The Thousand Injuries of Fortunato: A
Prelude to the Cask of Amontillado, by
Edgar Allen Poe
Created Aug 31, 2007 | Updated Aug 31, 2007
In Italy, Florence to be precise, among many of the areas
predominantly wealthy I sat. Hearing the voice from across the table,
but not really listening. I found myself in this state quite often.
Pondering listlessly the events of my life and that has brought me to
now.
Across the table sat Fortunato. A fellow wine connoisseur. This
seemingly the only commonality among us; inevitably brought us
together more times than I care to discuss. Fortunato, while gaining
renown for his unwavering good taste in fine wine, was systematically
dismantling my good name and reputation throughout Paris and other
parts of Eastern Europe.
At one point I believe I may have been somewhat of a mentor to
Fortunato, for he was up and coming and I was very well known. We
would discuss at great length the ages, processes, locations, and
producers of the greatest and worst wines. I taught him nearly
everything I know about such things and he taught me very little. This
may have been my greatest mistake. Fortunato and I were at times
referred to as a duo, but to Fortunato there could be only Fortunato.
The deception began in Paris several years ago. Fortunato was
attending a wine tasting event that I was unable to attend due to
illness. At this event Fortunato took it upon himself to inform the other
guests that he was attending in my place and that I may not be
returning in the future. Fortunato speaking in my behalf in this manner
triggered a loss of confidence. Many just believed that I was dying
and were quite surprised to see me at the next event in good health.
What resided still was undue doubt of my good health and undue
doubt of my abilities. The words of one man, one time, I found, can
undo the words of another for years to come.
Other events came and went over the next year. As an honorable
man I allowed Fortunato to say his piece on the topic of my presence
and connoisseurship. The people can think on their own and I
considered it a matter that would work itself out naturally. I,
Montresor, proving my health to be good by attending the events and
my taste by being right, should have had no reason to fret, but fret I
did.
It became harder and harder to watch Fortunato smile to my face, for
now our past relationship carried little weight through my eyes and I
wondered more and more if it ever held meaning to him. I began to
obsess over this quandary. Was I simply a device used by him to
achieve status? Or had I unwittingly led the affair by offering so much
to someone who offered so little in return? I find that trust is only
worthy of consideration among those who are worthy of trust. That is
to say, none should be trusted prematurely or automatically. I never
allowed my distrust to surface, but my life became guarded in a way
that seemed beyond my control. The knowledge I had gained in my
connoisseurship became careful secrets and I began to misguide or
vaguely answer when inquired upon with the topic of wine.
One evening at a tasting event I was approached by a gentleman
who had a beautiful box in tow. The box was made of Ebony and was
plated gold with beautiful designs across it. It was punctuated by a
strong looking lock. The gentleman introduced himself.
“I am Luchresi” the gentleman said.
“I am Montresor” I said, “what can I do for you”?
“I recently purchased several items, will you appraise them?”
Luchresi asked.
“What sort of wine did you purchase?”
“Oh, you misunderstand me sir, it is not wine that I bring, but
sapphires.”…..”If I wanted wine appraised I would go to Fortunato; he
is the top authority on wine.”
My stomach began to burn. Could this be happening? My anger
subsided the burning as well.
“Here are the stones” Luchresi announced while opening the box and
placing on the table before me.
“Why did you bring these to me?” I inquired.
“Fortunato said that you are more versed on the subject of gems than
you are on the subject of wine”
“But I know very little of gemstones” I said without thinking.
“Oh, I am sorry to have bothered you with this then, sir. I bid you
good day” And without another word Luchresi disappeared, box in
hand, into the crowd.
FINALS PROTOCOL
Work must be turned in on time requested.
No make-up work for missed work due to
negligence
The “pain” did not strike me until several minutes later when I realized
what had just happened. Fortunato had made a fool of me, or caused
me to make a fool of myself. I had just told someone who was under
the impression that I knew more about gemstones than wine that I
know very little about them and I not once attempted to defend my
honor. Something must be done. As I sat with my head in my hands I
listened to voices all around. People discussing everything from
alcohol to politics and my drifting mind came to rest on one distinct
voice over all the others. It was Fortunato, his voice coming from
somewhere over my left shoulder. I could not stop myself from
hearing only him. It was as though he was the only person speaking
in the whole room. Was he talking about me? I could not understand
all of the words. What I did hear, I did not like. Words like “has-been”,
“drunkard”, and “counterfeit” were included among others. Something
must be done! Fortunato had defiled my name for the last time and
under my breath I muttered “Nemo me impune lacessit!”