The Cask of Amontillado

Edgar Allan Poe

The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as best I 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
goodwill. 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
practice 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
today! But I have received a pipe (barrel) 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 anyone 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 niter.” (salt deposits)

“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 roquelaure (cloak) 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 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 toward me, and looked into my eyes with two filmy orbs that distilled the rheum of
intoxication.

“Niter?” he asked, at length.

“Niter,” 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 draft of this Médoc 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 mold.

“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
embedded in the heel.”

“And the motto?”

“Nemo me impune lacessit.” ("Nobody attacks me without punishment.")

“Good!” he said.
The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled. My own fancy grew warm with the Médoc.
We had passed through walls of piled bones, with casks and puncheons (large wine casks)
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 niter!” 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 draft of the Médoc.”

I broke and reached him a flagon of de Grâve.14 He emptied it at a breath. His eyes flashed with
a fierce light. He laughed and threw the bottle upward 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 roquelaure.

“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 within 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 depth 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
(chained) 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 niter. 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 the 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 reechoed—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 recognizing as that of the noble
Fortunato. The voice said—

“Ha! ha! ha!—he! 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, Montresor!”

“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 reerected the old rampart of bones. For the half of a
century no mortal has disturbed them. In pace requiescat.

Reading Check

a. According to Montresor, what makes a perfect crime?

b. How does Montresor lure Fortunato into the catacombs?

c. What does Montresor admit is his motive for this crime?

d. According to Montresor, what kind of person is Fortunato?

e. What evidence suggests that Montresor committed the perfect crime?

First Thoughts

1. Draw a head with thought bubbles and fill in the bubbles with words and pictures that show
what you think Montresor is thinking as he says “In pace requiescat.” Be prepared to explain
your interpretation.

Shaping Interpretations

2. To whom could Montresor be talking, fifty years after the murder, and for what reasons?

3. Part of the story’s horrifying effect comes from Poe’s use of irony. What do we know that
Fortunato does not know about why he has been invited into the vaults? When did you figure out
what Montresor was up to?

4. Which of Montresor’s comments to the unsuspecting Fortunato are ironic—that is, which ones
mean something different from what they seem to mean?

5. The story is full of other examples of irony. Think about these uses of irony and how they
made you feel:

 Fortunato’s name
 his costume
 the fact that a carnival takes place in the streets above the murder

6. Think about whether or not Montresor is a reliable narrator. Do any details suggest that he
might have imagined “the thousand injuries” and the insult—or even the whole story? Can you
find evidence in the story to support Montresor’s claim that Fortunato did in fact injure and insult
him?

Extending the Text

7. Is this just a gripping horror story told only for entertainment, or do you think it reveals some
truth about the way people sometimes behave when they are consumed by a desire for revenge?
Give reasons for your opinions.

Challenging the Text

8. What do you think of the way the story ends? Consider this question: Do writers have an
obligation to punish murderers for their fictional crimes?
9. Some people feel that violence in fiction and on TV (like the violence in Poe’s story) results in
real-life violence. How do you feel about this?

Writer’s Notebook

1. Collecting Ideas for an Essay of Evaluation

How did it make you feel? While reading the stories in this collection, you may have made notes
on criteria you can use when you evaluate a story or movie for the Writer’s Workshop found in
this collection. Now, focus on the emotional content of a story. Set up a scale and rank the depth
of sympathy you feel for a particular character, the effectiveness of the ending, or your feelings
about what happened in the story. When you write an evaluation, you’ll have to support your
rating by citing details from the story.

Emotional Scale

effectiveness of ending

0 1 2 3 4 5

(not (very

effective) powerful)

Creative Writing

2. From Fortunato’s Point of View

Suppose this story was being told from the point of view of the gullible Fortunato instead of by
Montresor. Write a new beginning. Start when the two men meet at dusk, and end when they
begin their journey underground. Let the reader know what Fortunato thinks of Montresor. Is he
guilty of the thousand injuries and the insult? Tell the story as an omniscient, or all-knowing,
narrator who zooms in on Fortunato’s thoughts.

Explaining a Theory

3. Finding a Motive

Suppose a detective assigned to the case at the time it happened wrote a report with this theory
about the disappearance of Fortunato:

“Montresor is the last member of an old aristocratic Catholic family that lost its money.
Fortunato was a businessman who had recently become wealthy and wasn’t above cheating to
make money. Fortunato also was a member of the Masons, a secret Protestant organization that
Catholics cannot join. These facts explain Montresor’s hatred of Fortunato. They also supply him
with a motive for murder.”

Now you are another detective assigned to the still unsolved case a few years later. In a report to
your supervisor, explain exactly what you think of this theory. If you agree or disagree, tell why
and find reasons in the story to support your case.

Critical Thinking

4. Crime and Punishment

Suppose the person to whom Montresor is telling his story has turned him over to the police.
Montresor’s lawyer might argue that his client is insane. The prosecution will argue that
Montresor knew exactly what he was doing, even planned it in advance. Write a speech for either
lawyer.