Capítulo 11 de 23

THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO.

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 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 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 skilful 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 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 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 the 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 Grâve. 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.

“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 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 in 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 depths 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 my 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

re-echoed—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 recognising as that of the noble Fortunato. The

voice said—

“Ha! ha! ha!—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, Montressor!”

“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 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 re-erected the old rampart of bones.

For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them. _In pace

requiescat!_