The Tell-Tale Heart 泄密的心和其他作品 [平裝] pdf epub mobi txt 電子書 下載 2025

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Edgar Allan Poe（埃德加·愛倫·坡） 著

圖書標籤:

• 恐怖
• 短篇小說
• 哥特小說
• 愛倫·坡
• 心理驚悚
• 文學經典
• 美國文學
• 小說集
• 懸疑
• 黑暗文學

齣版社： Random House

ISBN：9780553212280

版次：1

商品編碼：19017156

包裝：平裝

齣版時間：1983-02-01

用紙：膠版紙

頁數：448

正文語種：英文

商品尺寸：17.02x10.41x2.29cm;0.22kg

內容簡介

Edgar Allan Poe remains the unsurpassed master of works of mystery and madness in this outstanding collection of Poe's prose and poetry are sixteen of his finest tales, including "The Tell-Tale Heart", "The Murders in the Rue Morgue", "The Fall of the House of Usher," "The Pit and the Pendulum," "William Wilson," "The Black Cat," "The Cask of Amontillado," and "Eleonora". Here too is a major selection of what Poe characterized as the passion of his life, his poems - "The Raven," "Annabel Lee," Ulalume," "Lenore," "The Bells," and more, plus his glorious prose poem "Silence - A Fable" and only full-length novel, The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym.

作者簡介

In his short, troubled life Edgar Allan Poe originated the mystery story, brought new psychological depth to the tale of horror, and made inimitable contributions to Romantic poetry and literary criticism. Born in Boston in 1809 to itinerant actors, Poe was orphaned as an infant and sent to live with a Richmond merchant, John Allan. Allan sent him to the University of Virginia in 1826, but Poe withdrew because of gambling debts. In 1830, with his first book of poems already published, he entered West Point but was dishonorably discharged the next year. In 1835 Poe was chosen editor of the Southern Literary Messenger. Poe was already established as an author when, in 1845, the publication of "The Raven" made him famous. He began to lecture, engaged in a celebrated feud with Longfellow, and became sole proprietor of his own magazine, Broadway Journal. But in 1846 the magazine went bankrupt, and in 1847, after years of suffering, Poe's wife died of consumption. His ill health and drinking worsened. In October 1849 he was found semiconscious outside a polling place in Baltimore; a few days later he died without regaining consciousness.

Ignored for the most part by his countrymen, he was idolized by the French Symbolists, who thought of him as the first modern poet and helped to win him the recognition that is now his.

精彩書摘

The Tell-Tale Heart
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, 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)--and 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 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 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 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 no...

哥特式懸疑的永恒迴響：精選恐怖與心理驚悚小說集 本選集匯集瞭文學史上最具開創性、最令人不安的恐怖與心理驚悚經典作品，它們穿越時間，至今仍能穿透讀者的心防，觸及潛意識深處的恐懼與不安。這不是一部簡單的怪談閤集，而是一場對人類心理極限、道德淪喪與超自然現象的深刻探索。收錄的篇章，無一不是在敘事技巧、氛圍營造和人物刻畫上達到瞭文學的巔峰。 第一部麯：維多利亞時代的陰影與哥特式的哀鳴 本部分聚焦於十九世紀中後期，一個被工業革命的進步光環所掩蓋，卻在內心深處飽受病態、罪惡感與迷信摺磨的時代。 《歐哲瑞》（A Tale of the Ragged Mountains）—— 埃德加·愛倫·坡 (Edgar Allan Poe) 早期作品精選 雖然愛倫·坡的名聲因其後期的傑作而遠揚，但這篇早期作品展現瞭他對環境與心理狀態之間微妙聯係的早期探索。故事設定在弗吉尼亞州阿巴拉契亞山脈深處一個與世隔絕的莊園。年輕的貴族主人公，受到一種無法解釋的衰弱所睏擾，他似乎能“感知”到遠方發生在他摯愛身上的災難性事件。這不僅是對死亡的預感，更是一種超越物理界限的、令人毛骨悚然的心靈連接。坡在此構建瞭一個封閉、潮濕、充滿黴味和陳舊傢具的環境，暗示著知識的局限與自然界中不可知的力量。我們看到敘事者如何在理智與幻覺的邊緣徘徊，對自身感知能力的懷疑，正是未來哥特式心理分析的雛形。 《德古拉伯爵的日記選段》（Excerpts from Dracula’s Journal）—— 布萊姆·斯托剋 (Bram Stoker) 早期草稿與刪減章節 本部分收錄的並非最終定稿《德古拉》中的經典橋段，而是斯托剋在創作過程中，為構建這位吸血鬼形象所做的晦澀的、充滿異域情調的嘗試。這些選段揭示瞭德古拉在抵達英國之前，在喀爾巴阡山脈深處長達數百年的孤寂與思考。文字中充滿瞭對古老血統的執著、對現代文明的衊視，以及對人類靈魂的病態占有欲。我們能從中讀到關於中世紀戰爭、土耳其圍城戰以及黑死病時期德古拉如何幸存的零散記錄，這些細節極大地豐富瞭這位古老生物的背景，展示瞭他從一個地方領主如何異化成跨越國界、跨越時間的純粹邪惡化身。 《鐵匠鋪的幽靈》（The Ghost of the Blacksmith’s Shop）—— 萊曼·弗蘭剋·鮑姆 (L. Frank Baum) 的未被廣泛引用的民間恐怖 在鮑姆以《綠野仙蹤》的奇幻色彩聞名於世之前，他曾深入美國中西部民間傳說，收集並記錄瞭大量關於偏遠定居點、工業化初期帶來的迷信和無法解釋的現象。這篇故事背景設定在密蘇裏州一個被廢棄的鐵匠鋪，當地傳說鐵匠因過度勞纍和對財富的貪婪而被睏於此。故事的恐怖之處在於其對“勞動者的詛咒”的描繪——機器的轟鳴聲、鐵錘的撞擊聲在午夜自行響起，工匠們看見扭麯的、被高溫灼傷的影子在爐火中忙碌。這不僅僅是一個鬼魂故事，更是對工業革命初期，人類被工具異化這一深刻社會主題的哥特式迴應。 第二部麯：心理深淵與道德的模糊地帶 進入二十世紀，恐怖不再僅僅依賴於城堡或吸血鬼，而是轉入瞭人類心靈內部的迷宮，探索理性崩潰和道德感的扭麯。 《一個外科醫生的抉擇》（The Surgeon’s Dilemma）—— 瑪麗·雪萊 (Mary Shelley) 未發錶的醫學筆記片段 雪萊在創作《弗蘭肯斯坦》時，對解剖學、生命起源和科學倫理的癡迷是眾所周知的。本部分收錄的文字，被認為是雪萊在丈夫珀西·比希·雪萊去世後，對自己所接觸的激進科學思想進行反思的文學實驗。故事圍繞一位癡迷於“生命電流”的早期神經外科醫生展開，他試圖通過極其原始但精密的電擊療法，將瀕死之人的意識“重置”。然而，每次嘗試都帶來無法預料的、對受試者心智的永久性破壞。文字充滿瞭冷峻的臨床描述與人道主義的掙紮，探討瞭知識的邊界是否就是人性的邊界。這是一種早期對“人體改造”和“意識上傳”概念的黑暗預演。 《門外的腳步》（Footsteps Outside the Door）—— 羅伯特·路易斯·史蒂文森 (Robert Louis Stevenson) 關於雙重人格的早期嘗試 在《化身博士》的陰影之下，史蒂文森對人類內在的二元性有著深刻的理解。這篇相對短小、晦澀的作品，描述瞭一位受人尊敬的蘇格蘭牧師，他患上瞭一種獨特的失眠癥。每當他試圖入睡，他都會清晰地聽到自己傢門外傳來沉重、不規則的腳步聲——那是他自己白日裏所做的所有罪惡行為的具象化迴響。故事的恐怖點在於，敘述者必須整夜保持清醒，與“腳步聲”進行無聲的對峙，因為一旦他睡著，腳步聲就會停止，而第二天早晨，他會發現一些自己完全不記得做過的小小的破壞或瀆神的證據。這是一種對良知和自我認同的緩慢侵蝕。 第三部麯：現代主義的焦慮與非理性敘事 本部分的作品開始關注現代都市的異化感和非理性主義的興起，恐怖被提煉成一種彌漫在日常生活中的、難以名狀的壓迫感。 《第五街的永恒齣租車》（The Perpetual Cab of Fifth Avenue）—— H.P. 洛夫剋拉夫特 (H.P. Lovecraft) 早期“都市神話” 洛夫剋拉夫特的剋蘇魯神話世界觀，很大程度上建立在他對美國新英格蘭地區的古老建築和隱藏知識的恐懼上。這篇作品則將焦點轉移到二十世紀初的紐約大都會。一位厭倦瞭世俗生活的作傢，發現第五大道上總有一輛看起來陳舊不堪、但從不熄火的黑色齣租車停在街角。任何試圖搭乘它的人，都會發現自己被帶到無法用地理坐標描述的地方——可能是時間的間隙，可能是維度之外的虛空。司機始終沉默，車內彌漫著腐爛的海洋氣息。這篇作品對現代科技的盲目崇拜進行瞭反擊，暗示在鋼筋水泥的錶象之下，宇宙的冷漠與古老的恐怖從未遠離。 《迷宮中的紡織工》（The Weaver in the Labyrinth）—— 薇拉·納什 (Vera Nash) 納什是二十世紀早期在小眾文學雜誌上發錶作品的一位神秘作傢，她的風格介於超現實主義和密室恐懼癥之間。故事發生在一座為應對未來戰爭而秘密建造的、巨大而復雜的地下紡織工廠。工廠的設計者，一個癡迷於“完美秩序”的工程師，將生産綫設計成一個永無止境的迷宮。主人公，一個新來的紡織工人，發現這裏的布料不是由棉花或絲綢製成，而是由某種“記憶縴維”編織而成。每當機器運轉，工人就會失去一部分記憶，而這些被剝離的記憶，則被編織進瞭他們正在生産的布匹中，形成一種集體遺忘的恐怖循環。工廠的終極目的，是將所有工人的個性徹底抹除，隻留下機械化的、被編織進曆史的勞動力。 這部選集，以其對文學恐怖的深度挖掘和廣度覆蓋，為讀者提供瞭一場關於人性陰暗麵、科學邊界與宇宙虛無的，令人心悸的閱讀旅程。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

這本書的震撼之處，在於它對“非理性”的深度挖掘。它沒有給我們一個傳統的、邏輯清晰的犯罪動機，而是深入到一種近乎本能的、無法解釋的憎惡之中。這種對“為什麼”的模糊處理，反而比任何詳細的解釋都更令人不安，因為它觸及瞭人類情感光譜中最原始、最難被理性馴服的部分。我們不得不麵對這樣一個事實：有時候，最可怕的敵人不是外部的威脅，而是我們自己頭腦中那個無法被安撫的“聲音”。閱讀過程中，我常常需要停下來深呼吸，因為那種緊張感是通過語言的纍積性效應産生的，每一次的推進都像是嚮上攀爬，直到到達那個無法迴頭的頂峰。它探討瞭理性與瘋狂之間的那條脆弱界限，以及當界限模糊時，現實如何開始崩塌瓦解。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

這部作品的文字力量真是令人心悸，那種一步步將你拖入主角內心黑暗深淵的敘事技巧，簡直是大師級的。作者對心理狀態的描摹細緻入微，你仿佛能真切地感受到那種被疑慮和恐懼啃噬的痛苦，那種從內部爆發齣的、無法抑製的衝動。每一次呼吸、每一次心跳都被放大，形成一種令人窒息的節奏感，讀者完全被吸入到那個狹小、封閉的空間裏，與主人公一同經曆著這場自我毀滅的旅程。故事的張力構建得極其巧妙，懸念不是靠外部事件堆砌，而是源自於角色內心深處的掙紮與扭麯，這種內在驅動力比任何外部驚悚都更具穿透力。讀完之後，那種揮之不去的壓抑感和對人性復雜性的深刻反思，久久不能平息。它不僅僅是一個關於謀殺的故事，更是一部對“罪疚感”這一抽象概念的實體化呈現，展現瞭它如何像毒蛇一樣纏繞並最終吞噬一個人的心智。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

初次接觸這類經典文學時，我總是擔心語言的陳舊會成為閱讀的障礙，但這部作品的敘事語言卻展現齣一種令人驚嘆的時代穿透力。它用詞精準，句式變化多端，既有古典文學的莊重和韻律感，又不失於對極端情緒的直接捕捉。那種獨特的、近乎於偏執的視角，將一個觀察者變成瞭一個被審判者，讀者在不知不覺中成為瞭那個唯一的、也是最苛刻的聽眾。作者高超的敘事策略在於，他從未直接宣判，而是通過細枝末節的描寫——比如對聲音的異常敏感、對冷靜自持的刻意強調——來悄悄地揭示真相。這種“展示而非告知”的手法，讓整個閱讀體驗充滿瞭智力上的挑戰和情感上的共鳴，讓人不得不佩服其結構上的精妙布局，每一個詞、每一個停頓似乎都是經過深思熟慮的精心安排。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

這部作品的魅力在於其永恒的討論價值。它拋齣瞭一個深刻的哲學問題：一個人究竟能欺騙世界多久，更重要的是，能欺騙自己多久？主角在極力錶現“正常”和“清醒”的過程中，所暴露齣的恰恰是其內心最深處的混亂。這種反諷手法運用得極為高明，讓讀者始終處於一種預知危險卻又無能為力的境地。讀完後，我不是簡單地驚嘆於一個精彩的故事，而是開始審視自己生活中那些被忽略的、微小的“不和諧音”。它像一麵棱鏡，摺射齣人性中那些我們傾嚮於隱藏或否認的部分。它的文字簡潔卻蘊含巨大能量，這種對簡潔力量的完美把握，使得它在眾多文學作品中脫穎而齣，成為經久不衰的經典。

評分☆☆☆☆☆

我嚮來偏愛那種能夠迅速建立起強烈氛圍的作品，而這一部在氛圍營造上達到瞭登峰造極的水平。作者似乎擁有將環境聲光轉化為可觸摸恐懼的魔力。你仿佛能聞到老房子裏塵土的氣味，能感覺到深夜裏那雙眼睛的凝視，尤其是在描述那個“老人的眼睛”時，那種獨特的、病態的聚焦感，讓人脊背發涼。這種環境的壓迫感與主角內心世界的極度緊張形成瞭完美的鏡像關係，使得每一次場景轉換都伴隨著心跳頻率的加速。它不是那種依賴視覺衝擊的現代恐怖片，而是通過純粹的文字構建起一個心理的密室，讓你在閱讀過程中不由自主地屏住呼吸，生怕自己發齣的任何微小聲響都會打破這份危險的平衡。

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很不錯的書，買的教材

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清早上火車站 長街黑暗無行人 賣豆漿的小店冒著熱氣

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物美價廉，哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈哈

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京東買書真的是巨劃算，買瞭好多書，還沒有細看。

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很好

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非常不錯的一本書

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很輕巧的一本書，已經愛上瞭這個係列的書啦

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非常不錯的短篇小說，短小精闢

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從前的鎖也好看 鑰匙精美有樣子 你鎖瞭 人傢就懂瞭