ترجمه فارسی داستان The Tell-Tale Heart همراه با تفسیر و فایل صوتی
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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! 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 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 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-
ترجمه فارسی داستان قلب خبرچین
نام داستان : قلب خبرچین / نویسنده : ادگار آلن پو /
درسته!عصبی بودم، خیلی وحشتناک عصبی بودم و هستم . اما چرا می گویید دیوانه ام؟ بیماری حس هایم را قوی کرده بود تخریب ویا گنگ نکرده بود. ازهمه بیشتر حس شنیدن را. همه چیز آسمان و زمین را می شنیدم. چیزهای زیادی از جهنم می شنیدم. چطور می توانم دیوانه باشم؟ گوش کنید! و ببینید که چطور در سلامتی و آرامش می توانم کل داستان را برایتان تعریف کنم.
ممکن نیست بتوانم بگویم که چطور این فکر به ذهن ام رسید و شب و روزم را شکار کرد.
منظورخاصي نداشتم. خشم نبود. پیر مرد را دوست داشتم. هیچ وقت با من بد رفتاری نکرد. هیچوقت به من توهین نکرد.اشتیاقی به طلاهایش نداشتم. فکرکنم مسئله چشم اش بود! بله همین !
یکی از چشم هایش من را یاد لاشخور می انداخت. چشمی به رنگ آبی روشن با پرده ای نازک روی آن. هر وقت به من دوخته می شد خون ام یخ می زد. به تدریج تصمیم گرفتم او را بکشم تا برای همیشه از شر نگاه اش خلاص شوم.
حالا نکته این جاست. شما فکر می کنید دیوانه ام. دیوانه ها هیچ چیز نمی دانند. اما باید مرا می دیدید. باید می دیدید که چقدرعاقلانه کارها را پیش بردم. با چه احتیاطی ، چه دور اندیشي و چه دورویی ای این کار را انجام دادم. هیچ وقت به اندازه ی هفته ی قبل از کشتن اش به او مهربان نبودم. نیمه های شب قفل در اتاق اش را باز می کردم و وقتی به حد کافی به اندازه ای که سرم از لای آن رد شود، بازمی شد فانوس را در اتاق می گذاشتم آنقدر که هیچ نوری از آن بیرون نزند و بعد به سرم اعتماد می کردم. ازاین که چقدر مکارانه به سرم اعتماد می کردم خنده تان می گیرد. به آرامی وارد می شدم طوری که مزاحم خواب پیرمرد نشوم. یک ساعت طول می کشید سرم را کاملا" از لای در تو ببرم تا بتوانم او را در حال خوابیدن ببینم. چطور یک دیوانه می تواند اینقدر حساب شده این کار را انجام دهد؟ وقتی کاملا" سرم را داخل اتاق می بردم فتیله فانوس را پایین می کشیدم اینقدر که فقط تابش ضعیفی روی چشم لاشخور بیفتد و این کاررا هفت شب طولانی انجام دادم، اما چشم همیشه بسته بود در نتیجه این کار غیرممکن بود چون این پیرمرد نبود که من را آزار می داد بلکه چشم شیطانی او بود. هر صبح وقتی خورشید طلوع می کرد وارد اتاق می شدم. با او حرف می زدم. صمیمانه نام اش را صدا می زدم و می پرسیدم که شب را چطور گذرانده. پس می بینید که پیرمرد باید خیلی تیز بود تا شک می کرد که هر شب درست ساعت دوازده وقتی خواب بود به او نگاه می کردم.
شب هشتم در باز کردن در اتاق خیلی احتیاط کردم. دقیقه شمار ساعت سریع تراز من حرکت می کرد. هیچ وقت قبل از آن شب به توانایی هایم پی نبرده بودم. ازفکر این که در را آرام آرام باز می کردم و او نمی توانست حتا اعمال و افکار من را تصور کند، احساس درايت مي كردم.
از این فکر با دهان بسته خندیدم و شاید شنید چون ناگهان تکان خورد مثل این که از خواب پریده باشد. حالا شاید فکر کنید من برگشتم اما نه. اتاق او به سیاهی قیر بود( چون کرکره ها از ترس دزد کاملا" بسته بود) به خاطر همین می دانستم که نمی تواند باز شدن در را ببیند، پس به هل دادن در ادامه دادم.
سرم را تو بردم، داشتم فانوس را روشن می کردم که انگشت شستم روی چفت حلبی سر خورد و پیرمرد از خواب پرید وروی تخت نشست.
«کی اونجاست؟»
ساکت ماندم. برای یک ساعت حتا پلک هم نزدم و درعین حال صدای دراز کشیدن اش را نشنیدم. هنوز روی تخت نشسته بود و گوش می داد درست مثل من که هر شب گوش می دادم به صدای مرگ که از روی دیوارهمه چیز را نظاره می کرد.
خیلی زود صدای ناله ی خفیفی شنیدم. می دانستم که این ناله از وحشت مرگ است. نه از سردرد یا غصه. نه ! این صدای خفیف و سرکوب شده ای است که از اعماق روح بر می خیزد وقتی که از ترس لبریز شده است. صدا را خوب می شناختم. خیلی شب ها، درست در نیمه شب وقتی همه ی دنیا خواب بود از سینه ی من خارج شده بود و با آن انعکاس هولناک اش عمق گرفته بود، ترسهایی که من را پریشان می کرد. گفتم که آن را خوب می شناختم.
احساس پیرمرد را می دانستم و هر چند که دردل ام می خندیدم اما دل ام به حال او می سوخت. می دانستم که با شنیدن اولین صدای خفیف روی تخت بیدار می شود. وقتی که روی تخت غلت مي زد ترس هایش بزرگ تر می شد. بی سبب سعی می کرد آن ها را تصور کند اما نمی توانست. به خودش می گفت ( چیزی جز صدای باد در دودکش بخاری نیست. فقط یک موش است که از روی زمین رد می شود یا زنجره ای که فقط یک بار جیرجیر مي كند). بله سعی می کرد با این فرضیات خودش را آرام کند. اما بیهوده بود. بیهوده، چون مرگ ، سايه ي سياه اش را برافراشته و او را احاطه كرده بود واین تاثیر حزن آور آن سایه ی غير قابل ادراك بود که باعث می شد که هر چند چیزی نمی شنود و نمی بیند باز هم حضور من را در اتاق احساس کند.
وقتی زمان زیادی را در نهایت بردباري بدون شنیدن صداي تخت صبر کردم، تصمیم گرفتم شکاف خیلی خیلی کوچكی روی فانوس باز کنم و نمی توانید تصور کنید چطور مخفیانه شكاف را باز كردم تا باریکه نوري مثل تار عنکبوت روی چشم لاشخور افتاد. پلك هايش باز بود و وقتی به آن خیره شدم بد جوري ترسيدم. با دقت آن را می دیدم، آبی مرده با حجابی پنهاني که مغز استخوان من را منجمد کرد. اما نمی توانستم چیزي از صورت یا بدن پیرمرد ببینم چرا که تابش نور را درست در نقطه ی مورد نظرتنظیم کرده بودم و حالا به شما نگفتم آن چه که شما اشتباها" دیوانگی می دانید چیزی نیست جز قدرت احساس. صدای بم كش داري مثل صدای ساعتی که لای پنبه پیچیده باشی شنیدم. آن صدا را به خوبی می شناختم. صدای ضربان قلب پیر مرد بود. خشم مرا افزایش می داد درست مثل ضربات روی طبل که جسارت سربازها را تحریک می کند.
اما حتا در این لحظه هم آرام ماندم. به سختی نفس می کشیدم. فانوس را بی حرکت نگه داشتم. سعی کردم تا جایی که ممکن است نور را روی چشم اش نگه دارم. در این وقت صدای ضربه های جهنمی قلب بالا گرفت. تندتروتندترشد و هر لحظه بلند تر وبلند تر. باید وحشت زیادی به جان اش افتاده باشد. بلندترشد، هر لحظه بلندتر! می توانید کاملا" بفهمید که چه می گویم؟ گفتم که عصبی ام و حالا در ساعت پایانی شب در میان سکوت هولناک آن خانه ی قدیمی چنین صدای عجیبی در من با وحشت غیر قابل کنترلی ایجاد هیجان می کرد. بازبرای چند دقیقه ای آرام ماندم. اما ضربان بلند ترو بلند تر می شد فکر کردم این قلب باید منفجر شود و حالا نگرانی تازه ای به دل ام چنگ انداخت. شاید این صدا را همسایه ای می شنید.
وقت پیر مرد سر رسیده بود. با نعره ای بلند فانوس روشن را رها کردم و پریدم وسط اتاق. یک بار فریاد کشید فقط یک بار. ظرف یک ثانیه انداختم اش روی زمین و تخت سنگین را روی اش برگرداندم. بعد با خوشحالی لبخند زدم اما برای چند دقیقه قلب با صدای خفه ای تپید. در هر صورت ناراحت ام نکرد. از پشت دیوار هم که شنيده نمي شد. آخر سر متوقف شد. پیرمرد مرده بود. تخت را جا به جا کردم و لاشه را معاینه کردم. بله سنگ شده بود. دست ام را روی قلب اش گذاشتم چند دقیقه نگاه داشتم. هیچ حرکتی نبود. او مرده بود. دیگر چشم هایش نمی توانست مرا آزار دهد. اگر هنوز فکر می کنید دیوانه ام وقتی کارهای عاقلانه ای را که برای پنهان کردن جسد انجام دادم تعریف کنم دیگر این طور فکر نخواهید کرد. شب به پایان می رسید و من با شتاب کار می کردم اما در سکوت.
سه قطعه از تخته های کف زمین اتاق را برداشتم و جسد را آن جا گذاشتم و تخته ها را با مکروهوشمندی کامل سر جایشان برگرداندم. هیچ کس قادر به دیدن چیز مشکوکی در اتاق نبود. هیچ چیز شستني وجود نداشت. نه لکه ای و نه خون.
وقتی کارم تمام شد ساعت 4 بود. زنگ ساعت كه به صدا در آمد، تقه ای به در خورد. هنوزهوا تاریک بود. با خوشحالی رفتم که در را باز کنم ، موردی برای ترس نبود. سه مرد که خود را پلیس معرفی کردند وارد شدند. همسایه ها در طول شب صدای فریاد مشكوكي شنيده و گزارش کرده بودند. پلیس برای تحقیق آمده بود.
لبخند زدم چرا باید می ترسیدم؟ به آن ها خوش آمد گفتم.
بله، من در رویا فریاد کشیدم. پیرمرد ساکن این خانه خارج از کشور است. آن ها را درهمه ی خانه چرخاندم . گذاشتم خوب بگردند و آخر سر هم به اتاق پیر مرد بردم. من گنجینه ی او را دست نخورده وسالم به آن ها نشان دادم. در نهايت اعتماد به نفس صندلی ها را به داخل اتاق آوردم و خواستم که آن جا استراحت کنند وصندلی خودم را هم با شجاعت وحشیانه ای از این پیروزی درست روی نقطه ای که لاشه را زیر آن پنهان کرده بودم گذاشتم. پلیس ها قانع شده بودند. رفتارم آن ها را متقاعد کرده بود. راحت بودم. نشستند و درحالی که با خوشحالی به سوال هایشان پاسخ می دادم موارد مشابهی را مورد بحث قرار دادند. اما طولی نکشید احساس کردم که رنگ ام پریده و آرزو دارم که بروند. سرم درد گرفت و صدای زنگی در گوش هایم پیچید. اما هنوز نشسته بودند و گپ می زدند. صدای زنگ در گوش ام مشخص تر شد. با رها شدن از این احساس راحت تر حرف زدم اما ادامه پیدا کرد و قطعیت گرفت تا بالاخره فهمیدم که صدا در گوش هایم نيست.شکی نبود که حالا دیگر خیلی رنگ ام پریده بود. اما خیلی راحت حرف می زدم و با صدایی رسا حرف می زدم. اما صدا بالا گرفت. چکار می تونستم بکنم؟ صدای تیز بم و کندی بود بیشتر مثل صدایی که ساعت می دهد وقتی که لای پنبه پیچیده شده باشد. به سختی می شد نفس بکشم اما هنوز آن ها نمی شنیدند. من تندتر حرف می زدم . مشتاق تر اما صدا بلند تر می شد. بلند شدم و درباره ی موارد جزیی حرف زدم. با صدای بلند و حرکات عصبی، اما صدا باز بلند تر شد. چرا نمی رفتند؟ قدم زدم. با گام های سنگین قدم زدم، مثل این که از دیدن آن ها مضطرب باشم اما صدا باز بلند تر شد و خدای من چه کار می توانستم بکنم.
کف کردم. هذیان گفتم. قسم خوردم. صندلی ای که روی اش نشسته بودم تاب دادم و روی تخته ها کشیدم اما صدا بلند تر شد و به طور ممتد بلند ترشد، بلند تر بلند تر بلند تر وهنوز مردها با خشنودی گپ می زدند و می خندیدند. ممکن بود صدا را نشنوند؟ خدای بزرگ. نه نه شنیده بودند. مشکوک شده بودند می دانستند. با استفاده ار ترس م مسخره ام می کردند. هرچیزی از این رنج بهتر یود ! هرچیزی را می شد بهتر از این تمسخر تحمل کرد. آن لبخند های ریاکارانه قابل تحمل نبود. حس کردم یا باید فریاد بزنم با بمیرم! و حالا باز گوش بدهید بلند تر، بلند بلند تر، بلند تر!
فریاد زدم بی شرف ها بیشترازاین تظاهرنکنید : (( من مجرم ام. الوار ها را برداشتم! این جا! این جا، این ضربان قلب پنهان شده ی اوست! ))
مترجم : مهناز دقیق نیا
Poe's "The Tell-Tale Heart"
Commentary by Karen Bernardo
In Edgar Allan Poe's Poe's "The Tell-Tale Heart," the author moves away from the typical Gothic writer's fascination with remote and eerie locations; in fact, the story's setting is so nondescript that Poe does not even tell us where it is. We know only that it is a house, set on a densely-populated street, in a reasonably urban area boasting a police force. And the most dangerous villains can be, not just wild-eyed madmen or escaped convicts, but people whom one would never give a second look. What makes this story so terrifying, then, is not the creepiness of the setting but the normalcy of it.
As our story opens, Poe's unnamed narrator has decided to get rid of an older man with whom he lives; whether it is his employer, his uncle, his grandfather, we do not know. There is no reason for this decision, except for the fact that the narrator suddenly takes a violent dislike to the way the old man looks at him. The narrator believes the old man has "the eye of a vulture -- a pale blue eye, with a film over it." A vulture, of course, is a bird of prey; and if anyone is predatory in this story, it is certainly not the old man, but the narrator. Nonetheless, the narrator kills him and hides the body under the floor boards.
By linking the narrator to the victim through the motif of the predatory eye, Poe now moves on to the crux of the story. The murderer feels no shame for his deed; outwardly, when the police come, he is the very picture of calm. But the last thing of which the narrator was conscious before the old man died was the victim's beating heart, and now, with the authorities in the room, the narrator begins to hear the beating heart again.
Obviously, what he hears -- or rather senses -- is his OWN beating heart; despite the fact that he is not conscious of feeling nervous, his body is exhibiting all the symptoms of terror and his mind is displacing them onto the dead man. In his delusional state, he confesses his deed to the startled police so they will pull up the floorboards and put a stop to "the beating of [the victim's] hideous heart." Ironically, of course, in those days preceding insanity pleas, the perpetrator's confession will have the secondary effect of putting an end to the beating of his own heart as well.
In choosing a setting of domestic normalcy for stories such as "The Tell-Tale Heart," Edgar Allan Poe revolutionized the Gothic horror genre. No longer did horror writers have to set our stories in abandoned monasteries, haunted houses, or gloomy castles; Poe demonstrated that true horror comes not from our environment but from within ourselves.
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Complete Stories and Poems of Edgar...
Annotations
The unnamed narrator of the story is a "dreadfully nervous" character who disputes the allegation that he might be crazy. He contends that his disposition arises from a heightening of the senses: "Above all was the sense of hearing acute" (74). The narrator provides care for a wealthy elderly man. For some inexplicable reason, the narrator becomes obsessed with the diseased eye of the old man. The narrator likens it to a vulture’s eye and is so haunted by the Evil Eye that he decides to murder the old man.
He meticulously plans the murder. After one week of preparation, the narrator charges into the old man’s bedroom after midnight and kills him using the heavy bed the victim had been sleeping in to either crush or suffocate him. Even after the murder, the victim’s heart continues beating for many minutes. The narrator carefully dismembers the body in a tub. He conceals all the pieces under the floor boards.
At four o’clock in the morning, three policemen arrive. A neighbor heard a scream and notified the police. They are here to investigate. The narrator maintains his composure and even entertains the police. After all, he has committed the perfect crime. Suddenly, he hears a repetitive noise like the ticking of a watch. At first soft, the sound grows louder and louder. No one else hears it. What is the cause of the noise--paranoia, his conscience, auditory hallucinations, a supernatural clue, or (most likely) the sound of his own pounding heart? The narrator can no longer tolerate the thumping and confesses to the murder: "I admit the deed!--tear up the planks!--here, here!--it is the beating of his hideous heart!" (78)
The Tell-Tale Heart is a classic example of the psychological story. The frenetic diction of the narrator and his repeated pleas to the reader ("How, then, am I mad?" (74) and "but why will you say that I am mad?" (74) only reinforce the suspicion that he is mentally ill. Beyond his manic monologue, there is the narrator’s creepy fascination with the old man’s eye as further proof of lunacy. What is it about that eye--"a pale blue eye, with a film over it" [p74]--that so vexes the narrator? Clinically, the description suggests a common cataract--hardly a reason to murder the old man.
The terror on display is both internal (the mind of the narrator) and external (the grisly murder). The passage of time in this short story is noteworthy. Time can be unbearably slow and astonishingly fast. Poe’s emphasis on repetition and rhythm (ticking and beating) contributes to the tension of the tale.
This horror story is actually about the demise of two men. It is not just a masterful portrait of madness but an example of how guilt can make an already crazed man even crazier. The narrator asserts "I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell" (74). Odds are he truly did.
The Tell-Tale Heart And Symbolism
Like many of Edgar Allen Poe's works, "The Tell-Tale Heart" is full of death
and darkness. Poe used many of the real life tragedies he experienced as inspiration for
his gothic style of writing. Poe dealt with many aspects of death and madness in his
stories, madness again is playing a key role in the plot. In this short story Poe used
literary devices such as point of view and symbolism to give it a more dramatic effect and
add to the madness the narrator portrays.
Poe's use of the point of view device is very evident in "The Tell-Tale Heart".
The madman that speaks through the entire story talks in an unreliable first person view.
Because of the man's obvious madness you are not sure what is taking place in the
introduction and what the actual events of the story were. Although there is a definite
madness in the man's attitude and he is constantly aware of it yet he makes many claims
that he is not mad at all. "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!
Ha!-would a madman have been
so wise as this?" He is obviously well aware of his madness but he tries to justify it by
saying that he is not mad because he puts so much effort and wisdom into his deeds. It is
kind of an ironic statement that he justifies his madness in the wisdom he shows in the
insane act itself. This is like a student saying he is not cheating because he had to "do
work" to get the plagiarism. There is ironically no "method to the madness" in his
argument. After the narrator commits the murder he again tries to justify his present
madness. "If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise.
Analysis In Narration Of The The Tell-Tale Heart
The Tell Tale Heart - Critical Analysis
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