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Edgar the cat who jumped. "The Black Cat", an artistic analysis of the short story by Edgar Allan Poe

Nobody likes to admit their guilt. Someone finds the strength to do this, and there are those who are ready to blame someone else or something that allegedly caused his actions. Edgar Allan Poe's short story "The Black Cat" illustrates this idea. This is a small work in the horror genre, but it becomes scary not at all because it contains mysticism. Briefly, but very deeply, the writer reflected an important idea, and the horror when reading appears from what a person can become.

This is the story of an alcoholic man who had a black cat, Pluto. The owner loved the cat very much, but one day something terrible happened. Due to alcoholism, the man fell into fits of anger, could not control himself and treated his pet very cruelly. The consequences of this changed his whole life, terrible mystical events occurred. Or this man simply wanted to think that his life was changing itself and the events were not his fault.

In the story, the writer shows how a drinking person can degrade, how he forgets about humanity and revels in his depravity. And the easiest thing to do is blame alcohol or others for how everything happened. But in fact: everything that happened was the work of the man himself. The story is scary precisely because of what happens in the soul and psyche of a person under the influence of alcohol. You feel disgust and reluctance to find excuses for the main character, despite the fact that throughout the story he is trying to convince readers that he is not guilty and wants to evoke sympathy.

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First published on August 19, 1843 on the pages of the weekly magazine “The Saturday Evening Post,” the short story “The Black Cat” combines features of the horror genre (horror literature) and mysticism. Realistic events and a series of mysterious, frightening coincidences allow us to classify this work as a narrower genre of “psychological thriller.” The first-person narrative enhances the psychological component of the novella. The problem of personality degradation caused by alcohol addiction points to the real origins of most of the horrors of The Black Cat.

The horror in the novel has three implementation plans:

Terrible realistic events produced by the main character of the work under the influence of wine fumes: depriving a black cat named Pluto of an eye, hanging an animal from a branch, killing his wife, hiding a corpse in a basement wall.
Contrived terrible events that arise inside the mind of the protagonist, tormented by remorse and, at the same time, consumed by evil feelings: a fire in the house on the night after the murder of the cat and the subsequent ruin of the family, the discovery of an internal partition with a bas-relief depicting a huge cat with a rope around its neck in the ashes, obsessive thoughts about the cat, the appearance of a new cat in the hero’s life - without an eye and with a huge dirty white spot on his chest, a feeling of persecution by the animal, the transformation of the spot on the cat’s chest into a clear image of a gallows, the immuring of the animal along with the corpse of his wife.
The terrible consequences of the disintegration of a personality that recognizes itself as a human being, created in the image and likeness of the Almighty, but commits the greatest violence in the world against itself - the eradication of all good feelings and, mainly, love. The main character of the work kills, as he admits, out of a spirit of contradiction and commits a crime against those whom he loves most: his most beloved pet - the black cat Pluto and... his wife.

The crimes committed by the main characters are frightening in their ordinariness. They are described simply and artlessly. More vividly, the author conveys the inner experiences of the character, whose tears flow and “his heart breaks with remorse” at the moment of reprisal against the cat. However, the latter is quickly eradicated by the huge amount of alcohol consumed by the hero in endless dens. Having drowned his sense of guilt in wine, the cat killer begins to intuitively feel that he must be punished, and since only he himself can punish him (the hero’s wife is too kind, and punishment for killing animals at that time, apparently, was not provided for), then this and begins to happen: at the beginning in his thoughts, which force him to search month after month in all the surrounding taverns for a cat similar to Pluto, and then in life, when the found cat becomes an integral and real embodiment of the crime committed.

The artistic image of a cat contains both realistic and mystical features. There are actually two cats in the work: the first is the black cat Pluto killed by the main character, the second is a nameless double similar to him. The first animal is perceived by the character in a positive way, the second becomes the living embodiment of the killed cat. The main character does not talk about this, but everything in the story pushes the reader to the idea of Pluto returning from the other world: a nickname given in honor of the Roman god of the Underworld and death; the remark of the hero’s wife at the beginning of the story that a folk superstition connects black cats with werewolves; lack of an eye in a new animal; a dirty white spot on the neck, reminiscent of either a rope or a gallows. The second cat, judging by the kind treatment of the protagonist’s wife, is the most ordinary animal. The narrator sees him as a fiend of hell.

The most terrible crime in its essence - the murder of his wife - is committed by the hero, albeit in a fit of rage, but rather cold-bloodedly. Immediately after this, he decides to hide the corpse in the basement wall, as medieval monks did with their victims. The night after the murder, the hero sleeps soundly and peacefully: he is not tormented by either the missing cat or the crime committed. Moreover, the concealment of what happened and complete impunity literally free his hands, knocking on the masonry with a cane and betraying the crime with the desperate cry of a walled-up alive cat.

“The Black Cat”, a summary of the novel by Edgar Allan Poe
"The Fall of the House of Usher", an artistic analysis of the short story by Edgar Allan Poe

I do not hope or pretend that anyone will believe the most monstrous and at the same time the most ordinary story that I am about to tell. Only a madman could hope for this, since I cannot believe myself. But I’m not crazy - and all this is clearly not a dream. But tomorrow I will no longer be alive, and today I must ease my soul with repentance. My only intention is to clearly, briefly, without further ado, tell the world about some purely family events. In the end, these events brought me only horror - they tormented me, they destroyed me. And yet I will not look for clues. I suffered a lot of fear because of them - to many they will seem harmless than the most absurd fantasies. Then, perhaps, some smart person will find the simplest explanation for the ghost that destroyed me - such a person, with a mind that is colder, more logical and, most importantly, not as impressionable as mine, will see in circumstances that I cannot understand speak without awe, just a chain of natural causes and consequences.

From childhood I was distinguished by obedience and meekness of disposition. The tenderness of my soul was shown so openly that my peers even teased me about it. I especially loved various animals, and my parents did not prevent me from keeping pets. I spent every free minute with them and was at the height of bliss when I could feed and caress them. Over the years this characteristic of my character developed, and as I grew up, few things in life could give me more pleasure. Anyone who has felt affection for a faithful and intelligent dog has no need to explain with what ardent gratitude she pays for it. There is something in the unselfish and selfless love of the beast that conquers the heart of anyone who has more than once experienced the treacherous friendship and deceptive devotion characteristic of Man.

I got married early and, fortunately, discovered in my wife inclinations close to mine. Seeing my passion for pets, she never missed an opportunity to please me. We had birds, goldfish, a purebred dog, rabbits, a monkey and a cat.

The cat, unusually large, beautiful and completely black, without a single spot, was distinguished by a rare intelligence. When talking about his intelligence, my wife, who is no stranger to superstition at heart, often hinted at an old folk superstition according to which all black cats were considered werewolves. She did not hint, of course, seriously - and I bring this detail only so that now is the time to remember it.

Pluto - that was the cat's name - was my favorite, and I often played with him. I always fed him myself, and he followed me around when I was at home. He even tried to follow me outside, and it took me a lot of work to discourage him from doing so.

Our friendship lasted for several years, and during this time my character and character - under the influence of the Devil's Temptation - changed sharply (I burn with shame admitting this) for the worse. Day by day I became gloomier, more irritable, and more indifferent to the feelings of others. I allowed myself to shout rudely at my wife. In the end I even raised my hand to her. My pets, of course, also felt this change. I not only stopped paying attention to them, but even treated them badly. However, I still remained quite respectful towards Pluto and did not allow myself to offend him, just as I shamelessly offended rabbits, a monkey and even a dog when they caressed me or accidentally came to hand. But the disease developed in me - and there is no disease more terrible than addiction to Alcohol! - and finally even Pluto, who had already grown old and became more capricious as a result - even Pluto began to suffer from my bad temper.

One night I returned very drunk from visiting one of my favorite pubs, and then it occurred to me that the cat was avoiding me. I caught him; Frightened by my rudeness, he, not very much, but still bit me on the hand until it bled. The demon of rage immediately possessed me. I was no longer in control of myself. My soul seemed to suddenly leave my body; and anger, fiercer than the devil, inflamed by the gin, instantly took over my entire being. I grabbed a penknife from my vest pocket, opened it, squeezed the poor cat's neck and cut out his eye without pity! I blush, I burn all over, I shudder, describing this monstrous crime.

The next morning, when sanity returned to me - when I slept off after a night of drinking and the wine fumes had dissipated - the dirty deed that lay on my conscience caused me remorse mixed with fear; but it was only a vague and ambiguous feeling that left no trace in my soul. I began to drink heavily again and soon drowned in wine the very memory of what I had done.

Meanwhile, the cat’s wound was gradually healing. True, the empty eye socket made a terrifying impression, but the pain apparently subsided. He was still pacing around the house, but, as one would expect, he ran in fear as soon as he saw me. My heart had not yet completely hardened, and at first I bitterly regretted that the creature who was once so attached to me now did not hide his hatred. But soon this feeling gave way to bitterness. And then, as if to top off my final destruction, the spirit of contradiction awakened in me. Philosophers ignore it. But I am convinced to the depths of my soul that the spirit of contradiction belongs to the eternal motivating principles in the human heart - to the inalienable, primordial abilities or feelings that determine the very nature of Man. Who hasn’t happened a hundred times to commit a bad or senseless act without any reason, just because it shouldn’t be done? And don’t we, contrary to common sense, constantly feel the temptation to break the Law just because it is prohibited? So, the spirit of contradiction awakened in me to complete my final destruction. This incomprehensible inclination of the soul to self-torture - to violence against its own nature, the inclination to do evil for the sake of evil - prompted me to complete the torture of the dumb creature. One morning I calmly threw a noose around the cat’s neck and hung him on a branch - I hung him, although tears flowed from my eyes and my heart was breaking with remorse - I hung him because I knew how he once loved me, because I felt how “I’m treating him unfairly,” I hanged it, because I knew what kind of sin I was committing - a mortal sin, dooming my immortal soul to such a terrible curse that it would be cast down - if it were possible - into such depths where even the mercy of the All-Good and All-punishing Lord.

The night after this crime was committed, I was awakened by a cry: “Fire!” The curtains next to my bed were on fire. The whole house was on fire. My wife, servant and myself were nearly burned alive. I was completely ruined. The fire consumed all my property, and from then on despair became my lot.

I am strong enough not to try to find cause and effect, to connect misfortune with my ruthless act. I only want to trace in detail the entire chain of events - and I do not intend to neglect a single, even dubious, link. The day after the fire I visited the ashes. All the walls except one collapsed. Only a rather thin internal partition in the middle of the house, to which the head of my bed adjoined, survived. Here the plaster completely resisted fire - I explained this by the fact that the wall had been plastered quite recently. A large crowd had gathered near her, many eyes intently and greedily peering at one place. Words: “Strange!”, “Amazing!” and all sorts of exclamations of the same kind aroused my curiosity. I came closer and saw on the white surface something like a bas-relief depicting a huge cat. The accuracy of the image truly seemed incomprehensible. There was a rope around the cat's neck.

At first this ghost - I simply cannot call it anything else - plunged me into horror and bewilderment. But, upon reflection, I calmed down somewhat. I remembered that I had hung the cat in the garden near the house. During the commotion caused by the fire, a crowd flooded the garden - someone cut the rope and threw the cat through the open window into my room. Perhaps this was his way of waking me up. When the walls collapsed, the ruins pressed the victim of my cruelty against the freshly plastered partition, and from the heat of the flame and the acrid fumes, the pattern that I saw was imprinted on it.

Although I calmed, if not my conscience, then at least my mind, by quickly explaining the amazing phenomenon that I had just described, it still left a deep impression on me. For many months I was haunted by the ghost of a cat; and then a vague feeling returned to my soul, outwardly, but only outwardly, similar to repentance. I even began to regret the loss and searched in the dirty dens, from which I now almost never crawled out, for a similar cat of the same breed that would replace my former favorite.

One night, when I was sitting, languishing in semi-oblivion, in some ungodly place, my attention was suddenly attracted by something black on one of the huge barrels of gin or rum, of which almost the entire furnishings of the establishment consisted. For several minutes I did not take my eyes off the barrel, wondering how I had not noticed such a strange thing until now. I walked up and touched her with my hand. It was a black cat, very large - to match Pluto - and like him like two peas in a pod, with only one difference. There was not a single white hair in Pluto's fur; and this cat turned out to have a dirty white spot almost all over his chest.

When I touched him, he jumped up with a loud purr and rubbed himself against my hand, apparently very pleased with my attention. But I was just looking for such a cat. I immediately wanted to buy it; but the owner of the establishment refused the money - he did not know where this cat came from - he had never seen him before.

I petted the cat all the time, and when I got ready to go home, he clearly wanted to go with me. I didn't stop him; On the way, I sometimes bent down and stroked him. He quickly settled in at home and immediately became my wife's favorite.

But I myself soon began to feel a growing dislike for him. I never expected this; however - I don’t know how and why this happened - his obvious love aroused in me only disgust and annoyance. Little by little, these feelings turned into bitter hatred. I avoided the cat at all costs; only vague shame and the memory of my previous crime kept me from taking revenge on him. Weeks passed, and I never hit him or laid a finger on him at all: but slowly - very slowly - an inexplicable disgust took possession of me, and I silently fled from the hateful creature like the plague.

I hated this cat all the more because, as it turned out on the very first morning, he, like Pluto, had lost one eye. However, this made it even more dear to my wife, because, as I already said, she retained in her soul that gentleness that was once characteristic of me and served for me as an inexhaustible source of the simplest and purest pleasures.

But it seemed that the more my ill will grew, the more firmly the cat became attached to me. He followed me with a tenacity that is difficult to describe. As soon as I sat down, he would crawl under my chair or jump onto my lap, pestering me with his disgusting caresses. When I got up, intending to leave, he got under my feet, so that I almost fell, or, digging his sharp claws into my clothes, climbed onto my chest. At such moments, I unbearably wanted to kill him on the spot, but I was held back to some extent by the consciousness of my previous guilt, and most importantly - I will not hide it - by fear of this creature.

In essence, it was not fear of any specific misfortune, but I find it difficult to define this feeling in another word. I am ashamed to admit - even now, behind bars, I am ashamed to admit - that the monstrous horror that the cat instilled in me was aggravated by the most unimaginable obsession. My wife more than once pointed out to me the whitish spot, which I have already mentioned, the only thing that outwardly distinguished this strange creature from my victim. The reader probably remembers that the spot was quite large, but at first very vague; but slowly - barely perceptibly, so that my mind rebelled for a long time against such obvious absurdity - it finally acquired an inexorably clear outline. I cannot name without trembling what it now represented - because of this, I mainly felt disgust and fear and would have gotten rid of the damned monster if I had only dared - from now on, let it be known to you, it showed something vile to my gaze - something sinister - a gallows! - this is a bloody and formidable weapon of Horror and Villainy - Suffering and Destruction!

Now I was truly the most unfortunate of mortals. A despicable creature, like the one I killed without blinking an eye - this despicable creature caused me - me, a person created in the image and likeness of the Almighty - so much unbearable suffering! Alas! Day and night I have never known more blessed peace! During the day, the cat never left my side for a moment, but at night I woke up every hour from painful dreams and felt the hot breath of this creature on my face and its unbearable heaviness - a nightmare in the flesh, which I was unable to shake off - until the end of days that has fallen on my heart!

These sufferings drove out the last remnants of good feelings from my soul. I now cherished only evil thoughts - the blackest and most evil thoughts that could come into my head. My usual gloominess grew into hatred of all things and the entire human race; and it was my uncomplaining and long-suffering wife who suffered most from the sudden, frequent and uncontrollable outbursts of rage to which I blindly indulged.

One day, for some household need, she and I went down to the basement of an old house in which poverty forced us to live. The cat followed me up the steep stairs, I stumbled, almost broke my neck and went crazy with rage. I grabbed an ax and, forgetting in my anger the abject fear that had stopped me until then, was ready to deal such a blow to the cat that I would have killed him on the spot. But my wife held my hand. In a rage that pales before the rage of the devil himself, I broke free and split her head with an axe. She fell without a single groan.

Having committed this monstrous murder, I, with complete composure, began to look for a way to hide the corpse. I understood that I could not take him out of the house during the day or even under the cover of night without the risk that the neighbors would see it. Many different ideas came to my mind. At first I wanted to chop the body into small pieces and burn it in the oven. Then he decided to bury it in the basement. Then I thought that it would be better, perhaps, to throw it into the well in the yard - or stuff it into a box, hire a porter and order it to be carried out of the house. Finally, I chose what seemed to me to be the best path. I decided to wall up the corpse in the wall, just as medieval monks once walled up their victims.

The basement was perfect for this purpose. The masonry of the walls was fragile; moreover, they had been hastily plastered not so long ago, and due to dampness the plaster had not yet dried. Moreover, one wall had a ledge in which, for decoration, a semblance of a fireplace or hearth was built, later covered with bricks and also plastered. I had no doubt that I could easily remove the bricks, hide the corpse there and seal the hole again so that the most trained eye would detect nothing suspicious.

I made no mistake in my calculations. Taking a crowbar, I easily turned out the bricks, stood the corpse upright, leaning it against the inner wall, and easily put the bricks in place. With all possible precautions, I obtained lime, sand and tow, prepared plaster, completely indistinguishable from the previous one, and carefully covered the new masonry. Having finished this, I was convinced that everything was in perfect order. It was as if no one had touched the wall. I cleaned up every last crumb of trash from the floor. Then he looked around in triumph and said to himself:

This time, at least, my labors were not in vain.

After this, I began to look for the creature that was the cause of so many misfortunes; Now I have finally made up my mind to kill her. If I had caught a cat at that time, its fate would have been decided; but the cunning beast, apparently frightened by my recent rage, disappeared, as if it had sunk into water. It is impossible to describe or even imagine how deep and blissful a feeling of relief filled my chest as soon as the hated cat disappeared. He didn't show up all night; that was the first night since he appeared in the house when I slept soundly and peacefully; Yes, I slept, although the burden of crime lay on my soul.

The second day passed, then the third, and still there was no sign of my tormentor. I was breathing freely again. The monster fled from the house in fear forever! I won't see him again! What bliss! I didn’t even think about repenting for what I had done. A short inquiry was conducted, but it was not difficult for me to justify myself. They even did a search, but, of course, they found nothing. I had no doubt that from now on I would be happy.

On the fourth day after the murder, the police unexpectedly came to see me and again conducted a thorough search of the house. However, I was sure that the hiding place could not be discovered, and I felt calm. The police ordered me to be present during the search. They searched every nook and cranny. Finally they went down to the basement for the third or fourth time. I didn't raise an eyebrow. My heart beat as smoothly as if I was sleeping the sleep of a righteous man. I walked around the entire basement. I crossed my arms over my chest and walked leisurely back and forth. The police did their job and got ready to leave. My heart rejoiced and I could not contain myself. To complete the triumph, I longed to say at least a word and finally convince them of my innocence.

“Gentlemen,” I said at last, as they were already ascending the stairs, “I am happy that I have dispelled your suspicions.” I wish you all good health and a little more civility. By the way, gentlemen, this... this is a very good building (in my frantic desire to speak casually, I was barely aware of my words), I would even say that the building is simply excellent. In laying these walls - are you in a hurry, gentlemen? - there is not a single crack. - And then, reveling in my reckless prowess, I began to pound with a cane, which I held in my hand, on the very bricks where the corpse of my missus was walled up.

Lord God, save and protect me from the claws of Satan! As soon as the echoes of these blows had ceased, a voice responded to me from the grave!.. The cry, at first muffled and intermittent, like a child’s cry, quickly turned into an incessant, loud, drawn-out cry, wild and inhuman - into an animal howl, into a heartbreaking groan, which expressed horror mixed with triumph, and could only come from hell, where all those doomed to eternal torment cry out and the devils rejoice angrily.

Needless to say, what crazy thoughts came into my head. Almost fainting, I recoiled towards the opposite wall. For a moment the police stood motionless on the stairs, frozen in horror and surprise. But immediately a dozen strong hands began to break open the wall. She immediately collapsed. The corpse of my wife, already touched by decay and stained with dried blood, was revealed to my eyes. On her head, with an open red mouth and a sparkling single eye, sat a vile creature, which insidiously pushed me to kill, and now betrayed me with its howl and doomed me to death at the hands of the executioner. I walled up this monster in a stone grave.

Edgar Allan Poe

BLACK CAT

From childhood I was distinguished by obedience and meekness of disposition. The tenderness of my soul was shown so openly that my peers even teased me about it. I especially loved various animals, and my parents did not prevent me from keeping pets. I spent every free moment with them and was at the height of bliss when I could feed and caress them. Over the years this characteristic of my character developed, and as I grew up, few things in life could give me more pleasure. Anyone who has experienced affection for a faithful and intelligent dog does not need to explain with what ardent gratitude she pays for this. There is something in the unselfish and selfless love of the beast that conquers the heart of anyone who has more than once experienced the treacherous friendship and deceptive devotion characteristic of Man.

Meanwhile, the cat’s wound was gradually healing. True, the empty eye socket made a terrifying impression, but the pain apparently subsided. He was still pacing around the house, but, as one would expect, he ran in fear as soon as he saw me. My heart had not yet completely hardened, and at first I bitterly regretted that the creature, once so attached to me, now did not hide its hatred. But soon this feeling gave way to bitterness. And then, as if to top off my final destruction, the spirit of contradiction awakened in me. Philosophers ignore it. But I am convinced to the depths of my soul that the spirit of contradiction belongs to the eternal motivating principles in the human heart - to the inalienable, primordial abilities or feelings that determine the very nature of Man. Who hasn’t happened a hundred times to commit a bad or senseless act without any reason, just because it shouldn’t be done? And don’t we, contrary to common sense, constantly feel the temptation to break the Law just because it is prohibited? So, the spirit of contradiction awakened in me to complete my final destruction. This incomprehensible inclination of the soul to self-torture - to violence against its own nature, the inclination to do evil for the sake of evil - prompted me to complete the torture of the dumb creature. One morning I calmly threw a noose around the cat’s neck and hung him on a branch - I hung him, although tears flowed from my eyes and my heart was breaking with remorse - I hung him because I knew how he once loved me, because he felt , how unfairly I treat him, - I hung it, because I knew what sin I was committing - a mortal sin, dooming my immortal soul to such a terrible curse that it would be cast - if it were possible - into such depths where even mercy does not extend All-merciful and All-punishing Lord.

The main character of the story is a heavy drunkard. He abuses animals, does not spare his wife, and generally behaves inappropriately. His first serious victim, besides his tear-stained wife, is his black cat. With the special cruelty inherent in all drunkards, he cuts out the animal's eye. Since then, the cat's second eye has been looking at him with more than disapproval. No, the animal not only does not die, but very quickly heals from the wound and becomes more independent, competing with the owner of the house.

The man becomes uneasy and hangs the cat from a tree. That same evening, his room bursts into flames from an unfortunate spark. The cat burns along with her. The hero seemed ready to breathe a sigh of relief, but then on the wall of the house he saw the outlines of a gallows and an animal hanging from it. He is ready to make amends for the feeling of guilt towards his pet by noticing a cat in a tavern that is exactly like the previous one. But the next day, when he notices that the new animal does not have an eye, he begins to fear it too. Gradually, a gallows emerges from a barely noticeable white spot on the tailed creature’s chest.

These dark omens drive the hero crazy. He lies in wait for the animal in the basement and raises an ax over its head. But his wife stops his hand. Already determined to kill, in anger he lowers the weapon on the head of the woman he once loved. In a panic, he dismantles the basement wall and immures his wife's body there. Satisfied with his work, he continues to live, telling his neighbors that she has gone to her mother. The cat also disappeared, but the drunkard doesn’t think much about it, suspecting that something has finally run away.

But the police suspect something is wrong and go to search the house of an old, aggressive alcoholic. Of course, they don't find the body even after going down to the basement. Already fairly drunk, the hero is satisfied with his alibi and begins to brag to law enforcement officials about the fortress of the walls of his house. Forgetting about everything, he knocks on the very wall where he hid the body. In response, everyone hears a scream that will bring blood to their veins. The police see this as evidence and order the wall to be dismantled. No matter how the owner made excuses, the wall was still dismantled. In the resulting niche, as expected, they find a body and a black one-eyed cat with a white spot on its chest. The hero finally goes to prison.

The story is created in a typical Allan Poe mystical manner, and hints that sins will always haunt a person, if not in the form of pangs of conscience, then in the form of a black one-eyed cat, until retribution is found.

Edgar the cat who jumped. "The Black Cat", an artistic analysis of the short story by Edgar Allan Poe

Picture or drawing of a Black cat

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