Speaker 1: The sequel by Walter Scott's story sobered on the instant
the padlock had clicked when Montessor passed the chain about
my waist, and thus fastened me to the wall. I
stood upright in the little dungeon, the blood running cold
in my veins. With a maniacal laughter, he withdrew from
the niche, whipping a towel from under his robe, he
began to wall up the narrow opening. I knew it
was not a joke, a drunken chest. I saw that
his drunkenness had fallen from him. The dying flambeaux fell
from my nerveless hand and cast a fitful, bloody glow
against the whitened tripping walls. I shook the chain frenzily.
For God's sake, Matossor, I cried. He replied with a horrible,
mocking laugh, and, like a devil from hell, lifted his
voice with mine to show that it was idle to
call for help. I always distrusted Montasor. I knew him
to be a serpent. He feared me and was jealous
of my person and attachments. In spite of all his
fawnings and smiles, I knew he hated me deeply, for
the injuries I had heaped upon him, and for the
open insults I had added to them. And yet I
swear he had never, in the slightest suspected that it
was not Giovanna, the tenor who was successful with his wife,
but I Fortunado. He called, and his hoarse tone echoed
in a ghastly way through the gloomy catacombs of his ancestors,
and re echoed along the winding crypt. I made no reply.
Cold beads of fear started from my brow as I
strained against the chain and listened to the soft thudding
of the stones he was building into the opening to
make my tomb, and the accompanying tinkle of his trowel.
Even then I admired perforce the cleverness with which he
had secured his revenge. It was the night of the carnival.
He had found me in the streets, dazed with wine,
and pretended that he wanted my judgment on a cask
of sherry, had lured my staggering feet into the gloomy
passages under his palazzo, and he had brought me to
this narrow niche in the castle wall, to entomb me
alive where no one would ever find me. It was
very clever. My memory fails me now, but I doubt
not that I cried out many times for pity and mercy.
And I take no shame in thinking that this may
have been so. I recall his words, his horrible mouthings,
as he worked with more haste and zeal than skill.
But I was a brave man, and always I did
not yield myself to fate. It was unthinkable I Fortunato
to die walled up by Motusor. I cursed him and
his line. I wrenched at the chain with ferocious strength,
more eager to have him by the throat than to
be free to live. I called upon all the saints,
and particularly to my patron Saint. You shall see that
I was not unheard. The wall grew high to his breast,
and in the light of his flambeaux sat somewhere in
the wall outside. I could see Matussor's sweating face as
he labored with the stones. Suddenly he thrust his torch
through the opening no larger than his head, And to
deceive him, I prostrated myself upon the door and laughed
the laugh of a dying man. I heard the thud
of another stone, and looked up quickly. My flambeau had
died out, monosaurs had disappeared, and there was no opening.
I was in a tomb of stone. Absolute darkness surrounded me.
The walls seemed to press upon me like icy blankets.
The silence was absolute. As the darkness reigned, I leaped
to my feet. Silence, silence, absolute silence, save for my
own laboring breath. Maria supposed the mortar hardened ere I
could throw my weight against the poor wall he had built.
Then I were lost. I called out loud for my
holy saint Lucky. It was that I had the bodily
strength of two. I strained upon the chain wildly. I
seized it in my hands and tore it with savage determination.
I would not die. Thus, in desperation, frantic, with rage
and fear, I made one last, violent, prodigious effort to
free myself with strength enough to make the palazzo tremble.
And in that last great effort, the staples of the
chain tore loose from the half rotted stone in which
they were fastened. Hot tears of joy welled in my eyes.
I vowed a hundred candles to the virgin, but I
could not take the time to give thanks. Throwing myself
upon the wall Montesor had just reared my feet desperately
braced on the rough stone, I fought for liberty like
a tiger. Heavens it gave. The wall gave it yielded
like a stiff canvas against the push of a hand,
gave slowly but surely, bulging outward, then went rumbling down.
I thrust myself through the jagged opening into the catacombs.
I was free. What a joy if Montessor had been there,
even though he wore his rapier and I had but
my pointuard. It was very dark, and yet I could
see a gleam of light in the direction from which
we had come. Montor, crazed with the thought of sweet revenge,
I drunk with wine. I paused and thought, should I
find him in the street this gay time and slay him? No,
there was a better thing to do. With haste and
no mean skill. I built up the wall anew, closing
the opening of what might have been my tomb had
I been a weak man. And against this new wall
erected a rampart of old bones, then thrusting the dangling
end of the chain within my doublet began to retrace
my feet toward freedom. I struck my foot against some
small soft object and halted with a start. I leaned over.
I had kicked against Motossor's mask, and I put it
over my face. I knew that all his servants were
away to enjoy the carnival, but it would do no
harm to wear this mask, and it served my purpose.
I passed through the crypt and walked back, swiftly and
steadily through the range of low arches through which I
had come staggering to the awful doom. Soon I was
above in my false friend's rich sweets, in the cheerful
glow of many lights. But all was quiet, no one stirred.
I was alone safe. I went light footed through the
deserted house. I could hear the shouts and laughter of
merry people in the street until I came to the
passage leading to the plaza. There I stopped, with the
blood jumping in my veins like wildfire. In this hall.
In the corner, upon a low settee lay Montessor, sprawling
in a heavy stupor, as drunk with wine as I
had been when I trustfully entered within his doors. I
paused over his body. Within my bosom was the dagger
with which I never part, and yet I let him
lie there unharmed. When I elbowed my way masked through
the square, it was twelve o'clock. I was in time
to keep my appointment with my wife. I laughed, what
a chest and Montesor's wife was waiting for me in
the usual place. Such a beautiful woman. I really loved her,
and I hope he did. I was as clever as
I was brave. I was indeed an exceedingly clever man.
I had seen my creditors pressing, and all things turned
towards ruin, and that is why I had converted everything
possible into gold and precious stones. That night I crept
unseen into my own house, from which my servants, like Montossurs,
had stolen away to enjoy the carnival, and securing all
the wealth I had secreted was up and away, my
chain stricken off by an obscure armor. I have no
doubt that my body servant was executed for the theft
of my fortune, as indeed he should have been for
watching my belonging so poorly. But I know not then
we left the city while the streets were still crowded,
and gay Montissor's wife and I and went to England,
where we have lived a long life and very happy.
Years ago I heard a vague rumor that Montessor believed
his beautiful wife had gone away with Giovanna the tenor,
who disappeared at about that time. But it was not so.
As for Lady Fortunado, she may have guessed the truth,
and Montessor will believe until he dies that my bones
lay crumbling in the little wolled in Dungeon below his palazzo.
The end of the sequel