ye now please me,--

--Since ye have again become joyful! Ye have, verily, all blossomed
forth: it seemeth 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, ye higher men! THAT did ye
devise when with me, that do I take as a good omen,--such things only
the convalescents devise!

And should ye 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 spake Zarathustra.

LXXIX. 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
comforted, brave hearts, and astonished in themselves that it was so
well with them on earth; the mystery of the night, however, came nigher
and nigher 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 expression,
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 mine
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, hath taught
me to love the earth.

'Was THAT--life?' will I say unto death. 'Well! Once more!'

My friends, what think ye? Will ye not, like me, say unto death: 'Was
THAT--life? For the sake of Zarathustra, well! Once more!'"--

Thus spake 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 c