By Edgar Allan Poe
1843
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?"