The Dance Song

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:

One evening, Zarathustra and his disciples walked through the forest. While looking for a well, he came upon a green meadow peacefully surrounded by trees and bushes. Young women were dancing together there. As soon as they recognized Zarathustra, they stopped dancing. But Zarathustra approached them with a friendly expression and said:

Cease not your dancing, ye lovely maidens! No game-spoiler hath come to you with evil eye, no enemy of maidens.

Keep dancing, lovely maidens! No spoilsport has come to cast an evil eye on you, no enemy of maidens.

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?

I defend God against the devil, who is the spirit of gravity. How could I, you light-footed ones, be against divine dances? Or against the feet of young women with delicate ankles?

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.

I am indeed a forest, a night of dark trees. But anyone who is not afraid of my darkness will find banks full of roses beneath my cypresses.

And even the little God may he find, who is dearest to maidens: beside the well lieth he quietly, with closed eyes.

And may he even find the little god who is dearest to young women. He lies quietly beside the well, his eyes closed.

Verily, in broad daylight did he fall asleep, the sluggard! Had he perhaps chased butterflies too much?

He actually fell asleep in broad daylight, the lazybones! Had he perhaps chased butterflies too much?

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!

Don't scold me, beautiful dancers, if I punish the little God a little! He will certainly cry and weep, but he is laughable even when he weeps!

And with tears in his eyes shall he ask you for a dance; and I myself will sing a song to his dance:

And with tears in his eyes, he will ask you to dance. And I will sing a song for 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.”—

A dance song and satire on the spirit of gravity, my greatest and most powerful devil. He is said to be “lord of the world.”

And this is the song that Zarathustra sang when Cupid and the maidens danced together:

And this is the song Zarathustra sang when Cupid and the young women danced together:

Of late did I gaze into thine eye, O Life! And into the unfathomable did I there seem to sink.

Recently, I looked into your eyes, O Life! And I seemed to sink into a depth beyond understanding.

But thou pulledst me out with a golden angle; derisively didst thou laugh when I called thee unfathomable.

But you pulled me out with a golden fishing hook. You laughed mockingly when I called you unfathomable.

“Such is the language of all fish,” saidst thou; “what THEY do not fathom is unfathomable.

“That is how all fish speak,” you said. “What THEY cannot understand is impossible to understand.

But changeable am I only, and wild, and altogether a woman, and no virtuous one:

But I am only changeable and wild, entirely a woman, and not a virtuous one:

Though I be called by you men the ‘profound one,’ or the ‘faithful one,’ ‘the eternal one,’ ‘the mysterious one.’

Though you men call me the ‘profound one,’ or the ‘faithful one,’ ‘the eternal one,’ ‘the mysterious one.’

But ye men endow us always with your own virtues—alas, ye virtuous ones!”

But you humans always give us your own virtues. Alas, you virtuous ones!”

Thus did she laugh, the unbelievable one; but never do I believe her and her laughter, when she speaketh evil of herself.

That is how she laughed, the unbelievable one. But I never believe her or her laughter when she speaks badly 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!”

And when I spoke face to face with my wild Wisdom, she said to me angrily: “You will, you crave, you love. That alone is why you 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.

Then I almost answered the angry one indignantly and told her the truth. And there is no more indignant answer than to “tell the truth” to your Wisdom.

For thus do things stand with us three. In my heart do I love only Life—and verily, most when I hate her!

For this is how things stand with the three of us. In my heart, I love only Life, and truly, I love her 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!

But I am fond of Wisdom, often too fond of her, because she reminds me so much of Life!

She hath her eye, her laugh, and even her golden angle-rod: am I responsible for it that both are so alike?

She has her eye, her laugh, and even her golden fishing rod. Am I responsible for how alike the two are?

And when once Life asked me: “Who is she then, this Wisdom?”—then said I eagerly: “Ah, yes! Wisdom!

Once Life asked me, “Who is this Wisdom, then?” I eagerly replied, “Ah, yes! Wisdom!

One thirsteth for her and is not satisfied, one looketh through veils, one graspeth through nets.

One thirsts for her and is not satisfied. One looks through veils and reaches through nets.

Is she beautiful? What do I know! But the oldest carps are still lured by her.

Is she beautiful? How should I know? But even the oldest carp are still drawn to her.

Changeable is she, and wayward; often have I seen her bite her lip, and pass the comb against the grain of her hair.

She is changeable and unpredictable. I have often seen her bite her lip and comb her hair against the grain.

Perhaps she is wicked and false, and altogether a woman; but when she speaketh ill of herself, just then doth she seduce most.”

Perhaps she is wicked and deceitful, and a woman through and through. But she is most seductive when she speaks badly of herself.”

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?

When I said this to Life, she laughed maliciously and closed her eyes. “Who are you talking about?” she said. “Perhaps 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!”

And even if you were right, is it proper to say THAT to my face in that way? But now, please, speak of your wisdom too!”

Ah, and now hast thou again opened thine eyes, O beloved Life! And into the unfathomable have I again seemed to sink.—

Ah, now you have opened your eyes again, beloved Life! And once again, I seemed to sink into the unfathomable.

Thus sang Zarathustra. But when the dance was over and the maidens had departed, he became sad.

This is what Zarathustra sang. But when the dance was over and the young women had left, he became sad.

“The sun hath been long set,” said he at last, “the meadow is damp, and from the forest cometh coolness.

“The sun set long ago,” he said at last. “The meadow is damp, and cool air comes from the forest.

An unknown presence is about me, and gazeth thoughtfully. What! Thou livest still, Zarathustra?

An unknown presence is near me, gazing thoughtfully. What! Are you still alive, Zarathustra?

Why? Wherefore? Whereby? Whither? Where? How? Is it not folly still to live?—

Why? For what purpose? By what means? Where to? Where? How? Is it not foolish to go on living?

Ah, my friends; the evening is it which thus interrogateth in me. Forgive me my sadness!

Ah, my friends, it is the evening that asks these questions within me. Forgive my sadness!

Evening hath come on: forgive me that evening hath come on!”

Evening has come. Forgive me that evening has come!”

Thus sang Zarathustra.

That is how Zarathustra sang.