The Thousand Injuries of Fortunato: A Prelude to the Cask of Amontillado, by Edgar Allen Poe
Created | 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.
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!”
