Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio (Abbreviated Edition)

Author: Edgar Allan Poe (original), R. John (adapted)
Translator: Rui Fu / Country: United States
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2001-11-01
Features: "That night after you left, Jupiter fell fast asleep. I wanted to solve this mystery. I remember finding that skin near the insect I was catching, half buried in the sand and half exposed. Jupiter picked it up and used it to catch the insect, afraid it might bite. I wrapped the insect in this skin and held it in my hand until I met my friend G. Later, I lent the insect to him, and I suppose without even thinking, I put the skin in my pocket."
"I sat there, pondering deeply, and remembered another strange incident. Here's what happened: Where I found the insect, I also saw the remains of an ancient shipwreck—just a few pieces of wood—left on the beach. Naturally, you'd think I'm a daydreamer, but there's some connection here—a shipwreck, and nearby, a piece of skin—not paper—on which a skull is drawn. Of course, you know that the skull is usually the mark of a pirate—the dried skeleton is often printed on pirate flags."
"But," I interrupted, "you said when you drew the insect, there were no markings on that paper—or skin. So how did the skull appear? And when was it discovered?"
"Oh, the whole mystery lies here; but it wasn't long before the puzzle was solved. With all these events happening, every detail replayed in my mind on the evening of your visit. It was very cold (Oh, lucky accident), and you sat near the fireplace just as I put that skin in your hands, about to examine my drawing. The dog suddenly came in and jumped onto your shoulder. You played with it with one hand while holding the skin with the other, almost dropping it into the fire."
"Later, when you looked at the skin again, you saw that a skull had appeared on it. But my insect was drawn on the other side—you didn't look at that side. That night, I thought deeply and concluded that the heat of the fire had made the skull visible. This assumption seemed reasonable. As everyone knows, some things can be written on paper or skin, so if you heat the paper, you can see the writing. After cooling, the writing eventually disappears, but reheating usually makes it reappear."
Finally, the great clock in the room struck midnight. As I said earlier, the music stopped abruptly; the dancers stood motionless; everyone felt uneasy. After the twelfth chime, a few more attentive dancers noticed a masked figure mingling among the crowd, a person no one had ever seen before. His appearance caused surprise and dissatisfaction at first, with quiet murmurs, but soon turned into screams of fear and disgust. The figure was tall and thin, dressed in a shroud. The mask on his face was made to resemble a zombie, so lifelike that it was hard to tell the difference even up close. However, this group of people did not truly disapprove of the costume. What they found repulsive and even hateful was that the stranger was imitating the symbol of the Red Death. The shroud was splattered with blood, and his face was covered in red lividity.
When the Prince Prospero's gaze fell upon the horrifying figure (who was moving slowly and gloomily through the dancing crowd), he was furious.
"Who dares?" he shouted to the nobles around him, "Who dares to insult us in this way? Seize him, tear off his mask—let us see what kind of person deserves to be hanged at sunrise!"
He was speaking from the east—or the blue room—and stood surrounded by a group of special friends. At first, the group moved a few steps closer to the strange figure, who was now near them; but no one reached out to grab him. He walked past the prince, through the blue room into the purple room—from the purple room into the green room—from the green room into the yellow room—and then into the orange room—and even into the white room, without any obstruction.
At this moment, Prince Prospero, furious at his own earlier cowardice, dashed through the six rooms, running and drawing his sword. The figure had already reached the western wall of the seventh room—the black room—and suddenly turned to face the prince. A scream—his sword fell to the floor; Prince Prospero fell dead beside it.
At that moment, a group of nobles, driven to madness by despair, rushed at the motionless stranger standing in the shadow of the great black clock. They tore off his zombie-like mask and bloody shroud, and each trembled with fear, backing away. The painting tools and the shroud were empty, with no human body inside. They then realized that the visitor was the Red Death. He had sneaked in like a thief in the darkness. The dancers fell one by one, dying in the hall where they had been indulging in their revelry. The black clock struck once and stopped abruptly. The fire also went out. Darkness, decay, and the Red Death conquered all.
The old man was still speaking when I heard a growing commotion, like hundreds of windmills whirring. At the same time, I saw the tide under my feet. In an instant, the water formed a powerful eastward current, its speed unbelievable. Within five minutes, the entire sea, as far as the Isle of Fogo, was churned into a frenzy; especially between the Isle of Fogo and the coast. There, the split into thousands of whirlpools, rising and rolling, screaming and spinning, twisting, all moving eastward at an terrifying speed.
A few minutes later, the scene changed again. The sea surface became calmer, and the whirlpools spread out one after another into the distance. Suddenly—I saw clearly—they formed a giant whirlpool, over a mile in diameter. The edge was fringed with a wide white wave. The inner wall, as far as our eyes could see, was a smooth, shiny, black wall, tilted at a forty-five-degree angle to the horizon. It spun rapidly, spinning rapidly, emitting a terrible sound, half a wail, half a roar, a symphony the world had never heard. The rock where we sat trembled. I threw myself to the ground, gripping the rock tightly.
"This," I finally said to the old man, "must be the famous Maelstrom."
"It's sometimes called that," he replied. "We call it the Maelstrom of Fogo, named after the Isle of Fogo."
The earlier description of the whirlpool had not prepared me for what I was about to see. Jonas Ramus's description might have been more detailed. In any case, it could not compare to the reality before my eyes; perhaps he wasn't observing from the top of Herschel. Some of Ramus's descriptions were still quite interesting, though the words were too weak to fully express the wonder.
When I looked around, I was surprised to see that our ship was not the only thing spinning. Above and below, I could see the remains of ships, tree trunks, and many small objects like boxes, barrels, and sticks. I thought I must have been half-conscious at that moment; waiting to die, yet curious, I even guessed which objects would be the next to be swallowed by the whirlpool. "That log," I suddenly said aloud, "it's definitely gone this time." Then I disappointedly noticed that the remains of a merchant ship passed by it and sank into the sea first.
I had made several incorrect guesses, but suddenly a thought struck me—a thought that made my limbs tremble and my heart pound.
What made me tremble and my heart race was not new fear, but a growing hope. Several wrong guesses led to a clear conclusion: larger objects sank faster than smaller ones. According to my observations, many small objects moved slowly and would never be drawn to the bottom of the sea. This was possible for me. Although these objects were still spinning on the water wall, the tide would eventually recede, and the whirlpool would calm down. I thought that at that time, they would be thrown onto the surface of the sea and carried away by the current.
As I thought about these things, I watched a tree trunk. It was thick but not long, and it had been at the same level as us before, but now it was far above us. Every time we met, the distance between us grew wider.
I no longer hesitated and decided to tie myself to the bucket I was holding, then cut the rope that tied the bucket to the ship, and fall into the water with it. I signaled desperately to my brother, pointing to the log floating toward us. I thought he understood—but whether he did or not, he shook his head desperately, refusing to leave the iron ring. I had to act quickly; I couldn't delay. Reluctantly, I threw him to his fate and tied myself to the bucket. Without hesitation, I rolled into the sea.
Frederick's deep love for the great red horse certainly went beyond normal bounds. As the horse's violent nature erupted time and again, his love for it grew stronger. Even under the noon sun—or in the darkness of night—even when sick or well—even in calm weather or stormy seas, young Menschengenstein seemed nailed to the back of the giant horse.
The villagers said the horse ran twice as fast as other horses. Strangely enough, no one—except the young nobleman—had ever touched the horse's body. Even the three men who caught it only managed to grab its neck with long chains as it charged out of the burning stable. No one but the owner was allowed to care for the horse, and the stable was kept far from other stables.
People didn't mind; they only said that Menschengenstein had grown pale, and whenever the horse's eyes flashed with a brilliant and terrible light—a light like no human eye, fierce and full of meaning—people would shrink back in fear.
Among all the servants in the gatehouse, none doubted the great love between their master and the nameless horse. None, except for a young attendant, whose words were so insignificant. That boy was foolish enough to say that every time Menschengenstein climbed onto the horse, his limbs would tremble slightly. He also said that every time his master rode the horse for a long time, every line on his face would show evil.
One stormy night, Menschengenstein woke up from a deep sleep, rushed madly from his bedroom to the stable, jumped onto the horse, and galloped into the depths of the forest. His behavior was nothing new for the villagers. After he had been gone for several hours, the servants discovered that the gatehouse of Menschengenstein was on fire. Soon, the high walls began to break, and in the uncontrollable flames, they collapsed. At first, when the fire was discovered, a large part of the gatehouse had already collapsed. Now, the neighbors were helpless, standing motionless, watching silently, stunned with fear.