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
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,
And with these retired to the deep seclusion of one of his castellated abbeys
It was toward the close of the fifth or sixth month of his seclusion,
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
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
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
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,
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
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
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 revelers 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
No mask could save, no wealth could shield,
To the Red Death, all must yield
The revels end, the clock stands still,
Darkness reigns, its power fulfilled