Jealousy in The Cask of Amontillado

Amontillado

Motive for Muder in 'Amontillado'

"No one attacks me with impunity," is the motto of the Montressor coat of arms -- at least, that is what Montressor, the narrator of "The Cask of Amontillado," confesses to Fortunato. But Montressor is a jester -- as illustrated by his joke when Fortunato makes a Masonic gesture: Montressor is baffled by it; Fortunato says, "Then you are not a Mason." Montressor says, "I am." Fortunato: "Prove it." Montressor produces a trowel from beneath his apron. Fortunato laughs -- unfortunately, it is a two-sided joke -- and the last laugh will be on Fortunato when Montressor uses the trowel to do a mason's work and seals the unfortunate Fortunato in his tomb. For "The Cask of Amontillado" is not a tale of wine -- it is a tale of revenge -- and that is the other joke Fortunato does not get: the pipe of wine is only a ploy to get the connoisseur into the vaults.

Diana McHugh's essay, "The Destructive Effects of Jealousy," attempts to explain that jealousy is the motive of Montressor's actions -- but the reader must ask: of what is Montressor jealous? There is no evidence in "Amontillado" that the narrator is at all jealous of Fortunato. In fact, Montressor pays Fortunato his due when he describes him as one of the few Italians who actually possesses a grasp of what constitutes a good wine. Montressor, however, displays no jealousy in the compliment: for he knows he is just as much a connoisseur as Fortunato. All that is established in the description is the fact that the two share a bond over good wines. They are, in a sense, equals. McHugh suggests Montressor holds ill-will for Fortunato -- which he does. But is jealousy the reason? No, the reason Montressor is out to destroy Fortunato is precisely that Fortunato has insulted Montressor. Fortunato's insult -- which is given off-page -- has taken equality away from Montressor. McHugh misnames the motive for murder as jealousy, when the motive actually has more to do with Montressor's sense of injustice -- and, perhaps, his sensitive ego -- which McHugh aptly identifies as a quality both Montressor and Fortunato share.

We learn little about Montressor -- his narrative is not forthcoming with many personal details. What he does reveal is that he is an Iago-type: a character whose "motiveless malignancy" drives him to destroy another. As Sarah Ruhl points out in her essay, "Six Small Thoughts on Fornes, the Problem of Intention, and Willfulness," it was Samuel Taylor Coleridge who identified this "motiveless malignancy." Ruhl explains how "none of Iago's trumped up excuses quite explain the intensity of his inborn hatred" (2001). In fact, the same can be said for Montresor. Both feel they have been wronged in some way: in Othello, Iago feels he has been passed over -- another appointed to the position he has desired; in "Amontillado," Montressor feels he has been insulted -- and no one attacks a Montressor without paying a price.

Perhaps all the bones in the wine cellar are the bones of enemies hitherto dispatched with by the ancient Montressor family.

At any rate, the reader is early let on to the degree of Montressor's malignancy: "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 won't, to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my smile now was at the thought of his immolation." One feels as if Poe has just been reading Shakespeare, the similarity to the villain of Othello is so strong -- for just as Fortunato suspects nothing till it is too late -- so too Othello.

Perhaps, then, it is not so unusual when McHugh, places envy as the motive for Montressor's murderous deed. Although "Amontillado" is far too short a narrative for Poe's narrator to explore his motives -- the account is simply chronological from meeting to murder -- the narrative voice is so powerful and familiar, the reader is sure to recognize it as one that has occurred in literature before now. And it is true -- for it is the very voice of Iago -- now reincarnated in a 19th century American gothic. However, the setting is the same: Italy; and the plotting is, too: a tale of revenge. Therefore, why should not the villain's motives be? If Diana McHugh senses jealousy to be at the heart of Montressor's murder, perhaps it is because one can better make the case that jealousy is at the heart of Iago.

However, we get no inclination that Fortunato is in any way better situated than Montressor -- only that he has insulted him. Montressor's vanity has been stricken, and he will strike back. But there is the sense in Iago that he wants something the Moor has -- whether it is power, Desdemona, ability, etc. There is a look in his eye, a sound in his speech, a hint in his words that he is jealous of the Moor. Does this transfer to Montressor, a latter-day representation of the evil Iago? Is it fair to say so? Is it even fair to say jealousy is at the root of Iago's hatred? Critics for centuries have puzzled over the mystery of Iago's hate. "Motiveless malignance" is all the better they have been able to name it. Therefore, one might not wish to prosecute the perpetrator Montressor by laying the blame at jealousy. After all, Montressor tells us himself in the very first line: "when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge."

What McHugh calls jealousy can perhaps be better understood as wounded vanity. Montressor gives both the reader and Fortunato another hint that such is the case when he describes his coat of arms: The heel of a foot crushing the head of a serpent, which has sunk its fangs into the heel. Again, Montressor may be fooling with the drunk Fortunato by foreshadowing what is to come -- by foretelling what awaits him at the end of the vault. But Fortunato does not realize that he himself is the snake. Duped by Montressor's smile, Fortunato is convinced that the only snake to come up between them is Luchesi, who wouldn't know Amontillado from sherry.

McHugh does give some evidence that both predator and prey in "Amontillado" suffer from vanity: "If Fortunato were not so quick to prove himself better than Luchesi, he wouldn't have gone into the catacombs in the first place. As for Montresor, wounded pride…left unchecked can have destructive, even lethal, consequences" (McHugh 2). The lethal consequences for Montressor? By killing Fortunato he is perhaps sealing off part of his soul -- burying his conscience the same way another Poe character will bury his victim beneath the floorboards in another famous tale, "Fall of the House of Usher." But such is only speculation. The reader is given no insight into the narrator's feelings of guilt. In fact, the narrator is so kind to his victim as to offer a slight prayer for the repose of his soul: "Requiescat in pace." They are, in fact, the last lines of the story.