By reading or watching, we participate in this argument. In some ways, we read and watch horror for the same reason: our own lives often seem nice and calm after a few hours of fear. Plus, Edgar Allan Poe's stories are fun because they're complicated puzzles. You have to exercise your brain muscles to figure them out. The Cask of Amontillado A movie from A Poe Poster We think this is pretty cool.
A Timeline Everybody needs a Poe timeline…. Carnival This link has some good information on the holiday. The Poe Museum Another helpful resource. The Edgar Awards Maybe you could win one…. A Quiz Test your knowledge of the story. Indeed, it is very damp. Once more let me implore you to return. Then I will positively leave you. But I must first render you all the little attentions in my power.
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 labours 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 clamoured. I re-echoed — I aided — I surpassed them in volume and in strength. I did this, and the clamourer 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 —. We will have many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo — he! 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. 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 labour.
I forced the last stone into its position; I plastered it up. Then there was silence. By the time Montresor had finished the last tier, with only one more stone to be put into place, there came a long low laugh from within. Then Fortunato's voice called upon Montresor to put an end to this joke. Finally, Fortunato pleaded " For the love of God, Montresor ," a request which Montresor mocked by repeating the phrase. Then Montresor looked through the remaining opening with his torch and could see nothing, but he did hear the jingling of Fortunato's bells as he laid the last stone in place.
For fifty years, he tells us, no one has disturbed the peace of this place. As noted in this discussion, the story abounds in ironies. The name of the victim, Fortunato, meaning "the fortunate one," is the first irony. Then, too, the entire situation is ironic — that is, the most terrible and gruesome deeds are executed in a carnival atmosphere of gaiety and happiness; Montresor is using the atmosphere of celebration to disguise the horribly atrocious act of entombing a man alive.
The reader should, perhaps, at one point ask himself who is Montresor, and, then since Montresor seems to be apparently addressing someone, the reader should ask himself whom Montresor is talking to or writing about and why.
Since the deed was committed some fifty years ago, and at the time of the deed Montresor could not have been a young person, he must now be very old. It could be that he is talking to one of his descendants, or else making his last confession to a priest. After all, from what we can glean from the story, Montresor, in spite of the reputed insults of Fortunato, came from an ancient, perhaps noble family, and he is also a person of considerable taste in gems, in paintings, in wines, and in other matters , and it is evident that he possesses considerable intelligence, albeit a type of diabolical intelligence.
In his plan to entomb Fortunato in the Montresor catacombs, he was clever at the right time; his planning was perfect. Remember that he anticipated letting the servants off at a time that would not arouse suspicion since it was carnival time; clearly, his entire plan of revenge was contrived with such perfection that Montresor had to be an exceptionally gifted person.
But then, again, the question arises: How could a gifted person imagine insults of such magnitude so as to cause him to effect such a horrible revenge? Informing the entire story is the nature of an insult that could evoke such a well-planned, diabolical scheme of revenge. If indeed there was an insult of such magnitude, then is Fortunato unaware of it to such an extent that he would accompany the person that he has insulted into such a dreadful place?
Or was he simply drunk with the carnival madness that was occurring throughout the city? The reader, of course, is shocked by the diabolical efficiency of the murderer, and also by the fact that Montresor has lived with impunity, and also, ironically, his victim has rested in peace for fifty years.
The double and ironic viewpoint continues on every plane. When Montresor met Fortunato, he smiled continually at Fortunato, who thought he saw a smile of warmth and friendliness, when in reality, the smile was a satanic smile in anticipation of Fortunato's entombment.
Likewise, Montresor's first words to him were "you are luckily met. Likewise, when Fortunato drinks a toast to the people buried in the catacombs, he little knows that he is drinking a toast to his own impending death.
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