THE TELL-TALE HEART
by
Edgar
Allan Poe
1843
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! He had the
eye 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 forever.
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, 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 has 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 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 had 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
simple dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shot from out the crevice and
fell full 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
have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of
the sense? --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 eve.
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 eve 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. First of all I dismembered the corpse. I cut
off the head and the arms and the legs.
I
then 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 any thing wrong. There
was nothing to wash out --no stain of any kind --no blood-spot whatever. I had
been too wary for that. A tub had caught all --ha! ha!
When
I had made an end of these labors, 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: --It continued and became more distinct: I talked
more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definiteness
--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. Oh 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!"
-THE END-
Formalist Analysis
SHORT STORY ANALYSIS
TITLE:
The Tell Tale Heart
PLOT:
A
narrator begins the story by explaining that he's sane. The protagonist of the
"The Tell-Tale Heart" is a classic example of Poe's unreliable
narrator, a man who cannot be trusted to tell the objective truth of what is
occurring. He tells use that his
precision in killing him means that he could not possibly be insane. For 7
nights, the narrator opens the man's door - a process which takes him a whole
hour. However, the old man's eye is always closed, making it impossible to do
the deed.
On the 8th night, the old man wakes up and the narrator's lantern flashes in
the man's vulture eye. The old man screams. He jumps onto the old man and gives
him a heart attack. He smothers him in the bed and chops his body up into
little pieces, then hiding it under the floorboards.
A neighbor phones the police and 3 officers come to check out the disturbance.
Pleasant and courteous, the narrator is confident that they'll find no trace of
murder. But soon he hears the old man's thumping heart coming from under the
floor (not realizing it could have been his own nervous heart thumping). He
feels that the officers must hear the sound too, so then the man confesses to
killing him and tells them to tear up the floorboards in order to reveal the
body.
SETTING:
The
story is set sometime in the 19th century, as seen by the lack of
electricity and dependence on gas lanterns. It is predominately developed in
the bedchambers of the old man, most likely in some American town or city,
where a murder and subsequent police investigation takes place. The mood is
tense as the narrator reveals early on how he wishes to commit murder, and the
continual references to the narrator’s own sanity add to the overall intensity.
Because the setting seems so commonplace, and the characters so ordinary on the
surface, Poe is effectively able to add to the horror of the situation.
CHARACTERS:
The
central character is that of the murderer, an unnamed man who has gone mad
because of his overly acute senses. His nervous condition is partially caused
by his next-door neighbor, an elderly man who has what is termed “the vulture
eye”, although he discloses early in the narrative that he suffered from a previous
disease. Both the narrator and the old man are flat characters, and show little
change in throughout the story. The police officers, too, are sketches of the
real thing.
POINT OF VIEW:
The
story is told from the first person point of view, through the eyes of the
madman. His attempts to convince the reader he is sane–that he just suffers
from acute senses– fails as the reader is forced to understand his rational for
killing the man. This perspective helps develop the inherent ironies in the
story, as the reader understands the truth much differently from the madman.
IRONY:
The irony in the story is in the second sentence of the first
paragraph; the narrator says "The disease had sharpened my senses— not
destroyed, not dulled them."(p. 151). In my opinion this is ironic,
because he believed that his insanity was an asset to his situation, when
really it brought about his downfall. Had he not been so self-assured that his
scheme would be flawless because of his "heightened senses", he
invariably would not have ended up in turmoil. This brings about the next
point; it was ironic that after all of his careful planning, he ended up
admitting to the police that he had killed the man.
SYMBOLISM:
Symbolism is an important aspect of the story. The major
symbol is the heartbeat. The narrator believed that the sound was the beating
of the old man's heart, but it was actually his own heartbeat, signifying his
fear of being caught, and his guilty conscience tormenting him for killing the
old man. The vultures, blue veiled eye clearly represents evil, the evil that
the narrator saw in the eye that he was trying to eliminate.
THEME:
A theme of "The Tell-Tale Heart"
is that human nature is a delicate balance of light and dark, or good and evil.
Most of the time this precarious proportion is maintained; however, when there
is a shift, for whatever reason, the dark or perverse side emerges. How and why
this dark side arises differs from person to person. What may push one
individual over the edge will only cause another to raise an eyebrow.
