In June. St. Hannibal, pray for us!

 

On Feb 21, 2026. Noah (From You Tube)

https://youtu.be/KbZvD-Yd2a8?si=cq9EWLfLTAvsc-JV 

Babygirl: Nicole Kidman, Harris Dickinson, and Halina Reijn break down t...

On Jan 20th. My Journal Notebook

 My Journal Notebook.

I have challenged myself in God’s graces.

1.

The past year 2023 was a bit harsh for our family because it reminded us of my Father’s death.  I’m aware that everybody dies, because we’ve already buried relatives; and sickness, in one way or another, bereaved us and bad cells (cancer) have been up in our genes.  At least we’re growing older in God’s care.

Yet, those times when you can’t just say any word but, “God! “ when my Dad got shot with bullets at 38 years old and in 2023, my nephew Martin, fell down a cliff while on a voluntary round with friends. My siblings and I have come to this scenario again, involving new members of the family grieving for a loved one, traumatized because we lost a young family member successful at 25.  We were not able to say goodbye, or probably thought that “Am I able to justify my love?” for him?  We all came at the end of our ropes and there was nothing or no one else left, but God.  It’s in Matthew, so they say (5:3-12), the Beatitudes.

I pray this year 2024, comes to us in God’s graces to overcome challenges, regain our strengths and yes, rejoice in thanksgiving and prayer counting our blessings in this life.

2.

Colors remind me of events, sensational.  It reminds me after my zombie eyes, after the holidays, that in time, things get better and clearer.  The body heals itself, if nature has intervened because water, breeze and sun rays are God’s creations.  You get well with sleep, food and love for people and surroundings, after days of toil.  Now, my sore eyes are pink, close to white and restored.

3.

Back Ride

It had been a long time, since my Dad carried me on his back.  Way way back, decades and decades. Ever since, not a soul carried me but the boatmen in our province.  First time people got carried, some say, they were alarmed they might fall into the deep and drown, even the bigger guys had second thoughts.  But no, not one, ever fell in the water, just like in a survivor’s game. 

The boatmen in our province was dark, neat and well-chiseled.  They were calm as the sea.  You can see Adonis and feel the blood flowing on the veins, they held you with.

When the sea was calm, you would be on the shore in 5 minutes and if they run, in 3 minutes.  If the motorboat was docked a bit far from the shore, perhaps 7 minutes.  The boatmen were just simple and dramatic in their work, especially when the water wet their eyes, they would not blink, but continue on the run heading the shore.  When I was still a young girl, I wouldn’t even notice their humble line of work, but while I got older, I began to see the worth of their service, even if you only paid them cents.  That was how we spent vacation in my Mother’s hometown.  Before you see the beauty of the town, you have to feel the towns people and nature on their backs.

During my recent vacation, with my siblings and family – I got to experience my back ride, again.  Not to carry me to the shore, but because of my older bones. It’s laughable, but real, people grow older.  The boatman, tour guide, helped me stand, but with all my pauses and turns, I was not able to stand abruptly.  You know when the senior bones crack and squeak… But of course, I am not that old.  I could see the robust body of him who pulled my hand as in a dance.  I never thought I’d kneel down because the boat front was built with hard  wood, so it was really hard labor for me to rise and go up and settle up in the boat.  On the third time of going up and down the boat, I didn’t ask, but quickly grabbed his huge back and did a back ride.  It was cool on his back, wet by the waves…  But I felt sorry, however comfortable I was, for letting him carry a big weight; I remember I uttered, “Son, I am sorry for letting you carry a heavy load.”  And he said, “It’s okay, mother.”  I forgot to give him a big tip because I felt he was family. I thank God for his respect and kindness.  And all the way, I pray God takes care of him, too.

/rosevoc. 2024

bible, boatman, caramoan, challenges, christianity, faith, family, GOD, Jesus, love, rosevoc, rosevoc2

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on Sept 14th. my journal notebookSeptember 14, 2019

On May 9th. My Journal NotebookMay 9, 2019In "bad days"

March 17. My Journal NotebookMarch 16, 2014In "children"

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In August. With Sir Tony Perez

With Tony Perez, our professor in Playwriting (20 yrs ago)  at DLSU,  MFA in Creative Writing.  Shiela and I brought home books and a cherished present from Sir Perez.
 

On July 27. The Last Castle

 

July 27, 2022

 

I have watched on Netflix, the film “The Last Castle.”   

In the struggle between inmates and the warden of a military prison (based on the United States Disciplinary Barracks), the film portrays one’s purpose of service. 

It is true that people commit mistakes, yet they can also change and return to who they really are; or maybe it was not really a mistake they committed, but unfair judgment. Or is it for reparation and honor of work?

The film can also resemble a Pharisee story or evil buddies setting up a trap.  Who can or cannot be trusted?  Who is real black or white when death calls?

Do you love your work?  How much could you give for it?  A few hours of pay or fame? Or duty or service offered not because of a price?

Soldiers are real not only in the battlefield, but also in the responsibilities that meet up our day to day grind.

The film was release in October 2001, directed by Rod Lurie.

/iwrotefiction.blogspot.com

 

 

The Mystery of Moths

By Rosalinda Flores-Martinez  |   Submitted On March 13, 2012

  

44

What is it with moths, insects and flies?

Why in their minute bodies or heads, they threaten humans?

Why in their strangeness, they symbolize wrath, fun, seasons, danger or calm?

I'm fond of fireflies. When I was younger I thought they were sent by fairies from deep dark forests. I asked my grandfather (father of my Dad) when we crossed thick forests in the night, "Are there really fairies in the forest?"

And he answered, "Yes."

I was into it. I adored his stories, even those horses with human heads. Up the sky, we looked, and it was so beautiful! Truly, the sky in blue was vast, the stars brightly smiled to us, and to all those who looked above.

I was not afraid of the forest then. I was thinking, if we didn't find the way out, we would reverse our shirts to find the way out. My grandfather laughed. He was so brave, a real man! Like an Indian chief he can roar with command, and those who would see him would bow with respect.

There were clusters of fireflies in the forest. Their lights blinked like party lights, but they were brighter, yellow and happy. They were more than fireworks dancing. Their lights never faded and never ended in the dark. When I tried to get one firefly, my grandfather told me "You shouldn't do that because the fairies might punish us." So I didn't catch them. When I came in the house and there were still some fireflies, I got one and put it in a bottle. But soon, the firefly died.

As I traced back, the issue was not the punishment from the fairies, but the right thing to do.

I can also remember another famous story on the moths. It was told by (mother of Filipino national hero Dr. Jose Rizal)) Teodora Alonso. The story shares the idea that when the moths come near the flame they will burn. So stay away from the flame.

Another story is William Golding's (awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature) Lord of the Flies. See what boys are like in the challenge of various situations. The title shows a terrifying boar's (beast) head with flies buzzing around. What are the effects of environment to the children?

How about Franz Kafka's Metamorphosis? In the story, the insect cannot be depicted clearly because the door is always locked. When the door opens, there is darkness. What can you say about the cinema of the blind?

The Moths by Helena Maria Viramontes comes stark with a woman's anguish. The story gives emphasis when Abuelita (grandmother) died. It says, "Then the moths came. Small and gray ones that came from her soul and out through her mouth fluttering to light..."

Article Source: https://EzineArticles.com/expert/Rosalinda_Flores-Martinez/307769

Cathedral of the Sea

 

Cathedral of the Sea

   

I was wondering about the cathedral.. In a sad story of lashing, hanging, and punishment I still can't stop watching because of the church's luster.  Indeed, the narration in the end, was touching and in depth with the Mother's love, the Mother of the Sea, the Virgin Mary, your mother and mine.

On August 10, 2021. Must Watch on Netflix . MERLIN

Merlin

Can't stop watching Merlin... It brings back a kid's memory of fairy tales  and the fun of enchantment for young and old, alike.  It brings you back learning the basic morals in life and a vision of possibilities a good heart can win.  Thank you.

Anna Karenina | Full Drama Mini Series

Teaching Philippine Literature in English | Dr. Gemino Abad

Kiss Me

St. Ignatius de Loyola

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JbjRlz-HQdc

Love After Heaven, Parts 1-5 by Isagani R Cruz

Love After Heaven, Parts 1 to 5

2015/08/04 FICTION IN PROGRESS ONE COMMENT

I shall but love thee better after death, one book says, but I don’t believe that. I’m dead and I don’t see Julie anywhere around. Of course, another book says that, after death, we neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are like angels in heaven. Angels, my foot! I don’t have wings. I’m not playing a harp. In fact, I’m exactly as I was the day I died, except I’m not tied to that hospital bed with all those tubes going in and out of my body.

Heaven is grossly overrated. I thought that, when I died, I would experience unimagined happiness, like orgasms that last for decades or food that I can eat without having to go to the bathroom or music that I can listen to without getting tired. Or at least, something really enjoyable. I spent most of my life praying that I would go to heaven, even being sorry for anything that would endanger my life after death. I could have done all those things I was not supposed to do, but I didn’t, because I thought that life was hell, or at least purgatory, and if I had suffered enough on earth, I would not suffer in heaven.

What crap! Heaven is just like earth, only a bit cleaner.

I remember the day I died. They were all around the bed – Julie, my cousin Gerry, my sister Yoly, and four, maybe six doctors all shouting orders to three or four nurses scampering like terrorized schoolchildren in the background.

Code, someone kept shouting.

I looked at them from the ceiling, or actually through the ceiling because I could see in front of me the fluorescent lamp and the fire sprinkler. My body – it looked like my body, even with the grotesque tubes injecting all sorts of colored liquid into it – was jerking with every touch of the defibrillator.

I could see not just the bed where my body was lying, but right beside it, or maybe superimposed on it – I can’t be sure now – my condo apartment in upscale Global City. There were two or three cops there – it’s funny how I can’t seem to count properly here in heaven. They were talking to my two domestic helpers, the cook and the laundry woman. I half-expected Julie to be there, shouting at them to keep their hands off the antique blue porcelain plates, but of course, she was in the hospital room, like the dutiful wife that she wasn’t.

I could also see a room in a seedy motel in downtown Manila. He was there, the asshole, the guy that turned Julie against me. He was with a woman, or maybe a man, or somebody anyway. They were in the shower. He was sitting in some kind of contraption that looked like a trapeze swing. He or she or whatever that shadow was was hovering over him.

Then I found myself, without even a dissolve or a fade-away, here in heaven, sitting in this queue that must have stretched for miles.

Oh, yes, sometime – and here in heaven, time has no meaning, so I can’t really tell if this was long ago or just a minute ago – I went through a tunnel. There was a light at the end, the light that some guy in white was waving at my face to guide me through the darkness. I say it was a guy, but it could have been a woman, or even an animal, or something. Maybe an angel? But whoever or whatever he or she or it was, he or she or it had no wings.

But I knew I was in heaven because, well, it felt good to be here. Peaceful. Calm. With no more pain. Not as good as I thought it would be, but good enough. Better than having all those doctors forcing my body to bounce on the bed. Better than seeing Julie pretending to still be in love with me even when she was already sleeping with that asshole.

Boy, that sucks! That really sucks! Some guy with a long beard comes to me and apologizes that they made a mistake somewhere in the bureaucracy here in heaven. I’m not supposed to be here yet. I’m supposed to suffer some more down there on earth.

Okay, so I got carried away saying that heaven was overrated. Okay, so I used the word asshole here. But surely those are forgivable misdemeanors. Surely all my efforts at being good on earth were worth something. I thought that the bureaucrats here kept a ledger of my good deeds. Of how patient I was when I found out about Julie and that asshole. Excuse me, that person. Okay, that human being. Surely that counts for something.

I can’t go back to earth. I was the laughing stock of the entire corporation there. Everybody knew about Julie. Except me. Her husband. Her husband of twenty years. Twenty years of being faithful to her. Not even glancing at any other woman. Not even entertaining any thoughts of sleeping with anybody else.

I was a fool, for heaven’s sake.

When I did find out, I did not even confront Julie. I just went to our parish priest and asked him what to do. He said that I had to forgive her. She was a human being, fallen because of original sin. The devil made her do it. He asked if I still loved her, and I had to say yes. I couldn’t lie to him. He was a priest, after all.

I did love her. I still do love her. But I am not sure if that means anything to her. One thing I know, I don’t really want to see her again. When we got married in that grand wedding in that old cathedral, she promised to love me till death do us part. Well, death is a good way to part now. Though she did say, during our first anniversary, that she would love me better after death. She made me memorize that poem, for heaven’s sake. How do I love thee and all that shit.

No, please, do not let me go back. Please, no, let me stay here in heaven. I promise never to badmouth heaven again. Seriously.

Well, it looks like this guy listened to me. He now tells me not to worry. He will send me back, but not to the same body. He will send me back in a different body, as an adult. I do not have to be born again as a baby and wait so long to be as old as I am now. I will be resurrected – I think he used the word reincarnated – as a male, single, mature adult.

Maybe things won’t be so bad, after all. Maybe I will meet Julie again and she won’t meet that asshole again and maybe we can live happily ever after after all. Perhaps even meet here in heaven again. Perhaps.

What? Now, that really sucks! This guy with the beard says I won’t remember my past life at all, except in moments of great stress. How can I find Julie again if I won’t remember that we were once happily married, that I loved her even when she was unfaithful to me, that I want to be with her again? Holy shit!

* * *

Julie cried, as she had to. It was what she was expected to do. She had practised it at home, in front of the mirror. How to cry without ruining her mascara. How to cry like she meant it.

This man had made her life miserable by doing what she never expected him to do. He had ignored her affair.

He had kissed her like he always did when he would come home from work and she was in the kitchen, preparing their dinner. Except that she had not prepared dinner. She had dinner instead with Frankie. And not just dinner. Dessert. Dessert like she never had dessert before with this husband of hers.

But this man kissed her anyway. Did not even ask, never even asked, where she had been. She was sure that he could smell Frankie on her skin. He was not dumb. He was, in fact, very smart, the smartest in his group of business executives. He had not become a millionaire by being dumb.

She knew that he knew, but he never said anything. Just kissed her on the cheek as he did every evening of their married life. Their unexciting, boring, routine married life.

The only excitement – if she could call it that – was the anxiety of not knowing when he would finally let go and slap her, kick her, maybe stab her with that paper cutter he kept on his desk. But he never let his anger show. The guilt she felt was worse than even the ugliest scene she could imagine between him and her.

She could never forgive him for forgiving her her trespasses.

http://isaganicruz.com/blog/

The Jeepney Murders, Chapter 17

On November 4, 2018. Story Draft 1

november 4, 2018


the house was filled with a scent of hope and of people from many places.  clear white stairs and orange tiles made everyone comfy.  it was almost a gathering of people with ideals and happy tomorrows.   to and fro the kids of various families explored the place. nothing seemed grand, but what each had in his heart.  what can i say, but kneel and be proud of heaven's blessings.  that was my place and everyone loved it.

a lecture would begin while participants waited.  guests were already there and professionals, too.  Even the ambassador of Blood Line, Madame Carina was present.  So what's next?

When September Ends

Mary Magdalene

SIx Minute Scholar: Understanding the Cask of Amontillado

The Cask of Amontillado

The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could; but when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge....At length I would be avenged; this was a point definitely settled....I must not only punish, but punish with impunity." Now Montresor began to develop the perfect plan of retribution.

During this time, Montresor was careful not to arouse Fortunato's suspicions. "...[N]either by word nor deed had I given Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. I continued...to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my smile now was at the thought of his [destruction]."

Fortunato had a weakness which Montresor felt could be advantageous to implementing his plan. Fortunato prided himself upon being a connoisseur of fine wines. In this respect, they were equals. Montresor was "...skillful in Italian vintages...and bought largely whenever [he] could."

Around dusk one evening during the carnival season, Montresor encountered his friend Fortunato, who "...accosted [him] with excessive warmth, for he had been drinking much." Fortunato wore the costume of a court jester including a "...conical cap and bells." Montresor proclaimed how glad he was to encounter Fortunato since he had just purchased a large cask of "...what passes for Amontillado [a variety of dry sherry]," but he had his doubts about its authenticity. Fortunato also had doubts. "How?" said Fortunato. "Amontillado?...Impossible! And in the middle of the carnival!"

"I have my doubts," said Montresor; "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....As you are engaged, I am on my way to Luchesi. If anyone [can tell genuine Amontillado], it is he."

Fortunato was outraged. Luchesi was not a connoisseur of Amontillado. Fortunato said, "Come, let us go....To your vaults...[to taste the Amontillado]."

Montresor responded by telling his friend that he could see that he had a prior engagement as well as he noticed that Fortunato was afflicted with a severe cough and cold. The dampness of the vault and the niter (white or gray salt deposit) with which the walls were encrusted, would not be good for Fortunato's health. Fortunato responded by saying, "Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely nothing. Amontillado! You have been imposed upon. As for Luchesi, he cannot distinguish [sweet] sherry from Amontillado."

Fortunato had taken the bait, and the plan was put into action. When they reached Montresor's palazzo (luxurious house), they found no one at home. The servants had departed according to plan. Montresor handed Fortunato a flambeaux (lighted torch) as he took one for himself, and they made their way to the catacombs of the Montresors wherein lay the wine vaults. Fortunato's gait was unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingled as he walked.

Fortunato began to cough from the niter, and Montresor said that they must go back. "...[W]e 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 Luchesi--"

Fortunato said, "Enough...the cough is a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough." "True--true," said Montresor. "A draft of this Medoc [a French red wine] will defend us from the damps." Montresor knocked off the neck of the bottle of wine, and passed it to Fortunato. Fortunato raised the bottle to his lips as his bells jingled, and said, "I drink...to the buried that repose around us." Montresor said, "And I [drink] to your long life."

They now proceeded through the vaults. Fortunato had forgotten how great and numerous a family Montresor had. He asked about the Montresors' coat of arms. Montresor said that on the shield was "...[a] hugh human foot d'or, in a field of azure; the foot crushes a serpent rampant whose fangs are embedded in the heel." The motto stated: "Nemo me impune lacessit [No one assails me with impunity]."

Montresor and Fortunato had now reached the "...inmost recesses of the catacombs." The niter was hanging "...like moss upon the vaults." They were "...below the river's bed. The drops of moisture trickle[d] among the bones." Montresor said, "Come we will go back ere it is too late. Your cough--" But Fortunato replied, "It is nothing...let us go on. But first, another draft of the Medoc."

Montresor opened another bottle of wine (De Grave) in the same manner as before, and handed it to Fortunato. "He emptied it at a breath. His eyes flashed with a fierce light. He laughed and threw the bottle upwards [while making a gesture that Montresor] did not understand." Fortunato repeated the movement, and when he saw that Montresor still did not understand, he said, " Then you are not of the brotherhood....You are not of the masons [the Freemasons, a secret fraternal order; also, bricklayers]." However, Montresor insisted that he was. Fortunato asked for a sign of some sort to prove that Montresor really was a mason. Montresor reached beneath the folds of his cloak and produced a trowel (the tool that would later seal Fortunato's fate). "You jest," Fortunato exclaimed. "But let us proceed to the Amontillado."

"At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another less spacious. Its walls had been lined with human remains....Three sides of this interior crypt were still ornamented in this manner." However, the bones had been removed from the fourth wall, and scattered outside the crypt. By removing the bones, an interior recess "...in depth about four feet, in width three, in height six or seven...." had been created. Montresor told Fortunato to proceed within, since "herein [was] the Amontillado."

Fortunato, who was extremely intoxicated at this point, did as he was instructed to do, only to realize that he had reached the extremity of the niche. In a moment, Montresor had chained 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 [Fortunato's] waist, it was but the work of a few seconds to secure it." Fortunato was taken by surprise, and was much too intoxicated to resist. Fortunato called out, "The Amontillado!" "True," [Montresor] replied; "the Amontillado."

As Montresor spoke these words, he continued with the last part of his plan of revenge. From beneath the scattered bones, he uncovered "...a quantity of building stone and mortar. With these materials and with the aid of [his] trowel. [Montresor] began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche." Fortunato's intoxication was beginning to wear off, and "...a low moaning cry [came] from the depth of the recess." Montresor continued his work even though he could hear Fortunato struggling with the chains. When the wall had reached chest level, Montresor using his torch, peeked inside the niche. "A succession of loud and shrill screams, [suddenly burst forth] from the throat of the chained [Fortunato]." This initially shocked Montresor; but realizing that Fortunato could not be heard, he began to reecho, and finally surpassed the shrieks of Fortunato with those of his own until Fortunato was silent once more.

It was midnight,and the task was almost complete. Just as Montresor was inserting the last stone, a low laugh could be heard from the interior of the niche. It was followed by a somewhat sad voice, which said, "Ha! ha! ha!--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!" Montresor echoed Fortunato's laughter. Fortunato reminded Montresor that it was getting late, and that they would be missed. "Let us be gone," Fortunato said. "Yes, " [Montresor] said, "let us be gone." Fortunato cried out, "For the love of God, Montresor!" And he replied, "for the love of God!" Then all was quiet. Montresor called out Fortunato's name, but there was no reply. Again using the torch, Montresor tried to see inside of the niche. "There came forth in return only a jingling of the bells." Montresor grew sick at heart due to the dampness of the catacombs. He hurried to finish his task. The last stone was put and plastered into place. Against the new masonry, Montresor stacked the old bones. "For half of [a] century no mortal has disturbed them. In pace requiescat!" (May he rest in peace!) 

Setting

The story begins around dusk, one evening during the carnival season (similar to the Mardi Gras festival in New Orleans) in an unnamed European city. The location quickly changes from the lighthearted activites associated with such a festival to the damp, dark catacombs under Montressor's palazzo which helps to establish the sinister atmosphere of the story. 

Characters

Although several characters are mentioned in this story, the true focus lies upon Montresor, the diabolical narrator of this tale of horror, who pledges revenge upon Fortunato for an insult. When the two meet during the carnival season, there is a warm greeting with excessive shaking of hands which Montresor attributes to the fact that Fortunato had been drinking. Montresor also appears to be "happy" to see Fortunato since he is planning to murder him. Fortunato's clown or jester's costume appears to be appropriate not only for the carnival season but also for the fact that Montresor intends to make a "fool" out of him. 

Point of View

Poe writes this story from the perspective of Montresor who vows revenge against Fortunato in an effort to support his time-honored family motto: "Nemo me impune lacessit" or "No one assails me with impunity." (No one can attack me without being punished .) Poe does not intend for the reader to sympathize with Montresor because he has been wronged by Fortunato, but rather to judge him. Telling the story from Montresor's point of view, intensifies the effect of moral shock and horror. Once again, the reader is invited (as was the case in "The Tell-Tale Heart") to delve into the inner workings of a sinister mind. 

Style and Interpretation

Poe's story is a case of premeditated murder. The reader becomes quickly aware of the fact that Montresor is not a reliable narrator, and that he has a tendency to hold grudges and exaggerate terribly, as he refers to the "thousand injuries" that he has suffered at the hands of Fortunato. "...[B]ut when [Fortunato] ventured upon insult, [Montresor could stand no more, and] vowed revenge."

Montresor tries to convince the reader that his intentions are honorable in an effort to uphold his family motto. "Nemo me impune lacessit" is also the national motto of Scotland. Kenneth Silverman, in his book Edgar A. Poe: Mournful and Never-ending Remembrance, makes reference to the fact that it is not an accident or similarity that Poe chooses this particular motto. It is one that would remind Poe of another Scotsman, John Allan, his foster father. Allan, "much resembled Fortunato in being a man 'rich, respected, admired, beloved,' interested in wines, and a member of the Masons." Silverman continues by saying, that even the Allan name can be seen as an anagram in Amontillado. (Silverman 317)

Stuart and Susan Levine, editors of The Short Fiction of Edgar Allan Poe: An Annotated Edition, do not view Poe's story as just a clever tale of revenge, but instead, see it as an anti-aristocratic commentary. "Resentment against aristocratic 'priviledge' of all kinds reached a peak in Jacksonian and post-Jacksonian America....Poe's tale is related to innumerable articles in American magazines of the period about the scandalous goings-on of continental nobility." (Levine 454, 455)

"The Cask of Amontillado" is a carefully crafted story so that every detail contributes to "a certain unique or single effect." Irony, both dramatic and verbal, plays an important role in this process. Dramatic irony (the reader perceives something that a character in the story does not) occurs when the reader becomes painfully aware of what will become of Fortunato even though the character continues his descent into the catacombs in pursuit of the Amontillado. Poe further adds to this effect by calling the character Fortunato (who is anything but fortunate), and dressing him in a clown or a fool's costume since Montresor intends to make a fool of him as part of his dark plan.

There are numerous examples of verbal irony (character says one thing and means something else) within Montresor's words. Montresor expresses concern about Fortunato's health, and several times he suggests that they should turn back for fear that Fortunato's cough will worsen as a result of the cold and dampness of the catacombs. One of the most memorable lines of the story is given by Montresor in response to Fortunato saying, "I will not die of a cough." Montresor says, "True--true...." Other examples can be seen when Montresor toasts Fortunato's long life as well as when he says that he is a mason, but not in the sense that Fortunato means. "In pace requiescat!" ("Rest in peace!") is the last irony of a heavily ironic tale. "In pace" also refers to a very secure monastic prison.

By the end of Poe's story, Montresor has gotten his revenge against unsuspecting Fortunato, whose taste for wine has led him to his own death. Once again we are reminded of the coat of arms and the Montresor family motto. The insignia is symbolic of Montresor's evil character, who like the serpent intends to get revenge. 

Theme

"The Cask of Amontillado" is a powerful tale of revenge. Montresor, the sinister narrator of this tale, pledges revenge upon Fortunato for an insult. Montresor intends to seek vengeance in support of his family motto: "Nemo me impune lacessit."("No one assails me with impunity.") On the coat of arms, which bears this motto, appears " [a] huge human foot d'or, in a field of azure; the foot crushes a serpent rampant whose fangs are embedded in the heel." It is important for Montresor to have his victim know what is happening to him. Montresor will derive pleasure from the fact that "...as Fortunato slowly dies, the thought of his rejected opportunities of escape will sting him with unbearable regret, and as he sobers with terror, the final blow will come from the realization that his craving for the wine has led him to his doom." (Quinn 500) In structure, there can be no doubt, that both Montresor's plan of revenge and Poe's story are carefully crafted to create the desired effect. 

Martha Womack