Horror · Edgar Allan Poe · 1843 · 6:55

The Tell-Tale Heart

True! — nervous — very, very dreadfully nervous. A killer swears he is sane while the police sit smiling above the floorboards, and the beating grows louder. (Abridged.)

The narratorThe old man

緊張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. I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him.耳語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.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.Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious in opening the door.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—The old manWho’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.Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. He had been saying to himself—The old man耳語It is nothing but the wind in the chimney—it is only a mouse crossing the floor,orThe old manIt is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp.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 full upon the vulture eye.It was open—wide, wide open—and I grew furious as I gazed upon it.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. It was the beating of the old man’s heart.But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and quicker, and louder and louder every instant. 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. The old man was 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. I then took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings.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. There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police.I smiled,—for what had I to fear? The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. 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. 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.Oh God! what could I do? I foamed—I raved—I swore! 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.I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! and now—again!—hark! louder! louder! louder! louder!大喊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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