THE MASK OF THE RED DEATH.

A FANTASY.

——
BY EDGAR A. POE.
——

THE “Red Death” had long devastated the country. No pestilence had been ever so fatal, or so hideous.
Blood was its Avator [[Avatar]] and its seal — the redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp
pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleedings 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 from without 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 ballêt-dancers, there were musicians, there were cards, there was Beauty, there was wine. All
these and security were within. Without was the “Red Death.”
It was towards 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 litten [[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 projected 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 its minute-hand made the
circuit of the face, and the hour was to be stricken, there came forth 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 in the orchestra were constrained to pause,
momently, in their performance, to harken 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 that 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 fête, and it was his own guiding taste which had given character to the costumes of 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, momently, 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 was sounded the twelfth hour 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, again, 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 at
first 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 properly 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 the Prince Prospero fell upon this spectral image (which with a slow and solemn
movement, as if more fully to sustain its rôle, 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 group that stood around him, “who dares thus to make
mockery of our woes? Uncase the varlet that we may know whom we have to hang to-morrow at
sunrise from the battlements. Will no one stir at my bidding? — stop him and strip him, I say, of those
reddened vestures of sacrilege!”
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 round 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.