The Necklaceby Guy de Maupassant

The girl was one of those pretty and charming young creatures who sometimes are born, as if by a slip of fate, into a family of clerks. She had no dowry, no expectations, no way of being known, understood, loved, married by any rich and distinguished man; so she let herself be married to a little clerk of the Ministry of Public Instruction.She dressed plainly because she could not dress well, but she was unhappy as if she had really fallen from a higher station; since with women there is neither caste nor rank, for beauty, grace and charm take the place of family and birth. Natural ingenuity, instinct for what is elegant, a supple mind are their sole hierarchy, and often make of women of the people the equals of the very greatest ladies.Mathilde suffered ceaselessly, feeling herself born to enjoy all delicacies and all luxuries. She was distressed at the poverty of her dwelling, at the bareness of the walls, at the shabby chairs, the ugliness of the curtains. All those things, of which another woman of her rank would never even have been conscious, tortured her and made her angry. The sight of the little Breton peasant who did her humble housework aroused in her despairing regrets and bewildering dreams. She thought of silent antechambers hung with Oriental tapestry, illumined by tall bronze candelabra, and of two great footmen in knee breeches who sleep in the big armchairs, made drowsy by the oppressive heat of the stove. She thought of long reception halls hung with ancient silk, of the dainty cabinets containing priceless curiosities and of the little coquettish perfumed reception rooms made for chatting at five o'clock with intimate friends, with men famous and sought after, whom all women envy and whose attention they all desire.When she sat down to dinner, before the round table covered with a tablecloth in use three days, opposite her husband, who uncovered the soup tureen and declared with a delighted air, "Ah, the good soup! I don't know anything better than that," she thought of dainty dinners, of shining silverware, of tapestry that peopled the walls with ancient personages and with strange birds flying in the midst of a fairy forest; and she thought of delicious dishes served on marvellous plates and of the whispered gallantries to which you listen with a sphinxlike smile while you are eating the pink meat of a trout or the wings of a quail.She had no gowns, no jewels, nothing. And she loved nothing but that. She felt made for that. She would have liked so much to please, to be envied, to be charming, to be sought after.She had a friend, a former schoolmate at the convent, who was rich, and whom she did not like to go to see any more because she felt so sad when she came home.But one evening her husband reached home with a triumphant air and holding a large envelope in his hand."There," said he, "there is something for you."She tore the paper quickly and drew out a printed card which bore these words:

The Minister of Public Instruction and Madame Georges Ramponneau request the honor of M. and Madame Loisel's company at the palace of the Ministry on Monday evening, January 18th.

Instead of being delighted, as her husband had hoped, she threw the invitation on the table crossly, muttering:"What do you wish me to do with that?""Why, my dear, I thought you would be glad. You never go out, and this is such a fine opportunity. I had great trouble to get it. Every one wants to go; it is very select, and they are not giving many invitations to clerks. The whole official world will be there."She looked at him with an irritated glance and said impatiently:"And what do you wish me to put on my back?"He had not thought of that. He stammered:"Why, the gown you go to the theatre in. It looks very well to me."He stopped, distracted, seeing that his wife was weeping. Two great tears ran slowly from the corners of her eyes toward the corners of her mouth."What's the matter? What's the matter?" he answered.By a violent effort she conquered her grief and replied in a calm voice, while she wiped her wet cheeks:"Nothing. Only I have no gown, and, therefore, I can't go to this ball. Give your card to some colleague whose wife is better equipped than I am."He was in despair. He resumed:"Come, let us see, Mathilde. How much would it cost, a suitable gown, which you could use on other occasions--something very simple?"She reflected several seconds, making her calculations and wondering also what sum she could ask without drawing on herself an immediate refusal and a frightened exclamation from the economical clerk.Finally she replied hesitating:"I don't know exactly, but I think I could manage it with four hundred francs."He grew a little pale, because he was laying aside just that amount to buy a gun and treat himself to a little shooting next summer on the plain of Nanterre, with several friends who went to shoot larks there of a Sunday.But he said:"Very well. I will give you four hundred francs. And try to have a pretty gown."The day of the ball drew near and Madame Loisel seemed sad, uneasy, anxious. Her frock was ready, however. Her husband said to her one evening:"What is the matter? Come, you have seemed very queer these last three days."And she answered:"It annoys me not to have a single piece of jewelry, not a single ornament, nothing to put on. I shall look poverty-stricken. I would almost rather not go at all.""You might wear natural flowers," said her husband. "They're very stylish at this time of year. For ten francs you can get two or three magnificent roses."She was not convinced."No; there's nothing more humiliating than to look poor among other women who are rich.""How stupid you are!" her husband cried. "Go look up your friend, Madame Forestier, and ask her to lend you some jewels. You're intimate enough with her to do that."She uttered a cry of joy:"True! I never thought of it."The next day she went to her friend and told her of her distress.Madame Forestier went to a wardrobe with a mirror, took out a large jewel box, brought it back, opened it and said to Madame Loisel:"Choose, my dear."She saw first some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then a Venetian gold cross set with precious stones, of admirable workmanship. She tried on the ornaments before the mirror, hesitated and could not make up her mind to part with them, to give them back. She kept asking:"Haven't you any more?""Why, yes. Look further; I don't know what you like."Suddenly she discovered, in a black satin box, a superb diamond necklace, and her heart throbbed with an immoderate desire. Her hands trembled as she took it. She fastened it round her throat, outside her high-necked waist, and was lost in ecstasy at her reflection in the mirror.Then she asked, hesitating, filled with anxious doubt:"Will you lend me this, only this?""Why, yes, certainly."She threw her arms round her friend's neck, kissed her passionately, then fled with her treasure.The night of the ball arrived. Madame Loisel was a great success. She was prettier than any other woman present, elegant, graceful, smiling and wild with joy. All the men looked at her, asked her name, sought to be introduced. All the attaches of the Cabinet wished to waltz with her. She was remarked by the minister himself.She danced with rapture, with passion, intoxicated by pleasure, forgetting all in the triumph of her beauty, in the glory of her success, in a sort of cloud of happiness comprised of all this homage, admiration, these awakened desires and of that sense of triumph which is so sweet to woman's heart.She left the ball about four o'clock in the morning. Her husband had been sleeping since midnight in a little deserted anteroom with three other gentlemen whose wives were enjoying the ball.He threw over her shoulders the wraps he had brought, the modest wraps of common life, the poverty of which contrasted with the elegance of the ball dress. She felt this and wished to escape so as not to be remarked by the other women, who were enveloping themselves in costly furs.Loisel held her back, saying: "Wait a bit. You will catch cold outside. I will call a cab."But she did not listen to him and rapidly descended the stairs. When they reached the street they could not find a carriage and began to look for one, shouting after the cabmen passing at a distance.They went toward the Seine in despair, shivering with cold. At last they found on the quay one of those ancient night cabs which, as though they were ashamed to show their shabbiness during the day, are never seen round Paris until after dark.It took them to their dwelling in the Rue des Martyrs, and sadly they mounted the stairs to their flat. All was ended for her. As to him, he reflected that he must be at the ministry at ten o'clock that morning.She removed her wraps before the glass so as to see herself once more in all her glory. But suddenly she uttered a cry. She no longer had the necklace around her neck!"What is the matter with you?" demanded her husband, already half undressed.She turned distractedly toward him."I have--I have--I've lost Madame Forestier's necklace," she cried.He stood up, bewildered."What!--how? Impossible!"They looked among the folds of her skirt, of her cloak, in her pockets, everywhere, but did not find it."You're sure you had it on when you left the ball?" he asked."Yes, I felt it in the vestibule of the minister's house.""But if you had lost it in the street we should have heard it fall. It must be in the cab.""Yes, probably. Did you take his number?""No. And you--didn't you notice it?""No."They looked, thunderstruck, at each other. At last Loisel put on his clothes."I shall go back on foot," said he, "over the whole route, to see whether I can find it."He went out. She sat waiting on a chair in her ball dress, without strength to go to bed, overwhelmed, without any fire, without a thought.Her husband returned about seven o'clock. He had found nothing.He went to police headquarters, to the newspaper offices to offer a reward; he went to the cab companies--everywhere, in fact, whither he was urged by the least spark of hope.She waited all day, in the same condition of mad fear before this terrible calamity.Loisel returned at night with a hollow, pale face. He had discovered nothing."You must write to your friend," said he, "that you have broken the clasp of her necklace and that you are having it mended. That will give us time to turn round."She wrote at his dictation.At the end of a week they had lost all hope. Loisel, who had aged five years, declared:"We must consider how to replace that ornament."The next day they took the box that had contained it and went to the jeweler whose name was found within. He consulted his books."It was not I, madame, who sold that necklace; I must simply have furnished the case."Then they went from jeweler to jeweler, searching for a necklace like the other, trying to recall it, both sick with chagrin and grief.They found, in a shop at the Palais Royal, a string of diamonds that seemed to them exactly like the one they had lost. It was worth forty thousand francs. They could have it for thirty-six.So they begged the jeweler not to sell it for three days yet. And they made a bargain that he should buy it back for thirty-four thousand francs, in case they should find the lost necklace before the end of February.Loisel possessed eighteen thousand francs which his father had left him. He would borrow the rest.He did borrow, asking a thousand francs of one, five hundred of another, five louis here, three louis there. He gave notes, took up ruinous obligations, dealt with usurers and all the race of lenders. He compromised all the rest of his life, risked signing a note without even knowing whether he could meet it; and, frightened by the trouble yet to come, by the black misery that was about to fall upon him, by the prospect of all the physical privations and moral tortures that he was to suffer, he went to get the new necklace, laying upon the jeweler's counter thirty-six thousand francs.When Madame Loisel took back the necklace Madame Forestier said to her with a chilly manner:"You should have returned it sooner; I might have needed it."She did not open the case, as her friend had so much feared. If she had detected the substitution, what would she have thought, what would she have said? Would she not have taken Madame Loisel for a thief?Thereafter Madame Loisel knew the horrible existence of the needy. She bore her part, however, with sudden heroism. That dreadful debt must be paid. She would pay it. They dismissed their servant; they changed their lodgings; they rented a garret under the roof.She came to know what heavy housework meant and the odious cares of the kitchen. She washed the dishes, using her dainty fingers and rosy nails on greasy pots and pans. She washed the soiled linen, the shirts and the dishcloths, which she dried upon a line; she carried the slops down to the street every morning and carried up the water, stopping for breath at every landing. And dressed like a woman of the people, she went to the fruiterer, the grocer, the butcher, a basket on her arm, bargaining, meeting with impertinence, defending her miserable money, sou by sou.Every month they had to meet some notes, renew others, obtain more time.Her husband worked evenings, making up a tradesman's accounts, and late at night he often copied manuscript for five sous a page.This life lasted ten years.At the end of ten years they had paid everything, everything, with the rates of usury and the accumulations of the compound interest.Madame Loisel looked old now. She had become the woman of impoverished households--strong and hard and rough. With frowsy hair, skirts askew and red hands, she talked loud while washing the floor with great swishes of water. But sometimes, when her husband was at the office, she sat down near the window and she thought of that gay evening of long ago, of that ball where she had been so beautiful and so admired.What would have happened if she had not lost that necklace? Who knows? who knows? How strange and changeful is life! How small a thing is needed to make or ruin us!But one Sunday, having gone to take a walk in the Champs Elysees to refresh herself after the labors of the week, she suddenly perceived a woman who was leading a child. It was Madame Forestier, still young, still beautiful, still charming.Madame Loisel felt moved. Should she speak to her? Yes, certainly. And now that she had paid, she would tell her all about it. Why not?She went up."Good-day, Jeanne."The other, astonished to be familiarly addressed by this plain good-wife, did not recognize her at all and stammered:"But--madame!--I do not know---- You must have mistaken.""No. I am Mathilde Loisel."Her friend uttered a cry."Oh, my poor Mathilde! How you are changed!""Yes, I have had a pretty hard life, since I last saw you, and great poverty--and that because of you!""Of me! How so?""Do you remember that diamond necklace you lent me to wear at the ministerial ball?""Yes. Well?""Well, I lost it.""What do you mean? You brought it back.""I brought you back another exactly like it. And it has taken us ten years to pay for it. You can understand that it was not easy for us, for us who had nothing. At last it is ended, and I am very glad."Madame Forestier had stopped."You say that you bought a necklace of diamonds to replace mine?""Yes. You never noticed it, then! They were very similar."And she smiled with a joy that was at once proud and ingenuous.Madame Forestier, deeply moved, took her hands."Oh, my poor Mathilde! Why, my necklace was paste! It was worth at most only five hundred francs!"

The Necklace was featured as The Short Story of the Day on Tue, Mar 17, 2015

In the final sentence, the word "paste" means that the loaned necklace was a fake, an imitation. Alternate translations use the word "immitation" rather than "paste." I chose to use this translation here because it is the version that inspired Henry James' short story PasteA Piece of Stringby Guy de Maupassant

ALONG ALL THE ROADS around Goderville the peasants and their wives were coming toward the burgh because it was market day. The men were proceeding with slow steps, the whole body bent forward at each movement of their long twisted legs; deformed by their hard work, by the weight on the plow which, at the same time, raised the left shoulder and swerved the figure, by the reaping of the wheat which made the knees spread to make a firm "purchase," by all the slow and painful labors of the country. Their blouses, blue, "stiff-starched," shining as if varnished, ornamented with a little design in white at the neck and wrists, puffed about their bony bodies, seemed like balloons ready to carry them off. From each of them two feet protruded.Some led a cow or a calf by a cord, and their wives, walking behind the animal, whipped its haunches with a leafy branch to hasten its progress. They carried large baskets on their arms from which, in some cases, chickens and, in others, ducks thrust out their heads. And they walked with a quicker, livelier step than their husbands. Their spare straight figures were wrapped in a scanty little shawl pinned over their flat bosoms, and their heads were enveloped in a white cloth glued to the hair and surmounted by a cap.Then a wagon passed at the jerky trot of a nag, shaking strangely, two men seated side by side and a woman in the bottom of the vehicle, the latter holding onto the sides to lessen the hard jolts.In the public square of Goderville there was a crowd, a throng of human beings and animals mixed together. The horns of the cattle, the tall hats, with long nap, of the rich peasant and the headgear of the peasant women rose above the surface of the assembly. And the clamorous, shrill, screaming voices made a continuous and savage din which sometimes was dominated by the robust lungs of some countryman's laugh or the long lowing of a cow tied to the wall of a house.All that smacked of the stable, the dairy and the dirt heap, hay and sweat, giving forth that unpleasant odor, human and animal, peculiar to the people of the field.Matre Hauchecome of Breaute had just arrived at Goderville, and he was directing his steps toward the public square when he perceived upon the ground a little piece of string. Matre Hauchecome, economical like a true Norman, thought that everything useful ought to be picked up, and he bent painfully, for he suffered from rheumatism. He took the bit of thin cord from the ground and began to roll it carefully when he noticed Matre Malandain, the harness maker, on the threshold of his door, looking at him. They had heretofore had business together on the subject of a halter, and they were on bad terms, both being good haters. Matre Hauchecome was seized with a sort of shame to be seen thus by his enemy, picking a bit of string out of the dirt. He concealed his "find" quickly under his blouse, then in his trousers' pocket; then he pretended to be still looking on the ground for something which he did not find, and he went toward the market, his head forward, bent double by his pains.He was soon lost in the noisy and slowly moving crowd which was busy with interminable bargainings. The peasants milked, went and came, perplexed, always in fear of being cheated, not daring to decide, watching the vender's eye, ever trying to find the trick in the man and the flaw in the beast.The women, having placed their great baskets at their feet, had taken out the poultry which lay upon the ground, tied together by the feet, with terrified eyes and scarlet crests.They heard offers, stated their prices with a dry air and impassive face, or perhaps, suddenly deciding on some proposed reduction, shouted to the customer who was slowly going away: "All right, Matre Authirne, I'll give it to you for that."Then lime by lime the square was deserted, and the Angelus ringing at noon, those who had stayed too long scattered to their shops.At Jourdain's the great room was full of people eating, as the big court was full of vehicles of all kinds, carts, gigs, wagons, dumpcarts, yellow with dirt, mended and patched, raising their shafts to the sky like two arms or perhaps with their shafts in the ground and their backs in the air.Just opposite the diners seated at the table the immense fireplace, filled with bright flames, cast a lively heat on the backs of the row on the right. Three spits were turning on which were chickens, pigeons and legs of mutton, and an appetizing odor of roast beef and gravy dripping over the nicely browned skin rose from the hearth, increased the jovialness and made everybody's mouth water.All the aristocracy of the plow ate there at Matre Jourdain's, tavern keeper and horse dealer, a rascal who had money.The dishes were passed and emptied, as were the jugs of yellow cider. Everyone told his affairs, his purchases and sales. They discussed the crops. The weather was favorable for the green things but not for the wheat.Suddenly the drum beat in the court before the house. Everybody rose, except a few indifferent persons, and ran to the door or to the windows, their mouths still full and napkins in their hands.After the public crier had ceased his drumbeating he called out in a jerky voice, speaking his phrases irregularly:"It is hereby made known to the inhabitants of Goderville, and in general to all persons present at the market, that there was lost this morning on the road to Benzeville, between nine and ten o'clock, a black leather pocketbook containing five hundred francs and some business papers. The finder is requested to return same with all haste to the mayor's office or to Matre Fortune Houlbreque of Manneville; there will be twenty francs reward."Then the man went away. The heavy roll of the drum and the crier's voice were again heard at a distance.Then they began to talk of this event, discussing the chances that Matre Houlbreque had of finding or not finding his pocketbook.And the meal concluded. They were finishing their coffee when a chief of the gendarmes appeared upon the threshold.He inquired:"Is Matre Hauchecome of Breaute here?"Matre Hauchecome, seated at the other end of the table, replied:"Here I am."And the officer resumed:"Matre Hauchecome, will you have the goodness to accompany me to the mayor's office? The mayor would like to talk to you."The peasant, surprised and disturbed, swallowed at a draught his tiny glass of brandy, rose and, even more bent than in the morning, for the first steps after each rest were specially difficult, set out, repeating: "Here I am, here I am."The mayor was awaiting him, seated on an armchair. He was the notary of the vicinity, a stout, serious man with pompous phrases."Matre Hauchecome," said he, "you were seen this morning to pick up, on the road to Benzeville, the pocketbook lost by Matre Houlbreque of Manneville."The countryman, astounded, looked at the mayor, already terrified by this suspicion resting on him without his knowing why."Me? Me? Me pick up the pocketbook?""Yes, you yourself.""Word of honor, I never heard of it.""But you were seen.""I was seen, me? Who says he saw me?""Monsieur Malandain, the harness maker."The old man remembered, understood and flushed with anger."Ah, he saw me, the clodhopper, he saw me pick up this string here, M'sieu the Mayor." And rummaging in his pocket, he drew out the little piece of string.But the mayor, incredulous, shook his head."You will not make me believe, Matre Hauchecome, that Monsieur Malandain, who is a man worthy of credence, mistook this cord for a pocketbook."The peasant, furious, lifted his hand, spat at one side to attest his honor, repeating:"It is nevertheless the truth of the good God, the sacred truth, M'sieu the Mayor. I repeat it on my soul and my salvation."The mayor resumed:"After picking up the object you stood like a stilt, looking a long while in the mud to see if any piece of money had fallen out."The good old man choked with indignation and fear."How anyone can tell--how anyone can tell--such lies to take away an honest man's reputation! How can anyone---"There was no use in his protesting; nobody believed him. He was con.fronted with Monsieur Malandain, who repeated and maintained his affirmation. They abused each other for an hour. At his own request Matre Hauchecome was searched; nothing was found on him.Finally the mayor, very much perplexed, discharged him with the warning that he would consult the public prosecutor and ask for further orders.The news had spread. As he left the mayor's office the old man was sun rounded and questioned with a serious or bantering curiosity in which there was no indignation. He began to tell the story of the string. No one believed him. They laughed at him.He went along, stopping his friends, beginning endlessly his statement and his protestations, showing his pockets turned inside out to prove that he had nothing.They said:"Old rascal, get out!"And he grew angry, becoming exasperated, hot and distressed at notbeing believed, not knowing what to do and always repeating himself.Night came. He must depart. He started on his way with three neighbors to whom he pointed out the place where he had picked up the bit of string, and all along the road he spoke of his adventure.In the evening he took a turn in the village of Breaute in order to tell it to everybody. He only met with incredulity.It made him ill at night.The next day about one o'clock in the afternoon Marius Paumelle, a hired man in the employ of Matre Breton, husbandman at Ymanville, returned the pocketbook and its contents to Matre Houlbreque of Manneville.This man claimed to have found the object in the road, but not knowing how to read, he had carried it to the house and given it to his employer.The news spread through the neighborhood. Matre Hauchecome was informed of it. He immediately went the circuit and began to recount his story completed by the happy climax. He was in triumph."What grieved me so much was not the thing itself as the lying. There is nothing so shameful as to be placed under a cloud on account of a lie."He talked of his adventure all day long; he told it on the highway to people who were passing by, in the wineshop to people who were drinking there and to persons coming out of church the following Sunday. He stopped strangers to tell them about it. He was calm now, and yet something disturbed him without his knowing exactly what it was. People had the air of joking while they listened. They did not seem convinced. He seemed to feel that remarks were being made behind his back.On Tuesday of the next week he went to the market at Goderville, urged solely by the necessity he felt of discussing the case.Malandain, standing at his door, began to laugh on seeing him pass. Why?He approached a farmer from Crequetot who did not let him finish and, giving him a thump in the stomach, said to his face:"You big rascal."Then he turned his back on him.Matre Hauchecome was confused; why was he called a big rascal?When he was seated at the table in Jourdain's tavern he commenced to explain "the affair."A horse dealer from Monvilliers called to him:"Come, come, old sharper, that's an old trick; I know all about your piece of string!"Hauchecome stammered:"But since the pocketbook was found."But the other man replied:"Shut up, papa, there is one that finds and there is one that reports. At any rate you are mixed with it."The peasant stood choking. He understood. They accused him of having had the pocketbook returned by a confederate, by an accomplice.He tried to protest. All the table began to laugh.He could not finish his dinner and went away in the midst of jeers.He went home ashamed and indignant, choking with anger and confusion, the more dejected that he was capable, with his Norman cunning, of doing what they had accused him of and ever boasting of it as of a good turn. His innocence to him, in a confused way, was impossible to prove, as his sharpness was known. And he was stricken to the heart by the injustice of the suspicion.Then he began to recount the adventures again, prolonging his history every day, adding each time new reasons, more energetic protestations, more solemn oaths which he imagined and prepared in his hours of solitude, his whole mind given up to the story of the string. He was believed so much the less as his defense was more complicated and his arguing more subtile."Those are lying excuses," they said behind his back.He felt it, consumed his heart over it and wore himself out with useless efforts. He wasted away before their very eyes.The wags now made him tell about the string to amuse them, as they make a soldier who has been on a campaign tell about his battles. His mind, touched to the depth, began to weaken.Toward the end of December he took to his bed.He died in the first days of January, and in the delirium of his death struggles he kept claiming his innocence, reiterating:"A piece of string, a piece of string--look--here it is, M'sieu the Mayor."

8.4

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THE PIECE OF STRING GUY DE MAUPASSANTA short story which was first established in 1883. This short story focuses on the subjects: criticism, greed, and peasantry. The point of view given by the author is in the 3rdperson limited perspective.Its tone is Busy and pessimistic. It was clearly shown by Maupassant that the conflict is on Man vs. Society. The protagonist of the story is Maitre Mauchecorne: the one who picked up the string. He is much conscious with his reputation. Maitre Malandainportrays to be the antagonist.The Summary of the PlotIt is a market dy and everyone is busy. The square of Goderville is very crowded. Maitre Hauchecorne saw a string and picked it up. In the meanwhile his rival, Maitre Malandain, saw him. Hauchecornewas accused of the robbery of the wallet and was sent to the mayors office. He defended himself although no one believed him.The wallet was returned by another guy. The people thought of Hauchecorne was just trying to trick them through an accomplice.Hauchecorne died in grief.Author's BackgroundHenri Rene Albert Guy de Maupassant was known for his prompt and natural style in writing a short story. He was born on August 5, 1883 near Dieppe in Normandy. He joined his mother when his parents were separatedwhen he was 11. He does notthe stringhave compassion on his characters. The near end of his life was erratic. He was sent to a mental institution in Paris, France

THE CASK OF AMONTILLADOby Edgar Allan Poe(1846) THE thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best 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 gave utterance to a threat. At length I would be avenged; 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 who has done the wrong. It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. I continued, as was my in to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my to smile now was at the thought of his immolation. He had a weak point --this Fortunato --although in other regards he was a man to be respected and even feared. He prided himself on his connoisseurship in wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit. For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and opportunity, to practise imposture upon the British and Austrian millionaires. In painting and gemmary, Fortunato, 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 skilful in the Italian vintages myself, and bought largely whenever I could. It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of the 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 parti-striped dress, and his head was surmounted by the conical cap and bells. I was so pleased to see him that I thought I should never have done wringing his hand. I said to him --"My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met. How remarkably well you are looking to-day. But I have received a pipe of what passes for Amontillado, and I have my doubts." "How?" said he. "Amontillado, A pipe? Impossible! And in the middle of the carnival!" "I have my doubts," I replied; "and I was silly enough to pay the full Amontillado price without consulting you in the matter. You were not to be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain." "Amontillado!" "I have my doubts." "Amontillado!" "And I must satisfy them." "Amontillado!" "As you are engaged, I am on my way to Luchresi. If any one has a critical turn it is he. He will tell me --" "Luchresi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry." "And yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match for your own. "Come, let us go." "Whither?" "To your vaults." "My friend, no; I will not impose upon your good nature. I perceive you have an engagement. Luchresi--" "I have no engagement; --come." "My friend, no. It is not the engagement, but the severe cold with which I perceive you are afflicted. The vaults are insufferably damp. They are encrusted with nitre." "Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely nothing. Amontillado! You have been imposed upon. And as for Luchresi, he cannot distinguish Sherry from Amontillado." Thus speaking, Fortunato possessed himself of my arm; and putting on a mask of black silk and drawing a roquelaire closely about my person, I suffered him to hurry me to my palazzo. There were no attendants at home; they had absconded to make merry in honour 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 well knew, to insure their immediate disappearance, one and all, as soon as my back was turned. I took from their sconces two flambeaux, and giving one to Fortunato, bowed him through several suites of rooms to the archway that led into the vaults. I passed down a long and winding staircase, requesting him to be cautious as he followed. We came at length to the foot of the descent, and stood together upon the damp ground of the catacombs of the Montresors. The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingled as he strode. "The pipe," he said. "It is farther on," said I; "but observe the white web-work which gleams from these cavern walls." He turned towards me, and looked into my eves with two filmy orbs that distilled the rheum of intoxication. "Nitre?" he asked, at length. "Nitre," I replied. "How long have you had that cough?" "Ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh!" My poor friend found it impossible to reply 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. For me it is no matter. We will go back; you will be ill, and I cannot be responsible. Besides, there is Luchresi --" "Enough," he said; "the cough's 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 draught of this Medoc will defend us from the damps. Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew from a long row of its fellows that lay upon the mould. "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 buried that repose around us." "And I to your long life." He again took my arm, and we proceeded. "These vaults," he said, "are extensive." "The Montresors," I replied, "were a great and numerous family." "I forget your arms." "A huge human foot d'or, in a field azure; the foot crushes a serpent rampant whose fangs are imbedded in the heel." "And the motto?" "Nemo me impune lacessit." "Good!" he said. The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled. My own fancy grew warm with the Medoc. We had passed through long walls of piled skeletons, with casks and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost recesses of the catacombs. I paused again, and this time I made bold to seize Fortunato by an arm above the elbow. "The nitre!" I said; "see, it increases. It hangs like moss upon the vaults. We are below the river's bed. The drops of moisture trickle among the bones. Come, we will go back ere it is too late. Your cough --" "It is nothing," he said; "let us go on. But first, another draught of the Medoc." I broke and reached him a flagon of De Grave. He emptied it at a breath. His eyes flashed with a fierce light. He laughed and threw the bottle upwards with a gesticulation I did not understand. I looked at him in surprise. 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 said; "yes, yes." "You? Impossible! A mason?" "A mason," I replied. "A sign," he said, "a sign." "It is this," I answered, producing from beneath the folds of my roquelaire a trowel. "You jest," he exclaimed, recoiling a few paces. "But let us proceed to the Amontillado." "Be it so," I said, replacing the tool beneath the cloak and again offering him my arm. He leaned upon it heavily. We continued our route in search of the Amontillado. We passed through a range of low arches, descended, passed on, and descending again, arrived at a deep crypt, in which the foulness of the air caused our flambeaux rather to glow than flame. At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another less spacious. 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 lay 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 especial 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 dull torch, endeavoured to pry into the depth of the recess. Its termination the feeble light did not enable us to see. "Proceed," I said; "herein is the Amontillado. As for Luchresi --" "He is an ignoramus," interrupted my friend, as he stepped unsteadily forward, while I followed immediately at his heels. In niche, and finding an instant he had reached the extremity of the niche, and finding his progress arrested by the rock, stood stupidly bewildered. A moment more and I had fettered him to the granite. In its surface were two iron staples, distant from each other about two feet, horizontally. From one of these depended a short chain, from the other a padlock. Throwing the 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 nitre. Indeed, it is very damp. Once more let me implore you to return. No? Then I must positively leave you. But I must first render you all the little attentions in my power." "The Amontillado!" ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from his astonishment. "True," I replied; "the Amontillado." As I said these words I busied myself among the pile of bones of which I have before spoken. Throwing them aside, I soon uncovered a quantity of building stone and mortar. With these materials and with the aid of my trowel, I began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche. I had scarcely laid the first tier of the masonry when I discovered that the intoxication of Fortunato had in 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. There 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 hearken to it with the more satisfaction, I ceased my labours and sat down upon the bones. When at last the clanking subsided, I resumed the trowel, 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 flambeaux over the mason-work, threw a few feeble rays upon the figure within. A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly from the throat of the chained form, seemed to thrust me violently back. For a brief moment I hesitated, I trembled. Unsheathing my rapier, I began to grope with it about the recess; but the thought of an instant reassured me. I placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the catacombs, and felt satisfied. I reapproached the wall; I replied to the yells of him who clamoured. I re-echoed, I aided, I surpassed them in volume and in strength. I did this, and the clamourer grew still. It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I had completed the eighth, the ninth and the 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-- "Ha! ha! ha! --he! he! he! --a very good joke, indeed --an excellent jest. We will have many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo --he! he! he! --over our wine --he! he! he!" "The Amontillado!" I said. "He! he! he! --he! he! he! --yes, the Amontillado. But is it not getting late? Will not they be awaiting us at the palazzo, the Lady Fortunato and the rest? Let us be gone." "Yes," I said, "let us be gone." "For the love of God, Montresor!" "Yes," I said, "for the love of God!" But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient. I called aloud -- "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 labour. 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 the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them. In pace requiescat!

The Cask of Amontillado SummarySummary (Comprehensive Guide to Short Stories, Critical Edition)

Told in the first person by an Italian aristocrat, The Cask of Amontillado engages the reader by making him or her a confidant to Montresors macabre tale of revenge. The victim is Fortunato, who, the narrator claims, gave him a thousand injuries that he endured patiently, but when Fortunato dared insult him, he vowed revenge. It must be a perfect revenge, one in which Fortunato will know fully what is happening to him and in which Montresor will be forever undetected. To accomplish it, Montresor waits until carnival season, a time of supreme madness, when Fortunato, already half-drunk and costumed as a jester, is particularly vulnerable. Montresor then informs him that he has purchased a pipe of Amontillado wine but is not sure he has gotten the genuine article. He should, he says, have consulted Fortunato, who prides himself on being an expert on wine, adding that because Fortunato is engaged, he will go instead to Luchesi. Knowing his victims vanity, Montresor baits him by saying that some fools argue that Luchesis taste is as fine as Fortunatos. The latter is hooked, and Montresor conducts him to his empty palazzo and leads him down into the family catacombs, all the while plying him with drink. Through underground corridors with piles of skeletons alternating with wine casks, Montresor leads Fortunato, whose jesters bells jingle grotesquely in the funereal atmosphere. In the deepest crypt there is a small recess, and there Montresor chains Fortunato to a pair of iron staples and then begins to lay a wall of stone and mortar, with which he buries his enemy alive. While he does so, he relishes the mental torment of his victim, whom he then leaves alone in the dark, waiting in terror for his death. More Content: Summary (hide) 1. Masterpieces of American Literature2. Extended Summary3. Overview4. Insights The Cask of Amontillado Summary (Masterpieces of American Literature) The Cask of Amontillado is one of the clearest examples of Poes theory of the unity of the short story, for every detail in the story contributes to the overall ironic effect. The plot is relatively simple. Montresor seeks revenge on Fortunato for some unspecified insult by luring him down into his family vaults to inspect some wine he has purchased. However, Montresors plot to maneuver Fortunato to where he can wall him up alive is anything but straightforward. In fact, from the very beginning, every action and bit of dialogue is characterized as being just the opposite of what is explicitly stated. The action takes place during carnival season, a sort of Mardi Gras when everyone is in masquerade and thus appearing as something they are not. Montresor makes sure that his servants will not be at home to hinder his plot by giving them explicit orders not to leave, and he makes sure that Fortunato will follow him into the wine cellar by playing on his pride and by urging him not to go. Every time Montresor urges Fortunato to turn back for his healths sake, he succeeds in drawing him further into the snares of his revenge plot. Moreover, the fact that Montresor knows how his plot is going to end makes it possible for him to play little ironic tricks on Fortunato. For example, when Fortunato says he will not die of a cough, Montresor knowingly replies, True, true. When Fortunato drinks a toast to the dead lying in the catacombs around them, Montresor ironically drinks to Fortunatos long life. When Fortunato makes a gesture indicating that he is a member of the secret society of Masons, Montresor claims that he is also and proves it by revealing a trowel, the sign of his plot to wall up Fortunato. The irony of the story cuts much deeper than this, however. At the beginning, Montresor makes much of the fact that there are two criteria for a successful revengethat the avenger must punish without being punished in return and that he must make himself known as an avenger to the one who has done him the wrong. Nowhere in the story, however, does Montresor tell Fortunato that he is walling him up to fulfill his need for revenge; in fact, Fortunato seems to have no idea why he is being punished at all. Furthermore, the very fact that Montresor is telling the story of his crime some fifty years after it was committed to one who, he says, so well know[s] the nature of my soul, suggests that Montresor is now himself dying and confessing his crime to a priest, his final confessor. That Montresors crime against Fortunato has had its hold on him for the past fifty years is supported by another detail in the story, the Montresor coat of armsa huge human foot crushing a serpent, whose fangs are embedded in the heel; the accompanying motto translates as No one harms me with impunity. If the foot is a metonymic representation of Montresor crushing the metaphoric serpent Fortunato for his bite, then it is clear that, even though Montresor gets his revenge, the serpent continues to hold on. The ultimate irony of the story then, is that, although Montresor has tried to fulfill his two criteria for a successful revenge, Fortunato has fulfilled them better than he has. Moreover, although Montresor now tells the story as a final confession to save his soul, the gleeful tone with which he tells ita tone that suggests he is enjoying the telling of it in the present as much as he enjoyed committing the act in the pastmeans that it is not a good confession. Thus, although the story ends with the Latin phrase rest in peace, even after fifty years Montresor will not be able to rest in peace, for his gleeful confession of his story damns him to Hell for all eternity. Although The Cask of Amontillado seems on the surface a relatively simple revenge story, it is, in fact, a highly complex story riddled with ironic reversals. Every detail in the story contributes to this central effect, and it is the overall design of the story that communicates its meaningnot some simple moral embedded within it or tacked on to the end. Wine TastingHow does Fortunato expect to taste the Amontillado that Montresor claims to have stored in his underground vaults? Both men refer to the cask as a "pipe," which is a huge barrel containing 126 gallons. The wine must have been aged in the wooden barrel. The pipe would be on its side and slightly tilted forward. There would be a spigot at the bottom of the round end of the barrel by which the vintner could draw off a small glass of the wine from time to time in order to test it. If Montresor really had such a pipe of Amontillado he would have tasted it himself. If he really wanted somebody, either Fortunato or Luchesi, to judge his wine, then why wouldn't he have filled a bottle and brought it upstairs where it could be drunk in comfort in his living room? In fact, why wouldn't he have brought several bottles upstairs so that he could reward the connoisseur who judged his wine? The Amontillado would not have been aged in a different barrel and then transferred to the one in which it supposedly arrived in Venice. A pipe containing 126 gallons must be the biggest barrel in a winery, and the wine would have had to be aged right in that barrel. Anyone who has visited a real winery, and not just a "wine tasting room" for tourists, will have seen many such pipes. There would have had to be a spigot in one round end of the barrel. Aging Amontillado is a more complicated process than aging ordinary sherry. The Spanish vintner would have wanted to monitor the aging process, and the only way he could do that would be by having a simple spigot in each of the big barrels.Poe does not attempt to deal with this plot problem. He shows that Fortunato is not only drunk but has a very bad cough and cold. The cough is intended to prevent the intended victim from asking a lot of embarrassing questions. Fortunato's intoxication is partly intended for that same purpose. He is a clever man, but he is not thinking straight. From the time Montresor encounters Fortunato on the street to the time he chains him to the rock wall inside the niche, Fortunato does not ask any of the obvious questions, such as, "How much did you pay for the wine?" or "Who did you buy it from?" or "Why didn't you bring a bottle upstairs so we could enjoy it without all this trouble?" The two men have to talk about something, so Poe makes up some chit-chat about the Masons and Montresor's coat of arms and others things to fill the void.- William Delaney.The Cask of Amontillado Extended SummaryPublished by eNotes.com, Inc. "The Cask of Amontillado" was first published in 1846. The first-person narrator, Montresor, is unreliable and is attempting to explain his actions of 50 years before. The story begins with Montresor addressing someone familiar, who knows the "nature of my soul." He explains that he had borne "the thousand injuries of Fortunato," but finally Fortunato went too far, and he devised a plan for revenge.Fortunato does not suspect Montresor's plan. In fact, when they meet in the street during carnival, Fortunato is very glad to see him. Fortunato is dressed like a jester, and has been drinking. Throughout the story, Montresor exploits Fortunato's interest in wine. First, he tempts Fortunato by claiming he has purchased a cask of Amontillado, which is a dry sherry, but he is unsure if its authentic. Instead of asking Fortunato directly to examine the Amontillado, Montresor says he will ask another because Fortunato is busy, thereby playing upon both Fortunato's pride and greed.Fortunato agrees to accompany Montresor home, where the servants have all gone to enjoy the festivities. Montresor grabs two torches and leads the way into the family catacombs, which are lined with nitre and cause Fortunato to cough. Montresor says they will go back, but Fortunato wants to see the Amontillado, claiming, "I shall not die of a cough," to which Montresor replies, "Truetrue."While they walk deeper into the catacombs, Montresor describes his family's coat of arms and motto, which is "Nemo me impune lacessit," or "No one insults me with impunity." They also consume more wine. When Fortunato makes a secret sign of the masons, Montresor does not understand. Fortunato asks him for a sign he is of the masons, and Montresor produces a trowel from his cloak. Although Fortunato seems to be confused, he still wants to see the Amontillado, and they continue deeper into the tombs.At the end of the crypt, there is a room lined with bones, with a pile of bones on one side. Fortunato, looking for the cask, steps into a small interior recess, and Montresor quickly chains him to the wall, taunting him with all the opportunities he had allowed for Fortunato to back out. Fortunato, in shock, can't comprehend what is happening as Montresor uses the trowel and stone and mortar buried under the pile of bones to wall up the crypt.Fortunato comes to his senses and begins to moan and test the chains. Montresor waits until Fortunato stops shaking the chains, then continues boarding up the crypt. He raises the torch to look inside, and Fortunato begins screaming. Montresor is shocked, and unsheathes his sword, afraid Fortunato's screams will be heard. But reassuring himself of the solid walls of the catacombs, he also begins to yell, louder than Fortunato. After this, "the clamourer grew still."Nearing midnight, Montresor is nearly finished the wall. When there is only one more stone to be added, Fortunato begins to laugh, and says in a sad voice that he has enjoyed...

Summary"The Cask of Amontillado" has been almost universally referred to as Poe's most perfect short story; in fact, it has often been considered to be one of the world's most perfect short stories. Furthermore, it conforms to and illustrates perfectly many of Poe's literary theories about the nature of the short story: that is, it is short and can be read at one sitting, it is a mood piece with every sentence contributing to the total effect, it is a completely unified work and while it is seemingly simple, it abounds in ironies of many kinds. Finally, every line and comment contributes to the totality or unity of effect that Poe sought to achieve.The plot is quite simple. The first-person narrator, whom we later discover to be named Montresor, announces immediately that someone named Fortunato has injured him repeatedly and has recently insulted him. Montresor can stand no more; he vows revenge upon Fortunato. The remainder of the story deals with Montresor's methods of entrapping Fortunato and effecting his revenge upon the unfortunate Fortunato. Foremost is the fact that Montresor has never let Fortunato know of his hatred. Accordingly, one evening during carnival time, a time when much frivolity and celebration would be taking place, Montresor set his fiendish, mad plan into motion with full confidence that he would never be discovered. In fact, at the end of the story, we, the readers, are certain that his atrocity will never be discovered.Knowing that Fortunato considered himself a great expert, or connoisseur, of fine wines, and especially a devotee of a sherry known as Amontillado, Montresor flattered him by obsequiously asking his opinion on a newly acquired cask of Amontillado. He tantalized Fortunato with the rare liquor, even pretending that his vaults where the wine was stored had too much dampness and "nitre" for Fortunato's afffiction. However, Fortunato was determined to taste the wine and insisted on being taken to Montresor's home. Montresor complied while wrapping himself in a cloak to make sure that he would not be recognized. Earlier, he had let all of the servants off for the night, using the excuse of the carnival; in this way he would avoid arousing Fortunato's suspicions and would also prevent anyone from witnessing the atrocity he planned to commit. Apparently, Montresor had been planning this revenge for a long time and, ironically, had chosen carnival time as the setting for this most horrible type of crime. Amid the gaiety of the carnival, he was sure he would avoid any possibility of being detected.As they descended into the vaults, Fortunato walked unsteadily and the "bells upon his cap jingled" as they descended, creating a further carnival atmosphere or a joyous time, a time which will ironically end soon with the living death of the unfortunate Fortunato.As they passed deeper into the vaults, the nitre caused Fortunato to cough constantly, but he was drunkenly determined to continue. At one point, however, Montresor paused and offered Fortunato a bottle of Medoc wine to help ward off the cold and the fumes of the nitre. This seemingly kind act, of course, carries undertones of the most vicious irony, since what appears to be an act of kindness is only an act performed to keep the victim alive long enough to get him to the niche where he will be buried alive.Fortunato drank the Medoc and once again became boisterous and once more "his bells jingled." Fortunato toasted Montresor's buried ancestors, and Montresor returned the toast to Fortunato's "long life." When Fortunato noted how extensive the vaults were, Montresor told him that he heard that the Montresors "were a great and numerous family." Then, in his drunkenness, Fortunato says that he has forgotten what Montresor's coat of arms looks like. This statement, at the time of the story's setting, would be yet one more of the many blatant insults for which Montresor hates Fortunato. He states that his family's coat of arms has on it "a huge human foot d'or [foot of gold], in a field azure; the foot crushes a serpent rampant whose fangs are imbedded in the heel" and that the family motto is "Nemo me impune lacessit" (No one attacks me with impunity). Thus, both the motto and the coat of arms imply that the entire Montresor family history is filled with acts of revenge.As the two men proceeded further along the tunnels, the cold and the nitre fumes increased, and Fortunato asked for another drink. Montresor gave him a bottle of De Grave, which Fortunato emptied and then tossed the bottle into the air with a certain symbolic gesture. At this point, Fortunato was sure that Montresor didn't understand the gesture because it belonged to the secret order of the masons an order that Fortunato was certain that Montresor couldn't belong to, thus flinging Montresor another insult and, unknowingly, bringing himself closer to his living death. Fortunato then showed him a sign of the masons a trowel, which he brought with him. This is, of course, a double irony since the trowel is not only an instrument used by real masons (bricklayers, stone masons, etc.), but it is one of the emblems of the Masonic Order, and in this case it will become an instrument of Fortunato's death shortly after he implies that Montresor is not good enough to be a member of the Masonic Order. In only a few minutes, it will he seen that Montresor is indeed a superb mason.As they continued their journey, we discover that there are numerous catacombs of long deceased relatives. Thus, they have progressed to the place of the dead where Fortunato will spend the rest of his existence ironically, alongside the relatives of a man who hates him with an unbelievable intensity. At one of the catacombs, Montresor led Fortunato into a small crypt, or niche, which was "in depth about four feet, in width three, in height six or seven. Montresor told Fortunato that the Amontillado was inside.When Fortunato stepped inside, he ran into the granite wall, and Montresor quickly locked him to the wall with a chain. Fortunato was too drunk to even realize what was going on, much less resist his imprisonment.Very quickly, Montresor uncovered a "quantity of building stone and mortar" and began to "wall up the entrance." With only the first tier completed, Montresor heard deep moans from within, and by the time he had laid the fourth tier, he "heard the furious vibrations of the chain." Resuming his chore, he completed three more tiers. Suddenly there was "a succession of loud and shrill screams" from inside the crypt and, at first, Montresor was momentarily frightened and then he delighted in joining in with the screams. Then there was silence.By the time Montresor had finished the last tier, with only one more stone to be put into place, there came a long low laugh from within. Then Fortunato's voice called upon Montresor to put an end to this joke. Finally, Fortunato pleaded "For the love of God, Montresor," a request which Montresor mocked by repeating the phrase. Then Montresor looked through the remaining opening with his torch and could see nothing, but he did hear the jingling of Fortunato's bells as he laid the last stone in place. For fifty years, he tells us, no one has disturbed the peace of this place.As noted in this discussion, the story abounds in ironies. The name of the victim, Fortunato, meaning "the fortunate one," is the first irony. Then, too, the entire situation is ironic that is, the most terrible and gruesome deeds are executed in a carnival atmosphere of gaiety and happiness; Montresor is using the atmosphere of celebration to disguise the horribly atrocious act of entombing a man alive.The reader should, perhaps, at one point ask himself who is Montresor, and, then since Montresor seems to be apparently addressing someone, the reader should ask himself whom Montresor is talking to (or writing about) and why. Since the deed was committed some fifty years ago, and at the time of the deed Montresor could not have been a young person, he must now be very old. It could be that he is talking to one of his descendants, or else making his last confession to a priest. After all, from what we can glean from the story, Montresor, in spite of the reputed insults of Fortunato, came from an ancient, perhaps noble family, and he is also a person of considerable taste (in gems, in paintings, in wines, and in other matters), and it is evident that he possesses considerable intelligence, albeit a type of diabolical intelligence. In his plan to entomb Fortunato in the Montresor catacombs, he was clever at the right time; his planning was perfect. Remember that he anticipated letting the servants off at a time that would not arouse suspicion since it was carnival time; clearly, his entire plan of revenge was contrived with such perfection that Montresor had to be an exceptionally gifted person. But then, again, the question arises: How could a gifted person imagine insults of such magnitude so as to cause him to effect such a horrible revenge?Informing the entire story is the nature of an insult that could evoke such a well-planned, diabolical scheme of revenge. If indeed there was an insult of such magnitude, then is Fortunato unaware of it to such an extent that he would accompany the person that he has insulted into such a dreadful place? Or was he simply drunk with the carnival madness that was occurring throughout the city? The reader, of course, is shocked by the diabolical efficiency of the murderer, and also by the fact that Montresor has lived with impunity, and also, ironically, his victim has rested in peace for fifty years.The double and ironic viewpoint continues on every plane. When Montresor met Fortunato, he smiled continually at Fortunato, who thought he saw a smile of warmth and friendliness, when in reality, the smile was a satanic smile in anticipation of Fortunato's entombment. Likewise, Montresor's first words to him were "you are luckily met." The ironic reversal is true: Within a short time, Fortunato will be entombed alive.Likewise, when Fortunato drinks a toast to the people buried in the catacombs, he little knows that he is drinking a toast to his own impending death. The same is true when Fortunato insults Montresor concerning the masons both a secret, honorable order which requires close scrutiny for a person to become a member and, of course, an honorable trade, a tool of which Montresor will use for a most dishonorable deed.In general, this story fits well into Poe's dictum that everything in a well-written story must contribute to a total effect. The constant use of irony the drinking of the wine to warm Fortunato so that he can continue his journey to his death, the jingling of the bells announcing his death, the carnival atmosphere versus the atrocities, the irony of Fortunato's name, the irony of the coat of arms, the irony in the unintentional remarks (or were they?) that Fortunato makes, saying that he doesn't remember what the Montresor coat of arms is, and later when he sneers at the possibility that Montresor could be a mason (and the irony connected with the type of mason which Montresor actually becomes) all of these and many more contribute to the complete unity of this perfect short story.The Cask of Amontillado Summary BACK NEXT How It All Goes DownThe story is told in first person, so we dont explicitly learn the narrators name until near the end. Until then, well call him the narrator. Here we go.

The narrator begins by telling us that Fortunato has hurt him. Even worse, Fortunato has insulted him. The narrator must get revenge. He meets Fortunato, who is all dressed up in jester clothes for a carnival celebration and is already very drunk. The narrator mentions hes found a barrel of a rare brandy called Amontillado. Fortunato expresses eager interest in verifying the wines authenticity.

So he and the narrator go to the underground graveyard, or catacomb, of the Montresor family. Apparently, thats where the narrator keeps his wine. The narrator leads Fortunato deeper and deeper into the catacomb, getting him drunker and drunker along the way. Fortunato keeps coughing, and the narrator constantly suggests that Fortunato is too sick to be down among the damp crypts, and should go back. Fortunato just keeps talking about the Amontillado.

Eventually, Fortunato walks into a man-sized hole thats part of the wall of a really nasty crypt. The narrator chains Fortunato to the wall, then begins to close Fortunato in the hole by filling in the opening with bricks. When he has one brick left, he psychologically tortures Fortunato until he begs for mercy and we finally learn the narrators name: Fortunato calls him Montresor.

After Fortunato cries out Montresors name, he doesnt have any more lines. But just before Montresor puts in the last brick, Fortunato jingles his bells. Then Montresor finishes the job and leaves him there to die. At the very end, Montresor tells us that the whole affair happened fifty years ago, and nobody has found out.

Analysis: Plot Analysis BACK NEXT Most good stories start with a fundamental list of ingredients: the initial situation, conflict, complication, climax, suspense, denouement, and conclusion. Great writers sometimes shake up the recipe and add some spice.Initial SituationAn insult, and a vow of revengeFortunato and Montresor have a history, and a painful one at that. Fortunato has wounded Montresor a thousand times. Montresor never complains. But one day, Fortunato goes too far: he insults Montresor, and Montresor vows revenge.ConflictHow to make things right foreverFor Montresor to revenge himself for Fortunatos insult, he has to get away with it if Fortunato can revenge him back, then Montresor has lost. The punishment must be permanent Fortunato has to feel it, and he has to know its coming from Montresor.ComplicationIts almost too easyThere really isnt much complication. After a few carefully dropped hints from Montresor (think Amontillado and Luchesi), Fortunato insists on following Montresor down into the underground graveyard of your worst nightmares. Montresor baits him and plays with him, but Fortunato never considers turning back until its way too late. Climax

Trapped in a conveniently man-sized space!Montresor brings up Luchesi, Fortunato calls Luchesi an ignoramus, and boom! Hes chained inside an upright casket in the foulest depths of the catacomb! Thats the storys big, explosive moment.SuspenseBrick by brick by brickMontresor is building a wall of suspense, especially if you are Fortunato. Fortunatos watching himself being bricked in, waiting, breathlessly to see if this is some kind of really creepy carnival joke. DenouementThe final brickAfter Montresor puts in the final brick, the suspense is dissolved. Hes heard the pitiful jingle of Fortunatos bells, and it means nothing to him. As soon as the air is used up in the tiny brick casket, Fortunato will be dead. ConclusionLooking backIts impossible to know how old Montresor is when he kills Fortunato, but in the second to the last line of the story, we learn that the murder happened fifty years ago. So Montresor is probably pushing eighty when hes telling the story. And he could be far more ancient. More importantly, this conclusion lets us know that Montresor has gotten away with his crime so far. His vengeance has been a success, and he wants us to know it.

The Cask of Amontillado AnalysisLiterary Devices in The Cask of Amontillado

Symbolism, Imagery, AllegoryEverything takes on symbolic meaning in The Cask. Every detail seems to stand for something else, or to be flashing an encoded, and no doubt gruesome, message that we are compelled to deciphe...

SettingThe setting in The Cask, and in most Horror or Gothic Fiction, has a special purpose: to suggest freedom or confinement, in harmony or opposition to the freedom or confinement of the...

Narrator Point of ViewMontresor is our vile narrator. He is dedicated to his own point of view, which is cold, merciless, brutal, conniving, and vengeful. He doesnt mind telling us about his torture and murder of...

GenreYou dont need us to tell you The Cask is Horror or Gothic the whole story is about two guys walking through a vast underground graveyard, in the middle of the night, ge...

ToneMontresor describes the mounds of bones and stench of human remains so elegantly, it almost sounds beautiful. The following passage is a good example:We passed through a range of low arches, descen...

Writing StyleIrony probably doesnt sound very terrifying, but irony contributes hugely to the spine-tingling power of The Cask. You can find irony in every line of the story.Critic and teac...

Whats Up With the Title?The title of this grim tale has an unusual ring to it. It doesnt sound like anything weve ever heard before. Its a mystery. But nothing to be scared of.Well start with &...

Whats Up With the Ending?Edgar Allan Poe claimed that a writer shouldnt put pen to paper until he knows the ending (source). The Cask is a shocking example of this idea in action. There are tons of sig...

Plot AnalysisAn insult, and a vow of revengeFortunato and Montresor have a history, and a painful one at that. Fortunato has wounded Montresor a thousand times. Montresor never complains. But one...

Booker's Seven Basic Plots AnalysisAmontillado!Fortunato is reveling in the carnival spirit, but its not enough. When he hears that Montresor has a pipe of what passes for Amontillado, his energies,...

Three Act Plot AnalysisMontresor thinks Fortunato insulted him, and he vows to wreak a terrible vengeance on the man.He lures Fortunato down underground, into the foul catacombs of the Montresor family, with the promise...

TriviaSylvester Stallone is rumored to be writing and directing a film about Poe. (Source)

Steaminess RatingThere's no sex in "The Cask." What can we say?

Thesis for "The Necklace" By SoulxManure Mar 6, 2013 497 Words 296 Views

Thesis for The Necklace

The meaning of Moupassants The Necklace is that one should not fall into the trap of wishing for better things and not recognizing what one has to be thankful for. Moupassant uses the main character, Mme. Loisel, to illustrate this point as she struggles with her self-image and her desire to always be better in the eyes of others, especially the upper class and the rich.

At once it is easy to notice the authorial distance in the story. The very first sentence is, She was one of those pretty and charming girls who are sometimes, as if by mistake of destiny, born in a family of clerks. In this way the author keeps the reader from becoming sympathetic with Mme. Loisel. This supports the thesis, because if the reader were to become sympathetic with Mme. Loisels struggle with her self-image, the reader would not see her actions in the story as clear mistakes.

At first, Moupassant has Mme. Loisel always feeling bad for herself for not being married into a better, more highly regarded family. The husband is shown to be a good man, always trying to please his wife, but to no avail. This becomes clear when the husband comes home one evening with an invitation to a very select event that he thinks will make her happy. Instead, Mme. Loisel is unappreciative and frets about how she has nothing proper to wear to such a thing. Again and again the author shows us the husbands love and sacrifice for his wife, who is never fully satisfied.

Mme. Loisels struggle with her self image is apparent during this part of the story. At last, she has a nice dress and a fine necklace and has a grand time at the event. This is the end of her first struggle with self-image. Then, when the necklace is lost, she begins a new struggle with her self image to save her self from being seen as a thief. She and her husband go through great lengths to buy a replacement necklace and are forced to sacrifice many of their previous comforts. After ten years of... Ple