The First Project Gutenberg Collection Of Edgar AllanPoe

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THE FIRST
PROJECT GUTENBERG
COLLECTION
OF EDGAR ALLAN POE

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CONTENTS

THE RAVEN	[Etext #1063]
THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH	[Etext #1064]
THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO	[Etext #1065]

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THE RAVEN

ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while Ipondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgottenlore— While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came atapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. “’Tis some visitor,” I muttered,“tapping at my chamber door— Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon thefloor. Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought toborrow From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lostLenore— For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels nameLenore— Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purplecurtain Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never feltbefore; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stoodrepeating “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamberdoor— Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; This it is and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then nolonger, “Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly yourforgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you camerapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I openedwide the door;— Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood therewondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dreambefore; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave notoken, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word,“Lenore!” This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,“Lenore!”— Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within meburning, Soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before. “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something atmy window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is and this mysteryexplore— Let my heart be still a moment and this mysteryexplore;— ’Tis the wind and nothingmore.”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt andflutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayedhe, But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamberdoor— Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamberdoor— Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, “Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said,“art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightlyshore— Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonianshore!” Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse soplainly, Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamberdoor— Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamberdoor, With such name as“Nevermore.”

But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spokeonly That one word, as if its soul in that one word he didoutpour. Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then hefluttered— Till I scarcely more than muttered: “Other friends haveflown before— On the morrow hewill leave me, as my Hopes have flownbefore.” Then the bird said,“Nevermore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptlyspoken, “Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is itsonly stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burdenbore— Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of‘Never—nevermore.’”

But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul intosmiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust anddoor; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird ofyore— What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird ofyore Meant in croaking“Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllableexpressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’score; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloatedo’er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloatingo’er Sheshall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseencenser Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tuftedfloor. “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lentthee—by these angels he hath sent thee Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories ofLenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lostLenore!” Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing ofevil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!— Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee hereashore, Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert landenchanted— On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, Iimplore— Is there—isthere balm in Gilead?—tellme—tell me, I implore!” Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

“Prophet!” said I, “thing ofevil!—prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we bothadore— Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distantAidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels nameLenore— Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels nameLenore.” Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” Ishrieked, upstarting— “Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’sPlutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hasspoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above mydoor! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off mydoor!” Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.”

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still issitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that isdreaming And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow onthe floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on thefloor Shall be lifted—nevermore!

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THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH

THE “Red Death” had longdevastated the country. No pestilence had ever been so fatal, orso hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the rednessand the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and suddendizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, withdissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially uponthe face of the victim, were the pest ban which shut him out fromthe aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the wholeseizure, progress, and termination of the disease, were theincidents of half an hour.

But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and sagacious.When his dominions were half depopulated, he summoned to hispresence a thousand hale and light-hearted friends from among theknights and dames of his court, and with these retired to thedeep seclusion of one of his castellated abbeys. This was anextensive and magnificent structure, the creation of theprince’s own eccentric yet august taste. A strong and loftywall girdled it in. This wall had gates of iron. The courtiers,having entered, brought furnaces and massy hammers and welded thebolts. They resolved to leave means neither of ingress nor egressto the sudden impulses of despair or of frenzy from within. Theabbey was amply provisioned. With such precautions the courtiersmight bid defiance to contagion. The external world could takecare of itself. In the meantime it was folly to grieve, or tothink. The prince had provided all the appliances of pleasure.There were buffoons, there were improvisatori, there wereballet-dancers, there were musicians, there was Beauty, there waswine. All these and security were within. Without was the“Red Death.”

It was towards the close of the fifth or sixth month of hisseclusion, and while the pestilence raged most furiously abroad,that the Prince Prospero entertained his thousand friends at amasked ball of the most unusual magnificence.

It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade. But first let metell of the rooms in which it was held. These were seven—animperial suite. In many palaces, however, such suites form a longand straight vista, while the folding doors slide back nearly tothe walls on either hand, so that the view of the whole extent isscarcely impeded. Here the case was very different, as might havebeen expected from the duke’s love of the bizarre.The apartments were so irregularly disposed that the visionembraced but little more than one at a time. There was a sharpturn at every twenty or thirty yards, and at each turn a noveleffect. To the right and left, in the middle of each wall, a talland narrow Gothic window looked out upon a closed corridor whichpursued the windings of the suite. These windows were of stainedglass whose color varied in accordance with the prevailing hue ofthe decorations of the chamber into which it opened. That at theeastern extremity was hung, for example, in blue—andvividly blue were its windows. The second chamber was purple inits ornaments and tapestries, and here the panes were purple. Thethird was green throughout, and so were the casements. The fourthwas furnished and lighted with orange—the fifth withwhite—the sixth with violet. The seventh apartment wasclosely shrouded in black velvet tapestries that hung all overthe ceiling and down the walls, falling in heavy folds upon acarpet of the same material and hue. But in this chamber only,the color of the windows failed to correspond with thedecorations. The panes here were scarlet—a deep bloodcolor. Now in no one of the seven apartments was there any lampor candelabrum, amid the profusion of golden ornaments that layscattered to and fro or depended from the roof. There was nolight of any kind emanating from lamp or candle within the suiteof chambers. But in the corridors that followed the suite, therestood, opposite to each window, a heavy tripod, bearing a brazierof fire, that projected its rays through the tinted glass and soglaringly illumined the room. And thus were produced a multitudeof gaudy and fantastic appearances. But in the western or blackchamber the effect of the fire-light that streamed upon the darkhangings through the blood-tinted panes, was ghastly in theextreme, and produced so wild a look upon the countenances ofthose who entered, that there were few of the company bold enoughto set foot within its precincts at all.

It was in this apartment, also, that there stood against thewestern wall, a gigantic clock of ebony. Its pendulum swung toand fro with a dull, heavy, monotonous clang; and when theminute-hand made the circuit of the face, and the hour was to bestricken, there came from the brazen lungs of the clock a soundwhich was clear and loud and deep and exceedingly musical, but ofso peculiar a note and emphasis that, at each lapse of an hour,the musicians of the orchestra were constrained to pause,momentarily, in their performance, to hearken to the sound; andthus the waltzers perforce ceased their evolutions; and there wasa brief disconcert of the whole gay company; and, while thechimes of the clock yet rang, it was observed that the giddiestgrew pale, and the more aged and sedate passed their hands overtheir brows as if in confused revery or meditation. But when theechoes had fully ceased, a light laughter at once pervaded theassembly; the musicians looked at each other and smiled as if attheir own nervousness and folly, and made whispering vows, eachto the other, that the next chiming of the clock should producein them no similar emotion; and then, after the lapse of sixtyminutes (which embrace three thousand and six hundred seconds ofthe Time that flies), there came yet another chiming of theclock, and then were the same disconcert and tremulousness andmeditation as before.

But, in spite of these things, it was a gay and magnificentrevel. The tastes of the duke were peculiar. He had a fine eyefor colors and effects. He disregarded the decoraof merefashion. His plans were bold and fiery, and his conceptionsglowed with barbaric lustre. There are some who would havethought him mad. His followers felt that he was not. It wasnecessary to hear and see and touch him to be surethat hewas not.

He had directed, in great part, the movable embellishments ofthe seven chambers, upon occasion of this greatfête; and it was his own guiding taste which hadgiven character to the masqueraders. Be sure they were grotesque.There were much glare and glitter and piquancy andphantasm—much of what has been since seen in“Hernani.” There were arabesque figures with unsuitedlimbs and appointments. There were delirious fancies such as themadman fashions. There were much of the beautiful, much of thewanton, much of the bizarre, something of the terrible,and not a little of that which might have excited disgust. To andfro in the seven chambers there stalked, in fact, a multitude ofdreams. And these—the dreams—writhed in and about,taking hue from the rooms, and causing the wild music of theorchestra to seem as the echo of their steps. And, anon, therestrikes the ebony clock which stands in the hall of the velvet.And then, for a moment, all is still, and all is silent save thevoice of the clock. The dreams are stiff-frozen as they stand.But the echoes of the chime die away—they have endured butan instant—and a light, half-subdued laughter floats afterthem as they depart. And now again the music swells, and thedreams live, and writhe to and fro more merrily than ever, takinghue from the many-tinted windows through which stream the raysfrom the tripods. But to the chamber which lies most westwardlyof the seven, there are now none of the maskers who venture; forthe night is waning away; and there flows a ruddier light throughthe blood-colored panes; and the blackness of the sable draperyappals; and to him whose foot falls upon the sable carpet, therecomes from the near clock of ebony a muffled peal more solemnlyemphatic than any which reaches theirears who indulge inthe more remote gaieties of the other apartments.

But these other apartments were densely crowded, and in thembeat feverishly the heart of life. And the revel went whirlinglyon, until at length there commenced the sounding of midnight uponthe clock. And then the music ceased, as I have told; and theevolutions of the waltzers were quieted; and there was an uneasycessation of all things as before. But now there were twelvestrokes to be sounded by the bell of the clock; and thus ithappened, perhaps, that more of thought crept, with more of time,into the meditations of the thoughtful among those who revelled.And thus too, it happened, perhaps, that before the last echoesof the last chime had utterly sunk into silence, there were manyindividuals in the crowd who had found leisure to become aware ofthe presence of a masked figure which had arrested the attentionof no single individual before. And the rumor of this newpresence having spread itself whisperingly around, there arose atlength from the whole company a buzz, or murmur, expressive ofdisapprobation and surprise—then, finally, of terror, ofhorror, and of disgust.

In an assembly of phantasms such as I have painted, it maywell be supposed that no ordinary appearance could have excitedsuch sensation. In truth the masquerade license of the night wasnearly unlimited; but the figure in question had out-HerodedHerod, and gone beyond the bounds of even the prince’sindefinite decorum. There are chords in the hearts of the mostreckless which cannot be touched without emotion. Even with theutterly lost, to whom life and death are equally jests, there arematters of which no jest can be made. The whole company, indeed,seemed now deeply to feel that in the costume and bearing of thestranger neither wit nor propriety existed. The figure was talland gaunt, and shrouded from head to foot in the habiliments ofthe grave. The mask which concealed the visage was made so nearlyto resemble the countenance of a stiffened corpse that theclosest scrutiny must have had difficulty in detecting the cheat.And yet all this might have been endured, if not approved, by themad revellers around. But the mummer had gone so far as to assumethe type of the Red Death. His vesture was dabbled inblood—and his broad brow, with all the features ofthe face, was besprinkled with the scarlet horror.

When the eyes of the Prince Prospero fell upon this spectralimage (which, with a slow and solemn movement, as if more fullyto sustain its role, stalked to and fro among the waltzers) hewas seen to be convulsed, in the first moment with a strongshudder either of terror or distaste; but, in the next, his browreddened with rage.

“Who dares”—he demanded hoarsely of thecourtiers who stood near him—“who dares insult uswith this blasphemous mockery? Seize him and unmaskhim—that we may know whom we have to hang, at sunrise, fromthe battlements!”

It was in the eastern or blue chamber in which stood thePrince Prospero as he uttered these words. They rang throughoutthe seven rooms loudly and clearly, for the prince was a bold androbust man, and the music had become hushed at the waving of hishand.

It was in the blue room where stood the prince, with a groupof pale courtiers by his side. At first, as he spoke, there was aslight rushing movement of this group in the direction of theintruder, who, at the moment was also near at hand, and now, withdeliberate and stately step, made closer approach to the speaker.But from a certain nameless awe with which the mad assumptions ofthe mummer had inspired the whole party, there were found nonewho put forth hand to seize him; so that, unimpeded, he passedwithin a yard of the prince’s person; and, while the vastassembly, as if with one impulse, shrank from the centres of therooms to the walls, he made his way uninterruptedly, but with thesame solemn and measured step which had distinguished him fromthe first, through the blue chamber to the purple—throughthe purple to the green—through the green to theorange—through this again to the white—and eventhence to the violet, ere a decided movement had been made toarrest him. It was then, however, that the Prince Prospero,maddening with rage and the shame of his own momentary cowardice,rushed hurriedly through the six chambers, while none followedhim on account of a deadly terror that had seized upon all. Hebore aloft a drawn dagger, and had approached, in rapidimpetuosity, to within three or four feet of the retreatingfigure, when the latter, having attained the extremity of thevelvet apartment, turned suddenly and confronted his pursuer.There was a sharp cry—and the dagger dropped gleaming uponthe sable carpet, upon which, instantly afterward, fell prostratein death the Prince Prospero. Then, summoning the wild courage ofdespair, a throng of the revellers at once threw themselves intothe black apartment, and, seizing the mummer, whose tall figurestood erect and motionless within the shadow of the ebony clock,gasped in unutterable horror at finding the grave cerements andcorpse-like mask, which they handled with so violent a rudeness,untenanted by any tangible form.

And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He hadcome like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped therevellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and diedeach in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of theebony clock went out with that of the last of the gay. And theflames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and Decay and the RedDeath held illimitable dominion over all.

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THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO

THE thousand injuries of Fortunato I hadborne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult, I vowedrevenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will notsuppose, however, that I gave utterance to a threat. AtlengthI would be avenged; this was a point definitelysettled—but the very definitiveness with which it wasresolved, precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish, butpunish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retributionovertakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when theavenger fails to make himself felt as such to him who has donethe wrong.

It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had Igiven Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. I continued, as wasmy wont, to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that mysmile nowwas at the thought of his immolation.

He had a weak point—this Fortunato—although inother regards he was a man to be respected and even feared. Heprided himself on his connoisseurship in wine. Few Italians havethe true virtuoso spirit. For the most part their enthusiasm isadopted to suit the time and opportunity—to practiseimposture upon the British and Austrian millionaires. Inpainting and gemmary, Fortunato, like his countrymen, was aquack—but in the matter of old wines he was sincere. Inthis respect I did not differ from him materially: I was skilfulin the Italian vintages myself, and bought largely whenever Icould.

It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness ofthe carnival season, that I encountered my friend. He accosted mewith excessive warmth, for he had been drinking much. The manwore motley. He had on a tight-fitting parti-striped dress, andhis head was surmounted by the conical cap and bells. I was sopleased to see him, that I thought I should never have donewringing 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 apipe of what passes for Amontillado, and I have mydoubts.”

“How?” said he. “Amontillado? A pipe?Impossible! And in the middle of the carnival!”

“I have my doubts,” I replied; “and I wassilly enough to pay the full Amontillado price without consultingyou in the matter. You were not to be found, and I was fearful oflosing 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 anyone has a critical turn, it is he. He will tellme—”

“Luchesi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry.”

“And yet some fools will have it that his taste is amatch 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 severecold with which I perceive you are afflicted. The vaults areinsufferably 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, hecannot distinguish Sherry from Amontillado.”

Thus speaking, Fortunato possessed himself of my arm. Puttingon a mask of black silk, and drawing a roquelairecloselyabout my person, I suffered him to hurry me to my palazzo.

There were no attendants at home; they had absconded to makemerry in honor of the time. I had told them that I should notreturn until the morning, and had given them explicit orders notto stir from the house. These orders were sufficient, I wellknew, to insure their immediate disappearance, one and all, assoon as my back was turned.

I took from their sconces two flambeaux, and giving one toFortunato, bowed him through several suites of rooms to thearchway that led into the vaults. I passed down a long andwinding staircase, requesting him to be cautious as he followed.We came at length to the foot of the descent, and stood togetheron the damp ground of the catacombs of the Montresors.

The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells upon his capjingled as he strode.

“The pipe?” said he.

“It is farther on,” said I; “but observe thewhite web-work which gleams from these cavern walls.”

He turned towards me, and looked into my eyes with two filmyorbs that distilled the rheum of intoxication.

“Nitre?” he asked, at length.

“Nitre,” I replied. “How long have you hadthat 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 manyminutes.

“It is nothing,” he said, at last.

“Come,” I said, with decision, “we will goback; your health is precious. You are rich, respected, admired,beloved; you are happy, as once I was. You are a man to bemissed. For me it is no matter. We will go back; you will be ill,and I cannot be responsible. Besides, there isLuchesi—”

“Enough,” he said; “the cough is a merenothing; it will not kill me. I shall not die of acough.”

“True—true,” I replied; “and, indeed,I had no intention of alarming you unnecessarily; but you shoulduse all proper caution. A draught of this Medoc will defend usfrom the damps.”

Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew from along 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 tome familiarly, while his bells jingled.

“I drink,” he said, “to the buried thatrepose around us.”

“And I to your long life.”

He again took my arm, and we proceeded.

“These vaults,” he said, “areextensive.”

“The Montresors,” I replied, “were a greatand numerous family.”

“I forget your arms.”

“A huge human foot d’or, in a field azure; thefoot crushes a serpent rampant whose fangs are imbedded in theheel.”

“And the motto?”

“Nemo me impune lacessit.”

“Good!” he said.

The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled. My ownfancy grew warm with the Medoc. We had passed through walls ofpiled bones, with casks and puncheons intermingling, into theinmost recesses of the catacombs. I paused again, and this time Imade bold to seize Fortunato by an arm above the elbow.

“The nitre!” I said; “see, it increases. Ithangs like moss upon the vaults. We are below the river’sbed. The drops of moisture trickle among the bones. Come, we willgo back ere it is too late. Your cough—”

“It is nothing,” he said; “let us go on. Butfirst, another draught of the Medoc.”

I broke and reached him a flagon of De Grâve. He emptiedit at a breath. His eyes flashed with a fierce light. He laughedand threw the bottle upwards with a gesticulation I did notunderstand.

I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the movement—agrotesque 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 frombeneath 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 thecloak, and again offering him my arm. He leaned upon it heavily.We continued our route in search of the Amontillado. We passedthrough a range of low arches, descended, passed on, anddescending again, arrived at a deep crypt, in which the foulnessof the air caused our flambeaux rather to glow than flame.

At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared anotherless spacious. Its walls had been lined with human remains, piledto the vault overhead, in the fashion of the great catacombs ofParis. Three sides of this interior crypt were still ornamentedin this manner. From the fourth the bones had been thrown down,and lay promiscuously upon the earth, forming at one point amound of some size. Within the wall thus exposed by thedisplacing of the bones, we perceived a still interior recess, indepth about four feet, in width three, in height six or seven. Itseemed to have been constructed for no especial use withinitself, but formed merely the interval between two of thecolossal supports of the roof of the catacombs, and was backed byone 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 terminationthe feeble light did not enable us to see.

“Proceed,” I said; “herein is theAmontillado. As for Luchesi—”

“He is an ignoramus,” interrupted my friend, as hestepped unsteadily forward, while I followed immediately at hisheels. In an instant he had reached the extremity of the niche,and finding his progress arrested by the rock, stood stupidlybewildered. A moment more and I had fettered him to the granite.In its surface were two iron staples, distant from each otherabout two feet, horizontally. From one of these depended a shortchain, from the other a padlock. Throwing the links about hiswaist, it was but the work of a few seconds to secure it. He wastoo much astounded to resist. Withdrawing the key I stepped backfrom the recess.

“Pass your hand,” I said, “over the wall;you cannot help feeling the nitre. Indeed, it is verydamp. Once more let me imploreyou to return. No? Then Imust positively leave you. But I must first render you all thelittle attentions in my power.”

“The Amontillado!” ejaculated my friend, not yetrecovered from his astonishment.

“True,” I replied; “theAmontillado.”

As I said these words I busied myself among the pile of bonesof which I have before spoken. Throwing them aside, I soonuncovered a quantity of building stone and mortar. With thesematerials and with the aid of my trowel, I began vigorously towall up the entrance of the niche.

I had scarcely laid the first tier of the masonry when Idiscovered that the intoxication of Fortunato had in a greatmeasure worn off. The earliest indication I had of this was a lowmoaning cry from the depth of the recess. It was notthecry of a drunken man. There was then a long and obstinatesilence. I laid the second tier, and the third, and the fourth;and then I heard the furious vibrations of the chain. The noiselasted for several minutes, during which, that I might hearken toit with the more satisfaction, I ceased my labors and sat downupon the bones. When at last the clanking subsided, I resumed thetrowel, and finished without interruption the fifth, the sixth,and the seventh tier. The wall was now nearly upon a level withmy breast. I again paused, and holding the flambeaux over themason-work, threw a few feeble rays upon the figure within.

A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenlyfrom the throat of the chained form, seemed to thrust meviolently 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 uponthe solid fabric of the catacombs, and felt satisfied. Ireapproached the wall. I replied to the yells of him whoclamored. I re-echoed—I aided—I surpassed them involume and in strength. I did this, and the clamorer grewstill.

It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I hadcompleted the eighth, the ninth, and the tenth tier. I hadfinished a portion of the last and the eleventh; there remainedbut a single stone to be fitted and plastered in. I struggledwith its weight; I placed it partially in its destined position.But now there came from out the niche a low laugh that erectedthe hairs upon my head. It was succeeded by a sad voice, which Ihad difficulty in recognizing as that of the noble Fortunato. Thevoice said—

“Ha! ha! ha!—he! he!—a very good jokeindeed—an excellent jest. We shall have many a rich laughabout it at the palazzo—he! he! he!—over ourwine—he! he! he!”

“The Amontillado!” I said.

“He! he! he!—he! he! he!—yes, theAmontillado. But is it not getting late? Will not they beawaiting us at the palazzo, the Lady Fortunato and the rest? Letus be gone.”

“Yes,” I said, “let us be gone.”

“For the love of God, Montresor!”

“Yes,” I said, “for the love ofGod!”

But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grewimpatient. I called aloud:

“Fortunato!”

No answer. I called again:

“Fortunato!”

No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remainingaperture and let it fall within. There came forth in reply only ajingling of the bells. My heart grew sick—on account of thedampness 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. Inpace requiescat!

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