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The thousand injuries
of Fortunato
I had borne
as best I 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
definitively 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 goodwill.
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 practice 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 today!
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."
"And I must satisfy them."
"As you are engaged,
I am on my way
to Luchesi.
If anyone
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."
"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 niter."
"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 roquelaure
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 honor 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 ensure
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.
"It is farther on,"
said I;
"but observe
the white web-work
which gleams
from these cavern walls."
He turned toward me,
and looked into my eyes
with two filmy orbs
that distilled the rheum
of intoxication.
"Niter?" he asked,
at length.
"Niter," 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 draft of this Médoc
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 mold.
"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."
"A huge human foot d'or,
in a field azure;
the foot crushes
a serpent rampant
whose fangs
are embedded in the heel."
"Nemo me impune lacessit."
The wine
sparkled in his eyes
and the bells jingled.
My own fancy
grew warm with the Médoc.
We had passed
through walls
of piled bones,
with casks
and puncheons intermingling,
into the inmost recesses
of the catacombs.
I paused again,
and this time
I made bold
to seize Fortunato
by an arm
above the elbow.
"The niter!" 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 draft
of the Médoc."
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 upward
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.
"Then you are not
of the brotherhood."
"You are not
of the Masons."
"Yes, yes,"
I said,
"yes, yes."
"You?
Impossible!
A Mason?"
"It is this,"
I answered,
producing a trowel
from beneath the folds
of my roquelaure.
"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
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,
endeavored
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 niter.
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 labors
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 clamored.
I reechoed
-- I aided --
I surpassed them
in volume and in strength.
I did this,
and the clamorer 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 will 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--
No answer.
I called again--
No answer still.
I thrust a torch
through the remaining aperture
and let it fall within.
There came forth in return
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 labor.
I forced the last stone
into its position;
I plastered it up.
Against the new masonry
I reerected
the old rampart of bones.
For the half of a century
no mortal
has disturbed them.
In pace requiescat.