THERE ARE NO DEAD
Maurice Maeterlinck
Adapted from “The Blue Bird”
“Tyltyl,” said Light one morning, “I have received a note from the Fairy Berlyune telling me that the Bluebird is probably in the graveyard.”
“What shall we do?” asked Tyltyl.
“It is very simple,” answered Light. “The fairy gave strict orders. You and Mytyl are to go into the graveyard alone. At midnight you will turn the diamond, and the dead will come out of the ground.”
Tyltyl did not feel pleased. “Aren’t you coming with us?” he asked.
“No,” said Light, “I shall stay at the gate of the graveyard. There is nothing to fear. I shall not be far away, and those who love me and whom I love always find me again.”
Light had scarcely done speaking when everything changed. The shining Temple, the glowing flowers, the splendid gardens vanished to make way for a little country graveyard lying in the soft moonlight. Tyltyl and Mytyl clung to one another.
“I am frightened,” said Mytyl.
“I am never frightened,” said Tyltyl, shaking with fear.
“Are the dead alive?” asked Mytyl.
“No,” said Tyltyl, “they’re not alive.”
“Are we going to see them?”
“Of course; Light said so.”
“Where are they?” asked Mytyl.
“Here, under the grass or under those big stones, Mytyl.”
“Are those the stones of their houses?” asked Mytyl.
“Yes.”
“When will you turn the diamond, Tyltyl?”
“Light said I was to wait until midnight.”
“Isn’t it midnight yet?”
Tyltyl looked at the church clock. “Listen, it is going to strike.”
Above the children the tones of the clock boomed out as it started to strike twelve.
“I want to go away, Tyltyl! I want to go away!”
“Not now, Mytyl; I am going to turn the diamond.”
“No, no,” cried Mytyl. “Don’t! I’m so frightened, Brother! I want to go away.”
Tyltyl tried vainly to lift his hand; he could not reach the diamond with Mytyl clinging to him.
“I am so frightened.”
Poor Tyltyl was quite as frightened as she, but at each trial his courage had grown greater.
The eleventh stroke rang out. “The hour is passing. It is time,” and, releasing himself from Mytyl’s arms he turned the diamond.
A moment of suspense followed for the poor children, Mytyl hid her face in Tyltyl’s breast.
“They’re coming,” she cried. “They’re coming.”
Tyltyl shut his eyes and leaned against a heavy stone beside him. The children remained in that position for a minute, hardly daring to breathe. Then they heard birds singing, a warm scented breeze fanned their faces and on hands and neck they felt the soft heat of the balmy summer sun. Reassured, but finding it hard to believe in so great a miracle, they opened their eyes and looked about them. From all the open tombs were rising thousands of delicate flowers gradually growing more and more tall and plentiful and marvellous. Little by little they spread everywhere, over the paths, over the grass, transforming the rude little graveyard into a fairylike garden. Its sweet-scented breeze was murmuring in the young and tender leaves, the birds were singing and the bees humming gaily above glittering dew and opening flowers.
“I can’t believe it! It’s not possible!” cried Tyltyl.
The two children, holding each other by the hand, walked through what had been the graveyard, but where now no graveyard was to be seen. Vainly they searched among the flowers for a trace of the low mounds, stone slabs, and wooden crosses so lately there. In the presence of the truth they saw that all their fears of the dead were foolish. They saw that there are no dead; but that life goes on always only under fresh form. The fading rose sheds its pollen only to give birth to other roses, and its scattered petals scent the air. The fruits come when the blossoms fall from the trees; when the grub dies the brilliant butterfly is born. Nothing perishes; there are only changes.
Beautiful birds circled about Tyltyl and Mytyl. There were no blue ones among them, but the two children were so happy over their discovery that they asked for nothing more.
Relieved and delighted they kept repeating:
“There are no dead! There are no dead!”