Latest / The Philosophy Insights Collection / 32 - Thus Spake Zarathustra - Friedrich Nietzsche
Transcript
- Part two, Chapter thirty two, The Dance Song. One evening went Zarathustra and his disciples through the forest, and when he sought for a well low he lighted upon a green meadow, peacefully surrounded with trees and bushes, where maidens were dancing together. As soon as the maidens recognized Zarathustra, they cease dancing. Zarathustra, however, reproached them with friendly mien, and spake these words, cease not your dancing, ye lovely maidens. No game spoiler. Hath come to you with evil eye? No enemy of maidens? God's advocate? Am I with the devil? He? However, is the spirit of gravity? How could I, ye lightfooted ones, be hostile to divine dances or to maiden's feet with fine ankles? To be sure, I am a forest and a night of dark trees. But he was not afraid of my darkness. Will find banks full of roses under my sigh presses, and even the little god may he find who is dearest to maidens. Beside the well lieth he quietly with closed eyes, verily in broad daylight did he fall asleep? The sluggard had he perhaps chased butterflies too, much upbraid me, not ye beautiful dancers. When I chase in the little god somewhat, he will cry, certainly and weep, But he is laughable even when weeping, And with tears in his eyes. Shall he ask you for a dance, And I myself will sing a song to his dance, a dance song and satire on the spirit of gravity, my supremest, powerfulest devil, who is said to be lord of the world. And this is the song that Zarathustra sang when Cupid and the maidens danced together. Of late, did I gaze into thine eye O life, and into the unfathomable? Did I their seemed to sink, But thou pull'dest me out with golden angle derisively? Didst thou laugh when I called the unfathomable? Such is the language of all fish, sayest thou what they do not fathom is unfathomable, but changeable. Am I only and wild and altogether a woman, and no virtuous one, thoughhy be called by you men the profound one, or the faithful one, the eternal one, the mysterious one. But ye men and tao us, always with your own virtue, alas ye virtuous ones. Thus did she laugh, the unbelievable one. But never do I believe her and her laughter when she speaketh evil of herself. And when I talked face to face with my wild wisdom, she said to me angrily, thou willest thou cravest thou lovest on that account alone dost thou praise life? Then had I almost answered indignantly and told the truth to the angry one. And one cannot answer more indignantly than when one telleth the truth to one's wisdom. For thus do things stand with us? Three In my heart do I love only life, and verily most when I hate her. But that I am fond of wisdom, and often too fond, is because she remindeth me very strongly of life. She hath her eye, her laugh, and even her golden angle. Rod Am I responsible for it? That both are so alike? And when once life asked me who is she? Then this wisdom? Then I said eagerly, ah, yes, wisdom. One thirsteth for her and is not satisfied. One looketh through veils, one graspeth through nets. Is she beautiful? What do I know? But the oldest scarps are still lured by her change? Is she and wayward? Often have I seen her bite her lip and pass the comb against the grain of her hair. Perhaps she is wicked and false, and altogether a woman. But when she speaketh ill of herself, just then doth she seduced most? When I had said this unto life? Then laughed she maliciously, and shut her eyes. Of whom dost thou speak? Said she? Perhaps of me? And if thou wert right, is it proper to say that in such wise to my face? But now pray speak also of thy wisdom? Ah? And now hast thou again open thine eyes, O, beloved life, and into the unfathomable? Have I again seemed to sink? Thus sang Zarathustra. But when the dance was over and the maidens had departed, he became sad. The sun hath been long, said said he. At last the meadow is damp, and from the forest with coolness. An unknown presence is about me. And gazeth thoughtfully, what thou livest still, Zarathustra? Why wherefore, whereby whither where? How is it not falling still to live? Ah? My friends? The evening is it which thus interrogateth in me? Forgive me my sadness, evening hath come on. Forgive me that evening hath come on. Thus sang Zarathustra, end of chapter thirty two,