Hi, I am Elle, and this is Quid Pro Quo. I don't plan to do this with any regularity, but as a Halloween bonus, I will be focusing on a fictional tale for part 2 of today's launch. I have a 92 year old collected works of Edgar Allan Poe, which I have tried not to destroy with too much handling. I recently noticed it on my shelf, and that gave me the idea to break it out for some Halloween reading.
That led me to the idea to do a Poe reading for my Halloween episode, which made me so happy I actually got the Adventure Time Baking Pancake Slash Alicia Keys New York mashup stuck in my head. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, it is one of the finer things on the whole of the internet. I recommend a brief pause to experience it now. While part 1 focused on the mystery of Marie Rogier, the story I have chosen to read works as a particularly good bridge with the next episode I will be releasing.
It is one of my all time favourites, and I think the connection will be pretty clear once I drop episode 2. The Casc of the Mountieado by Edgar Allan Poe 1846. The thousand injuries of Fortune Otto I had born 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.
That length I would be revenged, this was a point definitely 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 that has done the wrong. It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given Fortune Otto cause to doubt my good will. I continued, as was my want, 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 Fortune Otto.
Showing other regards he was a man to be respected and even feared. He prided himself on his condescorship in wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit. For the most part their enthusiasm has adopted to suit the time and opportunity, to practice imposter upon the British and Austrian millionaires.
In painting and gemery, Fortune Otto, 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 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 party-stripe dress and his head was surmounted by the conical cabin bells.
I was so pleased to see him that I thought I should never have done ringing his hand. I said to him, my dear Fortune Otto, you are luckily met. How remarkably well you are looking today. But I have received a pipe of what passes for Admatiato and I have my doubts.
How had see Admatiato a pipe impossible? And in the middle of carnival? I have my doubts I replied. And I was silly enough to pay full Admatiato priced without consulting you in the matter.
You are not to be found and I was fearful of losing a bargain. Admatiato, I have my doubts. Admatiato, and I must satisfy them. Admatiato, as you are engaged, I am on my way to Lucrezi.
If anyone has a critical turn it is he. He will tell me, Lucrezi cannot tell Admatiato from Sherry. And yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match for your own. Come, let us go.
With her. To your vaults. My friend, no, I will not impose upon your good nature. I perceive you to have an engagement.
Lucrezi, I have no engagements. Come. My friend, no, it is not the engagement but the severe cold with which I perceive you are afflicted. My faults are insufferably damp.
They are encrusted with nighter. Let us go. Nevertheless, the cold is merely nothing. Admatiato, you have been imposed upon and as for Lucrezi he cannot distinguish Sherry from Admatiato.
Thus speaking, Fortunato possessed himself with my arm. And putting on a mask of black silk and drawing my recolour closely about my person, I suffered him to hurry me to my palasso. 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 was well-knew to ensure their immediate disappearance won an all, as soon as my back was turned. I took from their sconces to Flenbo and giving one to Fortunato bowed him through several suites of rooms to the archway that led into the vault.
I passed down a long and winding staircase, requesting him to be cautious as he followed. We came at length to the foot of a descent and stood together upon the damp ground of the catacombs of the Montresaures. The cab of my friend was unsteady and the bells upon his cab jingled as he strode. The pipe he said, it is further on said I, but observe the white web-work which gleams from these cavern walls.
He turned to me and looked into my eyes with two filmy orbs that distilled the room of intoxication. Nighter he asked at length, nighter I replied. How long have you had that cough? My poor friend found it impossible to apply 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. From me it is no matter. We will go back. You will be ill and I cannot be responsible.
Besides, there is look-crycy 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 medock will defend us from the dams. 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 berry that repose around us. And I to your long life. He again took my arm and we proceeded.
These vaults said he are expensive. The mondrousars I replied were a great and numerous family. I forget your arms. A huge human foot or in a field azure, the footcrushes a serpent rampant whose fangs are embedded in the heel.
And the motto? Namo me impunae la chisat. Good, he said. The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled.
My own fancy grew warm with a medock. We had passed through the long walls of the piled skeletons with casks and ponchins intermingling into the innermost recesses of the catacombs. I paused again and this time I made bold to seize for tonado by an arm above the elbow. The knider I said, see, it increases.
It hangs like moss upon these vaults. We are below the river's bed. The drops of moisture tickle among the bones. Come, we will go back.
Eerits too late. Your cough. It is nothing, he said. Let us go on.
But first, another draft of the medock. I broke and reached him a flag of de grove. 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 and surprised 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 replied. You, impossible, amason? Amason, I replied. Assign, he said, assign.
It is this I answered, producing from beneath the folds of my rickal-era trowel. You jest he exclaimed, recoiling a few paces. But let us proceed to the enmantillado. Be it so, I said, replacing the tool beneath my cloak, and again offering my arm.
He leaned upon it heavily. We continued our route in search of the enmantillado. We passed through a range of low arches descended, passed on, and descended again. Arrived at a deep crypt in which the foulness of the air caused our flambo rather to glow than flame.
At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another, less vacious. 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 side the bones had been thrown down and laid 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 crypt or recess, in depth about four feet, in width three, in height six or seven. It seemed to have been constructed for no special 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 daltorch, endeavoured to pry it into the depths of the recess. Its termination, the feeble light did not enable us to see.
Proceed, I said, herein, is the enmantillado. As for the crazy, 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 rocks stood stupidly bewildered. A moment more and I had fettered him to the granite.
In its surface were two iron stables, distant from each other, about two feet, horizontally. From one of these depended a short chain, from the other a padlock, throwing these 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 nighter. Indeed, it is very damp, and once more let me implore you to return.
No, then I must positively leave you. But first, I must render you all the little attentions in my power. At the idmanthiato ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from his astonishment. True, I replied, the idmanthiato.
As I said these words, I busied myself among the pile of bones which I had before spoken. Throwing them aside, I soon uncovered a quantity of building stone and water. With these materials and with the aid of my travel, I began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche. I had scarcely laid the first tier of masonry when I discovered that the intoxication of fortune auto had 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. Here 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 hark into it with more satisfaction, I seized my labors and sat down upon the bones. When it lasted, the clanking subsided. I resumed the travel 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 flambo high over the mason work through a few feeble rays upon the figure within. A succession of loud and shrill screams bursting suddenly from the throat of the chain form seemed to thrust me violently back. For a brief moment I hesitated, I trembled. On sheathing my rapier I began to grope with it about the recess, but the thought of an incident reassured me.
I placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the catacombs and felt satisfied. I reproached the wall, I replied to the yells of him who clamored, I re-echoed, I ate it, I surpassed them in volume and in strength. I did this and the clamorer, Bruce still. It was now midnight and my task was drawing to a close.
I had completed the eighth, the ninth, and 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, a very good joke indeed, an excellent chest. We shall have many a rich laugh about it at the Palazzo, over our wine.
The Admanteato, I said. Yes, the Admanteato. But is it not getting late? Will they not be awaiting us at the Palazzo?
The lady Fortunato and the rest let us be gone. Yes I said. For the love of God, Montresour. Yes I said.
For the love of God. But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient, I called it out. 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. It was the dampness of the catacombs that made it so. 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 re-erected the old rampart of bones. For half a century, no mortal has disturbed them.
In Pache, requisote. The Casc of Edmontiauto by Edgar Allen Poe. Writing and editing of Quid Pro Quo by El. Seek me out at Quid Pro Quo Cast on Twitter, Facebook, Gmail, at the.com, and wherever fine Internets are sold.
All rights reserved.