"Joyful Wisdom: La Gaya Scienza"
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Dawn of Day is a yea-saying book, profound, but clear and kindly. The same applies once more and in the highest degree to La Gaya Scienza: in almost every sentence of this book, profundity and playfulness go gently hand in hand. A verse which expresses my gratitude for the most wonderful month of January which I have ever lived—the whole book is a gift—sufficiently reveals the abysmal depths from which "wisdom" has here become joyful.
Dawn of Day is a life-affirming book, profound but clear and kind. The same is true, to the highest degree, of La Gaya Scienza: in almost every sentence, depth and playfulness go gently hand in hand. One verse expresses my gratitude for the most wonderful January I have ever lived through. The whole book is a gift. That verse reveals the bottomless depths from which "wisdom" has become joyful here.
"Thou who with cleaving fiery lances The stream of my soul from its ice dost free, Till with a rush and a roar it advances To enter with glorious hoping the sea: Brighter to see and purer ever, Free in the bonds of thy sweet constraint,— So it praises thy wondrous endeavour, January, thou beauteous saint!"
"You, who split the ice with fiery lances And free the stream of my soul, Until it rushes and roars forward To enter the sea with glorious hope: Ever clearer and purer to see, Free within your sweet bonds, The stream praises your wondrous work, January, you beautiful saint!"
Translated for Joyful Wisdom by Paul V. Cohn. (Translator's note.)
Who can be in any doubt as to what "glorious hoping" means here, when he has realised the diamond beauty of the first of Zarathustra's words as they appear in a glow of light at the close of the fourth book? Or when he reads the granite sentences at the end of the third book, wherein a fate for all times is first given a formula? The songs of Prince Free-as-a-Bird, which, for the most part, were written in Sicily, remind me quite forcibly of that Provencal notion of "Gaya Scienza," of that union of singer, knight, and free spirit, which distinguishes that wonderfully early culture of the Provencals from all ambiguous cultures. The last poem of all, "To the Mistral,"—an exuberant dance song in which, if you please, the new spirit dances freely upon the corpse of morality,—is a perfect Provençalism.
Who can doubt what "glorious hoping" means here? Not anyone who has seen the diamond beauty of Zarathustra's first words, glowing with light at the end of the fourth book. Or anyone who has read the granite sentences at the end of the third book, where a fate for all times is first put into words. The songs of Prince Free-as-a-Bird, most of which were written in Sicily, strongly remind me of the Provençal idea of "Gaya Scienza." This idea united the roles of singer, knight, and free spirit. It sets that wonderfully early Provençal culture apart from all ambiguous cultures. The final poem, "To the Mistral," is an exuberant dance song. In it, if you please, the new spirit dances freely on the corpse of morality. The poem is perfectly Provençal.