The never-ending rudeness of Fortunato you have borne as you best could, but when he dared to insult you publicly you vow revenge. Do not suppose, however, that you are free to give word to a threat. At length you will be avenged; this is a point definitely settled--but the very sureness with which it is resolved prevents the idea of risk. You must not only punish but punish and get away with it. A wrong is unavenged when retribution overtakes its avenger. It is equally unavenged when the avenger fails to make himself known as such to him who has done the wrong. Will you... Get [[revenge]]? or Kill him with [[kindness]]?Neither by word nor deed have you given Fortunato cause to doubt your good will. You have continued, as you usually do, to smile in his face, and he does not perceive that you smile now at the thought of his destruction. He has a weak point --this Fortunato --although in other regards he is a man to be respected and even feared. He prides himself on his knowledge of wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit. For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and opportunity, to embarrass the British and Austrian millionaires. In paintings and fine art, Fortunato, like his countrymen, is a fake, but in the matter of old wines he is sincere. In this respect you do not differ from him materially. You are skillful in the Italian varieties, and buy largely whenever you can. You must exploit this shared hobby to doom him to an [[eternity]] of torment.Neither by word nor deed have you given Fortunato cause to doubt your good will. You have continued, as you usually do, to smile in his face, and he does not perceive that you smile now at the thought of his departure. He has a weak point --this Fortunato --although in other regards he is a man to be respected and even feared. He prides himself on his knowledge of wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit. For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and opportunity, to embarrass the British and Austrian millionaires. In paintings and fine art, Fortunato, like his countrymen, is a fake, but in the matter of old wines he is sincere. In this respect you do not differ from him materially. You are skillful in the Italian varieties, and buy largely whenever you can. It is through this common interest that you will ruin him financially, forcing him to depart high society for [[eternity]].It is about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of the carnival season, that you encounter your "friend." He accosts you obnoxiously, for he has been drinking much. The man wears a jester outfit. He has on a tight-fitting parti-striped costume, and his head is surmounted by a conical cap and bells. You are so pleased to see him that you feel you may never be done shaking his hand! You say to him --"My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met. How remarkably well you are looking today. Say, I have received a barrel of what passes for Amontillado, but I have my doubts of its authenticity." "How?" said he. "Amontillado? A barrel? Impossible! And in the middle of the carnival!" "I have my doubts," you reply, "and I was silly enough to pay the full Amontillado price without consulting you first. You were not to be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain." He exclaims incredulously: "I can hardly believe it! Amontillado?" "I have my doubts," you say. He repeats himself: "Amontillado!" "And I must put them to rest," you say, baiting the trap. Again, the drunken fool exclaims... "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 --" Fortunato cuts you off before you can even finish your sentence: "Luchesi? That idiot cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry!" "And yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match for your own," you say, luring him further. "Come, let us go," he says at last. "Where to?" you ask, innocently. "To your wine cellar of course!" he slurs. Will you... Take him to your [[cellar]] right away? or Encourage him to stop by the [[bank]] first?Seeing the opportunity before you, you decide to seize upon it and say, "My friend, it occurs to me I am without some necessary supplies for the remainder of the carnival. Would it inconvenience you terribly if we made a brief stop on the way back to the palazzo?" "Yes, yes," Fortunato growls gruffly, "but we must make haste. The Amontillado isn't going to drink itself!" "Ah, the Amontillado," you reply with a bit of an edge in your voice, "isn't going anywhere either, is it?" "No, I suppose not..." Fortunato mumbles. "Hmm?" you press him. "Oh, uh, nothing. It was nothing," he adds hastily. After an uneventful yet productive trip to the general store, you begin making your way home, though not without some pointed questions from Fortunato. "Say, what do you need the chains and trowel for?" he inquires. "Those? There are just a few loose places in the catacombs that need mending, as well as some unruly barrels to be held in place. Let's be off," you reply innocently. Fortunato's face lights up: "Well enough, onward to the [[palazzo]]!"Suavely you suggest, "My friend, it occurs to me that I could not possibly drink the entire barrel of Amontillado before it sours. Perhaps you would care to share half of the financial burden, and half of the barrel, with me?" "Why, yes! Yes! An excellent idea indeed!" he stammers excitedly. "Have you enough coin to finance such an endeavour, or do we need to stop by the bank on the way to my palazzo?" you continue. Patting his coinpurse thoughtfully, your companion replies, "Yes, that would seem a good idea. No doubt you still paid a pretty penny for a barrel of Amontillado this time of year, even if you did get a bargain." This is almost too easy, you think to yourself. After a brief stop, and a stern questioning from the banker about the advisability of withdrawing a significant sum of money while intoxicated, you begin to make your way to the [[palazzo]].To test his resolve, and ensure he follows your lead, you put him off a little: "My friend, are you quite sure you are up to the trip into the catacombs? You seem to be suffering from a slight cold, and I would hate for your condition to worsen on my account." Fortunato replies with suitable enthusiasm: "Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely nothing. Amontillado! You have been imposed upon. And as for Luchesi, he cannot distinguish wine from grape juice, much less Amontillado." Thus speaking, Fortunato grabs your arm; and putting on a mask of black silk and drawing a heavy cloak closely about yourself, you suffer him to hurry you to your palazzo. There are no servants at home; they have absconded to make merry in honor of the time. You told them that you would not return until the morning, and had given them specific orders not to stir from the house. These orders were sufficient, you knew, to ensure their immediate disappearance, one and all, as soon as your back was turned. You take from their sconces two torches, and giving one to Fortunato, bow him through several suites of rooms to the archway that leads into the vaults. You pass down a long and winding staircase, requesting him to be cautious as he follows. The two of you come at length to the foot of the descent, and stand together upon the damp ground of the catacombs of your ancestors, the Montresors. The gait of your friend is unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingle as he walks. "The cask of Amontillado," he says. "It is farther on," you say, "but observe the white web-work which gleams from these cavern walls." He turns towards you, and looks into your eyes with two filmy orbs that distill the rheum of intoxication. He is plainly drunk. "Nitre?" he asks, at length. "Nitre," you reply. "How long have you had that cough?" "Ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh!" Your poor friend finds it impossible to reply for several moments. "It is nothing," he says at last. "Come," you say, 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's a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough." No, the cough will not [[kill him]] indeed. Though we will need to [[go back]] if he is to live out his days fallen from grace. You must choose... "True --true," you reply; "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. You knock off the neck of a bottle which you draw from a long row of its fellows that lay upon the mold. "Drink," you say, presenting him the wine. It will be necessary to fool him. He raises it to his lips with a leer. He pauses and nods to you familiarly, while his bells jingle. "I drink," he says, "to the buried that repose around us." "And I to your long life." Plenty of time to regret crossing you, you think. He again takes your arm, and the two of you proceed. "These vaults," he said, "are extensive." "The Montresors," you reply "were a great and numerous family." "I forget what your coat of arms looks like." he mutters. "A huge human foot of gold, in a field of blue; the foot crushes a serpent coiled to strike, whose fangs are embedded in the heel." you remind him. "And the motto?" he inquires. "Nemo me impune lacessit." Noone harms me and gets away with it, you say to yourself. "Good!" he says. The wine sparkles in his eyes and the bells jingle. Your own fancy grows warm with the thought of his undoing. You pass through long walls of piled skeletons, with casks and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost recesses of the catacombs. You pause again, and this time make bold to seize Fortunato by an arm above the elbow. "The nitre!" you say, "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 says; "let us go on. But first, another drink of the Medoc." You break off and reach him a flagon of De Grave. He empties it at a breath. His eyes flash with a fierce light. He laughs and throws the bottle upwards with a gesture you do not understand. You look at him in surprise. He repeats the movement--a grotesque one. "You do not comprehend?" he asks. "Not I," you reply. "Then you are not of the brotherhood." he observes. "What brotherhood?" you ask, confused. "You are not of the masons." he replies. "Yes! Yes," you say; "yes, yes!" "You? Impossible! A mason?" he exclaims. "A mason," you reply. "A sign," he says, "a sign." "It is this," you answer, producing from beneath the folds of your cloak the trowel. "You jest," he exclaims, recoiling a few paces. "But let us proceed to the Amontillado." "Be it so," you say, replacing the tool beneath your cloak and again offering him your arm. He leans upon it heavily. You continue your route in search of the 'Amontillado.' You pass through a range of low arches, descend further, pass on downward, and descending again, arrive at a deep crypt, in which the thinness of the air causes the torches to glow rather than flame. At the most remote end of the crypt there appears another less spacious. Its walls have 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 are still ornamented in this manner. From the fourth side the bones have been thrown down, and lay haphazardly upon the earth, forming at one point a mound of some size. Within the wall thus exposed by the displacing of the bones, you perceive a still interior crypt or recess, in depth about four feet, in width three, in height six or seven. It seems to have been constructed for no especial use within itself, but forms merely the interval between two of the colossal supports of the roof of the catacombs, and is backed by one of the circumscribing walls of solid granite. It is in vain that Fortunato, uplifting his dull torch, endeavors to find anything in the depths of the recess. Its end the feeble light does not enable him to see. "Proceed," you say; "herein is the Amontillado. As for Luchesi --" "He is an ignoramus," interrupts your friend, as he steps unsteadily forward, while you follow immediately at his heels. "There... there is nothing here!" Fortunato yells in outrage. "What? Impossible!" you exclaim with false incredulity. "We must leave the catacombs and return to the palazzo at once to sort this out. My servants will pay for this when they [[return]]!""True --true," you reply; "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. You knock off the neck of a bottle which you draw from a long row of its fellows that lay upon the mold. "Drink," you say, presenting him the wine. The drunker the better for what you have in mind. He raises it to his lips with a leer. He pauses and nods to you familiarly, while his bells jingle. "I drink," he says, "to the buried that repose around us." "And I to your long life," you say, smiling wickedly. If only he knew... He again takes your arm, and the two of you proceed. "These vaults," he said, "are extensive." "The Montresors," you reply "were a great and numerous family." "I forget what your coat of arms looks like." he mutters. "A huge human foot of gold, in a field of blue; the foot crushes a serpent coiled to strike, whose fangs are embedded in the heel." you remind him. "And the motto?" he inquires. "Nemo me impune lacessit." Noone harms me and gets away with it, you say to yourself. "Good!" he says. The wine sparkles in his eyes and the bells jingle. Your own fancy grows warm with the thought of his undoing. You pass through long walls of piled skeletons, with casks and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost recesses of the catacombs. You pause again, and this time make bold to seize Fortunato by an arm above the elbow. "The nitre!" you say, "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 says; "let us go on. But first, another drink of the Medoc." You break off and reach him a flagon of De Grave. He empties it at a breath. His eyes flash with a fierce light. He laughs and throws the bottle upwards with a gesture you do not understand. You look at him in surprise. He repeats the movement--a grotesque one. "You do not comprehend?" he asks. "Not I," you reply. "Then you are not of the brotherhood." he observes. "What brotherhood?" you ask, confused. "You are not of the masons." he replies. "Yes! Yes," you say; "yes, yes!" "You? Impossible! A mason?" he exclaims. "A mason," you reply. "A sign," he says, "a sign." "It is this," you answer, producing from beneath the folds of your cloak the trowel. "You jest," he exclaims, recoiling a few paces. "But let us proceed to the Amontillado." "Be it so," you say, replacing the tool beneath your cloak and again offering him your arm. He leans upon it heavily. You continue your route in search of the 'Amontillado.' You pass through a range of low arches, descend further, pass on downward, and descending again, arrive at a deep crypt, in which the thinness of the air causes the torches to glow rather than flame. At the most remote end of the crypt there appears another less spacious. Its walls have 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 are still ornamented in this manner. From the fourth side the bones have been thrown down, and lay haphazardly upon the earth, forming at one point a mound of some size. Within the wall thus exposed by the displacing of the bones, you perceive a still interior crypt or recess, in depth about four feet, in width three, in height six or seven. It seems to have been constructed for no especial use within itself, but forms merely the interval between two of the colossal supports of the roof of the catacombs, and is backed by one of the circumscribing walls of solid granite. It is in vain that Fortunato, uplifting his dull torch, endeavors to find anything in the depths of the recess. Its end the feeble light does not enable him to see. "Proceed," you say; "herein is the Amontillado. As for Luchesi --" "He is an ignoramus," interrupts your friend, as he steps unsteadily forward, while you follow immediately at his heels. This is it, the moment you have been waiting for. The moment of truth. Fortunato stands before you, oblivious to the tragedy that is about to befall him. You have prepared his tomb with great care. All that remains is to restrain him and get to work. And yet... and yet..."No," you tell yourself, attempting to steel your resolve. You have come too far to turn back now. "There... there is nothing here!" Fortunato yells in outrage, breaking your concentration. What little fortitude remaining to you withers as his exclamation echoes off the rock around you. "Oh, uh, what? Impossible!" you exclaim with forced incredulity. "We must leave the catacombs and return to the palazzo at once to sort this out. My servants will pay for this when they [[return]]!"Returning to comfort above ground, you begin to lay the groundwork for the final part of your plan to rid yourself of Fortunato without bringing about his destruction. Raising a glass, you say to your thoroughly befuddled, and soon to be dearly-departed, companion: "My friend, I do most sincerely apologize for this whole misunderstanding. I will be sure you have the name of the merchant from whom I bought the wine, and his next destination. I believe I recall him saying he was en route to Roma and Firenze to peddle his wares to the notable personages of the church residing there. Although, trust me when I say, you will want to take a significant portion of your fortune with you when you go, as the wine will no doubt have increased in price ten-fold after the carnival season." "Indeed," Fortunate says, gruffly and clearly irritated. Perhaps he no longer desires your company after being led on so deceptively? "Let us have a final toast for my journey to catch this elusive wine-merchant of yours. I must leave town at once if I am to hope to catch him before it becomes too hot to travel," he suggests. After emptying your glasses, he repeats the gesture from earlier. Puzzled, you inquire as to its meaning this time: "I have seen you make that gesture before, but I do not know what it means. Pray, include me in your revelry." "Perhaps, after I have left town," he says as his eyes flash with the same fierce, devilish light from earlier, "you should ask your wife." A broad, defiant smile spreads across his face as a deep, furrowing frown spreads across yours. Either he is drunker than he seems, or he insinuates... No....... "This is too much"....... you say to yourself, finding a firm resolve you did not know you had within yourself. You had thought you might hire bandits to rob Fortunato on the road, maybe rough him up a little, then keep his gold for themselves. This would ruin him financially and prevent his return to high society for good, but this last insult is too much to bear. The thousand injuries, indeed, but not one thousand and one! "You know," you hear yourself say a bit too forcefully, "there is one last place we should look for the Amontillado, if you would humor me a few moments longer. Come, let us descend into the [[darkness]] once more..." You pass again through the same range of low arches, descend further still, pass on downward, and descending one last time, arrive at the deep crypt where your journey ended before. The torches seem to glow even dimmer this time, or perhaps it is your grim imagination. Dumbfounded, Fortunato stammers, "Why, this is the same place we were before. Have you been sampling the Amontillado all along?" "Ah, well, you see, there is a false wall in the back of the niche where we were before. Press your weight into it and you will see," you instruct him. In an instant he reaches the extremity of the niche, and finding his progress arrested by the rock, stands stupidly bewildered. A moment more and you have him chained to the granite. In its surface are two iron staples, distant from each other about two feet, horizontally. From one of these extends a short chain, from the other a padlock. Throwing the links about his waist, it is but the work of a few seconds to secure it. He is too much astounded to resist. Withdrawing the key you step back from the recess. "Pass your hand," you say, "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 cask of Amontillado!" exclaimed Fortunato, not yet recovered from his astonishment. "True," you reply; "the Amontillado." As you say these words you busy yourself among the pile of bones you saw before. Throwing them aside, you uncover a quantity of building stone and mortar. With these materials and with the aid of the trowel, you begin vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche. You have barely laid the first tier of the masonry when it seems that the intoxication of Fortunato has in a great measure worn off. The earliest indication you have of this is a low moaning cry from the depth of the recess. It is not the cry of a drunken man. There is then a long and obstinate silence. You lay the second tier, and the third, and the fourth; and then you hear the furious shaking of the chain. The noise lasted for several minutes, during which, that you might listen to it with the most satisfaction, you cease your work and sit down upon the bones. When at last the clanking subsided, you resume the trowel, and finish without interruption the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh tier. The wall is now nearly upon a level with your chest. You pause again, and holding the torch over the mason-work, throw a few feeble rays upon the figure within. A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly from the throat of the chained figure, thrust you violently back. For a brief moment you hesitate, trembling. Who knew a man could make such a sound? Unsheathing your saber, you grope about the recess with it; but the thought of an instant reassures you. Placing your hand upon the solid fabric of the catacombs, you feel satisfied that no one has heard the racket. You reapproach the wall; responding to the yells of him who clamored with a cacophony of your own. You re-echoed, add to, and surpass his screams in volume and in strength. In the face of your violent auditory onslaught, the screamer grew still and calm. It is now midnight, and your task must be drawing to a close. You complete the eighth, the ninth and the tenth tier. You have finished a portion of the last and the eleventh; there remains but a single stone to be fitted and plastered in. Struggling with its weight, you place it partially in its destined position. Now, there comes from out the niche a low laugh that makes all the hairs upon your head stand on end. It is succeeded by a sad voice, which you have difficulty in recognizing as that of the noble Fortunato. The voice says: "Ha! ha! ha!--ho! ho! ho! --a very good joke, indeed --an excellent jest. We will have many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo --ha! ha! ha!--over our wine--ho! ho! ho!" "The Amontillado?" you say. "Hee! hee! hee!--ha! ha! ha! --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." Fortunato pleads, one last time "Yes," you say "let us be gone." "For the love of God, Montresor!" he cries in desperation. "Yes," you say, "for the love of God!" But to these words you listen in vain for a reply. Growing impatient, you call aloud: "Fortunato!" No answer. You call again -- "Fortunato!" No answer still. You thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and let it fall within. There comes forth in return only a jingling of the bells. Your heart grows sick; it must be the dampness of the catacombs making it so. You hastened to make an end of your labor. Forcing the last stone into its position, you plaster it up. Against the new masonry your replace the old wall of bones. For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them. Requiescat in pace! Rest in peace!