The Red Room

The door to the red room and the steps up to it were in a shadowy corner.

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I moved my candle from side to side, in order to see clearly the nature of the recess in which I stood before opening the door. Here it was, thought I, that my predecessor was found, and the memory of that story gave me a sudden twinge of apprehension.

I glanced over my shoulder at the Ganymede in the moonlight, and opened the door of the red room rather hastily, with my face half turned to the pallid silence of the landing. I entered, closed the door behind me at once, turned the key I found in the lock within, and stood with the candle held aloft, surveying the scene of my vigil, the great red room of Lorraine Castle, in which the young duke had died.

Or rather, in which he had begun his dying, for he had opened the door and fallen headlong down the steps I had just ascended. That had been the end of his vigil, of his gallant attempt to conquer the ghostly tradition of the place; and never, I thought, had apoplexy better served the ends of superstition. And looking around that large shadowy room, with its shadowy window bays, its recesses and alcoves, one could well understand the legends that had sprouted in its black corners, its germinating darkness.

My candle was a little tongue of flame in its vastness, that failed to pierce the opposite end of the room, and left an ocean of mystery and suggestion beyond its island of light. I resolved to make a systematic examination of the place at once, and dispel the fanciful suggestions of its obscurity before they obtained a hold upon me. After satisfying myself of the fastening of the door, I began to walk about the room, peering round each article of furniture, tucking up the valances of the bed, and opening its curtains wide. I pulled up the blinds and examined the fastenings of the several windows before closing the shutters, leant forward and looked up the blackness of the wide chimney, and tapped the dark oak panelling for any secret opening.

There were two big mirrors in the room, each with a pair of sconces bearing candles, and on the mantelshelf too, were more candles in china candlesticks. All these I lit one after the other. The fire was laid — an unexpected consideration from the old housekeeper — and I lit it, to keep down any disposition to shiver, and when it was burning well, I stood round with my back to it and regarded the room again.

I had pulled up a chintz-covered armchair and a table, to form a kind of barricade before me, and on this lay my revolver ready to hand. My precise examination had done me good, but I still found the remoter darkness of the place, and its perfect stillness, too stimulating for the imagination. The echoing of the stir and crackling of the fire was no sort of comfort to me. The shadow in the alcove at the end in particular had that undefinable quality of a presence, that odd suggestion of a lurking, living thing, that comes so easily in silence and solitude.

At last, to reassure myself, I walked with a candle into it, and satisfied myself that there was nothing tangible there. I stood that candle upon the floor of the alcove, and left it in that position. By this time I was in a state of considerable nervous tension, although to my reason there was no adequate cause for the condition. My mind, however, was perfectly clear.

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I postulated quite unreservedly that nothing supernatural could happen, and to pass the time I began to string some rhymes together, Ingoldsby fashion, of the original legend of the place. A few I spoke aloud, but the echoes were not pleasant. For the same reason I also abandoned, after a time, a conversation with myself upon the impossibility of ghosts and haunting. My mind reverted to the three old and distorted people downstairs, and I tried to keep it upon that topic. The sombre reds and blacks of the room troubled me; even with seven candles the place was merely dim.

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The one in the alcove flared in a draught, and the fire-flickering kept the shadows and penumbra perpetually shifting and stirring. Casting about for a remedy, I recalled the candles I had seen in the passage, and, with a slight effort, walked out into the moonlight, carrying a candle and leaving the door open, and presently returned with as many as ten. These I put in various knick-knacks of china with which the room was sparsely adorned, lit and placed where the shadows had lain deepest, some on the floor, some in the window recesses, until at last my seventeen candles were so arranged that not an inch of the room darkened, but had the direct light of at least one of them.

It occurred to me that when the ghost came, I could warn him not to trip over them. The room was now quite brightly illuminated. There was something very cheery and reassuring in these little streaming flames, and snuffing them gave me an occupation, and afforded a helpful sense of the passage of time.

Even with that however, the brooding expectation of the vigil weighed heavily upon me. It was after midnight that the candle in the alcove suddenly went out, and the black shadow sprang back to its place. I did not see the candle go out; I simply turned and saw that the darkness was there, as one might start and see the unexpected presence of a stranger.

My first match would not strike, and as I succeeded with the second, something seemed to blink on the wall before me. I turned my head involuntarily, and saw that the two candles on the little table by the fireplace were extinguished. I rose at once to my feet. He has a large if rather distant sympathy for the poor fellows whose aspirations, failures, dissipations, and friendships he portrays.

Of two young critics he says: The laughter of a somber humorist has in it a tenderness unknown to merry natures. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. For other uses, see The Red Room.

The Red Room

Retrieved from " https: You could always count on a great evening at the Red Room. Was there for dinner the other evening and sad to say but something has slipped. Started with a little confusion with the reservation. We had a very nice time at the Red Room, Saturday night, ate outside, service was good, food was great in spots and missed in spots. Prices are a little high for a BYOB.

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We had a reservation and were seated right away. The service was super attentive and informative. We ordered rice balls and mussels in an extra spicy red sauce. I thought this was unusual We originally came here during Atlantic City restaurant week. The pasta is fresh and the gravy is very delicious. I enjoyed their veal dishes. We came back in May at the regular prices. You can tell immediately that the texture denotes fresh pasta, and we sampled two: Great food and superior service.

Always enjoy going there.

The Red Room (Strindberg novel) - Wikipedia

However, the warmer it gets the more likely that your going to need reservations. I was not a big fan sitting outside with all of the traffic, but its not terrible. Put this place on your Surprised to read that people had a negative experience at this restaurant. Our visit took place on a Saturday night at the end of Restaurant Week. It was not very busy and I did not see a large waitstaff so I see how it could All of your saved places can be found here in My Trips. Log in to get trip updates and message other travelers. Log in Join Recently viewed Bookings Inbox.

The Red Room Cafe. What is Certificate of Excellence? TripAdvisor gives a Certificate of Excellence to accommodations, attractions and restaurants that consistently earn great reviews from travelers.