SECOND PART.
32. XXXII. THE DANCE-SONG. (continued)
Perhaps she is wicked and false, and altogether a woman; but when she
speaketh ill of herself, just then doth she seduce 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 opened 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 set," said he at last, "the meadow is damp, and
from the forest cometh coolness.
An unknown presence is about me, and gazeth thoughtfully. What! Thou
livest still, Zarathustra?
Why? Wherefore? Whereby? Whither? Where? How? Is it not folly 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.
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