THE TELL-TALE HEART

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?"

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!"

-THE END-
Summary

Even though this is one of Poe's shortest stories, it is nevertheless a profound and, at times,
ambiguous investigation of a man's paranoia. The story gains its intensity by the manner in
which it portrays how the narrator stalks his victim as though he were a beast of prey; yet, at
the same time, elevated by human intelligence to a higher level of human endeavor, Poe's
"murderer" is created into a type of grotesque anomaly. In a sense, the narrator is worse than a
beast; only a human being could so completely terrorize his victim before finally killing it, as, for
example, the narrator deliberately terrorizes the old man before killing him. And as noted in the
introduction to this section, this story shows the narrator's attempt to rationalize his irrational
behavior.

The story begins with the narrator admitting that he is a "very dreadfully nervous" type. This
type is found throughout all of Poe's fiction, particularly in the over-wrought, hyper-sensitive
Roderick Usher in "The Fall of the House of Usher." As with Usher, the narrator here believes that
his nervousness has "sharpened my senses not destroyed not dulled them." Thus, he
begins by stating that he is notmad, yet he will continue his story and will reveal not only that he
is mad, but that he is terribly mad. His sensitivities allow him to hear and sense things in
heaven, hell, and on earth that other people are not even aware of. His over-sensitivity becomes
in this story the ultimate cause of his obsession with the old man's eye, which in turn causes him
to murder the old man. Ironically, the narrator offers as proof of his sanity the calmness with
which he can narrate the story.
The story begins boldly and unexpectedly: "I loved the old man," the narrator says, adding, "He
had never wronged me." Next, he reveals that he was obsessed with the old man's eye "the
eye of a vulture a pale blue eye, with a film over it." Without any real motivation, then, other
than his psychotic obsession, he decides to take the old man's life.

Even though he knows that we, the readers, might consider him mad for this decision, yet he
plans to prove his sanity by showing how "wisely" and with what extreme precaution, foresight,
and dissimulation he executed his deeds. Every night at twelve o'clock, he would slowly open the
door, "oh so gently," and would quietly and cunningly poke his head very slowly through the
door. It would sometimes take him an hour to go that far "would a madman have been so
wise as this?" he asks, thus showing, he hopes, how thoroughly objective he can be while
commenting on the horrible deed he committed.

For seven nights, he opened the door ever so cautiously, then when he was just inside, he
opened his lantern just enough so that one small ray of light would cast its tiny ray upon "the
vulture eye." The following morning, he would go into the old man's chamber and speak to him
with cordiality and friendship.
On the eighth night, he decided it was now the time to commit the deed. When he says "I fairly
chuckled at the idea," we know that we are indeed dealing with a highly disturbed personality
despite the fact that he seems to present his story very coherently.

On this particular night, unlike the preceding seven nights, the narrator's hand slipped on the
clasp of the lantern, and the old man immediately "sprang up in bed, crying out 'Who's
there?'" He can see nothing because the shutters are all closed. Here, as in most of Poe's stories,
the action proper of the story takes place within a closed surrounding that is, the murder of
the old man is within the confines of his small bedroom with the shutters closed and in complete
darkness.

Furthermore, as in works like "The Cask of Amontillado," the moans of the victim heighten the
terror of the story. The old man's moans were "low stifled sounds that arose from the bottom of
the soul when overcharged with awe." The narrator knew that the old man felt that he was in the
room and, dramatically, when he opened his lantern to let a small ray of light out, it "fell full
upon the vulture eye." When he saw that "hideous veiled eye," he became furious. But he warns
the reader not to mistake his "over-acuteness of the senses" for madness because he says that
suddenly there came to his ears "a low, dull, quick sound": It was the beating of the old man's
heart. It is at this point in the story that we have our first ambiguity based upon the narrator's
over-sensitivity and madness. The question is, obviously, whose heart does he hear? We all
know that in moments of stress and fright our own heartbeat increases so rapidly that we feel
every beat. Consequently, from the psychological point of view, the narrator thinks that he is
hearing his own increased heartbeat.

As he waits, the heartbeat which he heard excited him to uncontrollable terror, for the heart
seemed to be "beating . . . louder [and] louder." The narrator was suddenly aware that the old
man's heartbeat was so loud that the neighbors might hear it. Thus, the time had come. He
dragged the old man to the floor, pulled the mattress over him and slowly the muffled sound of
the heart ceased to beat. The old man was dead "his eye would trouble me no more."

Again the narrator attempts to show us that because of the wise precautions he took, no one
could consider him to be mad, that he is, in fact, not mad. First, he dismembered the old man,
and afterward there was not a spot of blood anywhere: "A tub had caught all ha! ha!" The
mere narration here shows how the narrator, with his wild laughter, has indeed lost his rational
faculties. Likewise, the delight he takes in dismembering the old man is an act of extreme
abnormality.

After the dismembering and the cleaning up were finished, the narrator carefully removed the
planks from the floor in the old man's room and placed all the parts of the body under the floor.
As he surveyed his work, the door bell rang at 4 A.M. The police were there to investigate some
shrieks. (To the reader, this is an unexpected turn of events, but in such tales, the unexpected
becomes the normal; see the section on "Edgar Allan Poe and Romanticism.")

The narrator admitted the police to the house "with a light heart" since the old man's heart was
no longer beating, and he let the police thoroughly search the entire house. Afterward, he bade
the police to sit down, and he brought a chair and sat upon "the very spot beneath which
reposed the corpse of the victim." The officers were so convinced that there was nothing to be
discovered in the apartment that could account for the shrieks that they sat around chatting idly.
Then suddenly a noise began within the narrator's ears. He grew agitated and spoke with a
heightened voice. The sound increased; it was "a low, dull quick sound." We should note that the
words used here to describe the beating of the heart are the exact words used only moments
earlier to describe the murder of the old man.

As the beating increased, the narrator "foamed [and] raved" adjectives commonly used to apply
to a mad man. In contrast to the turmoil going on in the narrator's mind, the police continued to
chat pleasantly. The narrator wonders how it was possible that they did not hear the loud
beating which was becoming louder and louder. He can stand the horror no longer because he
knows that "they were making a mockery of my horror . . . [and] anything was better than this
agony!" Thus, as the beating of the heart becomes intolerable, he screams out to the police: "I
admit the deed! tear up the planks! here, here! it is the beating of his hideous heart!"

Early commentators on the story saw this as merely another tale of terror or horror in which
something supernatural was happening. To the modern reader, it is less ambiguous; the beating
of the heart occurs within the narrator himself. It is established at the beginning of the story that
he is over-sensitive that he can hear and feel things that others cannot. At the end of the
story, if there really were a beating heart up under the floor boards, then the police would have
heard it. Clearly, the narrator, who has just finished the gruesome act of dismembering a corpse,
cannot cope with the highly emotional challenge needed when the police are searching the
house. These two factors cause his heart rate to accelerate to the point that his heartbeat is
pounding in his ears so loudly that he cannot stand the psychological pressure any longer. Thus
he confesses to his horrible deed. The narrator's "tell-tale" heart causes him to convict himself.

We have here, then, a narrator who believes that he is not mad because he can logically describe
events which seem to prove him to be mad. The conciseness of the story and its intensity and
economy all contribute to the total impact and the overall unity of effect. In the narrator's belief
that he is not mad, but that he actually heard the heart of the old man still beating, Poe has
given us one of the most powerful examples of the capacity of the human mind to deceive itself
and then to speculate on the nature of its own destruction.

Poe's Short StoriesBy Edgar Allan PoeEdgar Allan Poe Biography

Next

Edgar Allan Poe was born January 19, 1809, and died October 7, 1849; he lived only forty years,
but during his brief lifetime, he made a permanent place for himself in American literature and
also in world literature. A few facts about Poe's life are indisputable, but, unfortunately, almost
everything else about Poe's life has been falsified, romanticized, slanderously distorted, or
subjected to grotesque Freudian interpretations. Poe, it has been said at various times, was a
manic depressive, a dope addict, an epileptic, and an alcoholic; moreover, it has been whispered
that he was syphilitic, that he was impotent, and that he fathered at least one illegitimate child.
Hardly any of Poe's biographers have been content to write a straight account of his life. This
was particularly true of his early biographers, and only recently have those early studies been
refuted. Intrigued with the horror and mystery of Poe's stories and by the dark romanticism of
his poetry, his early critics and biographers often embroidered on the facts of his past in order to
create their own imaginative vision of what kind of man produced these "strange" tales and
poems. Thus Poe's true genius was neglected for a long time. Indeed, probably more fiction has
been written about this American literary master than he himself produced; finally, however, fair
and unbiased evaluations of his writings and of his life are available to us, and we can judge for
ourselves what kind of a man Poe was. Yet, because the facts are scarce, Poe's claim to being
America's first authentic neurotic genius will probably remain, and it is possible that Poe would
be delighted.

Both of Poe's parents were professional actors, and this fact in itself has fueled many of the
melodramatic myths that surround Poe. Poe's mother was a teenage widow when she married
David Poe, and Edgar was their second son. Poe's father had a fairly good reputation as an actor,
but he had an even wider reputation as an alcoholic. He deserted the family a year after Poe was
born, and the following year, Poe's mother died while she was acting in Richmond, Virginia.

The children were parceled out, and young Poe was taken in as a foster-child by John Allan, a
rich southern merchant. Allan never legally adopted Poe, but he did try to give him a good home
and a good education.

When Poe was six years old, the Allans moved to England, and for five years Poe attended the
Manor House School, conducted by a man who was a good deal like the schoolmaster in "William
Wilson." When the Allans returned to America, Poe began using his legal name for the first time.

Poe and his foster-father often quarreled during his adolescence and as soon as he was able to
leave home, Poe enrolled at the University of Virginia. While he was there, he earned a good
academic record, but Mr. Allan never allowed him the means to live in the style his social status
demanded. When Poe tried to keep up with his high-living classmates, he incurred so many
gambling debts that the parsimonious Mr. Allan prevented his returning for a second year of
study.

Unhappy at home, Poe got money somehow (probably from Mrs. Allan) and went to Boston,
where he arranged for publication of his first volume of poetry, Tamerlane and Other
Poems (1827). He then joined the army. Two years later, when he was a sergeant-major, he
received a discharge to enter West Point, to which he was admitted with Mr. Allan's help. Again,
however, he felt frustrated because of the paltry allowance which his foster-father doled out to
him, so he arranged to be court-martialed and dismissed.
Poe's next four years were spent in Baltimore, where he lived with an aunt, Maria Clemm; these
were years of poverty. When Mr. Allan died in 1834, Poe hoped that he would receive some of
his foster-father's fortune, but he was disappointed. Allan left him not a cent. For that reason,
Poe turned from writing poetry, which he was deeply fond of despite the fact that he knew he
could never live off his earnings and turned to writing stories, for which there was a market.
He published five tales in thePhiladelphia Saturday Courier in 1832, and because of his talent
and certain influential friends, he became an editorial assistant at the Southern Literary
Messenger in Richmond in December 1835.
The editor of the Messenger recognized Poe's genius and published several of his stories, but he
despaired at Poe's tendency to "sip the juice." Nevertheless, Poe's drinking does not seem to
have interfered with his duties at the magazine; its circulation grew, Poe continued producing
stories, and while he was advancing the reputation of the Messenger, he created a reputation of
his own not only as a fine writer, but also as a keen critic.
Poe married his cousin, Virginia Clemm, in 1836, when she was fourteen years old. He left
the Messengerthe following year and took his aunt and wife to New York City. There, Poe barely
eked out a living for two years as a free-lance writer. He did, however, finish a short novel, The
Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym,and sold it to the Messenger, where it was published in two
installments. Harper's bought out the magazine in 1838, but Poe never realized any more money
from the novel because his former boss had recorded that the Narrative was only "edited" by
Poe.
From New York City, the Poes moved to Baltimore, and for two years, the young family lived in
even more dire poverty than they had in New York City. Poe continued writing, however, and
finally in May 1839, he was hired as a co-editor of Burton's Gentleman's Magazine. He held this
position for a year, during which he published some of his best fiction, including "The Fall of the
House of Usher" and "William Wilson."
Because of his drinking, Poe lost his job the following year. This was unfortunate because
his Tales of the Grotesque, which had been published several months earlier, was not selling
well. Once again, Poe and his wife found themselves on the edge of poverty, but Poe's former
employer recommended Poe to the publisher of Graham's, and once again Poe found work as an
editor while he worked on his own fiction and poetry.
In January 1842, Poe suffered yet another setback. His wife, Virginia, burst a blood vessel in her
throat. She did recover, but Poe's restlessness began to grow, as did the frequency of his
drinking bouts, and he left Graham's under unpleasant circumstances. He attempted to found his
own magazine and failed; he worked on cheap weeklies for awhile and, in a moment of despair,
he went to Washington to seek out President Tyler. According to several accounts, he was so
drunk when he called on the President that he wore his cloak inside out.
Shortly afterward, Poe moved his family to New York City and began working for the Sunday
Times. The following year was a good one: James Russell Lowell praised Poe's talent and genius
in an article, and Poe's poem "The Raven" was published and received rave reviews. Seemingly,
Poe had "made it"; "The Raven" was the sensation of the literary season. Poe began lecturing
about this time and, shortly afterward, a new collection of his short stories appeared, as well as
a collection of his poetry.

Most biographers agree that Poe died of alcoholism officially, "congestion of the brain."
However, in 1996, cardiologist R. Michael Benitez, after conducting a blind clinical pathologic
diagnosis of the symptoms of a patient described only as "E.P., a writer from Richmond,"
concluded that Poe died not from alcoholic poisoning, but from rabies. According to Dr. Benitez,
Poe had become so hypersensitive to alcohol in his later years that he became ill for days after
only one glass of wine. Benitez also refutes the myth that Poe died in a gutter, stating that he
died at Washington College Hospital after four days of hallucinating and shouting at imaginary
people.

The Tell-Tale Heart Plot Analysis

Most good stories start with a fundamental list of ingredients: the initial situation, conflict,
complication, climax, suspense, denouement, and conclusion. Great writers sometimes shake up the
recipe and add some spice.

Initial Situation

Not insane! and the "Evil Eye"

The narrator wants to show that he is not insane, and offers a story as proof. In that story, the initial situation is
the narrator's decision to kill the old man so that the man's eye will stop looking at the narrator.

Conflict

Open your eye!

The narrator goes to the old man's room every night for a week, ready to do the dirty deed. But, the sleeping
man won't open his eye. Since the eye, not the man, is the problem, the narrator can't kill him if the offending
eye isn't open.

Complication

The narrator makes a noise while spying on the old man, and the man
wakes up and opens his eye.

This isn't much of a complication. The man has to wake up in order for the narrator to kill him. If the man still
wouldn't wake up after months and months of the narrator trying to kill him, now that would be a conflict.

Climax

Murder

The narrator kills the old man with his own bed and then cuts up the body and hides it under the bedroom floor.

Suspense

Uh-oh, the police.

The narrator is pretty calm and collected when the police first show up. He gives them the guided tour of the
house, and then invites them to hang out with him in the man's bedroom. But, the narrator starts to hear a
terrible noise, which gets louder and louder, and

Denouement

Make it stop, please!

Well, the noise gets even louder, and keeps on getting louder until the narrator can't take it anymore. Thinking
it might make the noise stop, the narrator tells the cops to look under the floorboards.

Conclusion

The narrator identifies the source of the sound.

Up to this moment, the narrator doesn't identify the sound. It's described first as "a ringing," and then as "a low,
dull, quick sound much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton" (9). Only in the very last
line does the narrator conclude that the sound was "the beating of [the man's] hideous heart!" (10)

The Old Man's Eye

Symbolism, Imagery, Allegory

The old man's eye is blue with a "film" or "veil" covering it. This could be a medical condition, like a corneal
ulcer, but symbolically it means that the characters have issues with their "inner vision" what's commonly
known as one's outlook on the world. They are stuck. Everything is obscured for them. Our reading of the story
is likewise filtered through this hazy eye, causing at least some confusion and frustration with the text.

The eye also does some pretty weird stuff. It seems dull and unseeing yet, it has strange powers. It makes
the narrator's blood run cold. It "chill[s] the very marrow in [his] bones" (6). After hiding the old man's body, the
narrator "replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye not even his [the old man's]
could have detected any thing wrong" (8). Interesting. That statement implies that at some point the eye could
see hidden or secret things.

The eye also seems to have a bodyguard, the heart. When the narrator trains the beam on the open eye, it
causes the heart to beat an alert. When the policemen are there, the heart beats loudly to alert the cops so
the eye can again see and be seen.

The narrator is fixated on the "vulture eye" aspect of the old man's eye. He brings it up three
times. Vultures prey on the sick or dead, and they gorge themselves to the point of stupor. Whether or not the
old man is a vulture-like person, we can't know. But that's what he symbolizes to the narrator. If vultures prey
on the dead and almost dead, and the narrator is afraid of the "vulture eye," does this mean the narrator is
dead or almost dead?

The Watch
Symbolism, Imagery, Allegory

The narrator mentions a "watch" four times in the story. A watch is a visual and auditory representation of time.
The watch watches time, andtells tales of time. Time can also be said to be watching death, up ahead in the
distance. Each tick of the watch symbolizes a movement closer to the inevitable death that all humans face.
Poe presents this subtly in the story's first mention of the watch: "A watch's minute hand moves more quickly
than did mine" (4).

This of course is on the eighth night. Here the narrator compares himself to a watch, a watch watching the old
man's death. The narrator steals time's power as an agent of death. The narrator literally controls the time of
the old man's death. He's a walking "death watch."

This metaphor/word play becomes more explicit in the second mention of time in the story: "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" (4).

This is a mystifying line, until we know that "death watches" are kind of beetle. Death watch beetles live inside
walls, and bang their heads on said walls to attract mates (source). Poe might not have known this was a
mating call, and was likely referring only to the popular belief that the banging is a countdown to someone's
death. Then again, maybe he did know. Intentionally or not, this odd moment in the novel juxtaposes sex and
death in a way that would have made Sigmund Freud proud. InBeyond the Pleasure Principle Freud theorized
that death and sex are intimately and intricately intertwined.

Now for the second and third mentions of "watch" in the story:

[N]ow, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in
cotton. (6)

It was a low, dull, quick sound much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. (9)

The old man's heart is also a watch, as we see in these almost identical passages. It both watches and counts
down the time leading up to the man's death (first passage). Then the heart/clock becomes a zombie of sorts
(second passage). It resurrects itself so it can tell about the time (of death) it watched, in a sense taking time
back from the narrator. Pretty clever.

The Lantern

Symbolism, Imagery, Allegory

This lantern is pretty cool. You can burn a candle or oil in it (doesn't say which in the story), but it has hinged
panels that can be adjusted to let in as much or as little light as you want. The narrator keeps most of the light
hidden, only allowing one "ray" to escape. This lantern is the narrator's weapon against the old man's eye.
That's what we see on the eighth night the lantern and the eye in a stare-down. It also suggests that
sometimes there is light hiding in the darkest places. If we can figure our how to get our lanterns open, we can
see it. Can you find any hidden light in this dark tale?

The Bed and Bedroom

Symbolism, Imagery, Allegory

The bed in "The Tell-Tale Heart" symbolizes the opposite of what beds and bedrooms should be about. The
narrator violates all bedroom etiquette, by exploiting the vulnerability of one who is sleeping. We are perhaps
most vulnerable in bed, and we sleep well when we feel safe in our bedrooms. Poe turns the symbol of the bed
on its head. The narrator uses the bed as weapon to snuff out the old man. And since the bed is the murder
weapon, it's logical that the bedroom is the burial place. Creepy.

CHARACTERS
The Narrator

Character Analysis

Our narrator is such a wreck, it's hard not to feel sorry for him. He's nervous ("very dreadfully nervous"),
paranoid, and physically and mentally ill. He doesn't know the difference between the "real" and the "unreal,"
and seems to be completely alone and friendless in the world. We suspect that he rarely sleeps. He's also a
murderer.

Maybe this explains why he doesn't share his name, or any other identifying characteristics. He wants us to
know what he did, but not where to find him. We actually have precious little to go on in discussing his
character. We have to do lots of investigation and reading between the lines to come up with possibilities.

Before we explore some of those possibilities, we should clear up a fine point. Poe doesn't explicitly tell us if
the narrator is male or female. The only reason we feel comfortable calling the narrator "he" is these lines: "You
fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing" (3) (our italics). This isn't one hundred percent proof that the narrator is
male, so it's important to consider the possibility that the narrator is female. But, for now, we are clinging to
those lines to get out of having to use the awkward "he/she."

Now let's dive deeper into the narrator's character.

Perverse

Poe wrote a famous story called "The Imp of the Perverse." In this story the narrator claims that people are
driven to murder, and other acts that are destructive to the self and others, due to perverse and
uncontrollable impulses. Most of his works explore this idea to some degree.

The Oxford English Dictionary Online provides two helpful definitions of perverse: "a. Contrary to what is
morally right or good; wicked, evil, debased. b. Contrary to an accepted standard or practice; incorrect,
mistaken, wrong; (of an argument, interpretation, etc.) unjustifiable, contradictory, distorted."

Say, for example, we believe the narrator's contention that he wants to kill the old man simply to be free of the
power of his eye. For the sake of argument let's assume that it would be very difficult to leave the old man, and
that killing him was the only way to escape his eye. Even under those circumstances, the narrator still seems
abnormal and frightening because seems to enjoy spying on the old man for the eight nights prior to the
murder, as we see in these lines:

"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." (4)
If he wants to kill the man for "practical" reasons, why does he go through such an elaborate and creepy
process? And why does he take such pleasure in it? Can we chalk this up to perverse impulse? Could he
simply be plagued by the Imp? Or must all "perverse" deeds stem from a logical, reasonable cause? These are
the kinds of questions the narrator provokes.

Tinnitus

If you do a web search for "ringing ears" or "hyper sensitive ears," you'll get results for tinnitus, a condition
which can cause auditory hallucinations, intense sensitivity to sound, and possibly amplified hearing. (You can
read more about tinnitus on the American Tinnitus Association website.) This disorder sounds an awful lot like
the "disease" the narrator says he has, though the narrator's case is rather extreme.

The American Tinnitus Association website states that tinnitus can be caused by many factors, including
tumors, sinus infections gone bad, overly loud noises, and "misaligned jaw joints or jaw muscles." Since the
narrator doesn't reveal his pre-disease past, we can't really use any of that to understand him.

But, we can entertain the claim that his intensified hearing is a result of physical illness, rather than mental
illness. But who knows? Whatever the case may be, you should send him your recommendation for a good
Ear, Nose, and Throat specialist.

Southern Gothic

Poe is often considered a "Southern Gothic" author, that is, an author whose work deals with issues and
anxieties over slavery in the southern United States. Poe was actually born in Boston, Massachusetts, but
moved to the South at a young age and spent much time there. He died in 1849, and slavery was legal in the
U.S. throughout his lifetime.

Toni Morrison wrote a book called Playing in the Dark: Whiteness in the Literary Imagination. In it, she argues
that many Poe stories, most notably "The Black Cat," are part of the Southern Gothic tradition in that they
express anxiety over the institution of slavery, though in a veiled, hidden, or coded fashion.

Does "Tell-Tale" belong in this category? Do you think that it's possible that the narrator is a slave and the old
man his owner?

Although Caucasians aren't the only people with blue eyes, for the sake of argument, let's use that detail about
the old man to assume he is white. This is the one bit of color in the story, and the only detail we are given as
to any character's physical appearance. If the narrator is a slave, this blue eye might have looked on him with
an air of possession, dominance, superiority, and perhaps even disgust.

This interpretation would also explain the narrator's nervousness. As a slave, this sensitive guy could have
been exposed to all kinds of horrors and would have lived in fear. It could also explain why the narrator took so
much pleasure in violating the man's privacy and the sanctity of his bedroom. As a slave he would have had
precious little privacy.

Unlike "The Black Cat," this story doesn't fit neatly in the Southern Gothic, but it doesn't hurt to ask this
question: if the narrator is a slave and the old man his master, would this change the way you feel about the
narrator and/or the old man? If so, how? If not, why not?
A Hopeless Case?

The narrator seems completely hopeless, a bundle of nerves and murderous impulses, and extreme sensory
perception. Can we imagine a scenario in which he is well? We know that he is tortured by the murder he
committed, even as he claims to have enjoyed it.

Yet, he's the telling the story, perhaps out of some hope for redemption, out of some hope for a cure to what he
considers a physical disease. In Fyodor Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment, the main character also murders
an elderly person for shifty reasons, yet, he attains some kind of happiness at the end of the book. Can we
envision any scenario in which the narrator could find happiness, or even love? If so, why do you think this? If
not, why is he hopeless?

The Narrator Timeline

THE OLD MAN

Character Analysis

The old man is even more of a mystery than the narrator, partly because we only see him through the
narrator's skewed perspective. We know he has money (the narrator shows the old man's "treasures" to the
police). We also know he has a blue eye that the narrator is afraid of, and which fits the description of a corneal
ulcer. We know he's old, and that he's a fairly sound sleeper. Not much meat for a character study, though.
Luckily, we are given some hints to work from.

TRUST?

According to the narrator, the old man suspects nothing because the narrator was super duper nice to him the
week before he killed him. We can't prove the old man wasn't suspicious, but because he leaves his bedroom
door unlocked we can assume it. We know the man isn't naturally trusting he's afraid of robbers. But, it
seems he does trust the narrator enough to give him the run of the house while he sleeps. Unless the old man
is a poor judge of character, or senile, his trust suggests that the narrator really is capable of acting sanely.

"MAD"

Nothing the narrator tells us about the old man fits our idea of "madness" or "insanity," but the old man does fit
neatly into the narrator's definition of madness: 1) "destroyed" or "dulled" senses; 2) "Madmen know nothing"
(2).

Sounds like the old man, right? His senses are definitely dulled he only hears the narrator on the eighth night.
He doesn't seem to have the slightest idea what's going on around him and is incapable of defending himself.
Perhaps the narrator is slyly hinting that he thinks the old man is "mad." This makes us wonder if the old man
was very senile, dependant on the narrator's care. If so, this adds a new dimension to the creepiness and puts
the narrator in an even more negative light.

ALIENATED
We know that at least one neighbor is suspicious of the goings on in the house of the old man and the narrator.
Otherwise, he or she would not have been so quick to call the cops after hearing a little scream, and wouldn't
have been able to convince the powers that be to send not one or two, but three policemen. We don't know if
this suspicion is directed toward the old man or toward the narrator or both. But, it's possible that the narrator
wasn't the only one afraid of the old man's eye. The old man could be an alienated figure both in and out of the
home, and thus the narrator's murder of him could be symbolic of prejudices and abuses that stem from
physical "difference."

The Old Man Timeline

THE THREE POLICEMEN

Character Analysis

The three policemen don't really have any characteristics. Yet, they play a major role in driving the plot of the
narrator's story, so we should at least consider them. They seem to be conscientious they waste no time in
showing up at the house after suspicion is aroused. Furthermore, they don't leave after the narrator has given
them the tour of the house, but seem to stick around to see what such pressure might induce. The three
policemen are fairly unambiguous, flat characters who do exactly what they are supposed to do.

A NEIGHBOR

Character Analysis

The neighbor plays a small but important role in the narrator's story. As noted in the old man's "Character
Analysis," the neighbor shows us that the narrator and/or the old man are alienated from their community. The
narrator expresses fear that "a neighbour" will hear the old man's heart beating, and, sure enough, one little
scream and the neighbor gets out of his or her bed, goes down to the police station, and raises enough flags to
get the cops out the old house extremely quickly. The fact that the neighbor's complaint was taken seriously
suggests that he or she doesn't do this everyday if he or she did, the cops might have ignored the complaint.
Not really much of a character, but in this story, we take what we can get!

THE TELL-TALE HEART QUOTES

Find the perfect quote to float your boat. Shmoop breaks down key quotations from The Tell-Tale
Heart.

VERSIONS OF REALITY QUOTES

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. (2)

CUNNING AND CLEVERNESS QUOTES

Hearken! and observe how healthily how calmly I can tell you the whole story. (1)
 THE HOME QUOTES
And every night, about midnight, I turned the latch of his door and opened it oh so gently! (3)

MORTALITY QUOTES
I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever. (2)

TIME QUOTES
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. (3)

THE TELL-TALE HEART THEMES

THE TELL-TALE HEART THEME OF V ERSIONS OF REALITY

Edgar Allan Poe's "The Tell-Tale Heart" disrupts our versions of reality, even as we identify with it in ways we
might not want to admit. Something sparks our curiosity and forces us to follow the narrator through the chilling
maze of his mind. We hear the story of murder through words, and through his version of reality.

QUESTIONS ABOUT VERSIONS OF REALITY

1. Does the narrator's version of reality seem unique to you? Do you know people who see things in the same
way the narrator does?
2. Can you identify with any aspects of the narrator's outlook? Which ones? Or does the narrator seem almost
"inhuman" to you? If so, what are some of the reasons?
3. Does light impact the characters' versions of reality? What about darkness?
4. Could the story the narrator tells be a dream or nightmare? If so, what evidence from the text could you use to
prove it?
5. The narrator claims he'll prove he's not "mad." Does he? If not, what are some of the flaws in his argument?
What makes you think the narrator is sane or insane, at the end of the story?

CHEW ON THIS

Try on an opinion or two, start a debate, or play the devils advocate.

The narrator initially suggests that his neighbors are suspicious people. His suspicions prove correct.
Therefore, his version of reality is sometimes accurate.

THE TELL-TALE HEART THEME OF CUNNING AND CLEVERNESS

 The main character of "The Tell-Tale Heart" promises us a tale of cunning and cleverness, and delivers. At the
onset, we doubt the cleverness; maybe we even feel cleverer than the story. But as Edgar Allan Poe's ten-
paragraph masterpiece unfolds, we find we are caught in the story's web, just as the characters are. We must
regain our cunning and cleverness to get out. It'll make us smarter.

QUESTIONS ABOUT CUNNING AND CLEVERNESS

1. Do you think the narrator is intelligent? Why, or why not?

2. If the narrator is so clever, why couldn't he have found a solution to the eye problem other than murder? Does
this comment on his reasoning ability?
3. Was the narrator's confession an act of cunning, or genuine guilt? How could a confession benefit him? How
could not confessing help him or hurt him?
4. Do you feel smarter after having studied this story? How might you use it to teach critical thinking skills to
others?
5. Was Poe clever to write this story? Could you improve it? If so, how?

CHEW ON THIS

Try on an opinion or two, start a debate, or play the devils advocate.

The narrator's cunning is nullified by his cruelty.

THE TELL-TALE HEART THEME OF THE HOME

"Home is where the heart is." Edgar Allan Poe makes a mockery of this shopworn phrase in "The Tell-Tale
Heart," expressing some deep anxieties toward the very idea of "home" (as in the place one hangs one's hat)
and "home," (as in the larger community). Here home (in both senses) is a place of violence, death, disease,
anguish, and isolation. It's also a place where mysterious hearts tell tales in the night, grim tales, of home gone
bad.

QUESTIONS ABOUT THE HOME

1. What image do you have of the inside of the old house? Does it scare you? If so, why?
2. Is a house a home if you can't trust the people you live with? Why or why not?
3. Why couldn't the narrator leave the house instead of killing the old man? Does the story give us any clues,
other than that the narrator is insane?

CHEW ON THIS

Try on an opinion or two, start a debate, or play the devils advocate.

"The Tell-Tale Heart" can be used to examine the current problem of elderly abuse.

THE TELL-TALE HEART THEME OF MORTALITY

 "The Tell-Heart" is a murder mystery, the kind where we know who the killer is (sort of), but can't really
understand his motives. This story deals with the fear of death, with dying, and the question of how a person
can kill another. As such, Edgar Allan Poe's story is suffused with an underlying sadness, and a sense of
mourning.

QUESTIONS ABOUT MORTALITY

1. Is the narrator afraid of dying? What passage can you use to prove your point?
2. Is it significant that the narrator kills the man with his own bed? Does this detail impact your reading? Would
substituting a different murder weapon significantly change the story?
3. Some critics and readers believe that the narrator plans to commit suicide after he tells us the story. Do you
think there is evidence for this theory? If so, what? If not, why is this theory improbable?
4. If you knew the narrator killed himself after telling the story, would this change your feelings toward him? If so,
how? If not, why?

CHEW ON THIS

Try on an opinion or two, start a debate, or play the devils advocate.

Because the narrator believes that the old man is a vulture, he thinks he's killing the old man in self-defense.

THE TELL-TALE HEART QUESTIONS

Bring on the tough stuff - theres not just one right answer.

1. Can you relate to any of these characters at all? If so, which ones and how? If not, what separates
you, from them?
2. Many suggest that the narrator is of ambiguous gender. If the narrator was a woman, would this impact
the your interpretation? If so, how?
3. Did this story scare you? If so, what scared you the most? If not, what could have made it scary?
4. If this was a satire (a work critiquing certain aspects of society which the author thinks could use
improvement), what might it be saying about American society in the 1840s?
5. The narrator's story is full of seemingly ridiculous statements. Which did you find the most ridiculous?
Now, can you think of any information that, if known, would make the ridiculous statement seem
reasonable?

THE TELL-TALE HEART THEME OF TIME

"The Tell-Tale Heart" is jammed with references to time and clocks. One could even say it's
obsessed with time. The time structure seems fairly straightforward at first, but, through all the
aforementioned references, it succeeds in confusing and eluding us. Some questions of time in the
story are never answered, contributing to the confusion.

QUESTIONS ABOUT TIME

1. Are time and heartbeats connected in the novel? If so, does the connection enrich the story?
2. In Poe's The Cask of Amontillado, narrator Montresor tells us exactly how much time has passed
since he murdered Fortunato. Why doesn't our narrator do this?
3. The events in the narrator's story occur over eight days. Is this significant? If so, why? Why would
the narrator give us this detail, but not the month, or the year?
4. How might the narrator have spent those first seven days? Do you think he sleeps? Why or why not?

CHEW ON THIS

Try on an opinion or two, start a debate, or play the devils advocate.

Time is our only anchor in a "The Tell-Tale Heart," though, by the end of the story, we lose that
anchor.

6.

CHARACTER ROLES (PROTAGONIST, ANTAGONIST ...)

Character Analysis

PROTAGONIST
The Narrator

ANTAGONIST
The Narrator

GUIDE MENTOR
The Three Policemen

FOIL
The Narrator and the Old Man

THE TELL-TALE HEART

In A Nutshell
"The Tell-Tale Heart" is a famous short story by American author Edgar Allan Poe. He first published the
story in January 1843, in the short-lived PIONEER magazine. "Tell-Tale" is about a nameless man who kills an
old man for a really strange reason, which we won't give away here. The nameless man tells the story of the
murder to prove he is NOT insane.

Poe was born January 19, 1809 in Boston, Massachusetts to actors Elizabeth and David Poe, both of whom
died before Poe's second birthday. Shortly thereafter, Poe moved to Virginia to live with the childless couple
John and Frances Allan.

His biography has fascinated scholars and readers for a long time, and nobody can quite pin him down. Many
scholars agree that he was a heavy drinker and was addicted to the drug laudanum. There is much gossip,
speculation, and fabrication regarding the man's death, but he probably passed away as a result of drug and
alcohol-related complications. He died October 13, 1849, at Church Hospital in Baltimore, Maryland (source).

Poe believed that a perfect story should be readable in one sitting, that it should be a tightly controlled, highly
compressed narrative that hit on topics to which everybody can relate. Weighing in at ten precise paragraphs,
"Tell-Tale" is an excellent example of Poe's theory of writing. For more, check out his essay "Philosophy of
Composition."

W HY SHOULD I CARE?

If you like stories that test and sharpen your analytical skills, while scaring you with portrayals of the extremes
of human behavior, this is the tale for you. It's also only ten paragraphs long, so you can read it in one sitting,
which is what Edgar Allan Poe had in mind. He believed that if a story isn't read through in one sitting, much of
the impact is lost (source).

This story is an attempt to create an extremely brief piece packed with as much information as possible, though
perhaps not the kind of information we get in many stories. No names. No locations. It's as if the narrator meets
you, by chance, in a dark caf and tells you his darkest secrets, knowing he will never see you again. The
information we get is secret information, the kind of things we don't hear everyday.

Since it's fiction, you can look at it objectively and, in doing so, learn more about your own feelings concerning
murder, confession, and related topics. If you have to think about these things, why not use a guy like Poe, who
thought about them most of the time, it would appear, to help get you thinking?