The Raven / The Masque of the Red Death / The Cask of Amontillado | Page 3

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 colour of the windows failed to correspond with the decorations. The panes here
were scarlet--a deep blood colour. 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
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 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 the more
aged and sedate passed their hands over their brows as if in confused revery 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 colours 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 movable 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 were 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