--- title: "Thus Spake Zarathustra" author: "Friedrich Nietzsche" translator: "Thomas Common" languages: [en] shelf: "Philosophy" section: 36 of 95 url: https://scriptura.si/works/nietzsche-zarathustra/36/ cite: "Friedrich Nietzsche, tr. Thomas Common, Thus Spake Zarathustra, section 36. Scriptura (scriptura.si), https://scriptura.si/works/nietzsche-zarathustra/36/" --- # Thus Spake Zarathustra *Friedrich Nietzsche, tr. Thomas Common* A prophet comes down from his mountain to teach the overman, in sermons and songs. ## 36. XXXII. The Dance-Song Source: https://scriptura.si/works/nietzsche-zarathustra/36/ · cite a paragraph as https://scriptura.si/works/nietzsche-zarathustra/36/#p-N [¶0] One evening went Zarathustra and his disciples through the forest; and when he sought for a well, lo, he lighted upon a green meadow peacefully surrounded with trees and bushes, where maidens were dancing together. As soon as the maidens recognised Zarathustra, they ceased dancing; Zarathustra, however, approached them with friendly mien and spake these words: [¶1] Cease not your dancing, ye lovely maidens! No game-spoiler hath come to you with evil eye, no enemy of maidens. [¶2] God’s advocate am I with the devil: he, however, is the spirit of gravity. How could I, ye light-footed ones, be hostile to divine dances? Or to maidens’ feet with fine ankles? [¶3] To be sure, I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses. [¶4] And even the little God may he find, who is dearest to maidens: beside the well lieth he quietly, with closed eyes. [¶5] Verily, in broad daylight did he fall asleep, the sluggard! Had he perhaps chased butterflies too much? [¶6] Upbraid me not, ye beautiful dancers, when I chasten the little God somewhat! He will cry, certainly, and weep—but he is laughable even when weeping! [¶7] And with tears in his eyes shall he ask you for a dance; and I myself will sing a song to his dance: [¶8] A dance-song and satire on the spirit of gravity my supremest, powerfulest devil, who is said to be “lord of the world.”— [¶9] And this is the song that Zarathustra sang when Cupid and the maidens danced together: [¶10] Of late did I gaze into thine eye, O Life! And into the unfathomable did I there seem to sink. [¶11] But thou pulledst me out with a golden angle; derisively didst thou laugh when I called thee unfathomable. [¶12] “Such is the language of all fish,” saidst thou; “what THEY do not fathom is unfathomable. [¶13] But changeable am I only, and wild, and altogether a woman, and no virtuous one: [¶14] Though I be called by you men the ‘profound one,’ or the ‘faithful one,’ ‘the eternal one,’ ‘the mysterious one.’ [¶15] But ye men endow us always with your own virtues—alas, ye virtuous ones!” [¶16] Thus did she laugh, the unbelievable one; but never do I believe her and her laughter, when she speaketh evil of herself. [¶17] 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!” [¶18] 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. [¶19] For thus do things stand with us three. In my heart do I love only Life—and verily, most when I hate her! [¶20] But that I am fond of Wisdom, and often too fond, is because she remindeth me very strongly of Life! [¶21] She hath her eye, her laugh, and even her golden angle-rod: am I responsible for it that both are so alike? [¶22] And when once Life asked me: “Who is she then, this Wisdom?”—then said I eagerly: “Ah, yes! Wisdom! [¶23] One thirsteth for her and is not satisfied, one looketh through veils, one graspeth through nets. [¶24] Is she beautiful? What do I know! But the oldest carps are still lured by her. [¶25] Changeable is she, and wayward; often have I seen her bite her lip, and pass the comb against the grain of her hair. [¶26] Perhaps she is wicked and false, and altogether a woman; but when she speaketh ill of herself, just then doth she seduce most.” [¶27] 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? [¶28] 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!” [¶29] Ah, and now hast thou again opened thine eyes, O beloved Life! And into the unfathomable have I again seemed to sink.— [¶30] Thus sang Zarathustra. But when the dance was over and the maidens had departed, he became sad. [¶31] “The sun hath been long set,” said he at last, “the meadow is damp, and from the forest cometh coolness. [¶32] An unknown presence is about me, and gazeth thoughtfully. What! Thou livest still, Zarathustra? [¶33] Why? Wherefore? Whereby? Whither? Where? How? Is it not folly still to live?— [¶34] Ah, my friends; the evening is it which thus interrogateth in me. Forgive me my sadness! [¶35] Evening hath come on: forgive me that evening hath come on!” [¶36] Thus sang Zarathustra.