Night is of an anxious nature and easily alarmed. Her beauty, built up of peace and repose, possesses the secret of Silence, which life is constantly disturbing: a star shooting through the sky, a leaf falling to the ground, the hoot of an owl, a mere nothing is enough to tear the black velvet pall which she spreads over the earth each evening. The Cat, therefore, had not finished speaking, when Night sat up, all quivering. Her immense wings beat around her; and she questioned Tylette in a trembling voice. As soon as she had learned the danger that threatened her, she began to lament her fate. What! A man’s son coming to her palace! And, perhaps, with the help of the magic diamond, discovering her secrets! What should she do? What would become of her? How could she defend herself? And, forgetting that she was sinning against Silence, her own particular god, Night began to utter piercing screams. It was true that falling into such a commotion was hardly likely to help her find a cure for her troubles. Luckily for her, Tylette, who was accustomed to the annoyances and worries of human life, was better armed. She had worked out her plan when going ahead of the children; and she was hoping to persuade Night to adopt it. She explained this plan to her in a few words:
“I see only one thing for it, Mother Night: as they are children, we must give them such a fright that they will not dare to insist on opening the great door at the back of the hall, behind which the Birds of the Moon live and generally the Blue Bird too. The secrets of the other caverns will be sure to scare them. The hope of our safety lies in the terror which you will make them feel.”
There was clearly no other course to take. But Night had not time to reply, for she heard a sound. Then her beautiful features contracted; her wings spread out angrily; and everything in her attitude told Tylette that Night approved of her plan.
“Here they are!” cried the Cat.
The little band came marching down the steps of Night’s gloomy staircase. Tylô pranced bravely in front, whereas Tyltyl looked around him with an anxious glance. He certainly found nothing to comfort him. It was all very magnificent, but very terrifying. Picture a huge and wonderful black marble hall, of a stern and tomb-like splendour. There is no ceiling visible; and the ebony pillars that surround the amphitheatre shoot up to the sky. It is only when you lift your eyes up there that you catch the faint light falling from the stars. Everywhere, the thickest darkness reigns. Two restless flames—no more—flicker on either side of Night’s throne, before a monumental door of brass. Bronze doors show through the pillars to the right and left.
The Cat rushed up to the Children:
“This way, little master, this way! … I have told Night; and she is delighted to see you.”
Tylette’s soft voice and smile made Tyltyl feel himself again; and he walked up to the throne with a bold and confident step, saying:
“Good day, Mrs. Night!”
Night was offended by the word, “Good day,” which reminded her of her eternal enemy Light, and answered drily:
“Good day? … I am not used to that! … You might say, Good night, or, at least, Good evening!”
Our hero was not prepared to quarrel. He felt very small in the presence of that stately lady. He quickly begged her pardon, as nicely as he could; and very gently asked her leave to look for the Blue Bird in her palace.
“I have never seen him, he is not here!” exclaimed Night, flapping her great wings to frighten the boy.
But, when he insisted and gave no sign of fear, she herself began to dread the diamond, which, by lighting up her darkness, would completely destroy her power; and she thought it better to pretend to yield to an impulse of generosity and at once to point to the big key that lay on the steps of the throne.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Tyltyl seized hold of it and ran to the first door of the hall.
Everybody shook with fright. Bread’s teeth chattered in his head; Sugar, who was standing some way off, moaned with mortal anguish; Mytyl howled:
“Where is Sugar? … I want to go home!”
Meanwhile, Tyltyl, pale and resolute, was trying to open the door, while Night’s grave voice, rising above the din, proclaimed the first danger.
“It’s the Ghosts!”
“Oh, dear!” thought Tyltyl. “I have never seen a ghost: it must be awful!”
The faithful Tylô, by his side, was panting with all his might, for dogs hate anything uncanny.
At last, the key grated in the lock. Silence reigned as dense and heavy as the darkness. No one dared draw a breath. Then the door opened; and, in a moment, the gloom was filled with white figures running in every direction. Some lengthened out right up to the sky; others twined themselves round the pillars; others wriggled ever so fast along the ground. They were something like men, but it was impossible to distinguish their features; the eye could not catch them. The moment you looked at them, they turned into a white mist. Tyltyl did his best to chase them; for Mrs. Night kept to the plan contrived by the Cat and pretended to be frightened. She had been the Ghosts’ friend for hundreds and hundreds of years and had only to say a word to drive them in again; but she was careful to do nothing of the sort and, flapping her wings like mad, she called upon all her gods and screamed:
“Drive them away! Drive them away! Help! Help!”
But the poor Ghosts, who hardly ever come out now that Man no longer believes in them, were much too happy at taking a breath of air; and, had it not been that they were afraid of Tylô, who tried to bite their
