Narrative

Student Name
Subject
Instructor’s name
Date
The Cask of Amontillado
PART ONE: GRAPHIC ORGANIZER
Beginning Middle End
Montresor and Fortunato have been friends for a long time. They share a common love of wine. They decide to set up a wine business together.
While making preparations and during set up, Fortunato makes Montresor do the hard work. Montresor dislikes it, but doesn’t say anything for long. They open the business.
At the inauguration, people applaud Montresor’s hard work, but Fortunato boasts of how it was his superior knowledge that helped set up the business. He then makes a comment about Montresor’s ‘new money’. Montresor is furious with Fortunato.
Montresor decides to confront Fortunato. Fortunato apologizes for his behavior, vowing never to repeat it. Montresor forgives, but distances himself from Fortunato.
Eventually, Montresor meets a girl, and falls in love with her. Fortunato, already angered at people’s love for Montresor, becomes jealous of his relationship. He decided to woo Montresor’s beloved.
Montresor’s beloved approaches him and tells him that she is not in love with him anymore. She then elopes with Fortuanto, who again apologizes, but makes a snide remark about Montresor’s inability to impress her. Montresor is furious and vows to seek revenge.
PART TWO: INTRODUCTION TO THE NARRATIVE
In some ways, I felt as if I would never be able to match up to Fortunato. Although he and I had been friends for as long as I could remember, it was hardly what I could call a fair match.

We had been ensconced on the far ends of a stick ever since we were born.
Faint though they were, I recalled the times when my father had just begun selling wine at the local market. The proportion of the size of the family, compared to the earnings, was inversed. A hungry stomach had been my friend long before Fortunato came along one fine day, tugging on his father’s hand and looking out of place among the rags in his riches.
Since then, it had been each other’s hands we had tugged upon. Fortunato had become the dearest soul to me through the years, as I had to him. Lady luck had favored me after taking over my father’s business, and I could eventually call myself an equal match to Fortunato. He had been omnipresent in my life—to praise, rebuke, support, and at times, to chastise.
Since wine was how we had first met, it seemed only evident that we join our economies in similar ways. Thus, it was not long before Fortunato and I were persevering to establish our combined winery.
PART THREE: BODY OF THE ESSAY
However, I soon found out that engaging in business with Fortunato was a decision less than wise. Before long, I found out that Fortunato’s vices were taking over his ability to push himself to his limits. I found myself doing work that we had been meant to share, while we drank his time away at the inn and at his house. I often prodded him to change, to take responsibility that he was meant to, but was met with a profuse apology and an even profound violation of his newfound promises the very next day. I refrained myself from speaking out, since a clash with my dear friend was not a thought welcome to my mind. As we commenced the inauguration, little did I expect him to take responsibility, but never had I expected him to betray me.
However, his actions at the inauguration of our wine shop, my beliefs were shaken to the core. As I stood with him, proud of the hard work that I had put into our shop, I watched him boast.
“Montresor!” said old man Peeves, “This is a beautiful shop! Such a wonderful collection, and quite luxurious too!”
“Indeed,” joined in Mr. Bellamy, “Your father would be proud of you, Montresor!”
However, before I could revel in the joy of having heard these words, and thanked the speakers for their kindness, Fortunato rained down on my fair like an angry cloud.
“Yes, that is all quite well,” said he, “But didn’t you tell them, Montresor? Go on; tell them about how you couldn’t tell red from white! Ha! It was I that taught him to taste the wine, and I who told him to distinguish smells, and my expertise that guided him through the procurement of some of the greatest collections in all of Italy!”
To say that I was overcome with despair would not have sufficed. In fact, my grief was surpassed only by my anger at Fortunato’s blatant dismissal of my hard work. I pulled him aside and away from the throng surrounding us, asking him why he would belittle my efforts in such a way.
“Oh dear, Montresor!” Fortunato exclaimed, “Forgive me, my brother, for I have wronged you! I apologize for my behavior! Please, know that I hold you dearest to my heart, and was only overcome by the sweet intoxication of the wine! I promise you, I will never repeat such an act.” He begged.
I wanted to confront him further, but his protestations moved me. Thus, I forgave him. However, I could not, even after a month later, forget the pain of Fortunato’s betrayal. Soon, my mind began rooting out instances from our past—examples of his betrayal, frequent and so covert that I had never even bothered to notice.
However, I did not bring it to his notice, and continued working with diligence. His betrayals did plague my mind from time to time, but my indulgence in my work kept me afloat. Eight months later, the catalyst of love uprooted Fortunato’s trickery from my mind entirely.
Isabella was my soulmate in as true a meaning of the word as has been written. Her vibrancy surpassed that of a thousand colors, and her knowledge was deeper than the ocean’s. She was charming, beautiful, graceful, and yet stubborn and powerful in her own might. Our trysts began soon after I almost trampled her with my horse, and she chastised me for being as beastly as the animal I had been riding. I fell in love with her in that instant.
My blissful, ignorant state continued for six months. Throughout the time, I was unaware that my best friend, Fortunato, had been plotting his own evil scheme of seducing her away from me and into his arms. Therefore, I was unsurprised when one day, I came upon Fortunato and Isabella talking at a gathering.
Following the encounter, my meetings with Erica were often laced with mentions of Fortunato. She frequently included him in our plans and gatherings, and his invitations to her gatherings increased considerably. I refrained myself from mentioning Fortunato’s betrayals to Isabella, for fear that he would fall from grace in her eyes. However, I was unaware that while I was singing his praises, Fortunato was poisoning Isabella’s mind against me.
“Montresor,” she said one day. We were walking in the local gardens, hand in hand, and I was marveling at the beauty of life, and of the one beside me.
“Yes, Isabella,” I smiled. She seemed tense, and I hoped that the walk would improve her temperament.
“I have to confess something,” said she, “I have done you a great wrong.”
“What is it, Isabella?” I replied, “There is no wrong that you can do that I cannot forgive, my love.”
“Forgive me, Montresor, but do not call me your love, for you are no longer mine,” she cried, “I am in love with Fortunato! He has shown me a world of love, and loyalty, something he tells me you lack in!”
I realized then what Fortunato’s scheme had been all along. He had been jealous of my fame, my life, my luxury and my love, even though he had the pleasure of all. He had picked at the bones of my love with his claws, leaving me wounded and gasping for breath.
The news of Isabella and Fortunato’s engagement came soon after. On the very same day, as if he hadn’t torn my heart away from my chest, Fortunato came to see me.
“Montresor, my friend,” he cried, “I am so sorry! I don’t know why or how things came to be, but I love Isabella more than anyone ever did. I will keep her happy, since all she has known recently has been misery.”
I had never felt such a deep hatred for any person alive. Fortunato had betrayed not only me, but also the sanctity of the bond that is shared between two friends. He had pillaged my love, and my life, and was now making me watch as he claimed it as his own. He deserved no forgiveness. I vowed then that I would destroy him as he had destroyed me. I would kill him as he had killed me. I would rip away his soul as he had deprived me of mine.
PART FOUR: REWRITE ONE PASSAGE OF THE ESSAY
We were walking in the local gardens, hand in hand, and I was marveling at the beauty of life, and of the one beside me. The sun was just starting to set, and its crimson rays flooded the sky like the blush dominated my beloved’s cheeks. She walked in beauty and quiet, and I thought I could not be happier. The idea of marriage had only just begun to germinate in my mind, and it was enough to make my chest swell with pride.
“Montresor,” she said.
“Yes, Isabella,” I smiled. She seemed tense, and I hoped that the walk would improve her temperament.
“I have to confess something,” said she, and her voice held none of her usual fervor, “I have done you a great wrong.”
“What is it, Isabella?” I replied, “There is no wrong that you can do that I cannot forgive, my love.” I felt quite amused at her words. Isabella had the propensity to treat moles as monsters. She often cried at the disparity of life, at the position of the stars, or even at the wondrous taste of wine.
“Tell me what troubles you, Isabella, and I will try to mend it for you,” said I.
“You cannot mend this, Montresor, for it is you who is the culprit,” said she, stepping away from the bounds of my arms, “I shall no longer talk to you.”
“Why is it so, my love?” cried I. Despair had begun to creep up around the borders of my heart. Stinking suspicion followed. I could not shake the inkling that Fortunato had had somehow been the trigger for Isabella’s outburst.
“Forgive me, Montresor, but do not call me your love, for you are no longer mine,” she cried, “I am in love with Fortunato! He has shown me a world of love, and loyalty, something he tells me you lack in! He has been informing me of your indiscretions! You did not only betray him, but our love as well! I shall no longer look upon your face! I cannot bear to see you!”
I realized then what Fortunato’s scheme had been all along. He had been jealous of my fame, my life, my luxury and my love, even though he had the pleasure of all. He had picked at the bones of my love with his claws, leaving me wounded and gasping for breath.
She did not wait for my protestations or calls. She turned away as soon the words left her full lips, walking away from the sun of my love, and into what I knew would be Fortunato’s darkness.