The Masque of the Red Death Edgar Allan Poe

The "Red Death" had long devastated the country. No pestilence had
ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its seal
--the redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and
sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with
dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon
the face of the victim, were the pest ban which shut him out from
the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the whole
seizure, progress and termination of the disease, were the incidents
of half an hour.
But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and sagacious.
When his dominions were half depopulated, he summoned to his
presence a thousand hale and light-hearted friends from among the
knights and dames of his court, and with these retired to the deep
seclusion of one of his castellated abbeys. This was an extensive
and magnificent structure, the creation of the prince's own
eccentric yet august taste. A strong and lofty wall girdled it in.
This wall had gates of iron. The courtiers, having entered, brought
furnaces and massy hammers and welded the bolts. They resolved to
leave means neither of ingress or egress to the sudden impulses of
despair or of frenzy from within. The abbey was amply provisioned.
With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to
contagion. The external world could take care of itself. In the
meantime it was folly to grieve, or to think. The prince had
provided all the appliances of pleasure. There were buffoons, there
were improvisatori, there were ballet-dancers, there were musicians,
there was Beauty, there was wine. All these and security were
within. Without was the "Red Death."
It was toward the close of the fifth or sixth month of his
seclusion, and while the pestilence raged most furiously abroad,
that the Prince Prospero entertained his thousand friends at a
masked ball of the most unusual magnificence.
It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade. But first let me
tell of the rooms in which it was held. There were seven --an imperial
suite. In many palaces, however, such suites form a long and
straight vista, while the folding doors slide back nearly to the walls
on either hand, so that the view of the whole extent is scarcely
impeded. Here the case was very different; as might have been expected
from the duke's love of the bizarre. The apartments were so
irregularly disposed that the vision embraced but little more than one
at a time. There was a sharp turn at every twenty or thirty yards, and
at each turn a novel effect. To the right and left, in the middle of
each wall, a tall and narrow Gothic window looked out upon a closed
corridor which pursued the windings of the suite. These windows were
of stained glass whose color varied in accordance with the
prevailing hue of the decorations of the chamber into which it opened.
That at the eastern extremity was hung, for example, in blue --and
vividly blue were its windows. The second chamber was purple in its
ornaments and tapestries, and here the panes were purple. The third
was green throughout, and so were the casements. The fourth was
furnished and lighted with orange --the fifth with white --the sixth
with violet. The seventh apartment was closely shrouded in black
velvet tapestries that hung all over the ceiling and down the walls,
falling in heavy folds upon a carpet of the same material and hue. But
in this chamber only, the color of the windows failed to correspond
with the decorations. The panes here were scarlet --a deep blood
color. Now in no one of the seven apartments was there any lamp or
candelabrum, amid the profusion of golden ornaments that lay scattered
to and fro or depended from the roof. There was no light of any kind
emanating from lamp or candle within the suite of chambers. But in the
corridors that followed the suite, there stood, opposite to each
window, a heavy tripod, bearing a brazier of fire that protected its
rays through the tinted glass and so glaringly illumined the room. And
thus were produced a multitude of gaudy and fantastic appearances. But
in the western or black chamber the effect of the fire-light that
streamed upon the dark hangings through the blood-tinted panes, was
ghastly in the extreme, and produced so wild a look upon the
countenances of those who entered, that there were few of the
company bold enough to set foot within its precincts at all.
It was in this apartment, also, that there stood against the
western wall, a gigantic clock of ebony. Its pendulum swung to and fro
with a dull, heavy, monotonous clang; and when the minute-hand made
the circuit of the face, and the hour was to be stricken, there came
from the brazen lungs of the clock a sound which was clear and loud
and deep and exceedingly musical, but of so peculiar a note and
emphasis that, at each lapse of an hour, the musicians of the
orchestra were constrained to pause, momentarily, in their
performance, to hearken to the sound; and thus the waltzers perforce
ceased their evolutions; and there was a brief disconcert of the whole
gay company; and, while the chimes of the clock yet rang, it was
observed that the giddiest grew pale, and the more aged and sedate
passed their hands over their brows as if in confused reverie or
meditation. But when the echoes had fully ceased, a light laughter
at once pervaded the assembly; the musicians looked at each other
and smiled as if at their own nervousness and folly, and made
whispering vows, each to the other, that the next chiming of the clock
should produce in them no similar emotion; and then, after the lapse
of sixty minutes, (which embrace three thousand and six hundred
seconds of the Time that flies,) there came yet another chiming of the
clock, and then were the same disconcert and tremulousness and
meditation as before.
But, in spite of these things, it was a gay and magnificent revel.
The tastes of the duke were peculiar. He had a fine eye for colors and
effects. He disregarded the decora of mere fashion. His plans were
bold and fiery, and his conceptions glowed with barbaric lustre. There
are some who would have thought him mad. His followers felt that he
was not. It was necessary to hear and see and touch him to be sure
that he was not.
He had directed, in great part, the moveable embellishments of the
seven chambers, upon occasion of this great fete; and it was his own
guiding taste which had given character to the masqueraders. Be sure
they were grotesque. There were much glare and glitter and piquancy
and phantasm --much of what has been since seen in "Hernani." There
were arabesque figures with unsuited limbs and appointments. There
were delirious fancies such as the madman fashions. There was much
of the beautiful, much of the wanton, much of the bizarre, something
of the terrible, and not a little of that which might have excited
disgust. To and fro in the seven chambers there stalked, in fact, a
multitude of dreams. And these --the dreams --writhed in and about,
taking hue from the rooms, and causing the wild music of the orchestra
to seem as the echo of their steps. And, anon, there strikes the ebony
clock which stands in the hall of the velvet. And then, for a
moment, all is still, and all is silent save the voice of the clock.
The dreams are stiff-frozen as they stand. But the echoes of the chime
die away --they have endured but an instant --and a light,
half-subdued laughter floats after them as they depart. And now
again the music swells, and the dreams live, and writhe to and fro
more merrily than ever, taking hue from the many-tinted windows
through which stream the rays from the tripods. But to the chamber
which lies most westwardly of the seven, there are now none of the
maskers who venture; for the night is waning away; and there flows a
ruddier light through the blood-colored panes; and the blackness of
the sable drapery appals; and to him whose foot falls upon the sable
carpet, there comes from the near clock of ebony a muffled peal more
solemnly emphatic than any which reaches their ears who indulge in the
more remote gaieties of the other apartments.
But these other apartments were densely crowded, and in them
beat feverishly the heart of life. And the revel went whirlingly on,
until at length there commenced the sounding of midnight upon the
clock. And then the music ceased, as I have told; and the evolutions
of the waltzers were quieted; and there was an uneasy cessation of all
things as before. But now there were twelve strokes to be sounded by
the bell of the clock; and thus it happened, perhaps, that more of
thought crept, with more of time, into the meditations of the
thoughtful among those who revelled. And thus, too, it happened,
perhaps, that before the last echoes of the last chime had utterly
sunk into silence, there were many individuals in the crowd who had
found leisure to become aware of the presence of a masked figure which
had arrested the attention of no single individual before. And the
rumor of this new presence having spread itself whisperingly around,
there arose at length from the whole company a buzz, or murmur,
expressive of disapprobation and surprise --then, finally, of
terror, of horror, and of disgust.
In an assembly of phantasms such as I have painted, it may well be
supposed that no ordinary appearance could have excited such
sensation. In truth the masquerade license of the night was nearly
unlimited; but the figure in question had out-Heroded Herod, and
gone beyond the bounds of even the prince's indefinite decorum.
There are chords in the hearts of the most reckless which cannot be
touched without emotion. Even with the utterly lost, to whom life
and death are equally jests, there are matters of which no jest can be
made. The whole company, indeed, seemed now deeply to feel that in the
costume and bearing of the stranger neither wit nor propriety existed.
The figure was tall and gaunt, and shrouded from head to foot in the
habiliments of the grave. The mask which concealed the visage was made
so nearly to resemble the countenance of a stiffened corpse that the
closest scrutiny must have had difficulty in detecting the cheat.
And yet all this might have been endured, if not approved, by the
mad revellers around. But the mummer had gone so far as to assume
the type of the Red Death. His vesture was dabbled in blood --and
his broad brow, with all the features of the face, was besprinkled
with the scarlet horror.
When the eyes of Prince Prospero fell upon this spectral image
(which with a slow and solemn movement, as if more fully to sustain
its role, stalked to and fro among the waltzers) he was seen to be
convulsed, in the first moment with a strong shudder either of
terror or distaste; but, in the next, his brow reddened with rage.
"Who dares?" he demanded hoarsely of the courtiers who stood
near him --"who dares insult us with this blasphemous mockery? Seize
him and unmask him --that we may know whom we have to hang at sunrise,
from the battlements!"
It was in the eastern or blue chamber in which stood the Prince
Prospero as he uttered these words. They rang throughout the seven
rooms loudly and clearly --for the prince was a bold and robust man,
and the music had become hushed at the waving of his hand.
It was in the blue room where stood the prince, with a group of
pale courtiers by his side. At first, as he spoke, there was a
slight rushing movement of this group in the direction of the
intruder, who at the moment was also near at hand, and now, with
deliberate and stately step, made closer approach to the speaker.
But from a certain nameless awe with which the mad assumptions of
the mummer had inspired the whole party, there were found none who put
forth hand to seize him; so that, unimpeded, he passed within a yard
of the prince's person; and, while the vast assembly, as if with one
impulse, shrank from the centres of the rooms to the walls, he made
his way uninterruptedly, but with the same solemn and measured step
which had distinguished him from the first, through the blue chamber
to the purple --through the purple to the green --through the green to
the orange --through this again to the white --and even thence to
the violet, ere a decided movement had been made to arrest him. It was
then, however, that the Prince Prospero, maddening with rage and the
shame of his own momentary cowardice, rushed hurriedly through the six
chambers, while none followed him on account of a deadly terror that
had seized upon all. He bore aloft a drawn dagger, and had approached,
in rapid impetuosity, to within three or four feet of the retreating
figure, when the latter, having attained the extremity of the velvet
apartment, turned suddenly and confronted his pursuer. There was a
sharp cry --and the dagger dropped gleaming upon the sable carpet,
upon which, instantly afterwards, fell prostrate in death the Prince
Prospero. Then, summoning the wild courage of despair, a throng of the
revellers at once threw themselves into the black apartment, and,
seizing the mummer, whose tall figure stood erect and motionless
within the shadow of the ebony clock, gasped in unutterable horror
at finding the grave-cerements and corpse-like mask which they handled
with so violent a rudeness, untenanted by any tangible form.
And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had
come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers
in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the
despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went
out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods
expired. And Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable
dominion over all.



The End

THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO- Edgar Allan Poe

THE thousand injuries of Fortunato I had
borne as I best could, but when he ven-
tured upon insult, I vowed revenge. You,
who so well know the nature of my soul, will not
suppose, however, that I gave utterance to a threat.
AT LENGTH I would be avenged; this was a point de-
finitively settled -- but the very definitiveness with
which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk.
I must not only punish, but punish with impunity.
A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes
its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the
avenger fails to make himself felt as such to him
who has done the wrong.


It must be understood that neither by word nor
deed had I given Fortunato cause to doubt my good
will. I continued as was my wont, to smile in his
face, and he did not perceive that my smile NOW was
at the thought of his immolation.


He had a weak point -- this Fortunato -- although
in other regards he was a man to be respected and
even feared. He prided himself on his connoisseur-
ship in wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso
spirit. For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted
to suit the time and opportunity to practise impos-
ture upon the British and Austrian MILLIONAIRES. In
painting and gemmary, Fortunato, like his country-
men, was a quack, but in the matter of old wines he
was sincere. In this respect I did not differ from
him materially; I was skilful in the Italian vintages
myself, and bought largely whenever I could.


It was about dusk, one evening during the su-
preme madness of the carnival season, that I encoun-
tered my friend. He accosted me with excessive
warmth, for he had been drinking much. The man
wore motley. He had on a tight-fitting parti-striped
dress and his head was surmounted by the conical
cap and bells. I was so pleased to see him, that I
thought I should never have done wringing his
hand.


I said to him -- "My dear Fortunato, you are
luckily met. How remarkably well you are look-
ing to-day! But I have received a pipe of what
passes for Amontillado, and I have my doubts."


"How?" said he, "Amontillado? A pipe? Im-
possible? And in the middle of the carnival?"


"I have my doubts," I replied; "and I was silly
enough to pay the full Amontillado price without
consulting you in the matter. You were not to be
found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain."


"Amontillado!"


"I have my doubts."


"Amontillado!"


"And I must satisfy them."


"Amontillado!"


"As you are engaged, I am on my way to Luchesi.
If any one has a critical turn, it is he. He will tell
me" --


"Luchesi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry."


"And yet some fools will have it that his taste is
a match for your own."


"Come let us go."


"Whither?"


"To your vaults."


"My friend, no; I will not impose upon your
good nature. I perceive you have an engagement
Luchesi" --


"I have no engagement; come."


"My friend, no. It is not the engagement, but
the severe cold with which I perceive you are af-
flicted. The vaults are insufferably damp. They
are encrusted with nitre."


"Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely
nothing. Amontillado! You have been imposed
upon; and as for Luchesi, he cannot distinguish
Sherry from Amontillado."


Thus speaking, Fortunato possessed himself of my
arm. Putting on a mask of black silk and drawing
a roquelaire closely about my person, I suffered him
to hurry me to my palazzo.


There were no attendants at home; they had
absconded to make merry in honour of the time.
I had told them that I should not return until the
morning and had given them explicit orders not
to stir from the house. These orders were sufficient,
I well knew, to insure their immediate disappear-
ance, one and all, as soon as my back was turned.


I took from their sconces two flambeaux, and giv-
ing one to Fortunato bowed him through several
suites of rooms to the archway that led into the
vaults. I passed down a long and winding staircase,
requesting him to be cautious as he followed. We
came at length to the foot of the descent, and stood
together on the damp ground of the catacombs of
the Montresors.


The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells
upon his cap jingled as he strode.


"The pipe," said he.


"It is farther on," said I; "but observe the white
webwork which gleams from these cavern walls."


He turned towards me and looked into my eyes
with two filmy orbs that distilled the rheum of in-
toxication.


"Nitre?" he asked, at length


"Nitre," I replied. "How long have you had that
cough!"


"Ugh! ugh! ugh! -- ugh! ugh! ugh! -- ugh!
ugh! ugh! -- ugh! ugh! ugh! -- ugh! ugh! ugh!


My poor friend found it impossible to reply for
many minutes.


"It is nothing," he said, at last.


"Come," I said, with decision, we will go back;
your health is precious. You are rich, respected,
admired, beloved; you are happy as once I was.
You are a man to be missed. For me it is no
matter. We will go back; you will be ill and I
cannot be responsible. Besides, there is Luchesi" --


"Enough," he said; "the cough is a mere nothing;
it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough."


"True -- true," I replied; "and, indeed, I had no
intention of alarming you unnecessarily -- but you
should use all proper caution. A draught of this
Medoc will defend us from the damps."


Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I
drew from a long row of its fellows that lay upon
the mould.


"Drink," I said, presenting him the wine.


He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused
and nodded to me familiarly, while his bells jingled.


"I drink," he said, "to the buried that repose
around us."


"And I to your long life."


He again took my arm and we proceeded.


"These vaults," he said, are extensive."


"The Montresors," I replied, "were a great
numerous family."


"I forget your arms."


"A huge human foot d'or, in a field azure; the
foot crushes a serpent rampant whose fangs are im-
bedded in the heel."


"And the motto?"


"Nemo me impune lacessit."


"Good!" he said.


The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells
jingled. My own fancy grew warm with the Medoc.
We had passed through walls of piled bones, with
casks and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost
recesses of the catacombs. I paused again, and this
time I made bold to seize Fortunato by an arm
above the elbow.


"The nitre!" I said: see it increases. It hangs
like moss upon the vaults. We are below the
river's bed. The drops of moisture trickle among
the bones. Come, we will go back ere it is too late.
Your cough" --


"It is nothing" he said; "let us go on. But first,
another draught of the Medoc."


I broke and reached him a flagon of De Grave.
He emptied it at a breath. His eyes flashed with a
fierce light. He laughed and threw the bottle up-
wards with a gesticulation I did not understand.


I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the
movement -- a grotesque one.


"You do not comprehend?" he said.


"Not I," I replied.


"Then you are not of the brotherhood."


"How?"


"You are not of the masons."


"Yes, yes," I said "yes! yes."


"You? Impossible! A mason?"


"A mason," I replied.


"A sign," he said.


"It is this," I answered, producing a trowel from
beneath the folds of my roquelaire.


"You jest," he exclaimed, recoiling a few paces.
"But let us proceed to the Amontillado."


"Be it so," I said, replacing the tool beneath the
cloak, and again offering him my arm. He leaned
upon it heavily. We continued our route in search
of the Amontillado. We passed through a range
of low arches, descended, passed on, and descending
again, arrived at a deep crypt, in which the foulness
of the air caused our flambeaux rather to glow than
flame.


At the most remote end of the crypt there ap-
peared another less spacious. Its walls had been
lined with human remains piled to the vault over-
head, in the fashion of the great catacombs of Paris.
Three sides of this interior crypt were still orna-
mented in this manner. From the fourth the bones
had been thrown down, and lay promiscuously upon
the earth, forming at one point a mound of some
size. Within the wall thus exposed by the displac-
ing of the bones, we perceived a still interior recess,
in depth about four feet, in width three, in height
six or seven. It seemed to have been constructed
for no especial use in itself, but formed merely the
interval between two of the colossal supports of the
roof of the catacombs, and was backed by one of
their circumscribing walls of solid granite.


It was in vain that Fortunato, uplifting his dull
torch, endeavoured to pry into the depths of the
recess. Its termination the feeble light did not
enable us to see.


"Proceed," I said; "herein is the Amontillado.
As for Luchesi" --


"He is an ignoramus," interrupted my friend, as
he stepped unsteadily forward, while I followed
immediately at his heels. In an instant he had
reached the extremity of the niche, and finding his
progress arrested by the rock, stood stupidly be-
wildered. A moment more and I had fettered him
to the granite. In its surface were two iron staples,
distant from each other about two feet, horizontally.
From one of these depended a short chain. from
the other a padlock. Throwing the links about
his waist, it was but the work of a few seconds
to secure it. He was too much astounded to re-
sist. Withdrawing the key I stepped back from
the recess.


"Pass your hand," I said, "over the wall; you
cannot help feeling the nitre. Indeed it is VERY
damp. Once more let me IMPLORE you to return.
No? Then I must positively leave you. But I
must first render you all the little attentions in my
power."


"The Amontillado!" ejaculated my friend, not
yet recovered from his astonishment.


"True," I replied; "the Amontillado."


As I said these words I busied myself among the
pile of bones of which I have before spoken. Throw-
ing them aside, I soon uncovered a quantity of build-
ing stone and mortar. With these materials and
with the aid of my trowel, I began vigorously to
wall up the entrance of the niche.


I had scarcely laid the first tier of my masonry
when I discovered that the intoxication of Fortunato
had in a great measure worn off. The earliest in-
dication I had of this was a low moaning cry from
the depth of the recess. It was NOT the cry of a
drunken man. There was then a long and obstinate
silence. I laid the second tier, and the third, and
the fourth; and then I heard the furious vibrations
of the chain. The noise lasted for several minutes,
during which, that I might hearken to it with the
more satisfaction, I ceased my labours and sat down
upon the bones. When at last the clanking sub-
sided, I resumed the trowel, and finished without
interruption the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh
tier. The wall was now nearly upon a level with
my breast. I again paused, and holding the flam-
beaux over the mason-work, threw a few feeble rays
upon the figure within.


A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting
suddenly from the throat of the chained form,
seemed to thrust me violently back. For a brief
moment I hesitated -- I trembled. Unsheathing my
rapier, I began to grope with it about the recess;
but the thought of an instant reassured me. I
placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the cata-
combs, and felt satisfied. I reapproached the wall.
I replied to the yells of him who clamoured. I re-
echoed -- I aided -- I surpassed them in volume and
in strength. I did this, and the clamourer grew
still.


It was now midnight, and my task was drawing
to a close. I had completed the eighth, the ninth,
and the tenth tier. I had finished a portion of the
last and the eleventh; there remained but a single
stone to be fitted and plastered in. I struggled
with its weight; I placed it partially in its destined
position. But now there came from out the niche
a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head.
It was succeeded by a sad voice, which I had difficulty
in recognising as that of the noble Fortunato. The
voice said --


"Ha! ha! ha! -- he! he! -- a very good joke
indeed -- an excellent jest. We will have many a
rich laugh about it at the palazzo -- he! he! he! --
over our wine -- he! he! he!"


"The Amontillado!" I said.


"He! he! he! -- he! he! he! -- yes, the Amon-
tillado. But is it not getting late? Will not they
be awaiting us at the palazzo, the Lady Fortunato
and the rest? Let us be gone."


"Yes," I said "let us be gone."


"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, MONTRESOR!"


"Yes," I said, "for the love of God!"


But to these words I hearkened in vain for a
reply. I grew impatient. I called aloud --


"Fortunato!"


No answer. I called again --


"Fortunato!"


No answer still. I thrust a torch through the
remaining aperture and let it fall within. There
came forth in return only a jingling of the bells.
My heart grew sick -- on account of the dampness of
the catacombs. I hastened to make an end of my
labour. I forced the last stone into its position; I
plastered it up. Against the new masonry I re-
erected the old rampart of bones. For the half of
a century no mortal has disturbed them.


In pace requiescat!




The End