Speaker 1: The tell tell heart true nervous, very very dreadfully nervous.
I had been and am, But why will you say
that I am mad? The disease has 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 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. Mad
men 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 my head in. Oh,
you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust
it in. I moved it slowly, 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 red 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 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 I did mine. Never
before that night I had felt the extent of my
own powers, 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 from He moved on the
bed suddenly, as if startled. Now you may think that
I drew back, but no, his room was black as pitch,
with the thick darkness, for the shutters were close fastened
through the fear of robbers, and so I knew that
he could not see the opening of the door. 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, and 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 those superstitions, 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 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 a
spider shot out from 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 in dull blue, with a
hideous veil over 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 how
I not told you that what you mistake for madness
is but an 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 the sound well too. It was the beating of
the old man's heart. It increased my fury as the
beating of a drum stimulates a 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 to 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. And yet for some
minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating
grew louder and 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 up in the lantern
and leaped into the room. He shrieked once once only,
and in an instant I dragged him to the floor
and pulled the heavy bed over him, and then smile,
imiled 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 you still think me mad, you will think so
no longer. When I described 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. Then I took up three planks
from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between
the scantlings. I then placed the board 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. The tub had caught it all.
When I made the end of the 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 aroused, information had been launched
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 and 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 try,
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 they still sat and chatted.
The ringing became more distinct. It continued and became more distinct.
I talked more freely to get rid of the feelings,
but it continued and gained definiteness, until at length I
found the noise was not within my ears, no doubt.
Now I 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 increased. I rose and argued about trifles in
a high key, with violent gesticulations. But the noise of
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 observation of the men's But
the noise increased steadily. Oh God, what could I do?
I foamed, I raved, I swore, I swung the chair
upon which I had been sitting, and grated upon the boards.
But the noise arose over all, and continuously 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
and of the tell tale heart. By Edgar Allan Poe