The Mask of the Red Death - Graham's Magazine, May 1842 — reading text

I cried. note of the orchestra was distinctly audible, arrrested He made no answer, but a spasmodic smile played my attention. across his mouth, and the play of muscles in the «« Now comes the king—they play the march—beat, hollow cheeks distorted his countenance to the ap- beat away on your kettle drums. That’s right, that’s pearance of a hideous mask—He fixed his dark eyes lively. Yes, yes, you must do that eleven times now sternly upon me, seized one of the books—it was —or else the procession won’t be long enough. Ha, Armida—and stepped solemnly towards the piano ha—Maestro—drag along, children. See there isa forte.—I opened it quickly and drew up the music figurant with his shoe-string caught. That’s right rack ; that appeared to give him pleasure—He for the twelfth time !—Keep beating on that domi- opened the book—I beheld ruled leaves, but not a nant—Oh! ye eternal powers this will never cease. single note written upon them. Now he presents his compliments—Armida returns He began ; ‘‘now I will play the overture—Do you thanks. Still once more? Yes, I see all’s right— turn over the leaves at the proper time”—I promised there are two soldiers yet to come. What evil spirit —and now grasping the full chords, gloriously and has banished me here ?” like a master, he played the majestic Tempo di ‘¢ The ban is loosed,’’ cried I—‘‘ come!”’ Marcia with which the overture begins, without I seized my curious friend by the arm (for the soli- deviating from the original; but the Allegro was loquist was no other than he,) and hurrying him out only interpenetrated by Gluck’s principal thought. of the park, carried him away with me. He seemed He brought out so many rich changes that my aston- surprised, and followed me in silence. We had ishment increased—His modulations were partftu- already arrived in Friedrich street when he sud- larly bold, without being startling, and so great was denly stopped. his facility of hanging upon the principal idea of a ‘“T know you,” said he.—‘‘ You were in the park. thousand melodious lyrics, that each one seemed a We talked together. I drank your wine—grew reproduction of,it in a new and renovated form— heated by it. The Euphon sounded two days after- His countenance glowed—now he contracted his wards—I suffered much—it is over.” eyebrows and a long suppressed wrath broke power- ‘“<T am rejoiced that accident has thrown you again fully forth, and now his eyes swam in tears of deep in my way. Let us be better acquainted. I live not yearning melancholy. Sometimes with a pleasant far from here—suppose you—”’ tenor voice he sang the Thema, while both hands ‘‘T cannot, and dare not go with any one.” were employed in artist-like lyrics, and sometimes “No, you shall not escape me thus—I will go with he imitated with his voice in an entirely different you.” manner the hollow tone of the beaten kettle-drums. “Then you must go about two hundred steps, I industriously turned over the leaves, as I followed But you were just going into the theatre?” his look. The overture was finished and he fell ‘I was going to hear Armida, but now—”’ back exhausted with closed eyes, upon the arm ** You shall hear Armida now—come !” chair. But soon he raised himself again and turn- In silence we went down Friedrich street. He ing hastily over a few blank leaves, said to me ina turned quickly down a cross street, running so fast hollow tone— that I could with difficulty follow him—until he stop- ‘‘All this, sir, have I written when I came out of ped at last before a common-looking house. After the kingdom of dreams, but I betrayed the holy to knocking for some time the door was opened.— unholy, and an ice-cold hand fastened upon this Groping in the dark, we ascended the steps and glowing heart. It broke not. Yet was I condemned entered a chamber in the upper story, the door of to wander among the unholy like a departed spirit— which my guide carefully locked. I heard a door formless, so that no one knew me until the sun- open; through this he led me with a light, and the flower again lifted me up to the eternal—Ha, now appearance of the curiously decorated apartment let us sing Armida’s Scena.” surprised me not a_ little—old-fashioned, richly Then he sang the closing scene of the Armida adorned chairs, a clock fixed against the wall with a with an expression which penetrated my inmost gilt case, and a heavy broad mirror gave to the heart—Here also he deviated perceptibly from the whole the gloomy appearance of antiquated splendor. original—but the substituted music was Gluck-like In the middle stood a little Piano Forte, upon which music in still higher potency.—All that Hate, Love, was placed a large inkstand; and near it lay several Despair, Madness, can express in its strongest traits sheets of music. A more attentive examination of —he united in his tones—His voice seemed that of these arrangements for composition made it evident a young man, for from its deep hollowness swelled to me that for some time nothing could have been forth an irrepressible strength—Every fibre trembled written ; for the paper was perfectly yellow, and —I was beside myself—When he had finished I thick spider webs were woven over the inkstand— threw myself into his arms, and cried with sup-  274 GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.” i; : pressed voice—‘‘ What does this mean? Who are my position from the situation of the piano forte you?” sought to open the door, when suddenly in an em- He stood up and gazed at me with earnest, pene- broidered dress coat, rich vest and with a sword at trating look—but as I was about to speak again he his side and a light in his hand he entered— vanished with the light through a door and left me in I started—he came solemnly up to me, took me the darkness—He was absent a quarter of an hour softly by the hand, and said, softly smiling— —I despaired of Seeing him again and ascertaining ‘*T am the Chevalier Gluck! ” VENUS AND THE MODERN BELLE. BY FRANCES S. OSGOOD. Youne Beauty looked over her gems one night, Which Juno of old condescended to wear, And stole to her glass, with a petulant air : And which lent her a witchery sweet as your own !""— She braided her hair, with their burning light, Till they played like the gleam of a glowworm there. She said and she started ; for lo! in the glass, Beside her a shape of rich loveliness came! Then she folded, over her form of grace, She turned,—it was Venus herself !. and the lass costly robe from an Indian loom Stood blushing before her, in silence and shame. Bua cloud overshadowed her exquisite face, “ Fair girl!” said the goddess—“ the girdle you seek, And Love’s sunny dimple was hid in the gloom. Is one you Can summon at once, if you will; **Tt is useless !’? she murmured,—‘‘ my jewels have lost It will wake the soft dimple and bloom of your cheek, All their lustre, since last they illumined my curls!” And, with peerless enchantment, your flashing eyes, fill. And she snatched off the treasures, and haughtily tost, No gem in your casket such lustre can lend, Into brilliant confusion, gold, rubies and pearls. No silk wrought in silver, such beauty, bestow, Young Beauty was plainly provoked to a passion ; With that talisman heed not, tho’ simply, my friend, “ And what?” she exclaimed, “‘ shall the star of the ball Your robe and your ringlets unjewelled may flow! ” Be seen by the beaux, in a gown of this fashion ?””— ‘¢Oh! tell it me! give it me !’”»—Beauty exclaimed,— Away went the robe,—ribbons, laces and all! As Hope’s happy smile, to her rosy mouth, stole,— *¢Oh! Paphian goddess!” she sighed in despair, ‘‘ Nay! you wear it e’en now, since your temper is tamed, *¢ Could I borrow that mystic and magical zone, Tis the light of Good Humour,—that gem of the soul!” TNE EN NE CERES A nN ape en ha tha mas. DARD A8. OUT UPON THE ARS. wh of | tati BY GEORGE P. MORRIS. dev ing he» My bark is out upon the sea Whose purity the waves recall wo) The moon’s above ; In music’s flow, act Her light a presence seems to me As round my bark they rise and fall as f Like woman’s love. In liquid snow. and My native land I’ve left behind ; whi