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-coloured 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 indulged 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 rumour 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 licence 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 the 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