"Edgar Allan Poe - The Raven, The Masque of the Red Death, and The Cask of Amontillado" - читать интересную книгу автора (Poe Edgar Allan)

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 colours 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 movable 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 were 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-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