The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 2

By Edgar Allan Poe

Page 103

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 skilful 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 with nitre."

"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 _roquelaire_ 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

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Text Comparison with Le Corbeau = The Raven

Page 0
Proofreading Team.
Page 1
»--Ici j'ouvris, grande, la porte: les ténèbres et rien de.
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»_ Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
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» Le Corbeau dit: «Jamais plus.
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'" _Tressaillant au calme rompu par une réplique si bien parlée: «Sans doute dis-je, ce qu'il profère est tout son fonds et son bagage, pris à quelque malheureux maître que l'impitoyable Désastre suivit de près et de très-près suivit jusqu'à ce que ses chansons comportassent un unique refrain; jusqu'à ce que les chants funèbres de son Espérance comportassent le mélancolique refrain.
Page 5
»_ This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er, _She_ shall press, ah, nevermore! _Cela, je m'assis occupé à le conjecturer, mais n'adressant pas une syllabe à l'oiseau dont les yeux de feu brûlaient, maintenant, au fond de mon sein; cela et plus encore, je m'assis pour le deviner, ma tête reposant à l'aise sur la housse de velours des coussins que dévorait la lumière de la lampe, housse violette de velours dévoré par la lumière de la lampe qu'_Elle_ ne pressera plus, ah! jamais plus.
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" _«Prophète, dis-je, être de malheur! prophète, oui, oiseau ou démon! Que si le Tentateur t'envoya ou la tempête t'échoua vers ces bords, désolé et encore tout indompté, vers cette déserte terre enchantée--vers ce logis par l'horreur hanté: dis-moi véritablement, je t'implore! y a-t-il du baume en Judée?--dis-moi, je t'implore.
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" _«Que ce mot soit le signal de notre séparation, oiseau ou malin esprit,» hurlai-je, en me dressant.