The Cask of Amontillado





by



Edgar Allan Poe







The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but

when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge.  You, who so well know

the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that I gave utterance

to a threat.  _At length_ I would be avenged; this was a point definitely

settled--but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved,

precluded the idea of risk.  I must not only punish, but punish with

impunity.  A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its

redresser.  It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make

himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.



It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given

Fortunato cause to doubt my good will.  I continued, as was my wont, to

smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my smile _now_ was at

the thought of his immolation.



He had a weak point--this Fortunato--although in other regards he was a

man to be respected and even feared.  He prided himself on his

connoisseurship in wine.  Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit.

For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and

opportunity--to practise imposture upon the British and Austrian

_millionaires_.  In painting and gemmary, Fortunato, like his countrymen,

was a quack--but in the matter of old wines he was sincere.  In this

respect I did not differ from him materially: I was skillful in the

Italian vintages myself, and bought largely whenever I could.



It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of the

carnival season, that I encountered my friend.  He accosted me with

excessive warmth, for he had been drinking much.  The man wore motley.

He had on a tight-fitting parti-striped dress, and his head was

surmounted by the conical cap and bells.  I was so pleased to see him,

that I thought I should never have done wringing his hand.



I said to him--"My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met.  How remarkably

well you are looking to-day!  But I have received a pipe of what passes

for Amontillado, and I have my doubts."



"How?" said he.  "Amontillado?  A pipe?  Impossible!  And in the middle

of the carnival!"



"I have my doubts," I replied; "and I was silly enough to pay the full

Amontillado price without consulting you in the matter. You were not to

be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain."



"Amontillado!"



"I have my doubts."



"Amontillado!"



"And I must satisfy them."



"Amontillado!"



"As you are engaged, I am on my way to Luchesi.  If any one has a

critical turn, it is he.  He will tell me--"



"Luchesi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry."



"And yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match for your

own."



"Come, let us go."



"Whither?"



"To your vaults."



"My friend, no; I will not impose upon your good nature.  I perceive

you have an engagement.  Luchesi--"



"I have no engagement;--come."



"My friend, no.  It is not the engagement, but the severe cold with

which I perceive you are afflicted.  The vaults are insufferably damp.

They are encrusted with nitre."



"Let us go, nevertheless.  The cold is merely nothing. Amontillado!

You have been imposed upon.  And as for Luchesi, he cannot distinguish

Sherry from Amontillado."



Thus speaking, Fortunato possessed himself of my arm. Putting on a mask

of black silk, and drawing a _roquelaire_ closely about my person, I

suffered him to hurry me to my palazzo.



There were no attendants at home; they had absconded to make merry in

honour of the time.  I had told them that I should not return until the

morning, and had given them explicit orders not to stir from the house.

These orders were sufficient, I well knew, to insure their immediate

disappearance, one and all, as soon as my back was turned.



I took from their sconces two flambeaux, and giving one to Fortunato,

bowed him through several suites of rooms to the archway that led into

the vaults.  I passed down a long and winding staircase, requesting him

to be cautious as he followed. We came at length to the foot of the

descent, and stood together on the damp ground of the catacombs of the

Montresors.



The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingled

as he strode.



"The pipe," said he.



"It is farther on," said I; "but observe the white web-work which

gleams from these cavern walls."



He turned towards me, and looked into my eyes with two filmy orbs that

distilled the rheum of intoxication.



"Nitre?" he asked, at length.



"Nitre," I replied.  "How long have you had that cough?"



"Ugh! ugh! ugh!--ugh! ugh! ugh!--ugh! ugh! ugh!--ugh! ugh! ugh!--ugh!

ugh! ugh!"



My poor friend found it impossible to reply for many minutes.



"It is nothing," he said, at last.



"Come," I said, with decision, "we will go back; your health is

precious.  You are rich, respected, admired, beloved; you are happy, as

once I was.  You are a man to be missed.  For me it is no matter.  We

will go back; you will be ill, and I cannot be responsible.  Besides,

there is Luchesi--"



"Enough," he said; "the cough is a mere nothing; it will not kill me.

I shall not die of a cough."



"True--true," I replied; "and, indeed, I had no intention of alarming

you unnecessarily--but you should use all proper caution. A draught of

this Medoc will defend us from the damps."



Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew from a long row of

its fellows that lay upon the mould.



"Drink," I said, presenting him the wine.



He raised it to his lips with a leer.  He paused and nodded to me

familiarly, while his bells jingled.



"I drink," he said, "to the buried that repose around us."



"And I to your long life."



He again took my arm, and we proceeded.



"These vaults," he said, "are extensive."



"The Montresors," I replied, "were a great and numerous family."



"I forget your arms."



"A huge human foot d'or, in a field azure; the foot crushes a serpent

rampant whose fangs are imbedded in the heel."



"And the motto?"



"_Nemo me impune lacessit_."



"Good!" he said.



The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled.  My own fancy grew

warm with the Medoc.  We had passed through walls of piled bones, with

casks and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost recesses of

catacombs.  I paused again, and this time I made bold to seize

Fortunato by an arm above the elbow.



"The nitre!" I said; "see, it increases.  It hangs like moss upon the

vaults.  We are below the river's bed.  The drops of moisture trickle

among the bones.  Come, we will go back ere it is too late.  Your

cough--"



"It is nothing," he said; "let us go on.  But first, another draught of

the Medoc."



I broke and reached him a flagon of De Grave.  He emptied it at a

breath.  His eyes flashed with a fierce light.  He laughed and threw

the bottle upwards with a gesticulation I did not understand.



I looked at him in surprise.  He repeated the movement--a grotesque one.



"You do not comprehend?" he said.



"Not I," I replied.



"Then you are not of the brotherhood."



"How?"



"You are not of the masons."



"Yes, yes," I said; "yes, yes."



"You?  Impossible!  A mason?"



"A mason," I replied.



"A sign," he said, "a sign."



"It is this," I answered, producing a trowel from beneath the folds of

my _roquelaire_.



"You jest," he exclaimed, recoiling a few paces.  "But let us proceed

to the Amontillado."



"Be it so," I said, replacing the tool beneath the cloak and again

offering him my arm.  He leaned upon it heavily.  We continued our

route in search of the Amontillado.  We passed through a range of low

arches, descended, passed on, and descending again, arrived at a deep

crypt, in which the foulness of the air caused our flambeaux rather to

glow than flame.



At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another less

spacious.  Its walls had been lined with human remains, piled to the

vault overhead, in the fashion of the great catacombs of Paris.  Three

sides of this interior crypt were still ornamented in this manner.

From the fourth side the bones had been thrown down, and lay

promiscuously upon the earth, forming at one point a mound of some

size.  Within the wall thus exposed by the displacing of the bones, we

perceived a still interior recess, in depth about four feet in width

three, in height six or seven.  It seemed to have been constructed for

no especial use within itself, but formed merely the interval between

two of the colossal supports of the roof of the catacombs, and was

backed by one of their circumscribing walls of solid granite.



It was in vain that Fortunato, uplifting his dull torch, endeavoured to

pry into the depth of the recess.  Its termination the feeble light did

not enable us to see.



"Proceed," I said; "herein is the Amontillado.  As for Luchesi--"



"He is an ignoramus," interrupted my friend, as he stepped unsteadily

forward, while I followed immediately at his heels.  In an instant he

had reached the extremity of the niche, and finding his progress

arrested by the rock, stood stupidly bewildered.  A moment more and I

had fettered him to the granite.  In its surface were two iron staples,

distant from each other about two feet, horizontally.  From one of

these depended a short chain, from the other a padlock.  Throwing the

links about his waist, it was but the work of a few seconds to secure

it.  He was too much astounded to resist.  Withdrawing the key I

stepped back from the recess.



"Pass your hand," I said, "over the wall; you cannot help feeling the

nitre.  Indeed, it is _very_ damp.  Once more let me _implore_ you to

return.  No?  Then I must positively leave you.  But I must first

render you all the little attentions in my power."



"The Amontillado!" ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from his

astonishment.



"True," I replied; "the Amontillado."



As I said these words I busied myself among the pile of bones of which

I have before spoken.  Throwing them aside, I soon uncovered a quantity

of building stone and mortar.  With these materials and with the aid of

my trowel, I began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche.



I had scarcely laid the first tier of the masonry when I discovered

that the intoxication of Fortunato had in a great measure worn off. The

earliest indication I had of this was a low moaning cry from the depth

of the recess.  It was _not_ the cry of a drunken man. There was then a

long and obstinate silence.  I laid the second tier, and the third, and

the fourth; and then I heard the furious vibrations of the chain.  The

noise lasted for several minutes, during which, that I might hearken to

it with the more satisfaction, I ceased my labours and sat down upon

the bones. When at last the clanking subsided, I resumed the trowel,

and finished without interruption the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh

tier.  The wall was now nearly upon a level with my breast.  I again

paused, and holding the flambeaux over the mason-work, threw a few

feeble rays upon the figure within.



A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly from the

throat of the chained form, seemed to thrust me violently back.  For a

brief moment I hesitated--I trembled.  Unsheathing my rapier, I began

to grope with it about the recess; but the thought of an instant

reassured me.  I placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the catacombs,

and felt satisfied.  I reapproached the wall; I replied to the yells of

him who clamoured.  I re-echoed--I aided--I surpassed them in volume

and in strength.  I did this, and the clamourer grew still.



It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close.  I had

completed the eighth, the ninth, and the tenth tier.  I had finished a

portion of the last and the eleventh; there remained but a single stone

to be fitted and plastered in.  I struggled with its weight; I placed

it partially in its destined position.  But now there came from out the

niche a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head.  It was

succeeded by a sad voice, which I had difficulty in recognizing as that

of the noble Fortunato.  The voice said--



"Ha! ha! ha!--he! he! he!--a very good joke indeed--an excellent jest.

We shall have many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo--he! he!

he!--over our wine--he! he! he!"



"The Amontillado!" I said.



"He! he! he!--he! he! he!--yes, the Amontillado.  But is it not getting

late?  Will not they be awaiting us at the palazzo, the Lady Fortunato

and the rest?  Let us be gone."



"Yes," I said, "let us be gone."



"_For the love of God, Montresor!_"



"Yes," I said, "for the love of God!"



But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply.  I grew impatient.

I called aloud--



"Fortunato!"



No answer.  I called again--



"Fortunato--"



No answer still.  I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and

let it fall within.  There came forth in reply only a jingling of the

bells.  My heart grew sick on account of the dampness of the catacombs.

I hastened to make an end of my labour.  I forced the last stone into

its position; I plastered it up.  Against the new masonry I re-erected

the old rampart of bones.  For the half of a century no mortal has

disturbed them.  _In pace requiescat!_

















End of Project Gutenberg's The Cask of Amontillado, by Edgar Allan Poe