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Edgar Allan Poe's
influence on
American Literature and innate sense of the macabre has
left an indelible impact on our culture. For your
further enjoyment, below please find the text of select poems and short stories
that we
present in their entirety during our mesmerizing one-man show. Click on
the link in the list below to go directly to his
masterful words.
The Conqueror Worm
Spirits
of the Dead
The Raven
Eldorado
The Tell-tale Heart
Annabel Lee
The Masque of the
Red Death
A Dream Within a Dream
The Conqueror Worm
Lo! 'tis a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.
Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly --
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Wo!
That motley drama! --oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased forever more,
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness and more of Sin
And Horror the soul of the plot.
But see, amid the mimic rout,
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes! --it writhes! --with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And the seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.
Out --out are the lights --out all!
And over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
And the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, "Man,"
And its hero the Conqueror Worm.
(End)
Spirits of the Dead
Thy soul shall find itself alone
‘Mid dark thoughts of the gray tomb-stone;
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.
Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness - for then
The spirits of the dead, who stood
In life before thee, are again
In death around thee, and their will
Shall overshadow thee, be still.
The night, though clear, shall frown,
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the heaven
With light like hope to mortals given,
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee forever.
Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne’er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more like dew-drop from the grass.
The breeze, the breath of God, is still,
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy – shadowy, yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token.
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!
(END)
The Raven
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and
weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a
tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber
door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber
door—
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the
floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;— vainly I had sought to
borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow— sorrow for the lost
Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name
Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple
curtain
Thrilled me— filled me with fantastic terrors never felt
before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood
repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber
door—
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber
door;—
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no
longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I
implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came
rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber
door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"— here I opened wide
the door;—
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there
wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream
before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no
token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word,
"Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,
"Lenore!"-
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me
burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than
before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window
lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery
explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery
explore;—
'Tis the wind and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt
and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of
yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or
stayed
he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my
chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber
door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into
smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it
wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said,
"art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the
Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian
shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so
plainly,
Though its answer little meaning— little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber
door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber
door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke
only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did
outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered— not a feather then he
fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have
flown before-
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown
before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly
spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock
and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one
burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never— nevermore'."
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird,
and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of
yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous
bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable
expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's
core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease
reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight
gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight
gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an
unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted
floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee— by these
angels he hath sent thee
Respite— respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of
Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost
Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!— prophet still, if
bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee
here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land
enchanted—
On this home by horror haunted— tell me truly, I
implore—
Is there— is there balm in Gilead?— tell me— tell me, I
implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil— prophet still, if
bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us— by that God we both
adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant
Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name
Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name
Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I
shrieked, upstarting—
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's
Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul
hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!— quit the bust above my
door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from
off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still
is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is
dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow
on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on
the floor
Shall be lifted— nevermore!
(END)
Eldorado
Gaily bedight,
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.
But he grew old—
This knight so bold—
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.
And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow—
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be—
This land of Eldorado?"
"Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied—
"If you seek for Eldorado!"
(End)
The Tell-Tale Heart
TRUE! --nervous --very, very dreadfully nervous I had
been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The
disease had sharpened my senses --not destroyed --not
dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I
heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard
many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and
observe how healthily --how calmly I can tell you the
whole story.
It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my
brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night.
Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved
the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given
me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was
his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture
--a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell
upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees --very
gradually --I made up my mind to take the life of the
old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.
Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know
nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have
seen how wisely I proceeded --with what caution --with
what foresight --with what dissimulation I went to work!
I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole
week before I killed him. And every night, about
midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it
--oh so gently! And then, when I had made an opening
sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern, all
closed, closed, that no light shone out, and then I
thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how
cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly --very, very
slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep.
It took me an hour to place my whole head within the
opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his
bed. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this, And
then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the
lantern cautiously-oh, so cautiously --cautiously (for
the hinges creaked) --I undid it just so much that a
single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I
did for seven long nights --every night just at midnight
--but I found the eye always closed; and so it was
impossible to do the work; for it was not the old man
who vexed me, but his Evil Eye. And every morning, when
the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber, and spoke
courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty
tone, and inquiring how he has passed the night. So you
see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed,
to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in
upon him while he slept.
Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious
in opening the door. A watch's minute hand moves more
quickly than did mine. Never before that night had I
felt the extent of my own powers --of my sagacity. I
could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think
that there I was, opening the door, little by little,
and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts.
I fairly chuckled at the idea; and perhaps he heard me;
for he moved on the bed suddenly, as if startled. Now
you may think that I drew back --but no. His room was as
black as pitch with the thick darkness, (for the
shutters were close fastened, through fear of robbers,)
and so I knew that he could not see the opening of the
door, and I kept pushing it on steadily, steadily.
I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern,
when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening, and the
old man sprang up in bed, crying out --"Who's there?"
I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I
did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not
hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed
listening; --just as I have done, night after night,
hearkening to the death watches in the wall.
Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the
groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of
grief --oh, no! --it was the low stifled sound that
arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with
awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at
midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up
from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo,
the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I
knew what the old man felt, and pitied him, although I
chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake
ever since the first slight noise, when he had turned in
the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him.
He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could
not. He had been saying to himself --"It is nothing but
the wind in the chimney --it is only a mouse crossing
the floor," or "It is merely a cricket which has made a
single chirp." Yes, he had been trying to comfort
himself with these suppositions: but he had found all in
vain. All in vain; because Death, in approaching him had
stalked with his black shadow before him, and enveloped
the victim. And it was the mournful influence of the
unperceived shadow that caused him to feel --although he
neither saw nor heard --to feel the presence of my head
within the room.
When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without
hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little --a
very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it
--you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily --until,
at length a simple dim ray, like the thread of the
spider, shot from out the crevice and fell full upon the
vulture eye.
It was open --wide, wide open --and I grew furious as I
gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness --all
a dull blue, with a hideous veil over it that chilled
the very marrow in my bones; but I could see nothing
else of the old man's face or person: for I had directed
the ray as if by instinct, precisely upon the damned
spot.
And have I not told you that what you mistake for
madness is but over-acuteness of the sense? --now, I
say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound,
such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew
that sound well, too. It was the beating of the old
man's heart. It increased my fury, as the beating of a
drum stimulates the soldier into courage.
But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely
breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how
steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eve. Meantime
the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew
quicker and quicker, and louder and louder every
instant. The old man's terror must have been extreme! It
grew louder, I say, louder every moment! --do you mark
me well I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And
now at the dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful
silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this
excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some
minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the
beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must
burst. And now a new anxiety seized me --the sound would
be heard by a neighbor! The old man's hour had come!
With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped
into the room. He shrieked once --once only. In an
instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy
bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so
far done. But, for many minutes, the heart beat on with
a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would
not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The
old man was dead. I removed the bed and examined the
corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand
upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was
no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eye would trouble
me no more.
If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer
when I describe the wise precautions I took for the
concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked
hastily, but in silence. First of all I dismembered the
corpse. I cut off the head and the arms and the legs.
I then took up three planks from the flooring of the
chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I
then replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that
no human eye --not even his --could have detected any
thing wrong. There was nothing to wash out --no stain of
any kind --no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary
for that. A tub had caught all --ha! ha!
When I had made an end of these labors, it was four
o'clock --still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded
the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I
went down to open it with a light heart, --for what had
I now to fear? There entered three men, who introduced
themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the
police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbour during
the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused;
information had been lodged at the police office, and
they (the officers) had been deputed to search the
premises.
I smiled, --for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen
welcome. The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The
old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took
my visitors all over the house. I bade them search
--search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I
showed them his treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the
enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the
room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues,
while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect
triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath
which reposed the corpse of the victim.
The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced
them. I was singularly at ease. They sat, and while I
answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But,
ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them
gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears:
but still they sat and still chatted. The ringing became
more distinct: --It continued and became more distinct:
I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it
continued and gained definiteness --until, at length, I
found that the noise was not within my ears.
No doubt I now grew very pale; --but I talked more
fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound
increased --and what could I do? It was a low, dull,
quick sound --much such a sound as a watch makes when
enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath --and yet the
officers heard it not. I talked more quickly --more
vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. I arose
and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent
gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why
would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro
with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the
observations of the men --but the noise steadily
increased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed --I raved
--I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been
sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise
arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder
--louder --louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly,
and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty
God! --no, no! They heard! --they suspected! --they
knew! --they were making a mockery of my horror!-this I
thought, and this I think. But anything was better than
this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this
derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no
longer! I felt that I must scream or die! and now
--again! --hark! louder! louder! louder! louder!
"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the
deed! --tear up the planks! here, here! --It is the
beating of his hideous heart!"
(End)
Annabel Lee
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
(End)
The Masque of the Red Death
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.
(END)
A Dream Within A Dream
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow—
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep— while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
(End)
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