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W EEK 7
CONTENT
OVERVIEW PAGE
OVERVIEW
In the third week of the Midterm Period, you will study about Short Stories in World Literature. Also, you will
encounter stories often used in a literature class and other related literature subjects. These terms are useful to fully
understand the whole course.

For this week, you are expected to gear yourself with the basic understanding of the course in preparation for a
larger scope of commitment to learn Masterpieces of World Literature.

WEEK 7 [THE EMPEROR’S NEW CLOTHES, THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO , THE TELL-
TALE HEART] OBJECTIVES
By the end of this chapter/week, you will be able to:
1. expound on short stories and its significance in relation to today’s rich repertoire;
2. identify and analyze the literary devices present in each story;
3. outline the plot and literary elements of the stories in World Literature;
4. produce literary responses for the short stories presented through texts and videos; and
5. recognize how language develop through short story evaluation.

DISCUSSIONS

SHORT STORIES
THE EMPEROR’S NEW CLOTHES (HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN)
Many years ago there was an Emperor so exceedingly fond of new clothes that he spent all his money on
being well dressed. He cared nothing about reviewing his soldiers, going to the theatre, or going for a ride in his
carriage, except to show off his new clothes. He had a coat for every hour of the day, and instead of saying, as one
might, about any other ruler, "The King's in council," here they always said. "The Emperor's in his dressing room."

In the great city where he lived, life was always gay. Every day many strangers came to town, and among
them one day came two swindlers. They let it be known they were weavers, and they said they could weave the most
magnificent fabrics imaginable. Not only were their colors and patterns uncommonly fine, but clothes made of this
cloth had a wonderful way of becoming invisible to anyone who was unfit for his office, or who was unusually
stupid.

"Those would be just the clothes for me," thought the Emperor. "If I wore them I would be able to discover
which men in my empire are unfit for their posts. And I could tell the wise men from the fools. Yes, I certainly must
get some of the stuff woven for me right away." He paid the two swindlers a large sum of money to start work at
once.

They set up two looms and pretended to weave, though there was nothing on the looms. All the finest silk
and the purest old thread which they demanded went into their traveling bags, while they worked the empty looms
far into the night.
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"I'd like to know how those weavers are getting on with the cloth," the Emperor thought, but he felt slightly
uncomfortable when he remembered that those who were unfit for their position would not be able to see the fabric.
It couldn't have been that he doubted himself, yet he thought he'd rather send someone else to see how things were
going. The whole town knew about the cloth's peculiar power, and all were impatient to find out how stupid their
neighbors were.

"I'll send my honest old minister to the weavers," the Emperor decided. "He'll be the best one to tell me
how the material looks, for he's a sensible man and no one does his duty better."

So the honest old minister went to the room where the two swindlers sat working away at their empty
looms. "Heaven help me," he thought as his eyes flew wide open, "I can't see anything at all". But he did not say so.

Both the swindlers begged him to be so kind as to come near to approve the excellent pattern, the beautiful
colors. They pointed to the empty looms, and the poor old minister stared as hard as he dared. He couldn't see
anything, because there was nothing to see. "Heaven have mercy," he thought. "Can it be that I'm a fool? I'd have
never guessed it, and not a soul must know. Am I unfit to be the minister? It would never do to let on that I can't see
the cloth."
"Don't hesitate to tell us what you think of it," said one of the weavers.
"Oh, it's beautiful -it's enchanting." The old minister peered through his spectacles. "Such a pattern, what colors!" I'll
be sure to tell the Emperor how delighted I am with it."
"We're pleased to hear that," the swindlers said. They proceeded to name all the colors and to explain the intricate
pattern. The old minister paid the closest attention, so that he could tell it all to the Emperor. And so he did.

The swindlers at once asked for more money, more silk and gold thread, to get on with the weaving. But it
all went into their pockets. Not a thread went into the looms, though they worked at their weaving as hard as ever.
The Emperor presently sent another trustworthy official to see how the work progressed and how soon it would be
ready. The same thing happened to him that had happened to the minister. He looked and he looked, but as there was
nothing to see in the looms he couldn't see anything.
"Isn't it a beautiful piece of goods?" the swindlers asked him, as they displayed and described their imaginary
pattern.
"I know I'm not stupid," the man thought, "so it must be that I'm unworthy of my good office. That's strange. I
mustn't let anyone find it out, though." So he praised the material he did not see. He declared he was delighted with
the beautiful colors and the exquisite pattern. To the Emperor he said, "It held me spellbound."

All the town was talking of this splendid cloth, and the Emperor wanted to see it for himself while it was
still in the looms. Attended by a band of chosen men, among whom were his two old trusted officials-the ones who
had been to the weavers-he set out to see the two swindlers. He found them weaving with might and main, but
without a thread in their looms.
"Magnificent," said the two officials already duped. "Just look, Your Majesty, what colors! What a design!" They
pointed to the empty looms, each supposing that the others could see the stuff.
"What's this?" thought the Emperor. "I can't see anything. This is terrible!
Am I a fool? Am I unfit to be the Emperor? What a thing to happen to me of all people! - Oh! It's very pretty," he
said. "It has my highest approval." And he nodded approbation at the empty loom. Nothing could make him say that
he couldn't see anything.

His whole retinue stared and stared. One saw no more than another, but they all joined the Emperor in
exclaiming, "Oh! It's very pretty," and they advised him to wear clothes made of this wonderful cloth especially for
the great procession he was soon to lead. "Magnificent! Excellent! Unsurpassed!" were bandied from mouth to
mouth, and everyone did his best to seem well pleased. The Emperor gave each of the swindlers a cross to wear in
his buttonhole, and the title of "Sir Weaver."

Before the procession the swindlers sat up all night and burned more than six candles, to show how busy
they were finishing the Emperor's new clothes. They pretended to take the cloth off the loom. They made cuts in the
air with huge scissors. And at last they said, "Now the Emperor's new clothes are ready for him."
Then the Emperor himself came with his noblest noblemen, and the swindlers each raised an arm as if they were
holding something. They said, "These are the trousers, here's the coat, and this is the mantle," naming each garment.
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"All of them are as light as a spider web. One would almost think he had nothing on, but that's what makes them so
fine."
"Exactly," all the noblemen agreed, though they could see nothing, for there was nothing to see.
"If Your Imperial Majesty will condescend to take your clothes off," said the swindlers, "we will help you on with
your new ones here in front of the long mirror."

The Emperor undressed, and the swindlers pretended to put his new clothes on him, one garment after
another. They took him around the waist and seemed to be fastening something - that was his train-as the Emperor
turned round and round before the looking glass.
"How well Your Majesty's new clothes look. Aren't they becoming!" He heard on all sides, "That pattern, so perfect!
Those colors, so suitable! It is a magnificent outfit."
Then the minister of public processions announced: "Your Majesty's canopy is waiting outside."
"Well, I'm supposed to be ready," the Emperor said, and turned again for one last look in the mirror. "It is a
remarkable fit, isn't it?" He seemed to regard his costume with the greatest interest.

The noblemen who were to carry his train stooped low and reached for the floor as if they were picking up
his mantle. Then they pretended to lift and hold it high. They didn't dare admit they had nothing to hold.
So off went the Emperor in procession under his splendid canopy. Everyone in the streets and the windows said,
"Oh, how fine are the Emperor's new clothes! Don't they fit him to perfection? And see his long train!" Nobody
would confess that he couldn't see anything, for that would prove him either unfit for his position, or a fool. No
costume the Emperor had worn before was ever such a complete success.
"But he hasn't got anything on," a little child said.
"Did you ever hear such innocent prattle?" said its father. And one person whispered to another what the child had
said, "He hasn't anything on. A child says he hasn't anything on."
"But he hasn't got anything on!" the whole town cried out at last.
The Emperor shivered, for he suspected they were right. But he thought, "This procession has got to go on."
So he walked more proudly than ever, as his noblemen held high the train that wasn't there at all.

THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO (EDGAR ALLAN POE)

The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but when he ventured upon insult I vowed
revenge. You, who so well know the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that gave utterance to a threat. At
length I would be avenged; this was a point definitely, settled --but the very definitiveness with which it was
resolved precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when
retribution overtakes its redresser. It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make himself felt as such to
him who has done the wrong. It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given Fortunato cause to
doubt my good will. I continued, as was my in to smile in his face, and he did not perceive that to smile now was at
the thought of his immolation.

He had a weak point --this Fortunato --although in other regards he was a man to be respected and even
feared. He prided himself on his connoisseurship in wine. Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit. For the most
part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and opportunity, to practise imposture upon the British and Austrian
millionaires. In painting and gemmary, Fortunato, like his countrymen, was a quack, but in the matter of old wines
he was sincere. In this respect I did not differ from him materially; --I was skilful in the Italian vintages myself, and
bought largely whenever I could. It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of the carnival season,
that I encountered my friend. He accosted me with excessive warmth, for he had been drinking much. The man wore
motley. He had on a tight-fitting parti-striped dress, and his head was surmounted by the conical cap and bells. I was
so pleased to see him that I thought I should never have done wringing his hand. I said to him --"My dear Fortunato,
you are luckily met. How remarkably well you are looking to-day. But I have received a pipe of what passes for
Amontillado, and I have my doubts."

"How?" said he. "Amontillado, A pipe? Impossible! And in the middle of the carnival!""I have my doubts,"
I replied; "and I was silly enough to pay the full Amontillado price without consulting you in the matter. You were
not to be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain." "Amontillado!" "I have my doubts." "Amontillado!" "And I
must satisfy them." "Amontillado!" "As you are engaged, I am on my way to Luchresi. If anyone has a critical turn it
is he. He will tell me --" "Luchresi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry." "And yet some fools will have it that his
taste is a match for your own. "Come, let us go." "Whither?" "To your vaults." "My friend, no; I will not impose
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upon your good nature. I perceive you have an engagement. Luchresi--" "I have no engagement; --come." "My
friend, no. It is not the engagement, but the severe cold with which I perceive you are afflicted. The vaults are
insufferably damp. They are encrusted with nitre." "Let us go, nevertheless. The cold is merely nothing.
Amontillado! You have been imposed upon. And as for Luchresi, he cannot distinguish Sherry from Amontillado."
Thus speaking, Fortunato possessed himself of my arm; and putting on a mask of black silk and drawing a
roquelaire closely about my person, I suffered him to hurry me to my palazzo.

There were no attendants at home; they had absconded to make merry in honour of the time. I had told
them that I should not return until the morning, and had given them explicit orders not to stir from the house. These
orders were sufficient, I well knew, to insure their immediate disappearance, one and all, as soon as my back was
turned. I took from their sconces two flambeaux, and giving one to Fortunato, bowed him through several suites of
rooms to the archway that led into the vaults. I passed down a long and winding staircase, requesting him to be
cautious as he followed. We came at length to the foot of the descent, and stood together upon the damp ground of
the catacombs of the Montresors. The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingled as he
strode. "The pipe," he said. "It is farther on," said I; "but observe the white web-work which gleams from these
cavern walls." He turned towards me, and looked into my eves with two filmy orbs that distilled the rheum of
intoxication.

"Nitre?" he asked, at length. "Nitre," I replied. "How long have you had that cough?" "Ugh! ugh! ugh! --
ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh! --ugh! ugh! ugh!" My poor friend found it impossible to reply for
many minutes. "It is nothing," he said, at last. "Come," I said, with decision, "we will go back; your health is
precious. You are rich, respected, admired, beloved; you are happy, as once I was. You are a man to be missed. For
me it is no matter. We will go back; you will be ill, and I cannot be responsible. Besides, there is Luchresi --"
"Enough," he said; "the cough's a mere nothing; it will not kill me. I shall not die of a cough." "True --true," I
replied; "and, indeed, I had no intention of alarming you unnecessarily --but you should use all proper caution. A
draught of this Medoc will defend us from the damps. Here I knocked off the neck of a bottle which I drew from a
long row of its fellows that lay upon the mould.

"Drink," I said, presenting him the wine. He raised it to his lips with a leer. He paused and nodded to me
familiarly, while his bells jingled. "I drink," he said, "to the buried that repose around us." "And I to your long life."
He again took my arm, and we proceeded. "These vaults," he said, "are extensive." "The Montresors," I replied,
"were a great and numerous family." "I forget your arms." "A huge human foot d'or, in a field azure; the foot crushes
a serpent rampant whose fangs are imbedded in the heel." "And the motto?" "Nemo me impune lacessit." "Good!"
he said. The wine sparkled in his eyes and the bells jingled. My own fancy grew warm with the Medoc. We had
passed through long walls of piled skeletons, with casks and puncheons intermingling, into the inmost recesses of
the catacombs. I paused again, and this time I made bold to seize Fortunato by an arm above the elbow.

"The nitre!" I said; "see, it increases. It hangs like moss upon the vaults. We are below the river's bed. The
drops of moisture trickle among the bones. Come, we will go back ere it is too late. Your cough --" "It is nothing,"
he said; "let us go on. But first, another draught of the Medoc." I broke and reached him a flagon of De Grave. He
emptied it at a breath. His eyes flashed with a fierce light. He laughed and threw the bottle upwards with a
gesticulation I did not understand. I looked at him in surprise. He repeated the movement --a grotesque one. "You do
not comprehend?" he said. "Not I," I replied. "Then you are not of the brotherhood." "How?" "You are not of the
masons." "Yes, yes," I said; "yes, yes." "You? Impossible! A mason?" "A mason," I replied. "A sign," he said, "a
sign." "It is this," I answered, producing from beneath the folds of my roquelaire a trowel. "You jest," he exclaimed,
recoiling a few paces. "But let us proceed to the Amontillado.""Be it so," I said, replacing the tool beneath the cloak
and again offering him my arm. He leaned upon it heavily. We continued our route in search of the Amontillado. We
passed through a range of low arches, descended, passed on, and descending again, arrived at a deep crypt, in which
the foulness of the air caused our flambeaux rather to glow than flame.

At the most remote end of the crypt there appeared another less spacious. Its walls had been lined with
human remains, piled to the vault overhead, in the fashion of the great catacombs of Paris. Three sides of this
interior crypt were still ornamented in this manner. From the fourth side the bones had been thrown down, and lay
promiscuously upon the earth, forming at one point a mound of some size. Within the wall thus exposed by the
displacing of the bones, we perceived a still interior crypt or recess, in depth about four feet, in width three, in height
six or seven. It seemed to have been constructed for no especial use within itself, but formed merely the interval
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between two of the colossal supports of the roof of the catacombs, and was backed by one of their circumscribing
walls of solid granite.

It was in vain that Fortunato, uplifting his dull torch, endeavoured to pry into the depth of the recess. Its
termination the feeble light did not enable us to see. "Proceed," I said; "herein is the Amontillado. As for Luchresi
--" "He is an ignoramus," interrupted my friend, as he stepped unsteadily forward, while I followed immediately at
his heels. In niche, and finding an instant he had reached the extremity of the niche, and finding his progress arrested
by the rock, stood stupidly bewildered. A moment more and I had fettered him to the granite. In its surface were two
iron staples, distant from each other about two feet, horizontally. From one of these depended a short chain, from the
other a padlock. Throwing the links about his waist, it was but the work of a few seconds to secure it. He was too
much astounded to resist. Withdrawing the key I stepped back from the recess. "Pass your hand," I said, "over the
wall; you cannot help feeling the nitre. Indeed, it is very damp. Once more let me implore you to return. No? Then I
must positively leave you. But I must first render you all the little attentions in my power." "The Amontillado!"
ejaculated my friend, not yet recovered from his astonishment. "True," I replied; "the Amontillado."

As I said these words I busied myself among the pile of bones of which I have before spoken. Throwing
them aside, I soon uncovered a quantity of building stone and mortar. With these materials and with the aid of my
trowel, I began vigorously to wall up the entrance of the niche. I had scarcely laid the first tier of the masonry when
I discovered that the intoxication of Fortunato had in a great measure worn off. The earliest indication I had of this
was a low moaning cry from the depth of the recess. It was not the cry of a drunken man. There was then a long and
obstinate silence. I laid the second tier, and the third, and the fourth; and then I heard the furious vibrations of the
chain. The noise lasted for several minutes, during which, that I might hearken to it with the more satisfaction, I
ceased my labours and sat down upon the bones. When at last the clanking subsided, I resumed the trowel, and
finished without interruption the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh tier. The wall was now nearly upon a level with my
breast. I again paused, and holding the flambeaux over the mason-work, threw a few feeble rays upon the figure
within. A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly from the throat of the chained form, seemed to
thrust me violently back. For a brief moment I hesitated, I trembled. Unsheathing my rapier, I began to grope with it
about the recess; but the thought of an instant reassured me. I placed my hand upon the solid fabric of the
catacombs, and felt satisfied. I reapproached the wall; I replied to the yells of him who clamoured. I re-echoed, I
aided, I surpassed them in volume and in strength. I did this, and the clamourer grew still.

It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I had completed the eighth, the ninth and the
tenth tier. I had finished a portion of the last and the eleventh; there remained but a single stone to be fitted and
plastered in. I struggled with its weight; I placed it partially in its destined position. But now there came from out the
niche a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head. It was succeeded by a sad voice, which I had difficulty in
recognizing as that of the noble Fortunato.

The voice said-- "Ha! ha! ha! --he! he! he! --a very good joke, indeed --an excellent jest. We will have
many a rich laugh about it at the palazzo --he! he! he! --over our wine --he! he! he!" "The Amontillado!" I said. "He!
he! he! --he! he! he! --yes, the Amontillado. But is it not getting late? Will not they be awaiting us at the palazzo, the
Lady Fortunato and the rest? Let us be gone." "Yes," I said, "let us be gone." "For the love of God, Montresor!"
"Yes," I said, "for the love of God!" But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient. I called
aloud -- "Fortunato!" No answer. I called again -- "Fortunato!" No answer still. I thrust a torch through the
remaining aperture and let it fall within. There came forth in return only a jingling of the bells. My heart grew sick;
it was the dampness of the catacombs that made it so. I hastened to make an end of my labour. I forced the last stone
into its position; I plastered it up. Against the new masonry I re-erected the old rampart of bones. For the half of a
century no mortal has disturbed them. In pace requiescat!

THE TELL-TALE HEART (EDGAR ALLAN POE)

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
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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.
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But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how steadily
I could maintain the ray upon the eve. Meantime the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew quicker and
quicker, and louder and louder every instant. The old man's terror must have been extreme! It grew louder, I say,
louder every moment! --do you mark me well I have told you that I am nervous: so I am. And now at the dead hour
of the night, amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable
terror. Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought the
heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized me --the sound would be heard by a neighbour! The old man's hour
had come! With a loud yell, I threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He shrieked once --once only. In an
instant I dragged him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him. I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far
done. But, for many minutes, the heart beat on with a muffled sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would not be
heard through the wall. At length it ceased. The old man was dead. I removed the bed and examined the corpse. Yes,
he was stone, stone dead. I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there many minutes. There was no pulsation.
He was stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more.
If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the
concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence. First of all I dismembered the
corpse. I cut off the head and the arms and the legs. I then took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber,
and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye --
not even his --could have detected any thing wrong. There was nothing to wash out --no stain of any kind --no
blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that. A tub had caught all --ha! ha! When I had made an end of these
labors, it was four o'clock --still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street
door. I went down to open it with a light heart, --for what had I now to fear? There entered three men, who
introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by a neighbour during
the night; suspicion of foul play had been aroused; information had been lodged at the police office, and they (the
officers) had been deputed to search the premises. I smiled, --for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome.
The shriek, I said, was my own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was absent in the country. I took my visitors
all over the house. I bade them search --search well. I led them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his
treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them
here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon
the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim.

The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them. I was singularly at ease. They sat, and while I
answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone.
My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears: but still they sat and still chatted. The ringing became more
distinct: --It continued and became more distinct: I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and
gained definiteness --until, at length, I found that the noise was not within my ears. No doubt I now grew very pale;
--but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased --and what could I do? It was a
low, dull, quick sound --much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath --and
yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly --more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. I arose and
argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they
not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men --but
the noise steadily increased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed --I raved --I swore! I swung the chair upon which I
had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder
--louder --louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God!
--no, no! They heard! --they suspected! --they knew! --they were making a mockery of my horror!-this I thought,
and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could
bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! and now --again! --hark! louder! louder!
louder! louder!

"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! --tear up the planks! here, here! --It is the
beating of his hideous heart!"

RESOURCES FOR THE TOPIC/S

[https://andersen.sdu.dk/vaerk/hersholt/TheEmperorsNewClothes_e.html]
[https://www.poemuseum.org/the-cask-of-amontillado]
 8

[https://www.poemuseum.org/the-tell-tale-heart]
[Literary Genres Within and Beyond the World, Laura L. Mariano]

END of WEEK 7 Learning Module

“The right people hear you differently.”