At length, in the middle of their feast, Zarathustra bursts in upon
them and rebukes them soundly. But he does not do so long; in the
Ass-Festival, it suddenly occurs to him, that he is concerned with a
ceremony that may not be without its purpose, as something foolish but
necessary—a recreation for wise men. He is therefore highly pleased
that the higher men have all blossomed forth; they therefore require
new festivals,—“A little valiant nonsense, some divine service and
ass-festival, some old joyful Zarathustra fool, some blusterer to blow
their souls bright.”
He tells them not to forget that night and the ass-festival, for “such
things only the convalescent devise! And should ye celebrate it again,”
he concludes, “do it from love to yourselves, do it also from love to
me! And in remembrance of ME!”