however do I know,- from yourself did I learn it once, O Zarathustra: he who wants to kill most thoroughly, laughs.
‘Not by wrath but by laughter does one kill’- thus spoke you once, O Zarathustra, you hidden one, you destroyer without wrath, you danger-ous saint,- you are a rogue!»
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2.
Then, however, did it come to pass that Zarathustra, astonished at such merely roguish answers, jumped back to the door of his cave, and turn-ing towards all his guests, cried out with a strong voice:
«O you wags, all of you, you fools! Why do you dissemble and dis-guise yourselves before me!
How the hearts of all of you convulsed with delight and wickedness, because you had at last become again like little children- namely, pious,-
-Because you at last did again as children do- namely, prayed, folded your hands and said ‘good God’!
But now leave, I pray you, this nursery, my own cave, where today all childishness is carried on. Cool down, here outside, your hot child-wan-tonness and heart-tumult!
To be sure: except you become as little children you shall not enter into that kingdom of heaven.» (And Zarathustra pointed aloft with his hands.)
«But we do not at all want to enter into the kingdom of heaven: we have become men,- so we want the kingdom of earth.»
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3.
And once more began Zarathustra to speak. «O my new friends,» said he,- «you strange ones, you higher men, how well do you now please me,-
-Since you have again become joyful! You have, verily, all blossomed forth: it seems to me that for such flowers as you, new festivals are required.
-A little valiant nonsense, some divine service and ass-festival, some old joyful Zarathustra fool, some blusterer to blow your souls bright.
Forget not this night and this ass-festival, you higher men! That did you create when with me, that do I take as a good omen,- such things only the convalescents create!
And should you celebrate it again, this ass-festival, do it from love to yourselves, do it also from love to me! And in remembrance of me!»
Thus spoke Zarathustra.
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Chapter 19 The Drunken Song
1.
MEANWHILE one after another had gone out into the open air, and into the cool, thoughtful night; Zarathustra himself, however, led the ugliest man by the hand, that he might show him his night-world, and the great round moon, and the silvery water-falls near his cave. There they at last stood still beside one another; all of them old people, but with comfor-ted, brave hearts, and astonished in themselves that it was so well with them on earth; the mystery of the night, however, came closer and closer to their hearts. And anew Zarathustra thought to himself: «Oh, how well do they now please me, these higher men!»- but he did not say it aloud, for he respected their happiness and their silence.-
Then, however, there happened that which in this astonishing long day was most astonishing: the ugliest man began once more and for the last time to gurgle and snort, and when he had at length found expres-sion, behold! there sprang a question plump and plain out of his mouth, a good, deep, clear question, which moved the hearts of all who listened to him.
«My friends, all of you,» said the ugliest man, «what think ye? For the sake of this day- I am for the first time content to have lived my entire life.
And that I testify so much is still not enough for me. It is worth while living on the earth: one day, one festival with Zarathustra, has taught me to love the earth.
‘Was that- life?’ will I say to death. ‘Well! Once more!’
My friends, what think ye? Will you not, like me, say to death: ‘Was that- life? For the sake of Zarathustra, well! Once more!'»- —
Thus spoke the ugliest man; it was not, however, far from midnight. And what took place then, think ye? As soon as the higher men heard his question, they became all at once conscious of their transformation and convalescence, and of him who was the cause thereof: then did they rush
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up to Zarathustra, thanking, honoring, caressing him, and kissing his hands, each in his own peculiar way; so that some laughed and some wept. The old soothsayer, however, danced with delight; and though he was then, as some narrators suppose, full of sweet wine, he was certainly still fuller of sweet life, and had renounced all weariness. There are even those who narrate that the ass then danced: for not in vain had the ugli-est man previously given it wine to drink. That may be the case, or it may be otherwise; and if in truth the ass did not dance that evening, there nevertheless happened then greater and rarer wonders than the dancing of an ass would have been. In short, as the aphorism of Zarathustra says: «What does it matter!»
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2.
When, however, this took place with the ugliest man, Zarathustra stood there like one drunken: his glance dulled, his tongue faltered and his feet staggered. And who could divine what thoughts then passed through Zarathustra’s soul? Apparently, however, his spirit retreated and fled in advance and was in remote distances, and as it were «wandering on high mountain-ridges,» as it stands written, «‘twixt two seas,
-Wandering ‘twixt the past and the future as a heavy cloud.» Gradu-ally, however, while the higher men held him in their arms, he came back to himself a little, and resisted with his hands the crowd of the hon-oring and caring ones; but he did not speak. All at once, however, he turned his head quickly, for he seemed to hear something: then laid he his finger on his mouth and said: «Come!»
And immediately it became still and mysterious round about; from the depth however there came up slowly the sound of a clock-bell. Zarathus-tra listened thereto, like the higher men; then, however, laid he his finger on his mouth the second time, and said again: «Come! Come! It is getting on to midnight!»- and his voice had changed. But still he had not moved from the spot. Then it became yet stiller and more mysterious, and everything hearkened, even the ass, and Zarathustra’s noble animals, the eagle and the serpent,- likewise the cave of Zarathustra and the big cool moon, and the night itself. Zarathustra, however, laid his hand upon his mouth for the third time, and said:
Come! Come! Come! Let us now wander! It is the hour: let us wander into the night!
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3.
You higher men, it is getting on to midnight: then will I say something into your ears, as that old clock-bell says it into my ear,-
-As mysteriously, as frightfully, and as cordially as that midnight clock-bell speaks it to me, which has experienced more than one man:
-Which has already counted the smarting throbbings of your fathers’ hearts- ah! ah! how it sighs! how it laughs in its dream! the old, deep, deep midnight!
Hush! Hush! Then is there many a thing heard which may not be heard by day; now however, in the cool air, when even all the tumult of your hearts has become still,-
-Now does it speak, now is it heard, now does it steal into overwake-ful, nocturnal souls: ah! ah! how the midnight sighs! how it laughs in its dream!
-Hear you not how it mysteriously, frightfully, and cordially speaks to you, the old deep, deep midnight?
O man, take heed!
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4.
Woe to me! Where has time gone? Have I not sunk into deep wells? The world sleeps-
Ah! Ah! The dog howls, the moon shins. Rather will I die, rather will I die, than say to you what my midnight-heart now thinks.
Already have I died. It is all over. Spider, why spin you around me? Will you have blood? Ah! Ah! The dew falls, the hour comes-
-The hour in which I frost and freeze, which asks and asks and asks: «Who has sufficient courage for it?
-Who is to be master of the world? Who is going to say: Thus shall you flow, you great and small streams!»
-The hour approaches: O man, you higher
