странная история мистера джекила и доктора хайда на английском
Странная история доктора Джекила и мистера Хайда
The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
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Robert Louis Stevenson
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Title: The Strange Case Of Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Hyde
Author: Robert Louis Stevenson
Release Date: June 25, 2008 [EBook #43]
Last Updated: November 26, 2012
Produced by David Widger
THE STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE
by Robert Louis Stevenson
SEARCH FOR MR. HYDE
DR. JEKYLL WAS QUITE AT EASE
THE CAREW MURDER CASE
INCIDENT OF THE LETTER
INCIDENT OF DR. LANYON
INCIDENT AT THE WINDOW
DR. LANYON’S NARRATIVE
HENRY JEKYLL’S FULL STATEMENT OF THE CASE
STORY OF THE DOOR
Mr. Utterson the lawyer was a man of a rugged countenance that was never lighted by a smile; cold, scanty and embarrassed in discourse; backward in sentiment; lean, long, dusty, dreary and yet somehow lovable. At friendly meetings, and when the wine was to his taste, something eminently human beaconed from his eye; something indeed which never found its way into his talk, but which spoke not only in these silent symbols of the after-dinner face, but more often and loudly in the acts of his life. He was austere with himself; drank gin when he was alone, to mortify a taste for vintages; and though he enjoyed the theatre, had not crossed the doors of one for twenty years. But he had an approved tolerance for others; sometimes wondering, almost with envy, at the high pressure of spirits involved in their misdeeds; and in any extremity inclined to help rather than to reprove. «I incline to Cain’s heresy,» he used to say quaintly: » I let my brother go to the devil in his own way. » In this character, it was frequently his fortune to be the last reputable acquaintance and the last good influence in the lives of downgoing men. And to such as these, so long as they came about his chambers, he never marked a shade of change in his demeanour.
No doubt the feat was easy to Mr. Utterson; for he was undemonstrative at the best, and even his friendship seemed to be founded in a similar catholicity of good-nature. It is the mark of a modest man to accept his friendly circle ready-made from the hands of opportunity; and that was the lawyer’s way. His friends were those of his own blood or those whom he had known the longest; his affections, like ivy, were the growth of time, they implied no aptness in the object. Hence, no doubt the bond that united him to Mr. Richard Enfield, his distant kinsman, the well-known man about town. It was a nut to crack for many, what these two could see in each other, or what subject they could find in common. It was reported by those who encountered them in their Sunday walks, that they said nothing, looked singularly dull and would hail with obvious relief the appearance of a friend. For all that, the two men put the greatest store by these excursions, counted them the chief jewel of each week, and not only set aside occasions of pleasure, but even resisted the calls of business, that they might enjoy them uninterrupted.
Роберт Льюис Стивенсон
The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde / Странная история доктора Джекила и мистера Хайда. Книга для чтения на английском языке
Об авторе
Знаменитый английский писатель шотландского происхождения Роберт Льюис Стивенсон (1850–1894) родился 13 ноября 1850 года в Эдинбурге, в семье инженера. При крещении получил имя Роберт Льюис Бэлфур, но в возрасте 18 лет сменил фамилию на Стивенсон, а написание второго имени – с Lewis на Louis (без изменения произношения).
После окончания школы молодой человек поступил в Эдинбургский университет на юридический факультет, но адвокатской деятельностью практически не занимался – этому помешало состояние здоровья, с одной стороны, и первые успехи на литературном поприще, с другой. В результате он стал писателем. В 1870-х годах Стивенсон жил преимущественно во Франции на скромные заработки подающего надежды литератора и редкие денежные переводы из дома, подружился со многими французскими художниками. В эти же годы он много путешествовал по Франции, Германии и родной Шотландии. Итогом этих путешествий Стивенсона стали первые две книги, путевые впечатления – «Поездка внутрь страны» (An Inland Voyage, 1878) и «Путешествия с ослом» (Travels with a Donkey in the Cevennes, 1879). «Эссе», написанные в этот период, были им собраны в книге «Virginibus Puerisque» (1881).
Во французской деревушке Грез, известной своими собраниями и встречами художников, Роберт Льюис встретил свою будущую жену Франсес Матильду Осборн. Это была увлеченная живописью американка. Разъехавшись с мужем, она жила с детьми в Европе. Стивенсон горячо полюбил ее, и 19 мая 1880 года, как только развод был получен, влюбленные сочетались браком в Сан-Франциско. Их совместная жизнь была отмечена неусыпной заботой Фанни о болезненном муже. Роберт Льюис подружился с детьми своей жены, а впоследствии его пасынок Сэмюэл Ллойд Осборн стал соавтором трех книг Стивенсона: «Несусветный багаж» (1889), «Отлив» (1894) и «Потерпевшие кораблекрушение» (1892).
В 1880 году у Стивенсона был обнаружен туберкулез. В поисках целительного климата он посетил Швейцарию, юг Франции, в 1887–1888 годах – Саранак-Лейк в штате Нью-Йорк. Отчасти из-за плохого здоровья, отчасти чтобы собрать материал для очерков, Стивенсон с женой, матерью и пасынком отправился на яхте в южные области Тихого океана. Они посетили Маркизские острова, Туамоту, Таити, Гавайи, Микронезию и Австралию и приобрели участок земли на Самоа.
Климат острова пошел ему на пользу: в просторном плантаторском доме в Вайлиме – так Стивенсон назвал свое владение – были написаны некоторые из лучших его произведений. Здесь же 3 декабря 1894 года он скоропостижно скончался, оставшись в истории английской литературы замечательным писателем-романтиком, автором приключенческих романов, которыми до сих пор зачитываются подростки во всем мире, – «Черная Стрела», «Владелец Баллантре» и, конечно же, «Остров сокровищ».
Повесть «Странная история доктора Джекила и мистера Хайда», которая предлагается вниманию любителей английской литературы, увидела свет в Лондоне в 1886 году. По жанру это переосмысление традиционной для романтизма темы двойничества под углом зарождающейся научной фантастики. Обеспеченный, приятный во всех отношениях доктор Джекил задумывается о двойственности человеческой натуры: как в одном человеке могут уживаться добро и зло? И в своей домашней лаборатории начинает ставить опыты на себе,чтобы выяснить, можно ли разделить в душе добро и зло и что из этого получится. Сам того не желая, он выпускает на волю чудовище – все темные стороны своей натуры. Результат ужасает не только его. Но как все это прекратить, остановить? Оказывается, процесс стал неуправляемым…
Story of the Door
Mr. Utterson the lawyer was a man of a rugged countenance, that was never lighted by a smile; cold, scanty and embarrassed in discourse; backward in sentiment; lean, long, dusty, dreary, and yet somehow lovable. At friendly meetings, and when the wine was to his taste, something eminently human beaconed from his eye; something indeed which never found its way into his talk, but which spoke not only in these silent symbols of the after-dinner face, but more often and loudly in the acts of his life. He was austere with himself; drank gin when he was alone, to mortify a taste for vintages; and though he enjoyed the theatre, had not crossed the doors of one for twenty years. But he had an approved tolerance for others; sometimes wondering, almost with envy, at the high pressure of spirits involved in their misdeeds; and in any extremity inclined to help rather than to reprove.
‘I incline to Cain’s heresy,’ he used to say. ‘I let my brother go to the devil in his quaintly own way.’ In this character, it was frequently his fortune to be the last reputable acquaintance and the last good influence in the lives of down-going men. And to such as these, so long as they came about his chambers, he never marked a shade of change in his demeanour.
Two doors from one corner, on the left hand going east, the line was broken by the entry of a court; and just at that point, a certain sinister block of building thrust forward its gable on the street. It was two stories high; showed no window, nothing but a door on the lower story and a blind forehead of discoloured wall on the upper; and bore in every feature, the marks of prolonged and sordid negligence. The door, which was equipped with neither bell nor knocker, was blistered and distained. Tramps slouched into the recess and struck matches on the panels; children kept shop upon the steps [5] ; the schoolboy had tried his knife on the mouldings; and for close on a generation, no one had appeared to drive away these random visitors or to repair their ravages.
Mr. Enfield and the lawyer were on the other side of the by-street; but when they came abreast of the entry, the former lifted up his cane and pointed.
‘Did you ever remark that door?’ he asked; and when his companion had replied in the affirmative, ‘It is connected in my mind,’ added he, ‘with a very odd story.’
‘Indeed?’ said Mr. Utterson, with a slight change of voice, ‘and what was that?’
‘I see you feel as I do,’ said Mr. Enfield. ‘Yes, it’s a bad story. For my man was a fellow that nobody could have to do with, a really damnable man; and the person that drew the cheque is the very pink of the proprieties, celebrated too, and (what makes it worse) one of your fellows who do what they call good. Blackmail, I suppose; an honest man paying through the nose [13] for some of the capers of his youth. BlackMail House is what I call that place with the door, in consequence. Though even that, you know, is far from explaining all,’ he added, and with the words fell into a vein of musing.
From this he was recalled by Mr. Utterson asking rather suddenly: ‘And you don’t know if the drawer of the cheque lives there?’
‘A likely place, isn’t it?’ returned Mr. Enfield. ‘But I happen to have noticed his address; he lives in some square or other.’
‘And you never asked about the – place with the door?’ said Mr. Utterson.
‘A very good rule, too,’ said the lawyer.
‘But I have studied the place for myself,’ continued Mr. Enfield. ‘It seems scarcely a house. There is no other door, and nobody goes in or out of that one but, once in a great while, the gentleman of my adventure. There are three windows looking on the court on the first floor; none below; the windows are always shut but they’re clean. And then there is a chimney which is generally smoking; so somebody must live there. And yet it’s not so sure; for the buildings are so packed together about that court, that it’s hard to say where one ends and another begins.’
The pair walked on again for a while in silence; and then, ‘Enfield,’ said Mr. Utterson, ‘that’s a good rule of yours.’
‘Yes, I think it is,’ returned Enfield.
‘But for all that,’ continued the lawyer, ‘there’s one point I want to ask: I want to ask the name of that man who walked over the child.’
‘Well,’ said Mr. Enfield, ‘I can’t see what harm it would do. It was a man of the name of Hyde.’
‘H’m,’ said Mr. Utterson. ‘What sort of a man is he to see?’
‘He is not easy to describe. There is something wrong with his appearance; something displeasing, something downright detestable. I never saw a man I so disliked, and yet I scarce know why. He must be deformed somewhere; he gives a strong feeling of deformity, although I couldn’t specify the point. He’s an extraordinary-looking man, and yet I really can name nothing out of the way. No, sir; I can make no hand of it [15] ; I can’t describe him. And it’s not want of memory; for I declare I can see him this moment.’
Mr. Utterson again walked some way in silence and obviously under a weight of consideration.
‘You are sure he used a key?’ he inquired at last.
‘My dear sir…’ began Enfield, surprised out of himself.
‘I think you might have warned me,’ returned the other, with a touch of sullenness. ‘But I have been pedantically exact, as you call it. The fellow had a key; and what’s more, he has it still. I saw him use it, not a week ago.’
Mr. Utterson sighed deeply but said never a word; and the young man presently resumed. ‘Here is another lesson to say nothing,’ said he. ‘I am ashamed of my long tongue. Let us make a bargain [17] never to refer to this again.’
‘With all my heart,’ said the lawyer. ‘I shake hands on that, Richard.’
Search for Mr. Hyde
‘I thought it was madness,’ he said, as he replaced the obnoxious paper in the safe, ‘and now I begin to fear it is disgrace.’
With that he blew out his candle, put on a greatcoat, and set forth in the direction of Cavendish Square, that citadel of medicine, where his friend, the great Dr. Lanyon, had his house and received his crowding patients. ‘If any one knows, it will be Lanyon,’ he had thought.
After a little rambling 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 a bond of 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 for old sake’s sake, as they say, I see and I have seen devilish little of the man. Such unscientific balderdash,’ added the doctor, flushing suddenly purple, ‘would have estranged Damon and Pythias.’
‘Hyde?’ repeated Lanyon. ‘No. Never heard of him. Since my time.’
That was the amount of information that the lawyer carried back with him to the great, dark bed on which he tossed to and fro, until the small hours of the morning [21] began to grow large. It was a night of little ease to his toiling mind, toiling in mere darkness and besieged by questions.
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 when business was plenty, and time scarce, at night under the face of the fogged city moon, by all lights and at all hours of solitude or concourse, the lawyer was to be found on his chosen post.
And at last his patience was rewarded. It was a fine dry night; frost in the air; the streets as clean as a ballroom floor; the lamps, unshaken, by any wind, drawing a regular pattern of light and shadow. By ten o’clock, when the shops were closed, the by-street was very solitary and, in spite of the low growl of London from all round, very silent. Small sounds carried far; domestic sounds out of the houses were clearly audible on either side of the roadway; and the rumour of the approach of any passenger preceded him by a long time. Mr. Utterson had been some minutes at his post, when he was aware of an odd, light footstep drawing near. In the course of his nightly patrols, he had long grown accustomed to the quaint effect with which the footfalls of a single person, while he is still a great way off, suddenly spring out distinct from the vast hum and clatter of the city. Yet his attention had never before been so sharply and decisively arrested; and it was with a strong, superstitious prevision of success that 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 what manner of man he had to deal with. He was small and very plainly dressed, and the look of him, even at that distance, went somehow strongly against the watcher’s inclination. But 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 with a hissing intake of the breath. 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 of Gaunt Street – you must have heard my name; and meeting you so conveniently, I thought you might admit me.’
‘You will not find Dr. Jekyll; he is from home,’ replied Mr. Hyde, blowing in the key. 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 appeared to hesitate, and then, as if upon some sudden reflection, fronted about with an air of defiance; and the pair stared at each other pretty fixedly for a few seconds. ‘Now I shall know you again,’ said Mr. Utterson.’ It may be useful.’
‘Good God!’ thought Mr. Utterson, ‘can he, too, have been thinking of the will?’ But he kept his feelings to himself and only grunted in acknowledgment of the address.
‘And now,’ said the other, ‘how did you know me?’
‘By description,’ was the reply.
‘We have common friends’, said Mr. Utterson.
‘Common friends?’ echoed Mr. Hyde, a little hoarsely. ‘Who are they?’
‘Jekyll, for instance,’ said the lawyer.
The other snarled aloud into a savage laugh; and the next moment, with extraordinary quickness, he had unlocked the door and disappeared into the house.
Round the corner from the by-street, there was a square of ancient, handsome houses, now for the most part decayed from their high estate and let in flats and chambers to all sorts and conditions of men: map-engravers, architects, shady lawyers, and the agents of obscure enterprises. One house, however, second from the corner, was still occupied entire; and at the door of this, which wore a great air of wealth and comfort, though it was now plunged in darkness except for the fan-light, Mr. Utterson stopped and knocked. A well-dressed, elderly servant opened the door.
‘Is Dr. Jekyll at home, Poole?’ asked the lawyer.
‘I will see, Mr. Utterson,’ said Poole, admitting the visitor, as he spoke, into a large, low-roofed, comfortable hall, paved with flags, warmed (after the fashion of a country house) by a bright, open fire, and furnished with costly cabinets of oak. ‘Will you wait here by the fire, sir? or shall I give you a light in the dining-room?’