The History of China - Strange Tales VIII.5: The Cask of Amontillado

Episode Date: October 28, 2023

Nemo me impune lacessit. In pace requiescat! by: Edgar Allen Poe, 1846 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

You're listening to an Airwave Media Podcast. History isn't black and white, yet too often it's presented as such. Grey History, The French Revolution is a long-form history podcast dedicated to exploring the ambiguities and nuances of the past. From a revolution of hope and liberty to the infamous Reign of Terror. You can't understand the modern world without understanding the French Revolution. So search for the French Revolution today. The Cask of Amontillado by Edgar Allan Poe A thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as best I could,

but when he ventured upon insults, 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 want 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 among the British and Austrian millionaires. In painting in Gemmory, Fortunato, like his countrymen, was a quack. But in the matters 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 party-striped dress, and his head was surmounted by a conical cap and bells. I was so pleased to see him that I thought I should have never 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. Ho! 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 Luchessi. If anyone has a critical turn, it is he. He will tell me. Luchessi 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. Oh, my friend, no.

I will not impose upon your good nature. I perceive you have an engagement. Locesi. 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 rocalaire 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 to 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 grounds 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 webwork which gleams from these cavern walls. He turned toward me. He looked into my eyes with two filmy orbs that distilled a room of intoxication. Nighter? He asked at length. Nighter? I replied. How long have you had that cough? off. 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 coughing 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 jot of this medic will defend us from the damps. Here I knocked the neck off of a bottle which I knew 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 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 door in a field of azure. The foot crushes a serpent rampant whose fangs are embedded in the heel. And the motto? Nemo me impune la cesit. Good!

He said. The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled. My own fancy grew warm with the medic. We had passed through walls of piled bones and casks and puncheons into mingling, into the inmost recesses of the catacombs. I paused again, and this time I made bold to seize Fortunato by arm above the elbow.

The nighter, 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, come. We will go back here. It is too late. Your cough.

It is nothing, he said. Let us go on. But first, another draught of the medic. I broke and reached him a flacon of derave. He emptied it at a breath. His eyes flashed with fierce light. He laughed and threw the bottle upwards with a gesticulation I did not understand. I gave him a look of 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 rocalaire. 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 for the Amontillado. We passed through a range of low arches, descended, passed on, and descending again we arrived at a deep crypt, in which the foulness of the air caused our flambeau 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 fashions of the great catacombs of Paris. Three sides of this interior crypt were still ornamented in this manner. On 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 special use within itself, but formed merely the interval between the two 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 these depths of the recess. Its termination the feeble light did not enable us to see. Proceed, I said. Herein is the Amontillado. As for Locesi... 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 nighter. Indeed, it is very damp. Once more, let me implore you to return. No? Then I will 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 astonishments True, I replied, the Amontillado As I said these words, I busied myself among the pile of bones of which I had 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 tear of my masonry when I discovered that the intoxication of Fortunato had, in great measure, worn off. The earliest indication I had of this was a low moaning cry from the depths 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 flambeau over the masonwork, threw a few feeble rays upon the figure within.

A succession of loud and chill screams, bursting violently 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 thoughts of an instant reassured me. I placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the catacombs and felt satisfied. I re-approached 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 clamor 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 a voice from within 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, Ho, ho, ho, ho, hee, hee, hee, hee, a very good joke indeed, an excellent jest. We will have many a rich laugh about it at the Palazzo over our

wines. Hee, hee, hee, hee. Via Montiato, I said. over our wines. The Amontillado, I said. Yes, the Amontillado. But is it not getting late? Will they not 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 those 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 to the remaining aperture and let it fall within. There came forth in return only a jingling of the bells. My heart grew thick. 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 parte, requiescats! 400 years ago, a trio of tiny kingdoms were perched on some damp islands off the coast of Europe. Within three short centuries, these islands would become the centre of an empire which ruled a quarter of the globe and on which the sun never set. I'm Samuel Hume, a historian of the British Empire, and my podcast Pax Britannica follows the people and events that built that empire into a global superpower. Learn the history of the

British Empire by listening to Pax Britannica everywhere you find your podcasts, or go to pod.link slash pax.