Eighty-Nine Paragraphs
Full spoilers, ending included. A man named Montresor tells a friend he has a rare wine in his family vaults. He leads him down into the dark during carnival, chains him in a niche, and walls him in. That is the whole plot, and Poe needs only a few pages. So the interest is in how it is told, and I am reading it in order, one sentence at a time, with paragraph numbers.
The edition is Project Gutenberg ebook two one four eight, The Works of Edgar Allan Poe, Volume Two, the Raven Edition. The story is about twenty-three hundred words. I count every block of text as a paragraph, even a single line of dialogue, and that gives eighty-nine. Along the way you get a depth map of the walk, a few counts, and what Montresor says against what he means.
Paragraphs One to Three: The Promise
Paragraph one is the plot in advance. The narrator says he bore a thousand injuries from Fortunato, but when Fortunato ventured upon insult, he vowed revenge. Notice what is missing. The insult is never named, not in paragraph one and not anywhere else in the story.
Then come his two rules. He must punish with impunity, so no risk to himself. And Fortunato must know who did it, because revenge he never understands does not count. Every move that follows serves those two rules.
Paragraph two is the smile. He keeps smiling in Fortunato’s face, and Fortunato does not see that the smile is now at the thought of his immolation. Paragraph three gives the weak point. Fortunato is a man to be respected and even feared, but he prides himself on his wine. The trap is built from the one thing he is sincere about.
Paragraphs Four to Twenty-Two: The Bait
Paragraph four. Dusk, in the supreme madness of the carnival, and Fortunato comes up already drunk. He is dressed as a jester, in motley, with a cone cap and bells. Montresor is so pleased to see him that he cannot stop wringing his hand. The first irony of the story is a handshake.
The bait is paragraph five. He has received a pipe of what passes for Amontillado, a pipe being a large cask, and he has his doubts. He says I have my doubts three times, in paragraphs five, seven and nine. Fortunato answers with the word Amontillado four times in a row, in paragraphs six, eight, ten and twelve.
Then the second hook, in paragraph thirteen. Montresor says he will take the wine to Luchesi instead. Fortunato cannot stand it. Twice Montresor politely refuses to bring him, in paragraphs nineteen and twenty-one, and twice Fortunato overrules him. In my reading, every refusal is a push, and Fortunato’s pride does the walking.
Paragraphs Twenty-Three to Forty-Three: Down the Stairs
In paragraph twenty-three Montresor puts on a black silk mask and a cloak, and lets Fortunato hurry him home. In twenty-four we learn the house is empty. He told his servants he would not be back until morning, and ordered them not to stir, which he knew would make every one of them vanish. Notice the order of events. He had given that order before he met Fortunato in the street, so in my reading the luck in luckily met was staged.
Paragraph twenty-five starts the depth map. Two torches, several suites of rooms, an archway, a long and winding staircase, and then the damp ground of the catacombs of the Montresors.
Then the cough. In paragraph thirty-one Montresor asks how long he has had it, which sets off a fit of many minutes. In thirty-five he urges going back. Fortunato is rich, respected, beloved, a man to be missed. In thirty-six Fortunato says the cough will not kill him. He shall not die of a cough. That is the story’s cleanest dramatic irony, because he is right.
Paragraphs Forty-Four to Sixty-Seven: Arms, Motto, Trowel
In paragraph forty-six Fortunato asks about the family arms. A golden human foot on a blue field, crushing a serpent whose fangs are in the heel. The motto, in forty-nine, is Nemo me impune lacessit, usually translated as no one attacks me with impunity. Fortunato says good. In my reading he has just been told what is coming. Notice the echo of impunity from paragraph one, and that the foot crushes the serpent even though the heel is bitten. The bitten heel is the injury.
In paragraphs fifty-two to fifty-four the nitre hangs like moss, they are below the river’s bed, and Montresor tries once more to turn back. Fortunato wants another draught of wine, empties the flagon at a breath, and throws the bottle upward in a gesture Montresor says he does not understand.
Then the mason joke. Fortunato asks if he is a mason, one of the brotherhood. Montresor says yes, and when asked for the sign, he produces a trowel from under his cloak, in paragraph sixty-five. You jest, says Fortunato. In my reading it is the cruelest line in the story, because the joke is in the tool.
Paragraph sixty-seven is the bottom of the map. Low arches, a descent, another descent, and a deep crypt where the foul air makes the torches glow rather than flame.
Paragraphs Sixty-Eight to Seventy-Four: The Niche
Paragraph sixty-eight. Inside the crypt is a smaller one, lined with piled bones on three sides, in the fashion of the catacombs of Paris. On the fourth side the bones lie thrown down in a mound, and behind them is a recess. It is four feet deep, three wide, and six or seven feet high, backed by solid granite. It is the only place in the story that gets measured.
Fortunato lifts his torch and cannot see the end of it. Montresor says herein is the Amontillado, and mentions Luchesi for the last time, in paragraph seventy. Fortunato calls Luchesi an ignoramus and walks in. In seventy-one, two iron staples, a short chain and a padlock, and it is the work of a few seconds.
Paragraph seventy-two is his fifth and last offer to turn back. Fortunato says the Amontillado, and Montresor answers true, the Amontillado. In my reading, the word that was bait has become a taunt.
Paragraphs Seventy-Five to Eighty-Nine: Eleven Tiers
Paragraph seventy-five. Montresor throws aside the bones, uncovers building stone and mortar, and begins to wall up the niche. In seventy-six, after the first tier, there is a low moaning cry that, he notices, is not the cry of a drunken man. After the fourth tier he hears the chain, and sits down on the bones to listen. Then the fifth, the sixth, the seventh, and the wall is level with his breast.
In seventy-seven there are screams, and he hesitates and trembles. Then he places his hand on the solid catacombs, feels satisfied, and answers the screams with louder ones, until the clamorer grows still. I will keep this part short and plain.
At midnight he finishes the tenth tier and most of the eleventh. One stone is left. A low laugh comes from the niche, then a plea that this is a good joke, and the Lady Fortunato will be waiting. Montresor repeats the pleas back. Let us be gone. For the love of God.
Two calls of Fortunato get no answer. He drops a torch through the gap, and there comes only a jingling of the bells. My heart grew sick, he says, on account of the dampness. The last stone goes in. The old rampart of bones goes back. Half a century, he says, no mortal has disturbed them. In pace requiescat. Rest in peace.
The Count
I ran counts on the story text only, whole words, ignoring case, and leaving out the title lines. Fortunato appears fourteen times. Ten are in the narration. Three are in Montresor’s own speech, one greeting in paragraph five and the two calls at the end. The last is Fortunato himself, speaking of his wife, Lady Fortunato.
Montresor himself is never named in his own words. His family, the Montresors, appears twice. And Fortunato says Montressor, spelled with two s in this edition, once, in the final plea.
Amontillado appears sixteen times. Ten are Fortunato’s, five are Montresor’s, and one is the narrator’s. Luchesi appears six times, and four are Montresor’s. Bells in five paragraphs. Eleven tiers. And the last paragraph says half a century, which is fifty years.
What He Says and What He Means
Here is the pairing list. In paragraph five he says you are luckily met, and he means the empty house was arranged earlier, in twenty-four. In thirty-five he says your health is precious, and he means keep walking.
In forty-two, at the toast, he says to your long life, after Fortunato drank to the buried. He means the long life ends in a wall. In sixty-three he says a mason, and he means the trowel. And in paragraph eighty-nine he says his heart grew sick on account of the dampness, which in my reading is the story’s last excuse.
What Your Teacher Will Ask
Question one is whether the narrator is reliable. In my reading, no. He calls Fortunato a friend and the injuries a thousand, and we have only his word for either. He also tells it about fifty years later to a you, who so well know the nature of his soul, in paragraph one. The story never says who that is.
Question two is why. The insult is never named, so in my reading we judge the method, not the reason. The one clue is paragraph thirty-five, where he says Fortunato is happy, as once I was.
Question three is irony. Verbal irony is health is precious. Dramatic irony is the cough and the toast. And Fortunato is Italian for fortunate, in a story where his first greeting is luckily met.
Question four is guilt. A sick heart and fifty years of bones undisturbed point both ways, and Poe never says. That is an opinion, and the story lets you argue it either way.
Fifty Years in the Dark
The last words are Latin, in pace requiescat, rest in peace, said over a wall he built himself. That is the last thing the narrator does, and he does it in a blessing.
If you want to read it yourself, the Project Gutenberg text is free, and the story takes about ten minutes. Check the paragraph numbers against your edition, because mine count every line of dialogue. Subscribe, tap like, and tell me in the comments which line gave you chills. The full guide is on book explained dot com, and the link is in the description.
