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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 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, 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 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 that
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 me — 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 from out 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 neighbor! 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 sat upon the
bed and 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.
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
anything
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 neighbor 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!" |
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