Super Safi’s Monday Morning Musings 105 – The Tell-Tale Heart

Morning Musically-Minded, Medically-Minded, Masticators!

(Today’s post is sponsored by the letter “M”)

 

Over the past 600+ episodes, The Simpsons has taken us on an amazing journey involving music, science, and food to name a few concepts.

And what better way to start your week, than by discussing some of these concepts Monday morning?

So let’s get started this week by talking about a classic English short story from the one hundred and fifth episode of our favourite family, The Tell-Tale Heart.

 

In the one hundredth and fifth episode of The Simpsons, Lisa’s Rival (Season 06, Episode 02), Lisa is used to being the star pupil in the second grade.

But things take a dramatic change when a new student, Allison Taylor, joins the class.

Allison quickly becomes the star pupil. Lisa is upset to learn Allison is a year younger and skipped a grade. Allison also takes first chair saxophone away from Lisa.

But then Lisa decides to befriend Allison.

Lisa: “I should be Allison’s friend. I mean, she is a wonderful person.
Bart: “Way to go, Lis. Why compete with someone who’s just gonna kick your butt anyway?
Lisa: “I prefer my phrasing.

So she decides to hang out with Allison at her place after school. There she meets Allison’s father.

Mr. Taylor: “Hi, Lisa, I’m Allison’s father, Professor Taylor. I’ve heard great things about you.
Lisa: “Oh, really? I…
Mr. Taylor: “Oh, don’t be modest. I’m glad we have someone who can join us in our anagram game.
Allison: “We take proper names and rearrange the letters to form a description of that person.
Mr. Taylor: “Like, er…Oh, I don’t know, uh…Alec Guinness.
Allison: “Genuine class.
Mr. Taylor: “Ho ho, very good. Alright, Lisa, um…Jeremy Irons.
Lisa: “Uh, Jeremy’s…iron.
Mr. Taylor: “Mm hmm, well, that’s…very good…for a first try. You know what? I have a ball. Perhaps you’d like to bounce it?

Lisa is taken aback by Allison’s awards collection.

And even more upon learning that Allison has already completed her diorama for the school “Diorama-Rama”. She has made the scene from The Tell-Tale Heart by Edgar Allen Poe, with a beating floor board.

This proves too much for Lisa and she enlists the help of Bart to bring Allison down a peg.

Bart: “Tomorrow morning, when Allison comes out of her house, we spray her with the hose, soaking her from head to toe, leaving us relatively dry.
Lisa: “Relatively?
Bart: “Well, there’s bound to be some splash back.
Lisa: “Bart, her being wet won’t help me to win the competition.
Bart: “We could just sabotage her diorama, humiliating her in front of the students and faculty.
Lisa: “Perfect!
Bart: “Leaving her primed for the most traumatic hose-soaking of her life!
Lisa: “Enough with the hose!

Eventually at the “Diorama-Rama”, Bart creates a scene and Lisa replaces Allison’s diorama with a cow’s heart.

But eventually like the narrator of The Tell-Tale Heart, guilt gets the best of Lisa and she unveils Allison’s diorama.

Much to both her and Allison’s surprise, Principal Skinned just finds Allison’s diorama mundane. And eventually awards first prize to Ralph Wiggum.

But have you ever actually read The Tell-Tale Heart:

 

 

 

The Tell-Tale Heart

The Tell-Tale Heart is a short story by American writer Edgar Allen Poe (January 19, 1809 – October 7, 1849), in which an  unnamed narrator endeavours to convince us (the reader) of the narrator’s sanity while simultaneously describing a murder the narrator committed. The narrator explains how the murder was an attempt at the perfect crime, complete with dismembering the body in the bathtub and hiding it under the floorboards. Ultimately, the narrator’s actions result in hearing a thumping sound, which the narrator interprets as the dead man’s beating heart. It was first published in James Russell Lowell’s The Pioneer in January 1843.

Edgar Allen Poe

 

This short story, along with the poem The Raven (discussed in Musing 16), made Poe a household name almost immediately, and turned him into a national celebrity. Although these works made Poe popular in his day, it did not bring him financial success. He reportedly sold this story for $10. As he later lamented, “I have made no money. I am as poor now as ever I was in my life; except in hope, which is by no means bankable”.

 

Here from the Poe Museum, is the full version of The Tell-Tale Heart (you can also visit the Poe Museum to listen to an audio book):

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! One of his eyes resembled that 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, so 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 had 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 the 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 has 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 single dim ray, like the thread of the spider, shot from out the crevice and fell 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 now have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over acuteness of the senses? — 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 eye. 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 neighbor! 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 neighbor 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 definitiveness — 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!”

 

 

Now that we’ve learned more about The Tell-Tale Heart, be sure to come back next week when we continue our Monday morning musings with the next episode of The Simpsons.

Have you ever read The Tell-Tale Heart? What’s your favourite Simpsons classic literature reference? What about your favourite Simpsons Lisa-centric episode? What’s your favourite work by Edgar Allen Poe? Sound off in the comments below. You know we love hearing from you.

3 responses to “Super Safi’s Monday Morning Musings 105 – The Tell-Tale Heart

  1. “One of our BEST writers.” — Troy McClure (1991)

  2. Homer: And you didn’t think I’d make any money. I found a dollar while I was waiting for the bus.
    Marge: While you were out “earning” that dollar, you lost 40 dollars by not going into work. The plant called and said if you don’t come in tomorrow, don’t bother coming in Monday.
    Homer: Woohoo! A four-day weekend!

    • Perfect time for that quote, as students and government employees enjoy a four-day weekend here for Good Friday and Easter Monday.

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