The Philosophy of Composition, Edgar A. Poe
It was into April's days, warm sunlight in that patch of blue we comics call the sky. The nights came balmy—guitar-noted, flamenco-stamped, fire-flocked, with constant sounds of revelry to the north.
More sedate the pleasures of the courtyard. Honest fatigue had come to rule here. Prince Prospero had grown heavier and more florid of face, and he had developed a slight limp. It has been suggested that he now numbered oriental drugs among his pleasures—smoking the opium of Bengal which leads to horrid nightmares, I am told.
I was not present when it happened. I had been taking one of my nightly walks with Annie—which, despite the circumstances, I shall always mark as among the happiest times of my life; such a light in the midst of peril and despair must, I daresay, gleam more brightly by reason of contrast.
A servant to one of the minister's wives rushed up to Annie as we paced a candle-lit gallery, admiring the exquisite artistry of ancient tapestries hung there and lamenting their state of repair. She clutched at Annie's sleeve and hissed a tearful account of events she had witnessed but minutes before.
I felt a coldness in my breast when I overheard her say, "Poor little thing... ." When she had departed, I glanced at my dear lady and she nodded. "Trippetta," she said. "The prince was with his seven chief ministers trying new wines and an African drug said to grant the pleasures of god-like madness for a brief time. They sent for her to entertain them."
There was a long silence.
Then, "They forced her to drink wine," she continued. "It does not take much to affect one so small. And then they made her dance upon a table. She could not control her balance. She fell from it and broke her neck."
I couldn't think of a single thing to say. I might be deemed a bloodthirsty wretch for my sudden desire to rid the world of this man, also. But I knew, of a devilish certainty, that no action on my part would be necessary.
A little later I was in the right place—or the wrong place, as the case might be—when her diminutive body was carried by on a board for interment in a local crypt used for those who died during our sequestration. I heard Annie gasp as the tiny form with the twisted neck went by.
I feared for my life when it came to telling Peters of it. But it had to be done. I held Annie tightly for a long while before I bade her good night.
I had been right to fear so. Peters' eyes unfocussed and his face darkened as I spoke. He drove his fist through a nearby wall, and he cursed long and loudly. I backed away, uncertain how long it would take for him to come to his senses, uncertain whether he would turn on me.
About a minute, I'd judge. Maybe a little more. Then he stopped making holes in the wall and turned to me, eyes focussing again. I braced myself.
"Ah, Eddie," he said then. "She was such a little thing and meanin' no one harm. I'll see that man dead an' in hell a piece at a time for this."
I reached toward him, thought better of touching him in this mood, withdrew and said, "It won't do her or anybody else any good if you rush off and get yourself made into a pincushion by the prince's archers."
He'd picked up a piece of brick by then and was squeezing it. I heard a grating sound. He opened his hand and gravel poured from it.
"You hear me?" I said. "I don't care how strong you are. An arrow through your heart and it stops beating."
"Ah, yer right, lad. Yer right," he said. "I'll do 'im proper, never fear. And I'll send milady a nest o'
Dukes for servants in the spirit land. Never fear I'd spend my life cheaply. Yer right."
He began to wander southward and I made to follow.
"No. No, Eddie," he said, prodding his wig back into place. "Let me go off alone now, as it should be."
I believe he spent the night in one of the monk's cells. I walked through the south wing several times later, and I'd swear I heard the sounds of a tomtom, and perhaps some chanting.
As I understand what transpired thereafter, he dissembled craftily, playing the jester once more. I was told that he later mentioned to his masters the Eight Chained Ourang-Outangs, a diversion which provided excellent sport by terrifying the ladies (not to mention the men) by creating the impression that the beasts had gotten away from their keepers.
This was to be done, he'd explained, by garbing eight men to resemble the simians and equipping them in chains connecting them in pairs. At a signal, they would rush into the hall uttering savage cries. He suggested the effect to be exquisite in the way of producing fright.
I gather that Prospero was quite taken with the idea, to the extent of ordering Peters to provide costuming for such an entertainment that very evening, for himself and his seven ministers to enact these roles.
Now, I was to be present in the great hall myself that night, with Emerson, to provide an acrobatic entertainment and some mummery.
This, he felt, was excellent timing, filling the audience's eyes and minds with images and notions of hairy, man-like beasts. In fact, he suggested I preface the performance with an observation that we had eight others of Emerson's sort but that they were untrained, far too vicious to be loosed in public and, so, kept chained.
I suggested he make me party to whatever he was planning but he refused, only going so far as to suggest I find a way to get my saber into the hall beforehand and conceal it there, "Just in case," as he put it.
I did not like the sound of this, but, as he refused to elaborate, I contrived to enter the hall while it was deserted that morning and hung the weapon in the hall amid a display of ancient shields and armor, near to where I'd be performing, covering it with a shield so that only the hilt protruded.
That evening, I arrived ahead of time, Emerson in tow, hoping to discover just what Peters had in mind, to assist if I might, foil if I must, avoid if necessary. But the only change in decor that I could discover was that the massive chandelier had been removed (at Peters' suggestion), its drippings in an unusually warm April to have been impossible to prevent upon the rich garb of the guests, to be replaced by a flambeau, emitting sweet odor, in the right hand of each of the Caryatids which stood against the wall—some 50 or 60, I'd say.
During my act, at some sign from Peters, the prince and his seven ministers absented themselves for their costuming—which, I later learned, consisted of their donning tight-fitting stockinet shirts and drawers. They were daubed with tar which was then covered with a coating of flax. They were then tied together with chains (by Peters) and formed into a circle, their chains crossing at its center. Peters had intended their entrance to occur at midnight, but the men's eagerness to astound and affright prompted them to shamble into the great hall ahead of schedule. My prefatory remarks had been made, however, and the resulting shrieks and tumult arose as anticipated.
The excitement was immense, the prince and his cohorts amusing themselves prodigiously with each fresh swooning or outcry. As anticipated, there had been a general rush for the doors; but Prospero had ordered them locked immediately on his entrance, and Peters had picked up the keys in the absence of pockets to the prince's costume.
At some time during this activity Peters vanished, to be replaced by yet another hairy form. Emerson had left me, though by now no one was paying any heed to what had been our act. He cavorted with the fake apes, and I noted after a time that the chain from which the chandelier normally depended, and which had been drawn up on its removal, was lowered slowly till its hooked end hovered near the floor.