This Is The Second Part
Well, okay, Montresor went too far. Perhaps he realizes
that now. Does he show contrition for killing Fortunato? If so,
the priest might grant him absolution. No, Montresor does not.
The tone of his narrative refl ects pride in his cleverness, not
sorrow for his deed. Presenting his plan for revenge as a
kind of game, he states the “rules” at the beginning:
“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 who has done the wrong”
(167). He proceeds to gloat about how clever he was in getting
Fortunato to go down into the catacombs. Montresor is an
astute psychologist. He knows that if he plucks the strings of
Fortunato’s vanity, Fortunato will keep on walking. All he has
to do is mention Luchresi and Fortunato’s cold, and Fortunato
will keep going. Montresor revels in telling how he sadistically
needled Fortunato about his cold by calling attention to the
nitre and dampness. Montresor also enjoys his little jokes.
When Fortunato says he “shall not die of a cough,” Montresor
replies “True—true” (170). When Fortunato asks him if he is
a Mason, Montresor assures him he is and pulls out a trowel
(172). After Montresor enchains Fortunato, he says, “Once more
let me implore you to return” (173).
Montresor does exhibit some behavior that might
suggest feelings other than self-congratulation. Fortunato’s
screams give Montresor pause: “For a brief moment I hesitated,
I trembled” (174). But he trembles from fear of discovery, not
contrition. When Fortunato appeals to Montresor’s sense of
divine mercy (“For the love of God, Montresor!”), Montresor
blows him off: “‘Yes,’ I said, ‘for the love of God!’” (175). The
only hint of remorse comes when, after hearing the bells on
Fortunato’s costume, Montresor says, “My heart grew sick” (175).
In his heart of hearts, Montresor may be revolted by his
crime. But this recognition never reaches the surface of his
consciousness. Instead, he attributes his feeling to “the
dampness of the catacombs” (175). His concluding statement—
“For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed (Fortunato’s
bones)”—seems like pride of accomplishment rather than
anything close to remorse.
On two counts, then, Montresor fails the test for
absolution: His crime was not justifi ed and he expresses no
remorse for committing it. We might join the priest here in
saying, “May you fry in hell!” But a fi nal twist in the story
is that Montresor has already, for fi fty years, been in hell, a
mental hell. He knows the details of this story so well that we
surmise he has replayed it in his mind, like a movie, over and
over for years and years. Now he wants a different story, one of
ascent: ascent to heaven. The story he will get, however, is one
of descent: deeper and deeper into the earth, past the remains
of the dead, through cold and damp, ending at his own crypt.
He may not have realized it at fi rst, but surely he now knows
that his story was not just about Fortunato’s descent to death,
but about his own as well. His fi nal descent will be to the
eternal punishments of hell.