The Raven / The Masque of the Red Death / The Cask of Amontillado | Page 5

to the white--and even thence to the violet, ere a decided
movement had been made to arrest 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 followed him on account of a deadly terror that had
seized upon all. He bore aloft a drawn dagger, and had approached, in rapid impetuosity,

to within three or four feet of the retreating figure, when the latter, having attained the
extremity of the velvet apartment, turned suddenly and confronted his pursuer. There was
a sharp cry--and the dagger dropped gleaming upon the sable carpet, upon which,
instantly afterwards, fell prostrate in death the Prince Prospero. Then, summoning the
wild courage of despair, a throng of the revellers at once threw themselves into the black
apartment, and, seizing the mummer, whose tall figure stood erect and motionless within
the shadow of the ebony clock, gasped in unutterable horror at finding the grave
cerements and corpse-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 had come like a thief in
the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel,
and died each in the despairing posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went
out with that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness
and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.
The Cask of Amontillado
by Edgar Allan Poe
October, 1997 [Etext #1065]*
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 definitely 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 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 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