Золотой жук. Уровень 1 / The Gold-bug

The tell-tale heart

True! I am always nervous, very dreadfully nervous. But am I a madman? My nervousness sharpened my senses, but not destroyed nor dulled them. It especially sharpened my hearing. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Listen! Listen carefully – and I will tell the whole story.

I do not know when the idea first entered my brain; but once it did, it haunted me day and night. There was no reason for what I did. I did not hate the old man; I even loved him. He never hurt me. He never insulted me. I did not need his money. I think it was his eye! Yes, it was this! He had the eye of a vulture[13]. It was pale blue, with a film over it. Whenever the old man looked at me with his vulture eye, my blood ran cold[14]. I decided to kill the old man to finally get rid of this evil eye forever.

Now this is the point. You think I am mad. Madmen cannot plan. But you do not know how wisely and with what caution I went to work! During the whole week before I killed him I was as kind to him as I could. Every night about twelve o’clock I gently – oh, so gently! – opened his door. And when the opening was wide enough I used to put my hand and my head in. Oh, I bet it looked comical! I moved very slowly so that I might not disturb the old man’s sleep. It took me an hour to place myself within the opening so far that I could see him on his bed. Ha! Could a madman be so wise? I stood there quietly. In my hand, I had a light covered with a cloth. I carefully lifted the cloth so that a single thin ray fell across the vulture eye. I did this for seven nights, seven long nights, every night at midnight. But I found the eye always closed. Because of that, I could not do the work. For it was not the old man I had the urge[15] to kill but his Evil Eye. And every morning after I spoke to the old man in a hearty tone and asked how was his night. He had no clue[16] that every night I watched him sleeping.

On the eighth night, I was even more than usually careful when I opened the door. The hands of a clock move more quickly than did my hand. Never before that night I felt more powerful. I could hardly hold my feelings of triumph back. The old man was lying on his bed and had no idea I was at his door. I let out a slight chuckle. He suddenly moved. You may think I become afraid – but no. His room was completely dark. I knew that he could not see me. I continued to push the door, slowly, softly.

I put my head in. Then I started putting in my hand when suddenly the old man sprang up in bed and cried, “Who’s there?”

I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a muscle. Neither did I hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed listening.

Soon I heard a cry of fear which escaped from the old man. I knew he was filled with horror. I knew what he felt, and pitied him, although I chuckled at heart. He probably tried to calm himself down by thinking these strange sounds came from wind or a mouse… But it was not. It was Death standing right in front of him.

Slowly, I lifted the cloth so that a single thin ray fell across the vulture eye. And there it was. The Eye was open widely. I saw it with perfect distinctness – all a dull blue, with a hideous veil over it. I grew furious as I gazed at it.

Did you know people often mistake over-acuteness of the sense for madness? I heard a low dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes if you envelop it 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 kept still. I hardly breathed. I held the light motionless. But the sound grew louder. Can you imagine the old man’s terror! It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! The heart was beating so loudly that I was sure neighbors must hear it. I felt anger. The old man’s hour had come![17]With a loud yell, I jumped into the room. He shrieked once – once only. In an instant[18], I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. The deed was done[19]. The old man was dead. But I still heard his heart beating. This, however, did not bother me; no one would hear anything through the wall. At length it ceased. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead[20]. His eye would trouble me no more.

If you still think I am mad, you will change your mind when I tell you how wisely I hid the body. First, I dismembered the corpse. I cut off the head and the arms and the legs. I was so careful that not a single drop of blood fell on the floor. Then I took up three boards from the flooring of the room, put the body underneath and replaced the boards. Everything looked the same.

When I finished, it was four o’clock in the morning, still dark. I heard someone knocking on the door. I went down to open the door. There were three police officers. One of the neighbors heard the old man’s cry and called the police. They came to ask questions and search the house.

I let them in. I was not afraid of anything as I knew I did everything right. I let them search the house. When they were in his room, I brought some chairs and offered them to rest. I placed my own seat on the very spot beneath which lied the corpse of the victim.

The officers were satisfied. My manner convinced them. They sat, and while I answered cheerily, they chatted. But soon I felt myself getting pale. I wanted them to go away. I fancied a ringing in my ears. The ringing became more distinct while the police officers were still chatting. I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling but it did not help.

No doubt[21]I now grew very pale. No matter what I did, the sound increased. How could the officers not hear it?! No! They heard! They knew! They were making a mockery of my horror! I could not tolerate this agony anymore.

“Villains!” I screamed. “I admit the deed! Tear up the floor! Here, here! It is the beating of his hideous heart!”

Ms.[22] found in a bottle

People often criticize me for being too rational. Nature gave me a scientific mind, and my wealthy family gave me a fine education. This together formed my habits of hard logical thinking. I am the last person to believe in any kind of mystery. Considering this, I have an incredible story to tell.

I spent many years in foreign travel. It was 18… when I went on a voyage to the Archipelago of the Sunda Islands as passenger. We sailed in the rich and populous island of Java on a beautiful ship of about four hundred tons. It carried cotton wool, oil, coir, jaggeree, ghee, cocoanuts, and a few cases of opium. The ship was so full, that she crank.

The ship sailed with a mere breath of wind. For many days it stood along the eastern coast of Java. Nothing disturbed our monotonous course.

One evening, a single cloud in the sky attracted my attention. It was of unusual color and it was the first cloud we saw since our departure from Batavia. I watched it carefully until sunset. Then it spread all at once to the eastward and westward and left a narrow strip of vapor in the sky. Then I noticed an unusual dusky red color of the moon and the peculiar character of the sea. The water was rapidly changing and seemed more than usually transparent.

As night came on, every breath of wind died away. The air now became very hot and calm. A long hair, which I held between the finger and thumb, hung without making the slightest move. However, the captain saw no indication of danger and ordered to remove the sails and let go the anchor. The crew stretched themselves deliberately on deck. I went below, and a heavy feeling of something bad coming developed in my chest. Indeed, the weather signaled Simoom[23]. I told the captain my fears; but he paid no attention to what I said.

I could not sleep so I went on desk. As I placed my foot on the upper step of the companion-ladder, a loud, humming noise startled me; the ship started shaking. Before I even realized, a wild wave knocked me off[24]. It swept the entire decks from stem to stern. Although the ship was completely waterlogged[25], after a minute it rose from the sea. It shacked for a while and finally righted[26].

By some miracle, I survived. I was jammed in between the sternpost and rudder. With great difficulty, I stood up and looked dizzily[27] around. We were immersed in the whirlpool of a foaming ocean. After a while, I heard the voice of an old Swede, who shipped with us when we leaved port. I hallooed to him and he came to me. We soon discovered we were the only survivors; the wave swept all on desk overboard, the captain and mates were dead too for water flooded their cabins. No one could help us to save the ship.

We were paralyzed by the momentary expectation of going down. Our rope broke at the first breath of the hurricane and the framework of our stern was shattered. We believed that a great wave would finally destroy our poor ship but it did not happen.

For four days and nights, waves carried us down the coast of New Holland. On the fifth day, the wind was blowing more to the northward and it became extremely cold. The sky was thick and grey; no clouds were in it. About noon, we saw the sun. It gave out no light but a dull and sullen glow[28].

Our ship sank within the sea and we could see the sun no more. We fell into complete darkness. The sixth day never arrived – it was an eternal night. We noticed that, though the storm continued, there was no more surf or foam. A superstitious[29] horror filled our souls.

We secured ourselves to the stump of the mast and looked out bitterly into the world of ocean. We had no means of calculating time and we had no idea where we were. We knew, however, we made farther to the southward than any previous navigators. Every moment threatened to be our last. My companion reminded me that our ship has some excellent qualities; but I could not help but feel hopeless.

We were at the bottom of one of these abysses, when a quick scream from my companion broke the night. “See! see!” cried he, shrieking in my ears, “God! see! see!” I saw a dull, sullen glare of red light that fell on our desk. I looked up and my blood froze from what I saw. A gigantic ship, about four thousand tons, floated at a terrific height directly above us. Its size was much bigger than any ship I knew. It was of a deep dark color and had no usual customary carved figures on it. A single row of brass cannon[30] poked out from its open ports. But what mainly inspired us with horror was that the ship bore up under a press of sail in the very teeth of that supernatural sea[31]. For a moment, it paused on the giddy top, then trembled and – came down.

I suddenly felt fearless. I went up as far as I could and waited the ruin that was coming. Our own vessel sank with its head to the sea. The shock of the descending mass struck it and it resulted in throwing me on the rigging[32] of the stranger.

As I fell, the ship anchored. The crew was busy and no one noticed me. I went to the main hatchway, which was open, and hid in the hold. I do not know why I wanted to be unnoticed. Something chilling was in in appearance of the navigator of the ship. I removed a small portion of the shifting-boards and made a hiding-place in the hold. I hardly completed my work when I heard footsteps. A man passed by my place. I did not see his face but I could tell it was an old man. He muttered to himself, in a low broken tone, some words of a language, which I could not understand. He then went to a corner where a pile of singular-looking instruments and old-looking charts of navigation lay. Finally, he went on deck, and I saw him no more.

A strange feeling possessed my soul. I cannot explain this feeling as I never felt like that before. Actually, I doubt anyone ever experienced that. This sense comes from my very specific situation and it makes it hard to understand. A new sense-a new entity is added to my soul.

It has been a long time[33] since I got on that ship. People here are so deeply in thoughts that they never notice me. There is no need for me to hide – they just do not want to see me. I just went into the captain’s own private cabin and took some materials with which I write. I passed directly before the eyes of the mate and he did not care. I will continue my journal and I hope the world will see it. At the last moment, I will put the MS. in a bottle, and throw it within the sea.

A new accident happened that gave me some food for thought[34]. I went on desk and, as usually unnoticed, throw myself on a pile of old sails. While I was laying, I unwittingly started painting with a tar-brush the edges of a sail near me. When I looked at the sail, I saw that my thoughtless touches of the brush formed into the word DISCOVERY.

I made many observations lately on the structure of the ship. Although it is well armed, it is not a ship of war. The general equipment confirms this. It is easy to tell what this ship is not and it is hard to tell what it is. Its strange model, huge size, a simple bow and antiquated stern make me think of old foreign chronicles and ages long ago.

I inspected the timbers of the ship. I am not familiar with the wood the ship is built of but there is something about it that strikes me. The wood is extremely porous and old. It seems to me that it has every characteristic of Spanish oak, if Spanish oak were distended by any unnatural means.

I remembered an old weather-beaten Dutch navigator that usually said, “It is as sure as sure as there is a sea where the ship itself will grow in bulk like the living body of the seaman[35].”

About an hour ago, I got myself among a group of the crew. They paid no attention to me although I stood in the very midst of them all. It seemed they had no clue about my presence. I noted that all of them were really old. Their knees trembled, their shoulders were down; they had wrinkled skin, low voices and gray hair. Strange and obsolete[36] mathematical instruments were all around them.

Our ship continued its course due south despite raging waves of ocean[37]. I just left the desk because I could not stay on my feet. The crew, however, has no problem with it.

It is a miracle to me that we were not swollen by the ocean yet. We slipped away from the waves like sea gulls. The only explanation for this, I think, is that some strong current keeps us afloat.

I saw the captain face to face. I met him in his own cabin and, as I expected, he paid no attention to me. His appearance inspires respect for him. His face has the stamp of a myriad of years. His gray hairs are records of the past, and his grayer eyes are sibyls of the future. The cabin was full of iron-clasped folios, moldering instruments of science and obsolete long-forgotten charts. The captain had a paper in his hands with the signature of a monarch. He muttered to himself some curses of a foreign tongue. Although I stood next to him, his voice seemed distant.

The ship and everything on it have the spirit of old age. The crew go around like ghosts. I was a dealer in antiquities for all my life and I saw the shadows of fallen columns at Balbec[38], and Tadmor[39], and Persepolis[40]; but nothing ever gave me such strange feeling as seeing them.

When I look around me, I feel ashamed of my former fears. There is no word to describe the battle of wind and ocean that captured us. All near the ship is the blackness of eternal night and a chaos of foamless water. The only thing I can see through the blackness is ramparts of ice that look like the walls of the universe.

As I thought, the ship proves to be in a current, if I may say so. It runs on to the southward with a speed of a waterfall.

The horrors of my sensations is indescribable. Yet I feel curious about where we are going. Obviously, we are on the verge of a great discovery. Perhaps this current leads us to the southern pole itself; there are many signs in favor of that[41].

The crew nervously walk around. But it feels like they are full of hope rather than the apathy of despair.

In the meantime, the wind still carries us from the bottom to the top and vice versa[42]. Oh, horror upon horror! Suddenly the ice opens to the right and to the left. We are whirling dizzily in immense circles. The walls of ice are now lost in the darkness and the distance. The circles rapidly grow small – we are plunging madly within the grasp of the whirlpool and – oh God! – going down.

William Wilson

Let me call myself, for the present, William Wilson. It is not my real name. That name is an object for the scorn, for the horror of all. Did not wind carry my infamous name to all regions of the globe? Am I not forever dead to the world? Does not a dark cloud hang eternally between my hopes and heaven?

Men usually become bad by degrees[43]. But from me, all my goodness dropped in a single moment, as if I dropped a coat. From little acts of weakness I passed, in one giant step, into pure evil. I will tell what one event brought me into this. Death is near, and its shadow softened my soul. I desire for the sympathy and pity of other men. I wish them to believe that I was the slave of circumstances beyond human control. I believe no other man was ever tempted as me, and no other man ever fell as down as me. Was not I living in a dream? Am I not dying from the horror of this dream?

My family is well-known for its choleric temper. I inherited the family temper and, as I grew older, it became stronger. My friends had hard times dealing with my bad character and the hurt it did me was great. I grew stubborn and always wanted people to do things my way. My parents, weak in mind and body, could never stop me from doing the wildest things. Their weak attempts to do so always failed which made me saw no authority in them. In our house, my voice was a law. Unlike other children, I was the master of my own actions.

I spent my early years in a small, misty-looking village of England. My school was in a large, very old house that stood among a great number of big trees. All of the houses there were very old. In truth, that old town was a dream-like and spirit-soothing place. I remember the freshening coolness of its streets, the smell of its thousand bushes and the feeling I had whenever I heard the church bell. I enjoy recalling these memories – as much as it possible to enjoy something in my suffering. Not only it gives me pleasure, but is important in the understanding of my following fate. Let me then remember.

The house, as I said, was old and wide. Its territory was large and surrounded by a solid brick wall. Three times a week we were allowed to go beyond this wall. On Saturday, we took brief walks through some of the neighboring fields, and on Sunday, we went twice to the only church of the village. The head-teacher of our school was also the head of the church. With a spirit of deep wonder I used to watch him there! In church, it was a man whose face seemed to be the embodiment of modesty[44] and whose clothes were glossy out of cleanness. In school, this same man stood with a stern face and clothes far from clean and was ready to strike us for disobeying him. Oh, this paradox is too great for my mind!

I well remember our playground behind the house. There were no trees, nor benches; the ground was as hard as stone. In front of the house there was a small garden, but we hardly ever visited it. We went through this garden only when we first arrived in the school or finally departed from it.

But the house! It was truly a palace to me. There was really no end to it. It was always hard to say on which of two floors I happened to be. There were three or four steps either up or down from each room to every other. The rooms branched into each other, and these branches were too many to count. During the five years I was there, I always had trouble to explain someone how to find the room where I and some other twenty boys lived. The schoolroom was the largest in the house – and I could not help thinking so, in the world. It was very long and low, with pointed Gothic windows and a ceiling of oak. In a far corner was the office of our head-teacher, Mr. Bransby. The door of the office was thick and heavy, and no one ever would dare to open it in Mr. Bransby absence.

Five years passed between the massy walls of this academy. Interestingly, a child does not need the outside world to be amused. As a child, I found more pleasure in monotony of the school than as a young man in riches or an older man in crimes. Usually people do not remember their early life but I remember mine clearly.

I was different from other boys. My hot temper separated me from them. Slowly but naturally I gained control over all not greatly older than myself. But there was an exception. This exception was a boy who had the same name as myself although was not related to me. He was the only one who would not follow my commands.

We were constantly competing with each other. I always acted as if I do not care about him but the truth was that I was afraid of him. Although it seemed no one even noticed the battle between us, he always tried to stop me from things I wanted to do. The strangest of all was his manner with which he did it. It was somewhat affectionate. I thought his manner meant to show that he was better than I was.

Maybe this and the fact that we shared the same name, made some boys from the senior classes think we are brothers. As I mentioned earlier, that Wilson was not connected to my family. But if he were, we would be twins – as I once discovered he was born the same day as me, he nineteenth of January, 1813.

In spite of our constant competing and anxiety it gave me, I could not hate him. Almost every day we quarreled and every time I came out a winner. But somehow his manner made me feel that he was the true winner. I had mixed feelings toward him; something between love and hatred, fear and respect.

I tried to make everyone laugh at him. I tried to cause him pain, pretending I am just fooling around. But my attempts often failed, as it seemed there was nothing in him to make fun of. Actually, there was, but no one ever would use it against him – no one except me. He was able to speak only in a very, very soft, low voice, and I never missed an opportunity to bring that fact up.

Wilson usually fought back. He, too, knew my weak spot. He somehow sensed I had a strong distaste for my name. I hated that too many people bore the same name. I felt like it took my personality away, and I hated when our schoolfellows mistook my actions for his and his actions for mine. But the truth was we indeed were alike in mind and body. I knew he knew that too and he used that as a weapon. He perfectly copied my dress and my walk; he could not copy my voice – but he perfectly copied my tone.