The Black Cat. Czarny Kot

EdgarAllan PoeThe Black Cat. Czarny KotTłumaczenie z oryginału: Rafał ŚmietanaCzytamy Poego

The Black Cat. Czarny kot

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The Black
Cat

[ 1 ] For the most wild,
yet most homely narrative which I am about to pen, I neither expect
nor solicit belief. Mad indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where
my very senses reject their own evidence. Yet, mad am I not—and very
surely do I not dream. But tomorrow I die, and today I would unburthen
my soul. My immediate purpose is to place before the world, plainly,
succinctly, and without comment, a series of mere household events. In
their consequences, these events have terrified—have tortured—have
destroyed me. Yet I will not attempt to expound them. To me, they have
presented little but Horror—to many they will seem less terrible
than baroques. Hereafter, perhaps, some intellect may be found which
will reduce my phantasm to the common-place—some intellect more calm,
more logical, and far less excitable than my own, which will perceive,
in the circumstances I detail with awe, nothing more than an ordinary
succession of very natural causes and effects.

[ 2 ] From my infancy I was
noted for the docility and humanity of my disposition. My tenderness of
heart was even so conspicuous as to make me the jest of my companions.
I was especially fond of animals, and was indulged by my parents with
a great variety of pets. With these I spent most of my time, and never
was so happy as when feeding and caressing them. This peculiar of
character grew with my growth, and in my manhood, I derived from it
one of my principal sources of pleasure. To those who have cherished
an affection for a faithful and sagacious dog, I need hardly be at the
trouble of explaining the nature or the intensity of the gratification
thus derivable. There is something in the unselfish and self-sacrificing
love of a brute, which goes directly to the heart of him who has had
frequent occasion to test the paltry friendship and gossamer fidelity
of mere Man.

[ 3 ] I married early,
and was happy to find in my wife a disposition not uncongenial with my
own. Observing my partiality for domestic pets, she lost no opportunity
of procuring those of the most agreeable kind. We had birds, gold fish,
a fine dog, rabbits, a small monkey, and a cat.

[ 4 ] This latter was
a remarkably large and beautiful animal, entirely black, and sagacious
to an astonishing degree. In speaking of his intelligence, my wife,
who at heart was not a little tinctured with superstition, made frequent
allusion to the ancient popular notion, which regarded all black cats as
witches in disguise. Not that she was ever serious upon this point—and
I mention the matter at all for no better reason than that it happens,
just now, to be remembered.

[ 5 ] Pluto—this was the
cat’s name—was my favorite pet and playmate. I alone fed him, and he
attended me wherever I went about the house. It was even with difficulty
that I could prevent him from following me through the streets.

[ 6 ] Our friendship
lasted, in this manner, for several years, during which my general
temperament and character—through the instrumentality of the Fiend
Intemperance—had (I blush to confess it) experienced a radical
alteration for the worse. I grew, day by day, more moody, more
irritable, more regardless of the feelings of others. I suffered myself
to use intemperate language to my wife. At length, I even offered her
personal violence. My pets, of course, were made to feel the change in
my disposition. I not only neglected, but ill-used them. For Pluto,
however, I still retained sufficient regard to restrain me from
maltreating him, as I made no scruple of maltreating the rabbits,
the monkey, or even the dog, when by accident, or through affection,
they came in my way. But my disease grew upon me—for what disease
is like Alcohol!—and at length even Pluto, who was now becoming old,
and consequently somewhat peevish—even Pluto began to experience the
effects of my ill temper.

[ 7 ]