{"id":1995,"date":"2009-01-19T16:00:39","date_gmt":"2009-01-19T15:00:39","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.krimiblog.de\/?p=1995"},"modified":"2009-01-19T16:00:39","modified_gmt":"2009-01-19T15:00:39","slug":"edgar-allan-poe-the-tell-tale-heart","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/archiv.krimiblog.de\/?p=1995","title":{"rendered":"Edgar Allan Poe: The Tell-Tale Heart"},"content":{"rendered":"

Art is long and Time is fleeting,
\nAnd our hearts, though stout and brave,
\nStill, like muffled drums, are beating
\nFuneral marches to the grave.
\n Longfellow.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

TRUE! \u00e2\u20ac\u201d nervous \u00e2\u20ac\u201d very, very dreadfully nervous I had been, and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses \u00e2\u20ac\u201d not destroyed \u00e2\u20ac\u201d 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? Harken! and observe how healthily \u00e2\u20ac\u201d how calmly I can tell you the whole story.
\n
\nIt 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! \u00e2\u20ac\u201d yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture \u00e2\u20ac\u201d a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so, by degrees \u00e2\u20ac\u201d very gradually \u00e2\u20ac\u201d I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.<\/p>\n

Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have [column 2:] seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded \u00e2\u20ac\u201d with what caution \u00e2\u20ac\u201d with what foresight \u00e2\u20ac\u201d 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 \u00e2\u20ac\u201d oh so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I first 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 \u00e2\u20ac\u201d 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 the old man as he lay upon his bed. Ha! \u00e2\u20ac\u201d would a madman have been so wise as this? And then, when my head was well in the room, I undid the lantern cautiously \u00e2\u20ac\u201d oh, so cautiously (for the hinges creaked) \u00e2\u20ac\u201d I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights \u00e2\u20ac\u201d every night just at midnight \u00e2\u20ac\u201d but I found the eye always closed; and so it [page 30, column 1:] 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 his 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.<\/p>\n

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 \u00e2\u20ac\u201d of my sagacity. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph. To think that there I was, opening the door, little by little, and the old man not even to dream of my secret deeds or thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea. And perhaps the old man heard me; for he moved in the bed suddenly, as if startled. Now you may think that I drew back \u00e2\u20ac\u201d 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 on pushing it steadily, steadily.<\/p>\n

I had got my head in, und [[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 \u00e2\u20ac\u201d „Who’s there?“<\/p>\n

I kept quite still and said nothing. For another hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear the old man lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed, listening; \u00e2\u20ac\u201d just as I have done, night after night, hearkening to the death-watches in the wall.<\/p>\n

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 \u00e2\u20ac\u201d oh, no! \u00e2\u20ac\u201d 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 \u00e2\u20ac\u201d „It is nothing but the wind in the chimney \u00e2\u20ac\u201d 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 the old man had stalked with his black shadow before him, and the shadow had now reached and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel \u00e2\u20ac\u201d although he [column 2:] neither saw nor heard me \u00e2\u20ac\u201d to feel the presence of my head within the room.<\/p>\n

When I had waited a long time, very patiently, without hearing the old man lie down, I resolved to open a little \u00e2\u20ac\u201d a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it \u00e2\u20ac\u201d you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily \u00e2\u20ac\u201d 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.<\/p>\n

It was open \u00e2\u20ac\u201d wide, wide open \u00e2\u20ac\u201d and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness \u00e2\u20ac\u201d 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.<\/p>\n

And now \u00e2\u20ac\u201d have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over acuteness of the senses? \u00e2\u20ac\u201d now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound \u00e2\u20ac\u201d much such a sound 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.<\/p>\n

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 louder and louder every instant. The old man’s terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment: \u00e2\u20ac\u201d do you mark me well? I have told you that I am nervous: \u00e2\u20ac\u201d so I am. And now, at the dead hour of the night, and amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable wrath. Yet, for some minutes longer, I refrained and kept still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the heart must burst! And now a new anxiety seized me \u00e2\u20ac\u201d 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 \u00e2\u20ac\u201d 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 walls. 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. The old man was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more.<\/p>\n

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. [page 31, column 1:] 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 \u00e2\u20ac\u201d not even his \u00e2\u20ac\u201d could have detected anything wrong. There was nothing to wash out \u00e2\u20ac\u201d no stain of any kind \u00e2\u20ac\u201d no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that. A tub had caught all \u00e2\u20ac\u201d ha! ha!<\/p>\n

When I had made an end of these labors, it was four o’clock \u00e2\u20ac\u201d 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, \u00e2\u20ac\u201d 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.<\/p>\n

I smiled, \u00e2\u20ac\u201d 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 visiters all over the house. I bade them search \u00e2\u20ac\u201d 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.<\/p>\n

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. [column 2:] 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 definiteness \u00e2\u20ac\u201d until, at length, I found that the noise was not within my ears.<\/p>\n

No doubt I now grew very pale; \u00e2\u20ac\u201d but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased \u00e2\u20ac\u201d and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound \u00e2\u20ac\u201d much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath \u00e2\u20ac\u201d and yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly \u00e2\u20ac\u201d more vehemently; \u00e2\u20ac\u201d but the noise steadily increased. I arose, and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; \u00e2\u20ac\u201d 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; \u00e2\u20ac\u201d but the noise steadily increased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed \u00e2\u20ac\u201d I raved \u00e2\u20ac\u201d I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had sat, and grated it upon the boards; \u00e2\u20ac\u201d but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder \u00e2\u20ac\u201d louder \u00e2\u20ac\u201d louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! \u00e2\u20ac\u201d no, no! They heard! \u00e2\u20ac\u201d they suspected! \u00e2\u20ac\u201d they knew! \u00e2\u20ac\u201d they were making a mockery of my horror! \u00e2\u20ac\u201d 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! \u00e2\u20ac\u201d and now \u00e2\u20ac\u201d again! \u00e2\u20ac\u201d hark! louder! louder! louder! louder! \u00e2\u20ac\u201d<\/p>\n

„Villains!“ I shrieked, „dissemble no more! I admit the deed! \u00e2\u20ac\u201d tear up the planks! \u00e2\u20ac\u201d here, here! \u00e2\u20ac\u201d it is the beating of his hideous heart!“ <\/p>\n

Quelle: The Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore <\/a><\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

TRUE! \u00e2\u20ac\u201d nervous \u00e2\u20ac\u201d very, very dreadfully nervous I had been, and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses \u00e2\u20ac\u201d not destroyed \u00e2\u20ac\u201d 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? Harken! and observe how healthily \u00e2\u20ac\u201d how calmly I can tell you the whole story.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[4],"tags":[147,151,505],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/archiv.krimiblog.de\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1995"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/archiv.krimiblog.de\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/archiv.krimiblog.de\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/archiv.krimiblog.de\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/archiv.krimiblog.de\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1995"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/archiv.krimiblog.de\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1995\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/archiv.krimiblog.de\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1995"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/archiv.krimiblog.de\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1995"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/archiv.krimiblog.de\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1995"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}