The Masque of the Red Death

 

THE "Red Death" had long devastated the country. No pestilence had ever

been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its seal--the

redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden

dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. The

scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim,

were the pest ban which shut him out from the aid and from the sympathy

of his fellow-men. And the whole seizure, progress and termination of

the disease, were the incidents of half an hour.

 

But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and sagacious. When his

dominions were half depopulated, he summoned to his presence a thousand

hale and light-hearted friends from among the knights and dames of

his court, and with these retired to the deep seclusion of one of his

castellated abbeys. This was an extensive and magnificent structure, the

creation of the prince's own eccentric yet august taste. A strong and

lofty wall girdled it in. This wall had gates of iron. The courtiers,

having entered, brought furnaces and massy hammers and welded the bolts.

They resolved to leave means neither of ingress or egress to the sudden

impulses of despair or of frenzy from within. The abbey was amply

provisioned. With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance to

contagion. The external world could take care of itself. In the meantime

it was folly to grieve, or to think. The prince had provided all the

appliances of pleasure. There were buffoons, there were improvisatori,

there were ballet-dancers, there were musicians, there was Beauty,

there was wine. All these and security were within. Without was the "Red

Death."

 

It was toward the close of the fifth or sixth month of his seclusion,

and while the pestilence raged most furiously abroad, that the Prince

Prospero entertained his thousand friends at a masked ball of the most

unusual magnificence.

 

It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade. But first let me tell of the

rooms in which it was held. There were seven--an imperial suite. In many

palaces, however, such suites form a long and straight vista, while the

folding doors slide back nearly to the walls on either hand, so that

the view of the whole extent is scarcely impeded. Here the case was

very different; as might have been expected from the duke's love of the

bizarre. The apartments were so irregularly disposed that the vision

embraced but little more than one at a time. There was a sharp turn at

every twenty or thirty yards, and at each turn a novel effect. To the

right and left, in the middle of each wall, a tall and narrow Gothic

window looked out upon a closed corridor which pursued the windings of

the suite. These windows were of stained glass whose color varied in

accordance with the prevailing hue of the decorations of the chamber

into which it opened. That at the eastern extremity was hung, for

example, in blue--and vividly blue were its windows. The second chamber

was purple in its ornaments and tapestries, and here the panes were

purple. The third was green throughout, and so were the casements. The

fourth was furnished and lighted with orange--the fifth with white--the

sixth with violet. The seventh apartment was closely shrouded in black

velvet tapestries that hung all over the ceiling and down the walls,

falling in heavy folds upon a carpet of the same material and hue. But

in this chamber only, the color of the windows failed to correspond with

the decorations. The panes here were scarlet--a deep blood color. Now in

no one of the seven apartments was there any lamp or candelabrum, amid

the profusion of golden ornaments that lay scattered to and fro or

depended from the roof. There was no light of any kind emanating from

lamp or candle within the suite of chambers. But in the corridors

that followed the suite, there stood, opposite to each window, a heavy

tripod, bearing a brazier of fire that projected its rays through the

tinted glass and so glaringly illumined the room. And thus were produced

a multitude of gaudy and fantastic appearances. But in the western or

black chamber the effect of the fire-light that streamed upon the dark

hangings through the blood-tinted panes, was ghastly in the extreme, and

produced so wild a look upon the countenances of those who entered,

that there were few of the company bold enough to set foot within its

precincts at all.

 

It was in this apartment, also, that there stood against the western

wall, a gigantic clock of ebony. Its pendulum swung to and fro with a

dull, heavy, monotonous clang; and when the minute-hand made the circuit

of the face, and the hour was to be stricken, there came from the

brazen lungs of the clock a sound which was clear and loud and deep and

exceedingly musical, but of so peculiar a note and emphasis that, at

each lapse of an hour, the musicians of the orchestra were constrained

to pause, momentarily, in their performance, to hearken to the sound;

and thus the waltzers perforce ceased their evolutions; and there was a

brief disconcert of the whole gay company; and, while the chimes of the

clock yet rang, it was observed that the giddiest grew pale, and the

more aged and sedate passed their hands over their brows as if in

confused reverie or meditation. But when the echoes had fully ceased,

a light laughter at once pervaded the assembly; the musicians looked at

each other and smiled as if at their own nervousness and folly, and made

whispering vows, each to the other, that the next chiming of the clock

should produce in them no similar emotion; and then, after the lapse of

sixty minutes, (which embrace three thousand and six hundred seconds of

the Time that flies,) there came yet another chiming of the clock,

and then were the same disconcert and tremulousness and meditation as

before.

 

But, in spite of these things, it was a gay and magnificent revel.

The tastes of the duke were peculiar. He had a fine eye for colors and

effects. He disregarded the decora of mere fashion. His plans were bold

and fiery, and his conceptions glowed with barbaric lustre. There are

some who would have thought him mad. His followers felt that he was not.

It was necessary to hear and see and touch him to be sure that he was

not.

 

He had directed, in great part, the moveable embellishments of the seven

chambers, upon occasion of this great fete; and it was his own guiding

taste which had given character to the masqueraders. Be sure they

were grotesque. There were much glare and glitter and piquancy and

phantasm--much of what has been since seen in "Hernani." There were

arabesque figures with unsuited limbs and appointments. There were

delirious fancies such as the madman fashions. There was much of the

beautiful, much of the wanton, much of the bizarre, something of the

terrible, and not a little of that which might have excited disgust.

To and fro in the seven chambers there stalked, in fact, a multitude of

dreams. And these--the dreams--writhed in and about, taking hue from the

rooms, and causing the wild music of the orchestra to seem as the echo

of their steps. And, anon, there strikes the ebony clock which stands in

the hall of the velvet. And then, for a moment, all is still, and all is

silent save the voice of the clock. The dreams are stiff-frozen as they

stand. But the echoes of the chime die away--they have endured but an

instant--and a light, half-subdued laughter floats after them as they

depart. And now again the music swells, and the dreams live, and writhe

to and fro more merrily than ever, taking hue from the many-tinted

windows through which stream the rays from the tripods. But to the

chamber which lies most westwardly of the seven, there are now none of

the maskers who venture; for the night is waning away; and there flows a

ruddier light through the blood-colored panes; and the blackness of the

sable drapery appals; and to him whose foot falls upon the sable carpet,

there comes from the near clock of ebony a muffled peal more solemnly

emphatic than any which reaches their ears who indulge in the more

remote gaieties of the other apartments.

 

But these other apartments were densely crowded, and in them beat

feverishly the heart of life. And the revel went whirlingly on, until at

length there commenced the sounding of midnight upon the clock. And then

the music ceased, as I have told; and the evolutions of the waltzers

were quieted; and there was an uneasy cessation of all things as before.

But now there were twelve strokes to be sounded by the bell of the

clock; and thus it happened, perhaps, that more of thought crept, with

more of time, into the meditations of the thoughtful among those who

revelled. And thus, too, it happened, perhaps, that before the last

echoes of the last chime had utterly sunk into silence, there were many

individuals in the crowd who had found leisure to become aware of the

presence of a masked figure which had arrested the attention of no

single individual before. And the rumor of this new presence having

spread itself whisperingly around, there arose at length from the

whole company a buzz, or murmur, expressive of disapprobation and

surprise--then, finally, of terror, of horror, and of disgust.

 

In an assembly of phantasms such as I have painted, it may well be

supposed that no ordinary appearance could have excited such sensation.

In truth the masquerade license of the night was nearly unlimited; but

the figure in question had out-Heroded Herod, and gone beyond the bounds

of even the prince's indefinite decorum. There are chords in the hearts

of the most reckless which cannot be touched without emotion. Even with

the utterly lost, to whom life and death are equally jests, there are

matters of which no jest can be made. The whole company, indeed, seemed

now deeply to feel that in the costume and bearing of the stranger

neither wit nor propriety existed. The figure was tall and gaunt, and

shrouded from head to foot in the habiliments of the grave. The

mask which concealed the visage was made so nearly to resemble the

countenance of a stiffened corpse that the closest scrutiny must have

had difficulty in detecting the cheat. And yet all this might have been

endured, if not approved, by the mad revellers around. But the mummer

had gone so far as to assume the type of the Red Death. His vesture was

dabbled in blood--and his broad brow, with all the features of the face,

was besprinkled with the scarlet horror.

 

When the eyes of Prince Prospero fell upon this spectral image (which

with a slow and solemn movement, as if more fully to sustain its role,

stalked to and fro among the waltzers) he was seen to be convulsed, in

the first moment with a strong shudder either of terror or distaste;

but, in the next, his brow reddened with rage.

 

"Who dares?" he demanded hoarsely of the courtiers who stood near

him--"who dares insult us with this blasphemous mockery? Seize him and

unmask him--that we may know whom we have to hang at sunrise, from the

battlements!"

 

It was in the eastern or blue chamber in which stood the Prince Prospero

as he uttered these words. They rang throughout the seven rooms loudly

and clearly--for the prince was a bold and robust man, and the music had

become hushed at the waving of his hand.

 

It was in the blue room where stood the prince, with a group of pale

courtiers by his side. At first, as he spoke, there was a slight rushing

movement of this group in the direction of the intruder, who at the

moment was also near at hand, and now, with deliberate and stately step,

made closer approach to the speaker. But from a certain nameless awe

with which the mad assumptions of the mummer had inspired the whole

party, there were found none who put forth hand to seize him; so that,

unimpeded, he passed within a yard of the prince's person; and, while

the vast assembly, as if with one impulse, shrank from the centres of

the rooms to the walls, he made his way uninterruptedly, but with the

same solemn and measured step which had distinguished him from the

first, through the blue chamber to the purple--through the purple to

the green--through the green to the orange--through this again to the

white--and even thence to the violet, ere a decided movement had been

made to arrest him. It was then, however, that the Prince Prospero,

maddening with rage and the shame of his own momentary cowardice, rushed

hurriedly through the six chambers, while none followed him on account

of a deadly terror that had seized upon all. He bore aloft a drawn

dagger, and had approached, in rapid impetuosity, to within three or

four feet of the retreating figure, when the latter, having attained the

extremity of the velvet apartment, turned suddenly and confronted his

pursuer. There was a sharp cry--and the dagger dropped gleaming upon the

sable carpet, upon which, instantly afterwards, fell prostrate in death

the Prince Prospero. Then, summoning the wild courage of despair,

a throng of the revellers at once threw themselves into the black

apartment, and, seizing the mummer, whose tall figure stood erect and

motionless within the shadow of the ebony clock, gasped in unutterable

horror at finding the grave-cerements and corpse-like mask which they

handled with so violent a rudeness, untenanted by any tangible form.

 

And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come

like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the

blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing

posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock went out with

that of the last of the gay. And the flames of the tripods expired. And

Darkness and Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion over all.

 

 

The Cask of Amontillado

 

THE thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could; but

when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge. You, who so well know the

nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that I gave utterance to

a threat. _At length_ I would be avenged; this was a point definitively

settled--but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved,

precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish, but punish with

impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its

redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make

himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.

 

It must be understood, that neither by word nor deed had I given

Fortunato cause to doubt my good will. I continued, as was my wont, to

smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my smile _now_ was at

the thought of his immolation.

 

He had a weak point--this Fortunato--although in other regards he was

a man to be respected and even feared. He prided himself on his

connoisseurship in wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit.

For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and

opportunity--to practise imposture upon the British and Austrian

_millionaires_. In painting and gemmary, Fortunato, like his countrymen,

was a quack--but in the matter of old wines he was sincere. In this

respect I did not differ from him materially: I was skilful in the

Italian vintages myself, and bought largely whenever I could.

 

It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of the

carnival season, that I encountered my friend. He accosted me with

excessive warmth, for he had been drinking much. The man wore motley. He

had on a tight-fitting parti-striped dress, and his head was surmounted

by the conical cap and bells. I was so pleased to see him, that I

thought I should never have done wringing his hand.

 

I said to him--"My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met. How remarkably

well you are looking to-day! But I have received a pipe of what passes

for Amontillado, and I have my doubts."

 

"How?" said he. "Amontillado? A pipe? Impossible! And in the middle of

the carnival!"

 

"I have my doubts," I replied; "and I was silly enough to pay the full

Amontillado price without consulting you in the matter. You were not to

be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain."

 

"Amontillado!"

 

"I have my doubts."

 

"Amontillado!"

 

"And I must satisfy them."

 

"Amontillado!"

 

"As you are engaged, I am on my way to Luchesi. If any one has a

critical turn, it is he. He will tell me--"

 

"Luchesi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry."

 

"And yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match for your

own."

 

"Come, let us go."

 

"Whither?"

 

"To your vaults."

 

"My friend, no; I will not impose upon your good nature. I perceive you

have an engagement. Luchesi--"

 

"I have no engagement;--come."

 

"My friend, no. It is not the engagement, but the severe cold with which

I perceive you are afflicted. The vaults are insufferably damp. They are

encrusted with nitre."

 

"Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely nothing. Amontillado! You

have been imposed upon. And as for Luchesi, he cannot distinguish Sherry

from Amontillado."

 

Thus speaking, Fortunato possessed himself of my arm. Putting on a mask

of black silk, and drawing a _roquelaire_ closely about my person, I

suffered him to hurry me to my palazzo.

 

There were no attendants at home; they had absconded to make merry in

honor of the time. I had told them that I should not return until the

morning, and had given them explicit orders not to stir from the house.

These orders were sufficient, I well knew, to insure their immediate

disappearance, one and all, as soon as my back was turned.

 

I took from their sconces two flambeaux, and giving one to Fortunato,

bowed him through several suites of rooms to the archway that led into

the vaults. I passed down a long and winding staircase, requesting him

to be cautious as he followed. We came at length to the foot of the

descent, and stood together on the damp ground of the catacombs of the

Montresors.

 

The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingled

as he strode.

 

"The pipe," said he.

 

"It is farther on," said I; "but observe the white web-work which gleams

from these cavern walls."

 

He turned towards me, and looked into my eyes with two filmy orbs that

distilled the rheum of intoxication.

 

"Nitre?" he asked, at length.

 

"Nitre," I replied. "How long have you had that cough?"

 

"Ugh! ugh! ugh!--ugh! ugh! ugh!--ugh! ugh! ugh!--ugh! ugh! ugh!--ugh!

ugh! ugh!"

 

My poor friend found it impossible to reply for many minutes.

 

"It is nothing," he said, at last.

 

"Come," I said, with decision, "we will go back; your health is

precious. You are rich, respected, admired, beloved; you are happy, as

once I was. You are a man to be missed. For me it is no matter. We will

go back; you will be ill, and I cannot be responsible. Besides, there is

Luchesi--"

 

"Enough," he said; "the cough is a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I

shall not die of a cough."

 

"True--true," I replied; "and, indeed, I had no intention of alarming

you unnecessarily--but you should use all proper caution. A draught of

this Medoc will defend us from the damps."

 

Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew from a long row of

its fellows that lay upon the mould.

 

"Drink," I said, presenting him the wine.

 

He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused and nodded to me

familiarly, while his bells jingled.

 

"I drink," he said, "to the buried that repose around us."

 

"And I to your long life."

 

He again took my arm, and we proceeded.

 

"These vaults," he said, "are extensive."

 

"The Montresors," I replied, "were a great and numerous family."

 

"I forget your arms."

 

"A huge human foot d'or, in a field azure; the foot crushes a serpent

rampant whose fangs are imbedded in the heel."

 

"And the motto?"

 

"_Nemo me impune lacessit_."

 

"Good!" he said.

 

The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled. My own fancy grew

warm with the Medoc. We had passed through walls of piled bones, with

casks and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost recesses of the

catacombs. I paused again, and this time I made bold to seize Fortunato

by an arm above the elbow.

 

"The nitre!" I said: "see, it increases. It hangs like moss upon the

vaults. We are below the river's bed. The drops of moisture trickle

among the bones. Come, we will go back ere it is too late. Your cough--"

 

"It is nothing," he said; "let us go on. But first, another draught of

the Medoc."

 

I broke and reached him a flagon of De Grâve. He emptied it at a breath.

His eyes flashed with a fierce light. He laughed and threw the bottle

upwards with a gesticulation I did not understand.

 

I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the movement--a grotesque one.

 

"You do not comprehend?" he said.

 

"Not I," I replied.

 

"Then you are not of the brotherhood."

 

"How?"

 

"You are not of the masons."

 

"Yes, yes," I said, "yes, yes."

 

"You? Impossible! A mason?"

 

"A mason," I replied.

 

"A sign," he said.

 

"It is this," I answered, producing a trowel from beneath the folds of

my _roquelaire_.

 

"You jest," he exclaimed, recoiling a few paces. "But let us proceed to

the Amontillado."

 

"Be it so," I said, replacing the tool beneath the cloak, and again

offering him my arm. He leaned upon it heavily. We continued our route

in search of the Amontillado. We passed through a range of low arches,

descended, passed on, and descending again, arrived at a deep crypt, in

which the foulness of the air caused our flambeaux rather to glow than

flame.

 

At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another less

spacious. Its walls had been lined with human remains, piled to the

vault overhead, in the fashion of the great catacombs of Paris. Three

sides of this interior crypt were still ornamented in this manner. From

the fourth the bones had been thrown down, and lay promiscuously upon

the earth, forming at one point a mound of some size. Within the wall

thus exposed by the displacing of the bones, we perceived a still

interior recess, in depth about four feet, in width three, in height

six or seven. It seemed to have been constructed for no especial use

in itself, but formed merely the interval between two of the colossal

supports of the roof of the catacombs, and was backed by one of their

circumscribing walls of solid granite.

 

It was in vain that Fortunato, uplifting his dull torch, endeavored to

pry into the depths of the recess. Its termination the feeble light did

not enable us to see.

 

"Proceed," I said; "herein is the Amontillado. As for Luchesi--"

 

"He is an ignoramus," interrupted my friend, as he stepped unsteadily

forward, while I followed immediately at his heels. In an instant he had

reached the extremity of the niche, and finding his progress arrested

by the rock, stood stupidly bewildered. A moment more and I had fettered

him to the granite. In its surface were two iron staples, distant from

each other about two feet, horizontally. From one of these depended

a short chain, from the other a padlock. Throwing the links about his

waist, it was but the work of a few seconds to secure it. He was too

much astounded to resist. Withdrawing the key I stepped back from the

recess.

 

"Pass your hand," I said, "over the wall; you cannot help feeling the

nitre. Indeed it is _very_ damp. Once more let me _implore_ you to

return. No? Then I must positively leave you. But I must first render

you all the little attentions in my power."

 

"The Amontillado!" ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from his

astonishment.

 

"True," I replied; "the Amontillado."

 

As I said these words I busied myself among the pile of bones of which I

have before spoken. Throwing them aside, I soon uncovered a quantity of

building stone and mortar. With these materials and with the aid of my

trowel, I began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche.

 

I had scarcely laid the first tier of my masonry when I discovered

that the intoxication of Fortunato had in a great measure worn off. The

earliest indication I had of this was a low moaning cry from the depth

of the recess. It was _not_ the cry of a drunken man. There was then a

long and obstinate silence. I laid the second tier, and the third, and

the fourth; and then I heard the furious vibrations of the chain. The

noise lasted for several minutes, during which, that I might hearken to

it with the more satisfaction, I ceased my labors and sat down upon the

bones. When at last the clanking subsided, I resumed the trowel, and

finished without interruption the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh

tier. The wall was now nearly upon a level with my breast. I again

paused, and holding the flambeaux over the mason-work, threw a few

feeble rays upon the figure within.

 

A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly from the

throat of the chained form, seemed to thrust me violently back. For a

brief moment I hesitated--I trembled. Unsheathing my rapier, I began to

grope with it about the recess: but the thought of an instant reassured

me. I placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the catacombs, and felt

satisfied. I reapproached the wall. I replied to the yells of him

who clamored. I re-echoed--I aided--I surpassed them in volume and in

strength. I did this, and the clamorer grew still.

 

It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I had completed

the eighth, the ninth, and the tenth tier. I had finished a portion

of the last and the eleventh; there remained but a single stone to

be fitted and plastered in. I struggled with its weight; I placed it

partially in its destined position. But now there came from out the

niche a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head. It was succeeded

by a sad voice, which I had difficulty in recognising as that of the

noble Fortunato. The voice said--

 

"Ha! ha! ha!--he! he!--a very good joke indeed--an excellent jest. We

will have many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo--he! he! he!--over

our wine--he! he! he!"

 

"The Amontillado!" I said.

 

"He! he! he!--he! he! he!--yes, the Amontillado. But is it not getting

late? Will not they be awaiting us at the palazzo, the Lady Fortunato

and the rest? Let us be gone."

 

"Yes," I said, "let us be gone."

 

"_For the love of God, Montressor!_"

 

"Yes," I said, "for the love of God!"

 

But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient. I

called aloud--

 

"Fortunato!"

 

No answer. I called again--

 

"Fortunato!"

 

No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and let

it fall within. There came forth in return only a jingling of the bells.

My heart grew sick--on account of the dampness of the catacombs. I

hastened to make an end of my labor. I forced the last stone into its

position; I plastered it up. Against the new masonry I re-erected the

old rampart of bones. For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed

them. _In pace requiescat!_

 

 

The Tell-Tale Heart

 

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!"