Poe, Edgar Allen - The Complete Works of Edgar Allen Poe

by Volume 01-05 (lit)

  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 eve 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!"

  ~~~ End of Text ~~~

  ======

  BERENICE

  Dicebant mihi sodales, si sepulchrum amicae visitarem, curas meas

  aliquantulum forelevatas.

  - _Ebn Zaiat_.

  MISERY is manifold. The wretchedness of earth is multiform.

  Overreaching the wide horizon as the rainbow, its hues are as various

  as the hues of that arch - as distinct too, yet as intimately

  blended. Overreaching the wide horizon as the rainbow! How is it that

  from beauty I have derived a type of unloveliness? - from the

  covenant of peace, a simile of sorrow? But as, in ethics, evil is a

  consequence of good, so, in fact, out of joy is sorrow born. Either

  the memory of past bliss is the anguish of to-day, or the agonies

  which _are_, have their origin in the ecstasies which _might have

  been_.

  My baptismal name is Egaeus; that of my family I will not

  mention. Yet there are no towers in the land more time-honored than

  my gloomy, gray, hereditary halls. Our line has been called a race of

  visionaries; and in many striking particulars - in the character of

  the family mansion - in the frescos of the chief saloon - in the

  tapestries of the dormitories - in the chiselling of some buttresses

  in the armory - but more especially in the gallery of antique

  paintings - in the fashion of the library chamber - and, lastly, in

  the very peculiar nature of the library's contents - there is more

  than sufficient evidence to warrant the belief.

  The recollections of my earliest years are connected with that

  chamber, and with its volumes - of which latter I will say no more.

  Here died my mother. Herein was I born. But it is mere idleness to

  say that I had not lived before - that the soul has no previous

  existence. You deny it? - let us not argue the matter. Convinced

  myself, I seek not to convince. There is, however, a remembrance of

  aerial forms - of spiritual and meaning eyes - of sounds, musical yet

  sad - a remembrance which will not be excluded; a memory like a

  shadow - vague, variable, indefinite, unsteady; and like a shadow,

  too, in the impossibility of my getting rid of it while the sunlight

  of my reason shall exist.

  In that chamber was I born. Thus awaking from the long night of

  what seemed, but was not, nonentity, at once into the very regions of

  fairy land - into a palace of imagination - into the wild dominions

  of monastic thought and erudition - it is not singular that I gazed

  around me with a startled and ardent eye - that I loitered away my

  boyhood in books, and dissipated my youth in reverie; but it _is_

  singular that as years rolled away, and the noon of manhood found me

  still in the mansion of my fathers - it _is_ wonderful what

  stagnation there fell upon the springs of my life - wonderful how

  total an inversion took place in the character of my commonest

  thought. The realities of the world affected me as visions, and as

  visions only, while the wild ideas of the land of dreams became, in

  turn, not the material of my every-day existence, but in very deed

  that existence utterly and solely in itself.

  * * * * * * *