When Tyltyl bent over the magic mirror, he almost always saw the picture of a splendid Blue Bird, for the constant wish to find him filled his mind entirely. Then he would run to Light and entreat her:
“Tell me where he is! … You know everything: tell me where to find him!”
But she replied, in a tone of mystery:
“I cannot tell you anything. You must find him for yourself.” And, kissing him, she added, “Cheer up; you are getting nearer to him at each trial.”
Now there came a day on which she said to him:
“I have received a message from the Fairy Bérylune telling me that the Blue Bird is probably hidden in the graveyard. … It appears that one of the Dead in the graveyard is keeping him in his tomb. …”
“What shall we do?” asked Tyltyl.
“It is very simple: at midnight you will turn the diamond and you shall see the Dead come out of the ground.”
At these words, Milk, Water, Bread and Sugar began to yell and scream and chatter their teeth.
“Don’t mind them,” said Light to Tyltyl, in a whisper. “They are afraid of the Dead.”
“I’m not afraid of them!” said Fire, frisking about. “Time was when I used to burn them; that was much more amusing than nowadays.”
“Oh, I feel I am going to turn,” wailed Milk.
“I’m not afraid,” said the Dog, trembling in every limb, “but if you run away. … I shall run away too … and with the greatest pleasure. …”
The Cat sat pulling at her whiskers:
“I know what’s what,” she said, in her usual mysterious way.
“Be quiet,” said Light. “The Fairy gave strict orders. You are all to stay with me, at the gate of the graveyard; the Children are to go in alone.”
Tyltyl felt anything but pleased. He asked:
“Aren’t you coming with us?”
“No,” said Light. “The time for that has not arrived. Light cannot yet enter among the Dead. Besides, there is nothing to fear. I shall not be far away; and those who love me and whom I love always find me again. …”
She had not finished speaking, when everything around the Children changed. The wonderful temple, the dazzling flowers, the splendid gardens vanished to make way for a poor little country cemetery, which lay in the soft moonlight. Near the Children were a number of graves, grassy mounds, wooden crosses and tombstones. Tyltyl and Mytyl were seized with terror and hugged each other:
“I am frightened!” said Mytyl.
“I am never frightened,” stammered Tyltyl, who was shaking with fear, but did not like to say so.
“I say,” asked Mytyl, “are the Dead wicked?”
“Why, no,” said Tyltyl, “they’re not alive! …”
“Have you ever seen one?”
“Yes, once, long ago, when I was very young. …”
“What was it like?”
“Quite white, very still and very cold; and it didn’t talk. …”
“Are we going to see them?”
Tyltyl shuddered at this question and made an unsuccessful effort to steady his voice as he answered:
“Why, of course, Light said so!”
“Where are the Dead?” asked Mytyl.
Tyltyl cast a frightened look around him, for the Children had not dared to stir since they were alone:
“The Dead are here,” he said, “under the grass or under those big stones.”
“Are those the doors of their houses?” asked Mytyl, pointing to the tombstones.
“Yes.”
“Do they go out when it’s fine?”
“They can only go out at night.”
“Why?”
“Because they are in their nightshirts.”
“Do they go out also when it rains?”
“When it rains, they stay at home.”
“Is it nice in their homes?”
“They say it’s very cramped.”
“Have they any little children?”
“Why, yes, they have all those who die.”
“And what do they live on?”
Tyltyl stopped to think, before answering. As Mytyl’s big brother, he felt it his duty to know everything; but her questions often puzzled him. Then he reflected that, as the Dead live under ground, they can hardly eat anything that is above it; and so he answered very positively:
“They eat roots!”
Mytyl was quite satisfied and returned to the great question that was occupying her little mind:
“Shall we see them?” she asked.
“Of course,” said Tyltyl, “we see everything when I turn the diamond.”
“And what will they say?”
Tyltyl began to grow impatient:
“They will say nothing, as they don’t talk.”
“Why don’t they talk?” asked Mytyl.
“Because they have nothing to say,” said Tyltyl, more cross and perplexed than ever.
“Why have they nothing to say?”
This time, the little big brother lost all patience. He shrugged his shoulders, gave Mytyl a push and shouted angrily:
“You’re a nuisance! …”
Mytyl was greatly upset and confused. She sucked her thumb and resolved to hold her tongue forever after, as she had been so badly treated! But a breath of wind made the leaves of the trees whisper and suddenly recalled the Children to their fears and their sense of loneliness. They hugged each other tight and began to talk again, so as not to hear the horrible silence:
“When will you turn the diamond?” asked Mytyl.
“You heard Light say that I was to wait until midnight, because that disturbs them less; it is when they come out to take the air. …”
“Isn’t it midnight yet. …”
Tyltyl turned round, saw the church clock and hardly had the strength to answer, for the hands were just upon the hour:
“Listen,” he stammered, “listen. … It is just going to strike. … There! … Do you hear? …”
And the clock struck twelve.
Then Mytyl, frightened out of her life, began to stamp her feet and utter piercing screams:
“I want to go away! … I want to go away! …”
Tyltyl, though stiff with fright, was able to say:
“Not now. … I am going to turn the diamond. …”
“No, no, no!” cried Mytyl. “I am so frightened, little brother! … Don’t do it! … I want to go away! …”
Tyltyl vainly tried to lift his hand: he could not reach the diamond with Mytyl clinging to him, hanging with all her weight on her brother’s arm and screaming at the top of her voice:
“I don’t want to see the Dead! … They will be awful! … I can’t possibly! … I am
