"The Masque of the Red Death": the famous work of Edgar Allan Poe. Edgar Allan Poe "The Masque of the Red Death"

Edgar Allan Poe

MASK OF THE RED DEATH

The Red Death has long devastated the country. No epidemic has ever been so terrible and destructive. Blood was her coat of arms and seal - a terrible crimson of blood! Unexpected dizziness, a painful spasm, then blood began to ooze from all the pores - and death came. As soon as purple spots appeared on the victim’s body, and especially on his face, none of his neighbors dared to provide support or help to the plague-stricken person. The disease, from its first symptoms to its last, progressed in less than half an hour.

But Prince Prospero was still cheerful - fear did not creep into his heart, his mind did not lose its sharpness. When his possessions were almost depopulated, he called to him a thousand of his most flighty and hardy confidants and, together with them, retired to one of his fortified monasteries, where no one could disturb him. This building - fanciful and majestic, built according to the royal taste of the prince himself - was surrounded by a strong and high wall with iron gates. Having entered the fence, the courtiers carried forges and heavy hammers to the gate and riveted the bolts tightly. They decided to close all the entrances and exits so that somehow madness would not creep into them and they would not succumb to despair. The monastery was equipped with everything necessary, and the courtiers did not have to fear infection. And let those who remained behind the walls take care of themselves! It was stupid to be sad or brood now. The prince made sure that there was no shortage of entertainment. There were buffoons and improvisers, dancers and musicians, beauties and wine. It was all here, and there was also security here. And outside reigned the Red Death.

When the fifth or sixth month of their life in the abbey was drawing to a close, and the pestilence was raging with all its fury, Prince Prospero summoned a thousand of his friends to a masked ball, the most magnificent of which had never been seen.

It was a real bacchanalia, this masquerade. But first I will describe to you the rooms in which it took place. There were seven of them - seven luxurious chambers. In most castles such chambers are arranged in a long, straight enfilade; the folding doors swing wide open, and nothing prevents you from taking in the entire vista. But Prospero's castle, as one would expect from its owner, who was committed to everything bizarre, was built completely differently. The rooms were arranged in such a bizarre manner that only one of them was immediately visible. Every twenty to thirty yards there was a turn awaiting you, and at every turn you discovered something new. In each room, right and left, in the middle of the wall there was a tall narrow window in the Gothic style, overlooking a covered gallery that followed the zigzags of the enfilade. These windows were made of colored glass, and their color was in harmony with the entire decoration of the room. Thus, the room at the eastern end of the gallery was covered in blue, and its windows were bright blue. The second room was decorated in red and the glass was purple. In the third room, green, the window glass was the same. In the fourth room, the drapery and lighting were orange, in the fifth - white, in the sixth - purple. The seventh room was covered in black velvet: black draperies came down from the very ceiling and fell in heavy folds onto a carpet of the same black velvet. And only in this room the windows differed from the upholstery: they were bright crimson - the color of blood. In none of the seven rooms, among the numerous golden decorations scattered everywhere and even hanging down from the ceiling, were there visible any chandeliers or candelabra - neither candles nor lamps illuminated the rooms: on the gallery surrounding the enfilade, opposite each window stood a massive tripod with a flaming brazier, and the lights, penetrating through the glass, flooded the chambers with colored rays, causing everything around to take on some kind of ghostly, fantastic appearance. But in the western, black room, the light streaming through the blood-red glass and falling on the dark curtains seemed especially mysterious and distorted the faces of those present so wildly that only a few of the guests dared to cross its threshold.

And in this room, against the western wall, there was a giant ebony clock. Their heavy pendulum swung from side to side with a monotonous muffled ringing, and when the minute hand completed its revolution and the time came for the clock to strike, a clear and loud sound burst out of their copper lungs, soulful and surprisingly musical, but so unusual in strength and timbre that the orchestra members were forced to stop every hour to listen to him. Then the waltzing couples involuntarily stopped twirling, the band of merry fellows froze for a moment in embarrassment and, while the clock struck, the faces of even the most dissolute turned pale, and those who were older and more sensible involuntarily passed their hands to their foreheads, driving away some vague thought. But then the chime of the clock ceased, and immediately cheerful laughter filled the chambers; The musicians looked at each other with a smile, as if laughing at their ridiculous fright, and each quietly swore to the other that next time he would not succumb to embarrassment at these sounds. And when sixty minutes passed - three thousand six hundred seconds of fleeting time - and the clock began to strike again, the old confusion returned and confusion and anxiety took possession of those gathered.

And yet it was a magnificent and joyful celebration. The prince had a unique taste: he perceived external effects with particular keenness and did not care about fashion. Each of his plans was bold and unusual and was implemented with barbaric luxury. Many would have considered the prince crazy, but his minions had a different opinion. However, only those who heard and saw him, who were close to him, could believe them.

The prince personally supervised almost everything related to the decoration of the seven chambers for this grandiose fete. His hand was also felt in the selection of masks. And of course - they were grotesques! In everything there is pomp and tinsel, illusoryness and piquancy, similar to what we later saw in Ernani. Some fantastic creatures were circling everywhere, and each of them had something ridiculous in their figure or clothing.

All this seemed to be the product of some kind of crazy, feverish delirium. Much here was beautiful, much was immoral, much was bizarre, others were terrifying, and there were often things that caused involuntary disgust. Visions of our dreams walked in abundance throughout all seven rooms. They - these visions - writhing and writhing, flashed here and there, changing their color in each new room, and it seemed as if the wild sounds of the orchestra were just an echo of their steps. And from time to time the clock could be heard striking from the hall covered in black velvet. And then for a moment everything froze and became numb - everything except the voice of the clock - and the fantastic creatures seemed to grow to the spot. But then the chime of the clock ceased - it was heard only for a moment - and immediately cheerful, slightly muffled laughter again filled the suite, and again the music thundered, the visions came to life again, and even more funnier than before masks were grimacing everywhere, taking on the shades of multi-colored glasses through which the braziers streamed their rays. Only now none of the mummers dared to enter the room located at the western end of the gallery: midnight was approaching, and crimson rays of light were already pouring in a continuous stream through the blood-red glass, making the blackness of the mourning curtains seem especially eerie. The one whose foot stepped on the mourning carpet heard funeral bells in the ringing of the clock, and his heart sank at this sound even more strongly than those of those who indulged in fun at the far end of the enfilade.

MASK OF THE RED DEATH

The Red Death has long devastated the country. No epidemic has ever been so terrible and destructive. Blood was her coat of arms and seal - a terrible crimson of blood! Unexpected dizziness, a painful convulsion, then blood began to ooze from all the pores - and death came. As soon as purple spots appeared on the victim’s body, and especially on his face, none of his neighbors dared to provide support or help to the plague-stricken person. The disease, from its first symptoms to its last, progressed in less than half an hour.

But Prince Prospero was still cheerful - fear did not creep into his heart, his mind did not lose its sharpness. When his possessions were almost depopulated, he called to him a thousand of his most flighty and hardy confidants and, together with them, retired to one of his fortified monasteries, where no one could disturb him. This building - bizarre and majestic, built according to the royal taste of the prince himself - was surrounded by a strong and high wall "with iron gates. Having entered the fence, the courtiers carried forges and heavy hammers to the gate and riveted the bolts tightly. They decided to close all the entrances and exits , so that somehow madness would not creep into them and they would not succumb to despair. The monastery was equipped with everything necessary, and the courtiers could not be afraid of infection. And those who remained behind the walls, let them take care of themselves! It was stupid to be sad or indulge in thought now ". The prince made sure that there was no shortage of entertainment. There were buffoons and improvisers, dancers and musicians, beauties and wine. All this was here, and there was also security. And outside reigned the Red Death.

It was a real bacchanalia, this masquerade. But first I will describe to you the rooms in which it took place. There were seven of them - seven luxurious chambers. In most castles such chambers are arranged in a long, straight enfilade; the folding doors swing wide open, and nothing prevents you from taking in the entire vista. But Prospero's castle, as one would expect from its owner, who was committed to everything bizarre, was built completely differently. The rooms were arranged in such a bizarre manner that only one of them was immediately visible. Every twenty to thirty yards there was a turn awaiting you, and at every turn you discovered something new. In each room, right and left, in the middle of the wall there was a tall narrow window in the Gothic style, overlooking a covered gallery that followed the zigzags of the enfilade. These windows were made of colored glass, and their color was in harmony with the entire decoration of the room. Thus, the room at the eastern end of the gallery was covered in blue, and its windows were bright blue. The second room was decorated in red and the glass was purple. In the third room, green, the window glass was the same. In the fourth room, the drapery and lighting were orange, in the fifth - white, in the sixth - purple. The seventh room was covered in black velvet: black draperies came down from the very ceiling and fell in heavy folds onto a carpet of the same black velvet. And only in this room the windows differed from the upholstery: they were bright crimson - the color of blood. In none of the seven rooms, among the numerous golden decorations scattered everywhere and even hanging down from the ceiling, were there any chandeliers or candelabra to be seen - neither candles nor lamps illuminated the rooms: on the gallery surrounding the enfilade, opposite each window stood a massive tripod with a flaming brazier, and the lights, penetrating through the glass, flooded the chambers with colored rays, causing everything around to take on some kind of ghostly, fantastic appearance. But in the western, black room, the light streaming through the blood-red glass and falling on the dark curtains seemed especially mysterious and distorted the faces of those present so wildly that only a few of the guests dared to cross its threshold.

The prince personally supervised almost everything related to the decoration of the seven chambers for this grandiose fete. His hand was also felt in the selection of masks. And of course – they were grotesques! Everything is pomp and tinsel, illusory and piquant, similar to what we later saw in Ernani. Some fantastic creatures were circling everywhere, and each of them had something ridiculous in their figure or clothing.

EDGAR ALAN POE.

Mask of the Red Death

THE EXTRAORDINARY ADVENTURE OF ONE HANS PFAAL

To the dreams of crazy hearts

I am the ruler from now on

With a burning spear and an air horse

I'm wandering in the desert.

Song of Tom of Bedlam

According to the latest news received from Rotterdam, in this city representatives of scientific and philosophical thought are gripped by great excitement. Something so unexpected, so new, so inconsistent with established views happened there that in a short time - I have no doubt about it - all of Europe will be agitated, naturalists will be alarmed, and confusion will begin among astronomers and naturalists, unprecedented before.

The following happened. On such and such a date and such and such a month (I cannot give the exact date) a huge crowd for some reason gathered on the Exchange Square of the well-organized city of Rotterdam. The day was warm - not at all in keeping with the season - without the slightest breeze; and the complacent mood of the crowd was not at all darkened by the fact that sometimes it was sprinkled with an instant light rain from huge white clouds scattered in abundance across the blue sky. Nevertheless, about noon, a slight but extraordinary uneasiness was felt in the crowd: ten thousand tongues began to mutter at once; a moment later, ten thousand pipes, as if by order, flew out of ten thousand mouths, and a long, loud, wild cry, which can only be compared with the roar of Niagara, reverberated through the streets and environs of Rotterdam.

The reason for this commotion soon became clear. From behind the sharply defined mass of a huge cloud, a strange, very motley, but apparently dense object of such a curious shape and from such an intricate material slowly emerged and outlined itself in the clear azure that the crowd of strong-headed burghers standing below with their mouths agape, I could only marvel, not understanding anything. What is it? For the sake of all the devils of Rotterdam, what could this mean? No one knew, no one could even imagine, no one - not even the burgomaster Minger Superbus van Underduck himself - had the key to this secret; and since nothing more reasonable could be thought of, in the end each of the burghers put his pipe back into the corner of his mouth and, without taking his eyes off the mysterious phenomenon, blew out a puff of smoke, paused, shifted from foot to foot, grunted significantly - then stepped again from foot to foot, grunted, paused and blew out a puff of smoke.

Meanwhile the object of so intense curiosity and the cause of so many puffs descended lower and lower over this beautiful city. After a few minutes it could be examined in detail.

It seemed like... no, it really was a balloon; but, without a doubt, such a ball had never been seen in Rotterdam. Who, let me ask you, has ever heard of a balloon made from old newspapers? In Holland - no one, I can assure you; nevertheless, at the present moment, under the very noses of those gathered, or, more precisely, above the nose, this very thing was swaying at a certain height, made, according to a completely authoritative person, from the mentioned material, which, as everyone knows, has never before been used for similar goals, and this caused a cruel insult to the common sense of the Rotterdam burghers. The “ball” shape turned out to be even more offensive. It looked like a huge fool's cap, upside down. This resemblance was in no way diminished when, on closer inspection, the crowd noticed a huge brush suspended from its pointed end, and around the upper edge, or base of the cone, a number of small instruments like bells, which tinkled merrily. Moreover, instead of a gondola, hanging from this fantastic machine was a huge dark castor hat with the widest brim and a black ribbon with a silver buckle wrapped around the crown. But a strange thing: many of the Rotterdam citizens were ready to swear that they had seen this very hat more than once, and the whole crowd looked at it as if it were an old friend, and Frau Gretel Pfaal, emitting a joyful exclamation, announced that it was her own her dear hubby's hat. It should be noted that about five years ago Pfaal and three comrades disappeared from Rotterdam in the most unexpected and unusual way, and since then there has been no word or breath about him. Later, in a remote corner on the eastern outskirts of the city, a heap of bones, apparently human, was discovered mixed with some strange rags and debris, and some of the citizens even imagined that a bloody atrocity had been committed here, the victims of which were Hans Pfaal and his comrades. But let's return to the incident.

The balloon (for it was undoubtedly a balloon) was now at an altitude of some hundred feet, and the public could easily see its passenger. To tell the truth, it was a very strange creature.

His height did not exceed two feet; but even with such a small stature, he could easily lose his balance and tumble over the side of his amazing gondola, if not for a hoop placed at the height of his chest and attached to the ball with ropes. The man's thickness did not correspond at all to his height and gave his entire figure an extremely absurd spherical appearance. His legs, of course, were not visible. The hands were enormous in size. Gray hair was gathered at the back of his head and braided. He had a red, excessively long, hooked nose, brilliant, piercing eyes, wrinkled and at the same time plump cheeks, but not the slightest sign of ears anywhere on his head; The strange old man was dressed in a spacious satin camisole of sky blue color and short tight trousers of the same color, with silver buckles at the knees. In addition, he was wearing a vest of some bright yellow material, a soft white hat, smartly tilted to one side, and a blood-red silk scarf, tied with a huge bow, the ends of which fell dapperly on his chest.

When, as has already been said, there were only about a hundred feet left to the ground, the old man suddenly began to fuss, apparently not wanting to get any closer to terra firma note 1. With great effort, lifting the linen bag, he poured out a little sand from it, and the ball on stopped in the air for a moment. Then the old man hurriedly pulled a large morocco-bound notebook from his side pocket and weighed it suspiciously in his hand, looking at it with the greatest amazement, obviously amazed at its heaviness. Then he opened the book and, taking out a package sealed with sealing wax and carefully tied with red ribbon, threw it right at the feet of the mayor Superbus van Underduk. His Excellency bent down to pick up the package. But the aeronaut, still in great excitement and, obviously, considering his business in Rotterdam over, began at that very moment to prepare for departure. To do this, it was necessary to lighten the gondola, and so half a dozen bags, which he threw out without bothering to empty them first, plopped one after another onto the burgomaster's back and forced this dignitary to somersault as many times in front of the whole city. One should not think, however, that the great Underduk left the old man’s brazen prank unpunished.

On the contrary, they say that, as he fell, each time he released at least half a dozen huge and furious puffs from his pipe, which he held tightly in his teeth all the time and intended to hold (with God's help) until his last breath.

Edgar Poe

MaskTOracial death.

Translation by M. A. Engelhardt

Text source: According to E.A. Selected works: in 2 volumes - Vol. 1. Stories. - Berlin: State. publishing house, 1923. - S.2 27-232.. Text version: Lib.ru: Classic , August 2011 The "Red Death" had long devastated the country. There has never been a pestilence so disgusting and fatal. Blood was her banner, and her seal—a terrible crimson of blood. Acute pain, sudden dizziness, then bloody sweat from all pores, and decomposition of the body. Crimson spots on the body, and especially on the face, were a mark of rejection, which deprived the victim of all help and participation from others; the illness came, developed and ended in just half an hour. But Prince Prospero was happy, brave and resourceful. When the plague had half devastated his domain, he gathered around him a thousand brave and careless friends, court gentlemen and ladies, and with them shut himself away from the world in one of his fortified abbeys. It was a huge and magnificent building, built according to the strange but majestic plan of the prince himself. A high, strong wall with iron gates surrounded it. Having entered the castle, the courtiers immediately took up soldering irons and strong hammers, and tightly soldered all the bolts. They decided to destroy any possibility of a desperate invasion from outside or a mad attempt to leave the castle. The abbey was abundantly supplied with supplies. Thanks to these precautions, the courtiers could laugh at the plague. Let the outside world take care of itself. At such a time it would be madness to reflect and grieve. The prince stocked up with all the means for entertainment. There was no shortage of jesters, improvisers, dancers, musicians, beauties, and wine. All this and security came together in the castle. Outside, the Red Death was raging. At the end of the fifth or sixth month of this secluded life, when the plague was raging with unprecedented fury, Prince Prospero gave a masquerade for his friends, furnished with unprecedented splendor. The masquerade presented a luxurious scene. But first let me describe the halls in which it took place. There were seven of them - a royal amphilade! In many palaces, such amphilades are arranged in one row, so that when the doors open, the entire row can be taken in at one glance. Here it was completely different, as one would expect from a prince with his passion for the extraordinary. The rooms were so irregularly located that it was impossible to look at more than one at a time. Every twenty or thirty yards there is a sharp turn, and at every turn there is a new sight. To the right and left, in the middle of each wall, a tall and narrow Gothic window looked out onto a covered corridor that bordered the enfilade along its entire length. The multi-colored glass of these windows matched the predominant color of the decoration of each room. For example, the hall at the eastern end of the building was upholstered in blue, and the glass was bright blue. In the second room, with purple carpets and curtains, the glass was also purple. In the third, green, there are green ones. The fourth, orange, was illuminated by yellow windows, the fifth by white, the sixth by violet. The seventh hall was decorated with black velvet curtains that covered the ceiling, walls and fell in heavy folds onto the same black carpet. But here the color of the glass did not match the decoration. It was bright red, the color of blood. In none of the seven halls was it possible to notice a chandelier or candelabra among the many golden decorations scattered everywhere, hanging from the ceilings. There was not a single lamp or candle in the entire amphilad; but in the corridor bordering it, opposite each window, stood a heavy tripod, on which a fire blazed, brightly illuminating the halls through the colored glass. This produced an amazing fantastic effect. But in the western black room, the fire, streaming streams of light through the blood-red windows, made such an ominous impression and gave such a wild expression to the faces of those present that only a few dared to enter this room. In the same room there stood a huge ebony clock against the western wall. The pendulum swung back and forth with a dull, dull, monotonous sound, and when the minute hand made a full circle and the clock began to strike, a clear, loud sound flew out of the copper lungs of the machine, unusually melodious, but so strange and strong that the musicians in the orchestra stopped, the dancers stopped dancing; embarrassment took possession of the cheerful company and, while the battle was heard, the most careless turned pale, and the oldest and most prudent ran their hand over their forehead, as if driving away a vague thought or dream. But the battle fell silent, and fun took over everyone again. The musicians looked at each other with a smile, as if laughing at their own stupid anxiety and whispered to each other that the next battle would not make such an impression on them. And again, after sixty minutes had passed (which is three thousand six hundred seconds of flying time), the clock struck, and again confusion, trembling and thoughtfulness took possession of the assembly. Despite all this, the holiday seemed cheerful and magnificent. The Duke's tastes were strange. He was a keen connoisseur of colors and effects. But he despised the conventional decora. His plans were bold and daring, his plans were full of barbaric splendor. Others would have considered him crazy, but those close to him felt that this was not the case. It was necessary to see, hear and know him personally in order to be I'm sure in that. He himself was in charge of the decoration of the seven halls for this majestic fete; According to his instructions, the costumes were sewn. It is clear that they were quirky. There was a lot of brilliance, splendor, original and fantastic here, which could later be seen in Hernani. There were bizarre figures, like arabesques, with absurdly twisted limbs and appendages. There were crazy fantastic ghosts, like the dreams of a madman. There was a lot of beauty, a lot of dandy, a lot bizarre; there was something terrible and a lot disgusting. Crowds of ghosts scurried through the halls, flickering and writhing, changing shade, looking at the hall, and the wild music of the orchestra seemed to be an echo of their steps. From time to time the clock in the velvet hall can be heard striking, and for a moment everything becomes quiet and silence reigns. The ghosts freeze in a daze. But the echoes of the last blow die away, and light laughter guides them; and the music thunders again, the ghosts come to life and flutter back and forth, illuminated by the flames of the fires, pouring streams of light through multi-colored glass. But none of the mummers dare enter the westernmost of the seven halls, because the night is approaching, and the crimson light pours through the blood-red windows onto the ominous mourning walls, and the dull voice of the clock echoes too solemnly in the ears of those who step on the black carpet. But in the other halls life was in full swing. The celebration was in full swing when the clock began to strike midnight. Again, as before, the music stopped, the dancers stopped, and an ominous silence fell. Now the clock struck twelve, and perhaps because the battle lasted longer than before, the more serious of those present became more thoughtful. Perhaps for the same reason, before the last echo of the last blow died away in silence, many in the crowd managed to notice the presence of a mask, which had not previously attracted anyone's attention. The rumor of a new face quickly spread, at first in whispers; then there was a roar and murmur of surprise, indignation, and finally, fear, horror and disgust. In such a fantastic gathering, the appearance of an ordinary mask could not arouse surprise. On this night, masquerade freedom was almost unlimited; but the newly appeared mask crossed the boundaries of that condescending decency that even the prince recognized. In the hearts of the most careless there are strings that cannot be touched. The most desperate heads, for whom nothing is sacred, will not dare to joke about other things. Apparently, the whole community felt that the stranger's attire and behavior were not witty and inappropriate. It was a tall, skinny figure, dressed from head to toe in a shroud. The mask that hid the face looked so much like the frozen face of a corpse that the closest eye would have found it difficult to detect a fake. All this would be nothing; the society, maddened by revelry, would perhaps even approve of such an outburst. But the mummer went further, personifying the image of the “Red Death”. His clothes were dirty blood , terrible purple spots appeared on his broad forehead and all over his face. When Prince Prospero saw the ghost walking back and forth among the dancers with a slow and solemn step, as if wishing to better carry out his role, he shuddered with horror and disgust, but immediately then his face turned purple with anger. “Who dares,” he asked those around him in a hoarse voice, “who dares to insult us with such blasphemous ridicule?” Grab him and rip off the mask so we know who to hang on the castle wall at sunrise. At that moment Prince Prospero was in the eastern or blue hall. The words echoed loudly and resoundingly throughout all seven halls, because the prince was a tall and strong man, and the music fell silent with a wave of his hand. Prince Prospero stood in the blue hall, surrounded by a crowd of pale courtiers. His words caused a slight movement; it seemed that the crowd wanted to rush at the unknown man, who at that moment was two steps away from her and was approaching the prince with calm, firm steps. But under the influence of inexplicable timidity inspired by the mad behavior of the mummer, no one dared to lay a hand on him, so he freely walked past the prince and with the same measured, solemn step continued his way among the parting crowd from the blue hall to the purple, from the purple to the green, from green to orange, then white, finally purple. Until now, no one had decided to stop him, but then Prince Prospero, mad with rage and ashamed of his momentary cowardice, rushed after him through all six halls, alone, because everyone else was shackled with mortal horror. He was shaking his naked sword and was already three or four steps from the stranger when he, having reached the end of the purple hall, suddenly turned around and met his enemy face to face. A piercing scream was heard, and the sword, flashing in the air, fell on the mourning carpet, on which a moment later the lifeless Prince Prospero lay. Then, with the wild courage of despair, the crowd of revelers rushed into the black hall, and seizing the stranger, whose tall figure stood straight and motionless in the shadow of the huge clock, froze with inexpressible horror, not finding any tangible form under the grave clothes and mask of the corpse. It was then that the presence of the “Red Death” became obvious to everyone. She crept up like a thief in the night; and the revelers fell one after another in the blood-stained chambers where their orgy was in full swing; and the life of the ebony watch expired with the life of the last of the merry drinking companions; and darkness, destruction and the “Red Death” reigned here unchecked and limitless.

Current page: 1 (book has 2 pages in total)

Edgar Allan Poe

MASK OF THE RED DEATH

The Red Death has long devastated the country. No epidemic has ever been so terrible and destructive. Blood was her coat of arms and seal - a terrible crimson of blood! Unexpected dizziness, a painful convulsion, then blood began to ooze from all the pores - and death came. As soon as purple spots appeared on the victim’s body, and especially on his face, none of his neighbors dared to provide support or help to the plague-stricken person. The disease, from its first symptoms to its last, progressed in less than half an hour.

But Prince Prospero was still cheerful - fear did not creep into his heart, his mind did not lose its sharpness. When his possessions were almost depopulated, he called to him a thousand of his most flighty and hardy confidants and, together with them, retired to one of his fortified monasteries, where no one could disturb him. This building - quaint and majestic, built according to the royal taste of the prince himself - was surrounded by a strong and high wall with iron gates. Having entered the fence, the courtiers carried forges and heavy hammers to the gate and riveted the bolts tightly. They decided to close all the entrances and exits so that somehow madness would not creep into them and they would not succumb to despair. The monastery was equipped with everything necessary, and the courtiers did not have to fear infection. And let those who remained behind the walls take care of themselves! It was stupid to be sad or brood now. The prince made sure that there was no shortage of entertainment. There were buffoons and improvisers, dancers and musicians, beauties and wine. It was all here, and there was also security here. And outside reigned the Red Death.

It was a real bacchanalia, this masquerade. But first I will describe to you the rooms in which it took place. There were seven of them - seven luxurious chambers. In most castles such chambers are arranged in a long, straight enfilade; the folding doors swing wide open, and nothing prevents you from taking in the entire vista. But Prospero's castle, as one would expect from its owner, who was committed to everything bizarre, was built completely differently. The rooms were arranged in such a bizarre manner that only one of them was immediately visible. Every twenty to thirty yards there was a turn awaiting you, and at every turn you discovered something new. In each room, right and left, in the middle of the wall there was a tall narrow window in the Gothic style, overlooking a covered gallery that followed the zigzags of the enfilade. These windows were made of colored glass, and their color was in harmony with the entire decoration of the room. Thus, the room at the eastern end of the gallery was covered in blue, and its windows were bright blue. The second room was decorated in red and the glass was purple. In the third room, green, the window glass was the same. In the fourth room, the drapery and lighting were orange, in the fifth - white, in the sixth - purple. The seventh room was covered in black velvet: black draperies came down from the very ceiling and fell in heavy folds onto a carpet of the same black velvet. And only in this room the windows differed from the upholstery: they were bright crimson - the color of blood. In none of the seven rooms, among the numerous golden decorations scattered everywhere and even hanging down from the ceiling, were there any chandeliers or candelabra to be seen - neither candles nor lamps illuminated the rooms: on the gallery surrounding the enfilade, opposite each window stood a massive tripod with a flaming brazier, and the lights, penetrating through the glass, flooded the chambers with colored rays, causing everything around to take on some kind of ghostly, fantastic appearance. But in the western, black room, the light streaming through the blood-red glass and falling on the dark curtains seemed especially mysterious and distorted the faces of those present so wildly that only a few of the guests dared to cross its threshold.

The prince personally supervised almost everything related to the decoration of the seven chambers for this grandiose fete. His hand was also felt in the selection of masks. And of course – they were grotesques! In everything there is pomp and tinsel, illusoryness and piquancy, similar to what we later saw in Ernani. Some fantastic creatures were circling everywhere, and each of them had something ridiculous in their figure or clothing.

All this seemed to be the product of some kind of crazy, feverish delirium. Much here was beautiful, much was immoral, much was bizarre, others were terrifying, and there were often things that caused involuntary disgust. Visions of our dreams walked in abundance throughout all seven rooms. They - these visions - writhing and writhing, flashed here and there, changing their color in each new room, and it seemed as if the wild sounds of the orchestra were just an echo of their steps. And from time to time the clock could be heard striking from the hall covered in black velvet. And then for a moment everything froze and became numb - everything except the voice of the clock - and the fantastic creatures seemed to grow to the spot. But then the chime of the clock ceased - it was heard only for a moment - and immediately cheerful, slightly muffled laughter again filled the suite, and again the music thundered, the visions came to life again, and even more funnier than before masks grimaced everywhere, taking on the shades of multi-colored glasses through which the braziers streamed their rays. Only now none of the mummers dared to enter the room located at the western end of the gallery: midnight was approaching, and crimson rays of light were already pouring in a continuous stream through the blood-red glass, making the blackness of the mourning curtains seem especially eerie. The one whose foot stepped on the mourning carpet heard funeral bells in the ringing of the clock, and his heart sank at this sound even more strongly than those of those who indulged in fun at the far end of the enfilade.

The remaining rooms were crowded with guests - life was feverishly pulsating here. The celebration was in full swing when the clock began to strike midnight. The music died down, as before, the dancers stopped waltzing, and everyone was overcome by some incomprehensible anxiety. This time the clock had to strike twelve strokes, and perhaps that is why the longer it struck, the more anxiety crept into the souls of the most reasonable. And perhaps that’s why the last echo of the last blow had not yet died down in the distance, when many of those present suddenly saw a mask that no one had noticed until then. Rumors about the appearance of a new mask immediately spread around the guests; it was conveyed in a whisper until the whole crowd hummed and buzzed, expressing first dissatisfaction and surprise, and in the end fear, horror and indignation.

The appearance of an ordinary mummer would not, of course, cause any sensation in such a fantastic gathering. And although truly unbridled fantasy reigned in this night's celebration, the new mask crossed all boundaries of what was permitted - even those that the prince recognized. In the most reckless heart there are strings that cannot be touched without causing them to tremble. The most desperate people, those who are ready to joke with life and death, have something that they do not allow themselves to laugh at. It seemed that at that moment everyone present felt how unfunny and inappropriate the alien’s outfit and manners were. The guest was tall, gaunt, and wrapped from head to toe in a shroud. The mask that hid his face so accurately reproduced the frozen features of the corpse that even the closest and most meticulous gaze would have difficulty detecting the deception. However, this would not have embarrassed the mad gang, and perhaps even would have aroused approval. But the joker dared to make himself resemble the Red Death. His clothes were spattered with blood, and a crimson horror appeared on his forehead and all over his face.

But then Prince Prospero saw this ghost, who, as if in order to better withstand the role, walked with a solemn gait among the dancers, and everyone noticed that some strange trembling ran through the prince’s body - either horror, or disgust, but the next moment his face turned purple with rage.

Prince Prospero spoke these words in the eastern, blue room. They sounded loudly and clearly in all seven chambers, for the prince was a strong and decisive man, and immediately with a wave of his hand the music stopped.

This took place in the blue room, where the prince was surrounded by a crowd of pale courtiers. Hearing his order, the crowd rushed towards the stranger standing nearby, but he suddenly walked towards the prince with a calm and confident step. No one dared to raise a hand against him - such incomprehensible horror was instilled in everyone by the arrogance of this madman. He walked past the prince without hindrance - the guests in a single impulse pressed against the walls to give him way - and with the same measured and solemn gait that distinguished him from the other guests, he moved from the blue room to the red one, from the red one to the green one, from green to orange, from there to white and finally to black, but everyone did not dare to stop him. Then Prince Prospero, beside himself with rage and shame at his momentary cowardice, rushed into the depths of the enfilade; but none of the courtiers, possessed by mortal fear, followed him. The prince ran with a naked dagger in his hand, and when, on the threshold of the black room, he almost overtook the retreating enemy, he suddenly turned around and fixed his gaze on him. A piercing scream was heard, and the dagger, flashing, fell onto the mourning carpet, on which a moment later the prince’s dead body lay stretched out. Then, calling on all the courage of despair for help, the crowd of feasting people rushed into the black room. But as soon as they grabbed the ominous figure, frozen at full height in the shadow of the clock, they felt, to their inexpressible horror, that there was nothing under the shroud and the terrible mask, which they were frantically trying to tear off.

Now no one doubted that this was the Red Death. She sneaked in like a thief in the night. One after another, the hawk moths fell in the blood-spattered feast halls and died in the very poses in which death overtook them. And with the last of them, the life of the ebony clocks died out, the flames in the braziers went out, and Darkness, Death and the Red Death reigned supreme over everything.