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.
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