[Both the Soothsayer and Zarathustra's dream seem to say here that his
mission, to find successful disciples, has failed, that they cannot move
beyond this point, they probably cannot take the tragic side of the world
that transpires in Zarathustra's dream. Thomas]

"-And I saw a great sadness come over mankind. The best turned weary of
their works.
A doctrine appeared, a faith ran beside it: 'All is empty, all is alike, all
hath been!'
And from all hills there re-echoed: 'All is empty, all is alike, all hath
been!'
[Obviously this is the spirit of gravity of the skeptical, nihilist last man
becoming depressive. Th.]

To be sure we have harvested: but why have all our fruits become rotten and
brown? What was it fell last night from the evil moon?
In vain was all our labour, poison hath our wine become, the evil eye hath
singed yellow our fields and hearts.
Arid have we all become; and fire falling upon us, then do we turn dust like
ashes:--yea, the fire itself have we made aweary.
All our fountains have dried up, even the sea hath receded. All the ground
trieth to gape, but the depth will not swallow!
'Alas! where is there still a sea in which one could be drowned?' so
soundeth our plaint--across shallow swamps.
Verily, even for dying have we become too weary; now do we keep awake and
live on--in sepulchres."
Thus did Zarathustra hear a soothsayer speak; and the foreboding touched his
heart and transformed him. Sorrowfully did he go about and wearily; and he
became like unto those of whom the soothsayer had spoken.--
Verily, said he unto his disciples, a little while, and there cometh the
long twilight. Alas, how shall I preserve my light through it!
That it may not smother in this sorrowfulness! To remoter worlds shall it be
a light, and also to remotest nights!
[This probably means that Zarathustra has lost hope in making his teaching
understood to his times, that it will be for future generations. Th.]

Thus did Zarathustra go about grieved in his heart, and for three days he
did not take any meat or drink: he had no rest, and lost his speech. At last
it came to pass that he fell into a deep sleep. His disciples, however, sat
around him in long night-watches, and waited anxiously to see if he would
awake, and speak again, and recover from his affliction.
And this is the discourse that Zarathustra spake when he awoke; his voice,
however, came unto his disciples as from afar:
Hear, I pray you, the dream that I dreamed, my friends, and help me to
divine its meaning!
A riddle is it still unto me, this dream; the meaning is hidden in it and
encaged, and doth not yet fly above it on free pinions.
All life had I renounced, so I dreamed. Night-watchman and grave-guardian
had I become, aloft, in the lone mountain-fortress of Death.
There did I guard his coffins: full stood the musty vaults of those trophies
of victory. Out of glass coffins did vanquished life gaze upon me.
The odour of dust-covered eternities did I breathe: sultry and dust- covered
lay my soul. And who could have aired his soul there!
Brightness of midnight was ever around me; lonesomeness cowered beside her;
and as a third, death-rattle stillness, the worst of my female friends.
Keys did I carry, the rustiest of all keys; and I knew how to open with them
the most creaking of all gates.
Like a bitterly angry croaking ran the sound through the long corridors when
the leaves of the gate opened: ungraciously did this bird cry, unwillingly
was it awakened.
But more frightful even, and more heart-strangling was it, when it again
became silent and still all around, and I alone sat in that malignant
silence.
[So far it sounds to me that Z. is dreaming of the world of the last men.
Th.]

Thus did time pass with me, and slip by, if time there still was: what do I
know thereof! But at last there happened that which awoke me.
Thrice did there peal peals at the gate like thunders, thrice did the vaults
resound and howl again: then did I go to the gate.
Alpa! cried I, who carrieth his ashes unto the mountain? Alpa! Alpa! who
carrieth his ashes unto the mountain?
[Alp in German means a terrifying goblin, Alptraum means 'nightmare'. Th.]

And I pressed the key, and pulled at the gate, and exerted myself. But not a
finger's-breadth was it yet open:
Then did a roaring wind tear the folds apart: whistling, whizzing, and
piercing, it threw unto me a black coffin.
And in the roaring, and whistling, and whizzing the coffin burst up, and
spouted out a thousand peals of laughter.
And a thousand caricatures of children, angels, owls, fools, and child-
sized butterflies laughed and mocked, and roared at me.
[Which coffin arrives here full of jokes, perhaps the Jester of the prologue
who caused the rope-dancer to fall down? Th.]

Fearfully was I terrified thereby: it prostrated me. And I cried with horror
as I ne'er cried before.
But mine own crying awoke me:--and I came to myself.--
Thus did Zarathustra relate his dream, and then was silent: for as yet he
knew not the interpretation thereof. But the disciple whom he loved most
arose quickly, seized Zarathustra's hand, and said:
"Thy life itself interpreteth unto us this dream, O Zarathustra!
Art thou not thyself the wind with shrill whistling, which bursteth open the
gates of the fortress of Death?
Art thou not thyself the coffin full of many-hued malices and angel-
caricatures of life?
Verily, like a thousand peals of children's laughter cometh Zarathustra into
all sepulchres, laughing at those night-watchmen and grave-guardians, and
whoever else rattleth with sinister keys.
With thy laughter wilt thou frighten and prostrate them: fainting and
recovering will demonstrate thy power over them.
And when the long twilight cometh and the mortal weariness, even then wilt
thou not disappear from our firmament, thou advocate of life!
New stars hast thou made us see, and new nocturnal glories: verily, laughter
itself hast thou spread out over us like a many-hued canopy.
Now will children's laughter ever from coffins flow; now will a strong wind
ever come victoriously unto all mortal weariness: of this thou art thyself
the pledge and the prophet!
Verily, THEY THEMSELVES DIDST THOU DREAM, thine enemies: that was thy sorest
dream.
But as thou awokest from them and camest to thyself, so shall they awaken
from themselves--and come unto thee!"
Thus spake the disciple; and all the others then thronged around
Zarathustra, grasped him by the hands, and tried to persuade him to leave
his bed and his sadness, and return unto them. Zarathustra, however, sat
upright on his couch, with an absent look. Like one returning from long
foreign sojourn did he look on his disciples, and examined their features;
but still he knew them not. When, however, they raised him, and set him upon
his feet, behold, all on a sudden his eye changed; he understood everything
that had happened, stroked his beard, and said with a strong voice:
"Well! this hath just its time; but see to it, my disciples, that we have a
good repast; and without delay! Thus do I mean to make amends for bad
dreams!
The soothsayer, however, shall eat and drink at my side: and verily, I will
yet show him a sea in which he can drown himself!"--
Thus spake Zarathustra. Then did he gaze long into the face of the disciple
who had been the dream-interpreter, and shook his head.--
[Shook his head because the disciples give an over-optimistic interpretation
of the dream, and do not realize that they have failed, that they can never
follow Zarathustra on his quest. Thomas]