Do any of the events of the author’s life seem relevant to the work? (Biographic Criticism)

Assignment Specifications

Type: Written Paper

Style: Modern Language Association Format

Length: 1,000 words or more

Description: Write a literary analysis of one of the readings we have engaged with thus far that utilizes one of the schools of literary criticism.

Be Sure to: Include a Works Cited page.

Suggested Genre: Fiction

To begin, a student should choose one of the readings that have been assigned and combine this with one of the schools of literary criticism we will consider to come up with an argumentative topic and thesis for his or her paper.

The Cast of Amontillado
By Edgar Allan Poe – Published 1847

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 atthe 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 pipeof 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!

ANSWER

The Cast of Amontillado by Edgar Allan Poe is a short story first published in 1846. It features a horror gene and reflects highly on Edgar, the author’s life with themes such as death, insanity, depression and disappointment. From his biographical information, Edgar did not have an easy life. He was born in 1809 in Boston, Massachusetts by a father and mother with careers in theatre. However, his parents died shortly after even before he was three years old and he was moved to John and Frances Allan’s home as a foster kid. His foster parents were good to him and sent him to the best schools which eventually opened the door for him at the University of Virginia. However, trouble struck when he got into behaviour of gambling and being a student with no money whatsoever, his adoptive parents refused to pay these debts and he had to leave the university. The relations deteriorated and eventually, he decided to join the army in 1827 as a trainee, he published a series of poems. Lack of finances led him out of the army and he moved with his aunt Maria and cousin Virginia, whom he later married in Baltimore. All this time, he wrote and published a series of short stories all reflecting the different phases and situations in his life. However, his life got even more strained with the loss of his wife to Tuberculosis and he sunk deeper into debt, drunkenness and depression. He died shortly after in 1849 and was said to have succumbed to brain congestion. Having understood his biographic information, this essay uses his experiences to establish a biographical criticism of his short story The Cast of Amontillado.

The Cast of Amontillado features a various perception of the author with regards to his own life. The story is about the character Fortunato and another, Montresor who schemes, plots and eventually kills Fortunato because of the high value he attached to the family. It is already understood that Edgar had serious problems with the family that raised him and the various disagreements that caused him so much strife sprang from his or lack thereof of honour in the family. From the very first line of the story, Montresor is seen swearing saying, “The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed revenge” (Poe 1947). Montresor is compelled to uphold family honour at whatever cost even if it means committing murder. His father Allen, at some point, disowned Edgar because he felt that he did not uphold the value of family. It is understood that while his foster family struggled to put him through the best education system, Edgar’s affinity for trouble such as gambling later wiped off his good fortune in search of something psychological. This approach gives Edgar some sort of redemption seeking appearance.

However, it similarly possible that Edgar saw himself as a closer representation of Montresor rather than Fortunato. In this case, Edgar would be the one who was wronged by his foster father by the abandonment he experienced that led his life to ruin. While it is easy to see Montresor as evil and irredeemable character at the beginning of the story, the reader slowly learns that he has no evil intention. Instead, by plotting to kill Fortunato and experiencing momentary bliss thinking of the various ways he would lead him to eternal demise, Montresor is simply correcting a wrong committed to him. He has no moral conflict and is doing the right thing to equal the evil committed against him. Allen disowned Edgar and never turned back and this could explain his bitterness towards him. From his initial value of family, we understand that he values it and therefore forsaking his own values by abandoning Edgar who had already lost his birth parents and his foster mother would have most likely caused an unhealable wound in him which he consistently thinks about as betrayal (Kozikowski 1978).

Eventually, from the story, we never really get to know what crimes Fortunato had committed. However, we know that he is led by Montresor while drunk through a series of chambers beneath the palazzo. Montresor lures Fortunato with the promise of Amontillado, the wine that we understand has high value. He kills Fortunato in the most gruesome and slow way to death by chaining him up against the wall and building a wall that seals him in anguishing in starvation until death. Several critics of the short story suggested that the mere fact that Edgar never reveals what crimes Fortunato had committed while at the same time spends a large amount of time explaining and describing his death suggests indecision in the author’s mind with regards to lack of clarity on who had committed what crime against who in the story between Edgar and his father Allen (Gargano 1967). Perhaps, through the story, Edgar tries to figure out whether it was he who had dishonoured his family or it was Allen who had failed to live up to his values. Additionally, with Fortunato’s obliviousness and Montresor’s sanity, the reader is left to decide for himself which events lead up to the indifference at the beginning of the story. Was Edgar bitter about his family and attempting to get retribution, or was he in his own way trying to get redemption?

In conclusion, it is appropriate to observe the burden of a family a child or a parent bears throughout their entire lives. This paper has used the understood biographic information of Edgar Poe, with regards to his experiences to establish a biographical criticism of his short story The Cast of Amontillado. The lesson that comes out clear, in the end, is that without proper reconciliation metrics in a family, then everyone has something to lose. It could be a peace of mind or life altogether but in the end, everyone loses. While the family is seen as a unit source for happiness, gratitude and success, sometimes it is also the source of so much unnecessary strife and destitution.

References

Gargano, J. W. (1967). ” The Cask of Amontillado”: A Masquerade of Motive and Identity. Studies in Short Fiction, 4(2), 119.

Kozikowski, S. J. (1978). A Reconsideration of Poe’s” The Cask of Amontillado”. ATQ, 39, 269.

Poe, E. A. (2008). The cask of Amontillado. The Creative Company.