Edgar Allan Poe. The Tell-Tale Heart
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Origin: http://members.xoom.com/plam/library/poe/tell_tale.html
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TRUE! nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why
WILL you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses, not
destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I
heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in
hell. How then am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily, how calmly, I
can tell you the whole story.
It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain, but, once
conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there
was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given
me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! Yes, it was
this! One of his eyes resembled that of a vulture -- a pale blue eye with a
film over it. Whenever it fell upon me my blood ran cold, and so by degrees,
very gradually, I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus
rid myself of the eye for ever.
Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you
should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded -- with
what caution -- with what foresight, with what dissimulation, I went to
work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I
killed him. And every night about midnight I turned the latch of his door
and opened it oh, so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient
for my head, I put in a dark lantern all closed, closed so that no light
shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see
how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly, very, very slowly, so that
I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an hour to place my
whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his
bed. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this? And then when my head was
well in the room I undid the lantern cautiously -- oh, so cautiously --
cautiously (for the hinges creaked), I undid it just so much that a single
thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights,
every night just at midnight, but I found the eye always closed, and so it
was impossible to do the work, for it was not the old man who vexed me but
his Evil Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the
chamber and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone,
and inquiring how he had passed the night. So you see he would have been a
very profound old man, indeed , to suspect that every night, just at twelve,
I looked in upon him while he slept.
Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the
door. A watch's minute hand moves more quickly than did mine. Never before
that night had I felt the extent of my own powers, of my sagacity. I could
scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was opening
the door little by little, and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or
thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea, and perhaps he heard me, for he
moved on the bed suddenly as if startled. Now you may think that I drew back
-- but no. His room was as black as pitch with the thick darkness (for the
shutters were close fastened through fear of robbers), and so I knew that he
could not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it on steadily,
steadily.
I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb
slipped upon the tin fastening , and the old man sprang up in the bed,
crying out, "Who's there?"
I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a
muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still
sitting up in the bed, listening; just as I have done night after night
hearkening to the death watches in the wall.
Presently, I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of
mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief -- oh, no! It was the
low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged
with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all
the world slept, it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its
dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew
what the old man felt, and pitied him although I chuckled at heart. I knew
that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise when he had
turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had
been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had been saying to
himself, "It is nothing but the wind in the chimney, it is only a mouse
crossing the floor," or, "It is merely a cricket which has made a single
chirp." Yes he has been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions ;
but he had found all in vain. ALL IN VAIN, because Death in approaching him
had stalked with his black shadow before him and enveloped the victim. And
it was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to
feel, although he neither saw nor heard, to feel the presence of my head
within the room.
When I had waited a long time very patiently without hearing him lie
down, I resolved to open a little -- a very, very little crevice in the
lantern. So I opened it -- you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily --
until at length a single dim ray like the thread of the spider shot out from
the crevice and fell upon the vulture eye.
It was open, wide, wide open, and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I
saw it with perfect distinctness -- all a dull blue with a hideous veil over
it that chilled the very marrow in my bones, but I could see nothing else of
the old man's face or person, for I had directed the ray as if by instinct
precisely upon the damned spot.
And now have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but
over-acuteness of the senses? now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull,
quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that
sound well too. It was the beating of the old man's heart. It increased my
fury as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.
But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held
the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily I could maintain the ray upon
the eye. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker
and quicker, and louder and louder, every instant. The old man's terror must
have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! -- do you
mark me well? I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And now at the
dead hour of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so
strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror. Yet, for some
minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder,
louder! I thought the heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me --
the sound would be heard by a neighbour! The old man's hour had come! With a
loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked
once -- once only. In an instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the
heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But
for many minutes the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did
not vex me; it would not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The
old man was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, he was
stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many
minutes. There was no pulsation. He was stone dead. His eye would trouble me
no more.
If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe
the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night
waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence.
I took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited
all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly so
cunningly, that no human eye -- not even his -- could have detected anything
wrong. There was nothing to wash out -- no stain of any kind -- no
blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that.
When I had made an end of these labours, it was four o'clock -- still
dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the
street door. I went down to open it with a light heart, -- for what had I
now to fear? There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with
perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a
neighbour during the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused;
information had been lodged at the police office, and they (the officers)
had been deputed to search the premises.
I smiled, -- for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. The
shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent
in the country. I took my visitors all over the house. I bade them search --
search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his
treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I
brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their
fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed
my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the
victim.
The officers were satisfied. My MANNER had convinced them. I was
singularly at ease. They sat and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of
familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them
gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears; but still they sat,
and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct : I talked more freely
to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definitiveness --
until, at length, I found that the noise was NOT within my ears.
No doubt I now grew VERY pale; but I talked more fluently, and with a
heightened voice. Yet the sound increased -- and what could I do? It was A
LOW, DULL, QUICK SOUND -- MUCH SUCH A SOUND AS A WATCH MAKES WHEN ENVELOPED
IN COTTON. I gasped for breath, and yet the officers heard it not. I talked
more quickly, more vehemently but the noise steadily increased. I arose and
argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the
noise steadily increased. Why WOULD they not be gone? I paced the floor to
and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the
men, but the noise steadily increased. O God! what COULD I do? I foamed -- I
raved -- I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and
grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually
increased. It grew louder -- louder -- louder! And still the men chatted
pleasantly , and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! --
no, no? They heard! -- they suspected! -- they KNEW! -- they were making a
mockery of my horror! -- this I thought, and this I think. But anything was
better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I
could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or
die! -- and now -- again -- hark! louder! louder! louder! LOUDER! --
"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! -- tear
up the planks! -- here, here! -- it is the beating of his hideous heart!"
Last-modified: Thu, 04 Feb 1999 12:49:15 GMT