Маска Червоної Смерті

           Therewerebuffoons,therewereimprovisatori,therewereballet-dancers,thereweremusicians,therewasBeauty,therewaswine. Alltheseandsecuritywerewithin. Withoutwasthe“RedDeath.” 

           Itwastowardthecloseofthefifthorsixthmonthofhisseclusion,andwhilethepestilenceragedmostfuriouslyabroad,thatthePrinceProsperoentertainedhisthousandfriendsatamaskedballofthemostunusualmagnificence. 

           Itwasavoluptuousscene,thatmasquerade. Butfirstletmetelloftheroomsinwhichitwasheld. Therewereseven—animperialsuite. Inmanypalaces,however,suchsuitesformalongandstraightvista,whilethefoldingdoorsslidebacknearlytothewallsoneitherhand,sothattheviewofthewholeextentisscarcelyimpeded. Herethecasewasverydifferent;asmighthavebeenexpectedfromtheduke’sloveofthebizarre. Theapartmentsweresoirregularlydisposedthatthevisionembracedbutlittlemorethanoneatatime. Therewasasharpturnateverytwentyorthirtyyards,andateachturnanoveleffect. Totherightandleft,inthemiddleofeachwall,atallandnarrowGothicwindowlookedoutuponaclosedcorridorwhichpursuedthewindingsofthesuite. Thesewindowswereofstainedglasswhosecolorvariedinaccordancewiththeprevailinghueofthedecorationsofthechamberintowhichitopened. Thatattheeasternextremitywashung,forexample,inblue—andvividlybluewereitswindows.