Странная история доктора Джекила и мистера Хайда / Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

The butler welcomed him; he was ushered direct from the door to the dining-room where Dr. Lanyon sat alone. This was a hearty, healthy, dapper, red-faced gentleman, with a boisterous and decided manner. At sight of Mr. Utterson, he sprang up from his chair and welcomed him with both hands. The geniality was somewhat theatrical to the eye; but it reposed on genuine feeling. For these two were old friends, old mates both at school and college, and enjoyed each other’s company.

After a little talk, the lawyer led up to the subject which so disagreeably pre-occupied his mind.

“I suppose, Lanyon,” said he “you and I must be the two oldest friends that Henry Jekyll has?”

“I wish the friends were younger,” chuckled Dr. Lanyon. “But I suppose we are. And what of that? I see little of him now.”

“Indeed?” said Utterson. “I thought you had some common interest.”

“We had,” was the reply. “But it is more than ten years since Henry Jekyll became too fanciful for me. He began to go wrong, wrong in mind; and though of course I continue to take an interest in him, as they say, I see and I have seen little of the man. Such unscientific balderdash,” added the doctor, flushing suddenly purple, “has estranged us.”

“They have only differed on some point of science,” Mr. Utterson thought. He gave his friend a few seconds to calm himself, and then approached the question.

“Did you ever come across a protege of his—Mr. Hyde?” he asked.

“Hyde?” repeated Lanyon. “No. Never heard of him.”

That was all the information that the lawyer carried back with him.

Six o’clock struck on the bells of the church that was so conveniently near to Mr. Utterson’s dwelling, and still he was thinking about the problem. Hitherto it had touched him on the intellectual side alone; but now his imagination also was engaged, or rather enslaved; and as he lay and tossed in the gross darkness of the night and the curtained room, Mr. Enfield’s tale went by before his mind.

He would see lamps of a nocturnal city; then the figure of a man walking swiftly; then a child running from the doctor’s; and then these met, and that human devil trod the child down and passed on regardless of her screams.

Or else he would see a room in a rich house, where his friend lay asleep, dreaming and smiling at his dreams; and then the door of that room would be opened, the curtains of the bed plucked apart, the sleeper recalled, and there would stand by his side a figure to whom power was given. And still the figure had no face by which he might know it; even in his dreams, it had no face, or one that baffled him and melted before his eyes. If he could but once set eyes on him, he thought the mystery would lighten and perhaps roll altogether away, as all mysterious things when well examined.

From that time forward, Mr. Utterson began to haunt the door in the by-street of shops. In the morning before office hours, at noon, and at night under the face of the city moon, the lawyer was to be found on his chosen post.

“If he be Mr. Hyde,” he had thought, “I shall be Mr. Seek.”

And at last his patience was rewarded. It was a fine dry night; frost in the air; the streets were clean; the lamps were drawing a regular pattern of light and shadow. By ten o’clock, when the shops were closed, the by-street was very solitary and very silent. Mr. Utterson had been some minutes at his post, when he was aware of an odd, light footstep drawing near. He withdrew into the entry of the court.

The steps drew swiftly nearer, and swelled out suddenly louder as they turned the end of the street. The lawyer, looking forth from the entry, could soon see the man he had to deal with. He was small and very plainly dressed. And he made straight for the door, crossing the roadway to save time; and as he came, he drew a key from his pocket like one approaching home.

Mr. Utterson stepped out and touched him on the shoulder as he passed. “Mr. Hyde, I think?”

Mr. Hyde shrank back. But his fear was only momentary; and though he did not look the lawyer in the face, he answered coolly enough:

“That is my name. What do you want?”

“I see you are going in,” returned the lawyer. “I am an old friend of Dr. Jekyll’s—Mr. Utterson—you must have heard my name; and meeting you so conveniently, I thought you might let me in.”

“You will not find Dr. Jekyll; he is from home,” replied Mr. Hyde. And then suddenly, but still without looking up,

“How did you know me?” he asked.

“On your side,” said Mr. Utterson, “will you do me a favour?”

“With pleasure,” replied the other. “What shall it be?”

“Will you let me see your face?” asked the lawyer.

Mr. Hyde hesitated, and then looked at Mr. Utterson.

“Now I shall know you again,” said Mr. Utterson. “It may be useful.”

“Yes,” returned Mr. Hyde, “it is as well we have, met; and you should have my address.”

And he gave an address in Soho[12 - Soho – Сохо].

“And now,” said Mr. Hyde, “how did you know me?”

“By description,” was the reply.

“Whose description?”

“We have common friends,” said Mr. Utterson.

“Common friends?” echoed Mr. Hyde, a little hoarsely. “Who are they?”

“Jekyll, for instance,” said the lawyer.

“He never told you,” cried Mr. Hyde, with a flush of anger. “I did not think you would have lied!”

He snarled aloud into a savage laugh; and the next moment, with extraordinary quickness, he had unlocked the door and disappeared into the house.

The lawyer stood awhile when Mr. Hyde had left him, in disquietude. Then he began slowly to mount the street, pausing every step or two and putting his hand to his brow like a man in mental perplexity. The problem he was thus debating as he walked, was one of a class that is rarely solved. Mr. Hyde was pale and dwarfish, he gave an impression of deformity without any nameable malformation, he had a displeasing smile; all these were points against him, but not all of these together could explain the hitherto unknown disgust, loathing, and fear with which Mr. Utterson regarded him.

“There must be something else,” said the perplexed gentleman. “There is something more, if I could find a name for it. This man seems hardly human! Something troglodytic! O my poor old Harry Jekyll, if ever I read Satan’s signature upon a face, it is on that of your new friend.”