The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde Audiobook by Robert Louis Stevenson

Uploaded by CCProse on 13.11.2011

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 theater, 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
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.
It chanced on one of these rambles that their way led them down a by-street in a
busy quarter of London.
The street was small and what is called quiet, but it drove a thriving trade on the
The inhabitants were all doing well, it seemed and all emulously hoping to do
better still, and laying out the surplus of their grains in coquetry; so that the shop
fronts stood along that thoroughfare with
an air of invitation, like rows of smiling saleswomen.
Even on Sunday, when it veiled its more florid charms and lay comparatively empty
of passage, the street shone out in contrast to its dingy neighbourhood, like a
fire in a forest; and with its freshly
painted shutters, well-polished brasses, and general cleanliness and gaiety of note,
instantly caught and pleased the eye of the passenger.
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 storeys high; showed no window, nothing but a door on the lower storey 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
Tramps slouched into the recess and struck matches on the panels; children kept shop
upon the steps; 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?"
"Well, it was this way," returned Mr. Enfield: "I was coming home from some place
at the end of the world, about three o'clock of a black winter morning, and my
way lay through a part of town where there was literally nothing to be seen but lamps.
Street after street and all the folks asleep--street after street, all lighted up
as if for a procession and all as empty as a church--till at last I got into that
state of mind when a man listens and
listens and begins to long for the sight of a policeman.
All at once, I saw two figures: one a little man who was stumping along eastward
at a good walk, and the other a girl of maybe eight or ten who was running as hard
as she was able down a cross street.
Well, sir, the two ran into one another naturally enough at the corner; and then
came the horrible part of the thing; for the man trampled calmly over the child's
body and left her screaming on the ground.
It sounds nothing to hear, but it was hellish to see.
It wasn't like a man; it was like some damned Juggernaut.
I gave a few halloa, took to my heels, collared my gentleman, and brought him back
to where there was already quite a group about the screaming child.
He was perfectly cool and made no resistance, but gave me one look, so ugly
that it brought out the sweat on me like running.
The people who had turned out were the girl's own family; and pretty soon, the
doctor, for whom she had been sent put in his appearance.
Well, the child was not much the worse, more frightened, according to the Sawbones;
and there you might have supposed would be an end to it.
But there was one curious circumstance.
I had taken a loathing to my gentleman at first sight.
So had the child's family, which was only natural.
But the doctor's case was what struck me.
He was the usual cut and dry apothecary, of no particular age and colour, with a strong
Edinburgh accent and about as emotional as a bagpipe.
Well, sir, he was like the rest of us; every time he looked at my prisoner, I saw
that Sawbones turn sick and white with desire to kill him.
I knew what was in his mind, just as he knew what was in mine; and killing being
out of the question, we did the next best.
We told the man we could and would make such a scandal out of this as should make
his name stink from one end of London to the other.
If he had any friends or any credit, we undertook that he should lose them.
And all the time, as we were pitching it in red hot, we were keeping the women off him
as best we could for they were as wild as harpies.
I never saw a circle of such hateful faces; and there was the man in the middle, with a
kind of black sneering coolness--frightened too, I could see that--but carrying it off,
sir, really like Satan.
`If you choose to make capital out of this accident,' said he, `I am naturally
helpless. No gentleman but wishes to avoid a scene,'
says he.
`Name your figure.'
Well, we screwed him up to a hundred pounds for the child's family; he would have
clearly liked to stick out; but there was something about the lot of us that meant
mischief, and at last he struck.
The next thing was to get the money; and where do you think he carried us but to
that place with the door?--whipped out a key, went in, and presently came back with
the matter of ten pounds in gold and a
cheque for the balance on Coutts's, drawn payable to bearer and signed with a name
that I can't mention, though it's one of the points of my story, but it was a name
at least very well known and often printed.
The figure was stiff; but the signature was good for more than that if it was only
I took the liberty of pointing out to my gentleman that the whole business looked
apocryphal, and that a man does not, in real life, walk into a cellar door at four
in the morning and come out with another
man's cheque for close upon a hundred pounds.
But he was quite easy and sneering.
`Set your mind at rest,' says he, `I will stay with you till the banks open and cash
the cheque myself.'
So we all set off, the doctor, and the child's father, and our friend and myself,
and passed the rest of the night in my chambers; and next day, when we had
breakfasted, went in a body to the bank.
I gave in the cheque myself, and said I had every reason to believe it was a forgery.
Not a bit of it. The cheque was genuine."
"Tut-tut," said Mr. Utterson.
"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.
Black mail I suppose; an honest man paying through the nose for some of the capers of
his youth.
Black Mail House is what I call the 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.
"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.
"No, sir: I had a delicacy," was the reply.
"I feel very strongly about putting questions; it partakes too much of the
style of the day of judgment. You start a question, and it's like
starting a stone.
You sit quietly on the top of a hill; and away the stone goes, starting others; and
presently some bland old bird (the last you would have thought of) is knocked on the
head in his own back garden and the family have to change their name.
No sir, I make it a rule of mine: the more it looks like Queer Street, the less I
"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
And yet it's not so sure; for the buildings are so packed together about the 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." "Hm," 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 down-right 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; 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
"You are sure he used a key?" he inquired at last.
"My dear sir..." began Enfield, surprised out of himself.
"Yes, I know," said Utterson; "I know it must seem strange.
The fact is, if I do not ask you the name of the other party, it is because I know it
You see, Richard, your tale has gone home. If you have been inexact in any point you
had better correct it."
"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 never to refer to
this again."
"With all my heart," said the lawyer. "I shake hands on that, Richard."
That evening Mr. Utterson came home to his bachelor house in sombre spirits and sat
down to dinner without relish.
It was his custom of a Sunday, when this meal was over, to sit close by the fire, a
volume of some dry divinity on his reading desk, until the clock of the neighbouring
church rang out the hour of twelve, when he would go soberly and gratefully to bed.
On this night however, as soon as the cloth was taken away, he took up a candle and
went into his business room.
There he opened his safe, took from the most private part of it a document endorsed
on the envelope as Dr. Jekyll's Will and sat down with a clouded brow to study its
The will was holograph, for Mr. Utterson though he took charge of it now that it was
made, had refused to lend the least assistance in the making of it; it provided
not only that, in case of the decease of
Henry Jekyll, M.D., D.C.L., L.L.D., F.R.S., etc., all his possessions were to pass into
the hands of his "friend and benefactor Edward Hyde," but that in case of Dr.
Jekyll's "disappearance or unexplained
absence for any period exceeding three calendar months," the said Edward Hyde
should step into the said Henry Jekyll's shoes without further delay and free from
any burthen or obligation beyond the
payment of a few small sums to the members of the doctor's household.
This document had long been the lawyer's eyesore.
It offended him both as a lawyer and as a lover of the sane and customary sides of
life, to whom the fanciful was the immodest.
And hitherto it was his ignorance of Mr. Hyde that had swelled his indignation; now,
by a sudden turn, it was his knowledge. It was already bad enough when the name was
but a name of which he could learn no more.
It was worse when it began to be clothed upon with detestable attributes; and out of
the shifting, insubstantial mists that had so long baffled his eye, there leaped up
the sudden, definite presentment of a fiend.
"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 anyone knows, it will be Lanyon," he had thought.
The solemn butler knew and welcomed him; he was subjected to no stage of delay, but
ushered direct from the door to the dining- room where Dr. Lanyon sat alone over his
This was a hearty, healthy, dapper, red- faced gentleman, with a shock of hair
prematurely white, and a boisterous and decided manner.
At sight of Mr. Utterson, he sprang up from his chair and welcomed him with both hands.
The geniality, as was the way of the man, 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, both thorough
respectors of themselves and of each other, and what does not always follow, men who
thoroughly enjoyed each other's company.
After a little rambling talk, the lawyer led up to the subject which so disagreeably
preoccupied 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." This little spirit of temper was somewhat
of a relief to Mr. Utterson.
"They have only differed on some point of science," he thought; and being a man of no
scientific passions (except in the matter of conveyancing), he even added: "It is
nothing worse than that!"
He gave his friend a few seconds to recover his composure, and then approached the
question he had come to put. "Did you ever come across a protege of his-
-one Hyde?" he asked.
"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 began
to grow large.
It was a night of little ease to his toiling mind, toiling in mere darkness and
beseiged by questions.
Six o'clock struck on the bells of the church that was so conveniently near to Mr.
Utterson's dwelling, and still he was digging at 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 in a scroll of lighted
He would be aware of the great field of lamps of a nocturnal city; then of the
figure of a man walking swiftly; then of a child running from the doctor's; and then
these met, and that human Juggernaut 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 lo! there would stand by his side a figure to whom power was
given, and even at that dead hour, he must rise and do its bidding.
The figure in these two phases haunted the lawyer all night; and if at any time he
dozed over, it was but to see it glide more stealthily through sleeping houses, or move
the more swiftly and still the more
swiftly, even to dizziness, through wider labyrinths of lamplighted city, and at
every street corner crush a child and leave her screaming.
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; and thus it was
that there sprang up and grew apace in the
lawyer's mind a singularly strong, almost an inordinate, curiosity to behold the
features of the real Mr. Hyde.
If he could but once set eyes on him, he thought the mystery would lighten and
perhaps roll altogether away, as was the habit of mysterious things when well
He might see a reason for his friend's strange preference or bondage (call it
which you please) and even for the startling clause of the will.
At least it would be a face worth seeing: the face of a man who was without bowels of
mercy: a face which had but to show itself to raise up, in the mind of the
unimpressionable Enfield, a spirit of enduring hatred.
From that time forward, Mr. Utterson began to haunt the door in the by-street of
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.
"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 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 of my name; and meeting you so conveniently, I thought you might admit
"You will not find Dr. Jekyll; he is from home," replied Mr. Hyde, blowing in the
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."
"Yes," returned Mr. Hyde, "It is as well we have met; and apropos, you should have my
address." And he gave a number of a street in Soho.
"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
"And now," said the other, "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."
"Come," said Mr. Utterson, "that is not fitting language."
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.
The lawyer stood awhile when Mr. Hyde had left him, the picture of 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
Mr. Hyde was pale and dwarfish, he gave an impression of deformity without any
nameable malformation, he had a displeasing smile, he had borne himself to the lawyer
with a sort of murderous mixture of
timidity and boldness, and he spoke with a husky, whispering and somewhat broken
voice; 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.
God bless me, the man seems hardly human!
Something troglodytic, shall we say? or can it be the old story of Dr. Fell? or is it
the mere radiance of a foul soul that thus transpires through, and transfigures, its
clay continent?
The last, I think; for, O my poor old Harry Jekyll, if ever I read Satan's signature
upon a face, it is on that of your new friend."
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 fanlight, 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-
"Here, thank you," said the lawyer, and he drew near and leaned on the tall fender.
This hall, in which he was now left alone, was a pet fancy of his friend the doctor's;
and Utterson himself was wont to speak of it as the pleasantest room in London.
But tonight there was a shudder in his blood; the face of Hyde sat heavy on his
memory; he felt (what was rare with him) a nausea and distaste of life; and in the
gloom of his spirits, he seemed to read a
menace in the flickering of the firelight on the polished cabinets and the uneasy
starting of the shadow on the roof.
He was ashamed of his relief, when Poole presently returned to announce that Dr.
Jekyll was gone out. "I saw Mr. Hyde go in by the old dissecting
room, Poole," he said.
"Is that right, when Dr. Jekyll is from home?"
"Quite right, Mr. Utterson, sir," replied the servant.
"Mr. Hyde has a key."
"Your master seems to repose a great deal of trust in that young man, Poole," resumed
the other musingly. "Yes, sir, he does indeed," said Poole.
"We have all orders to obey him."
"I do not think I ever met Mr. Hyde?" asked Utterson.
"O, dear no, sir. He never dines here," replied the butler.
"Indeed we see very little of him on this side of the house; he mostly comes and goes
by the laboratory." "Well, good-night, Poole."
"Good-night, Mr. Utterson."
And the lawyer set out homeward with a very heavy heart.
"Poor Harry Jekyll," he thought, "my mind misgives me he is in deep waters!
He was wild when he was young; a long while ago to be sure; but in the law of God,
there is no statute of limitations.
Ay, it must be that; the ghost of some old sin, the cancer of some concealed disgrace:
punishment coming, PEDE CLAUDO, years after memory has forgotten and self-love condoned
the fault."
And the lawyer, scared by the thought, brooded awhile on his own past, groping in
all the corners of memory, least by chance some Jack-in-the-Box of an old iniquity
should leap to light there.
His past was fairly blameless; few men could read the rolls of their life with
less apprehension; yet he was humbled to the dust by the many ill things he had
done, and raised up again into a sober and
fearful gratitude by the many he had come so near to doing yet avoided.
And then by a return on his former subject, he conceived a spark of hope.
"This Master Hyde, if he were studied," thought he, "must have secrets of his own;
black secrets, by the look of him; secrets compared to which poor Jekyll's worst would
be like sunshine.
Things cannot continue as they are. It turns me cold to think of this creature
stealing like a thief to Harry's bedside; poor Harry, what a wakening!
And the danger of it; for if this Hyde suspects the existence of the will, he may
grow impatient to inherit.
Ay, I must put my shoulders to the wheel-- if Jekyll will but let me," he added, "if
Jekyll will only let me."
For once more he saw before his mind's eye, as clear as transparency, the strange
clauses of the will.
A fortnight later, by excellent good fortune, the doctor gave one of his
pleasant dinners to some five or six old cronies, all intelligent, reputable men and
all judges of good wine; and Mr. Utterson
so contrived that he remained behind after the others had departed.
This was no new arrangement, but a thing that had befallen many scores of times.
Where Utterson was liked, he was liked well.
Hosts loved to detain the dry lawyer, when the light-hearted and loose-tongued had
already their foot on the threshold; they liked to sit a while in his unobtrusive
company, practising for solitude, sobering
their minds in the man's rich silence after the expense and strain of gaiety.
To this rule, Dr. Jekyll was no exception; and as he now sat on the opposite side of
the fire--a large, well-made, smooth-faced man of fifty, with something of a stylish
cast perhaps, but every mark of capacity
and kindness--you could see by his looks that he cherished for Mr. Utterson a
sincere and warm affection. "I have been wanting to speak to you,
Jekyll," began the latter.
"You know that will of yours?" A close observer might have gathered that
the topic was distasteful; but the doctor carried it off gaily.
"My poor Utterson," said he, "you are unfortunate in such a client.
I never saw a man so distressed as you were by my will; unless it were that hide-bound
pedant, Lanyon, at what he called my scientific heresies.
O, I know he's a good fellow--you needn't frown--an excellent fellow, and I always
mean to see more of him; but a hide-bound pedant for all that; an ignorant, blatant
I was never more disappointed in any man than Lanyon."
"You know I never approved of it," pursued Utterson, ruthlessly disregarding the fresh
"My will? Yes, certainly, I know that," said the
doctor, a trifle sharply. "You have told me so."
"Well, I tell you so again," continued the lawyer.
"I have been learning something of young Hyde."
The large handsome face of Dr. Jekyll grew pale to the very lips, and there came a
blackness about his eyes. "I do not care to hear more," said he.
"This is a matter I thought we had agreed to drop."
"What I heard was abominable," said Utterson.
"It can make no change.
You do not understand my position," returned the doctor, with a certain
incoherency of manner.
"I am painfully situated, Utterson; my position is a very strange--a very strange
one. It is one of those affairs that cannot be
mended by talking."
"Jekyll," said Utterson, "you know me: I am a man to be trusted.
Make a clean breast of this in confidence; and I make no doubt I can get you out of
"My good Utterson," said the doctor, "this is very good of you, this is downright good
of you, and I cannot find words to thank you in.
I believe you fully; I would trust you before any man alive, ay, before myself, if
I could make the choice; but indeed it isn't what you fancy; it is not as bad as
that; and just to put your good heart at
rest, I will tell you one thing: the moment I choose, I can be rid of Mr. Hyde.
I give you my hand upon that; and I thank you again and again; and I will just add
one little word, Utterson, that I'm sure you'll take in good part: this is a private
matter, and I beg of you to let it sleep."
Utterson reflected a little, looking in the fire.
"I have no doubt you are perfectly right," he said at last, getting to his feet.
"Well, but since we have touched upon this business, and for the last time I hope,"
continued the doctor, "there is one point I should like you to understand.
I have really a very great interest in poor Hyde.
I know you have seen him; he told me so; and I fear he was rude.
But I do sincerely take a great, a very great interest in that young man; and if I
am taken away, Utterson, I wish you to promise me that you will bear with him and
get his rights for him.
I think you would, if you knew all; and it would be a weight off my mind if you would
promise." "I can't pretend that I shall ever like
him," said the lawyer.
"I don't ask that," pleaded Jekyll, laying his hand upon the other's arm; "I only ask
for justice; I only ask you to help him for my sake, when I am no longer here."
Utterson heaved an irrepressible sigh.
"Well," said he, "I promise."
Nearly a year later, in the month of October, 18--, London was startled by a
crime of singular ferocity and rendered all the more notable by the high position of
the victim.
The details were few and startling. A maid servant living alone in a house not
far from the river, had gone upstairs to bed about eleven.
Although a fog rolled over the city in the small hours, the early part of the night
was cloudless, and the lane, which the maid's window overlooked, was brilliantly
lit by the full moon.
It seems she was romantically given, for she sat down upon her box, which stood
immediately under the window, and fell into a dream of musing.
Never (she used to say, with streaming tears, when she narrated that experience),
never had she felt more at peace with all men or thought more kindly of the world.
And as she so sat she became aware of an aged beautiful gentleman with white hair,
drawing near along the lane; and advancing to meet him, another and very small
gentleman, to whom at first she paid less attention.
When they had come within speech (which was just under the maid's eyes) the older man
bowed and accosted the other with a very pretty manner of politeness.
It did not seem as if the subject of his address were of great importance; indeed,
from his pointing, it some times appeared as if he were only inquiring his way; but
the moon shone on his face as he spoke, and
the girl was pleased to watch it, it seemed to breathe such an innocent and old-world
kindness of disposition, yet with something high too, as of a well-founded self-
Presently her eye wandered to the other, and she was surprised to recognise in him a
certain Mr. Hyde, who had once visited her master and for whom she had conceived a
He had in his hand a heavy cane, with which he was trifling; but he answered never a
word, and seemed to listen with an ill- contained impatience.
And then all of a sudden he broke out in a great flame of anger, stamping with his
foot, brandishing the cane, and carrying on (as the maid described it) like a madman.
The old gentleman took a step back, with the air of one very much surprised and a
trifle hurt; and at that Mr. Hyde broke out of all bounds and clubbed him to the earth.
And next moment, with ape-like fury, he was trampling his victim under foot and hailing
down a storm of blows, under which the bones were audibly shattered and the body
jumped upon the roadway.
At the horror of these sights and sounds, the maid fainted.
It was two o'clock when she came to herself and called for the police.
The murderer was gone long ago; but there lay his victim in the middle of the lane,
incredibly mangled.
The stick with which the deed had been done, although it was of some rare and very
tough and heavy wood, had broken in the middle under the stress of this insensate
cruelty; and one splintered half had rolled
in the neighbouring gutter--the other, without doubt, had been carried away by the
A purse and gold watch were found upon the victim: but no cards or papers, except a
sealed and stamped envelope, which he had been probably carrying to the post, and
which bore the name and address of Mr. Utterson.
This was brought to the lawyer the next morning, before he was out of bed; and he
had no sooner seen it and been told the circumstances, than he shot out a solemn
"I shall say nothing till I have seen the body," said he; "this may be very serious.
Have the kindness to wait while I dress."
And with the same grave countenance he hurried through his breakfast and drove to
the police station, whither the body had been carried.
As soon as he came into the cell, he nodded.
"Yes," said he, "I recognise him. I am sorry to say that this is Sir Danvers
"Good God, sir," exclaimed the officer, "is it possible?"
And the next moment his eye lighted up with professional ambition.
"This will make a deal of noise," he said.
"And perhaps you can help us to the man." And he briefly narrated what the maid had
seen, and showed the broken stick.
Mr. Utterson had already quailed at the name of Hyde; but when the stick was laid
before him, he could doubt no longer; broken and battered as it was, he
recognized it for one that he had himself
presented many years before to Henry Jekyll.
"Is this Mr. Hyde a person of small stature?" he inquired.
"Particularly small and particularly wicked-looking, is what the maid calls
him," said the officer.
Mr. Utterson reflected; and then, raising his head, "If you will come with me in my
cab," he said, "I think I can take you to his house."
It was by this time about nine in the morning, and the first fog of the season.
A great chocolate-coloured pall lowered over heaven, but the wind was continually
charging and routing these embattled vapours; so that as the cab crawled from
street to street, Mr. Utterson beheld a
marvelous number of degrees and hues of twilight; for here it would be dark like
the back-end of evening; and there would be a glow of a rich, lurid brown, like the
light of some strange conflagration; and
here, for a moment, the fog would be quite broken up, and a haggard shaft of daylight
would glance in between the swirling wreaths.
The dismal quarter of Soho seen under these changing glimpses, with its muddy ways, and
slatternly passengers, and its lamps, which had never been extinguished or had been
kindled afresh to combat this mournful
reinvasion of darkness, seemed, in the lawyer's eyes, like a district of some city
in a nightmare.
The thoughts of his mind, besides, were of the gloomiest dye; and when he glanced at
the companion of his drive, he was conscious of some touch of that terror of
the law and the law's officers, which may at times assail the most honest.
As the cab drew up before the address indicated, the fog lifted a little and
showed him a dingy street, a gin palace, a low French eating house, a shop for the
retail of penny numbers and twopenny
salads, many ragged children huddled in the doorways, and many women of many different
nationalities passing out, key in hand, to have a morning glass; and the next moment
the fog settled down again upon that part,
as brown as umber, and cut him off from his blackguardly surroundings.
This was the home of Henry Jekyll's favourite; of a man who was heir to a
quarter of a million sterling.
An ivory-faced and silvery-haired old woman opened the door.
She had an evil face, smoothed by hypocrisy: but her manners were excellent.
Yes, she said, this was Mr. Hyde's, but he was not at home; he had been in that night
very late, but he had gone away again in less than an hour; there was nothing
strange in that; his habits were very
irregular, and he was often absent; for instance, it was nearly two months since
she had seen him till yesterday.
"Very well, then, we wish to see his rooms," said the lawyer; and when the woman
began to declare it was impossible, "I had better tell you who this person is," he
"This is Inspector Newcomen of Scotland Yard."
A flash of odious joy appeared upon the woman's face.
"Ah!" said she, "he is in trouble!
What has he done?" Mr. Utterson and the inspector exchanged
glances. "He don't seem a very popular character,"
observed the latter.
"And now, my good woman, just let me and this gentleman have a look about us."
In the whole extent of the house, which but for the old woman remained otherwise empty,
Mr. Hyde had only used a couple of rooms; but these were furnished with luxury and
good taste.
A closet was filled with wine; the plate was of silver, the napery elegant; a good
picture hung upon the walls, a gift (as Utterson supposed) from Henry Jekyll, who
was much of a connoisseur; and the carpets were of many plies and agreeable in colour.
At this moment, however, the rooms bore every mark of having been recently and
hurriedly ransacked; clothes lay about the floor, with their pockets inside out; lock-
fast drawers stood open; and on the hearth
there lay a pile of grey ashes, as though many papers had been burned.
From these embers the inspector disinterred the butt end of a green cheque book, which
had resisted the action of the fire; the other half of the stick was found behind
the door; and as this clinched his
suspicions, the officer declared himself delighted.
A visit to the bank, where several thousand pounds were found to be lying to the
murderer's credit, completed his gratification.
"You may depend upon it, sir," he told Mr. Utterson: "I have him in my hand.
He must have lost his head, or he never would have left the stick or, above all,
burned the cheque book.
Why, money's life to the man. We have nothing to do but wait for him at
the bank, and get out the handbills."
This last, however, was not so easy of accomplishment; for Mr. Hyde had numbered
few familiars--even the master of the servant maid had only seen him twice; his
family could nowhere be traced; he had
never been photographed; and the few who could describe him differed widely, as
common observers will.
Only on one point were they agreed; and that was the haunting sense of unexpressed
deformity with which the fugitive impressed his beholders.
It was late in the afternoon, when Mr. Utterson found his way to Dr. Jekyll's
door, where he was at once admitted by Poole, and carried down by the kitchen
offices and across a yard which had once
been a garden, to the building which was indifferently known as the laboratory or
dissecting rooms.
The doctor had bought the house from the heirs of a celebrated surgeon; and his own
tastes being rather chemical than anatomical, had changed the destination of
the block at the bottom of the garden.
It was the first time that the lawyer had been received in that part of his friend's
quarters; and he eyed the dingy, windowless structure with curiosity, and gazed round
with a distasteful sense of strangeness as
he crossed the theatre, once crowded with eager students and now lying gaunt and
silent, the tables laden with chemical apparatus, the floor strewn with crates and
littered with packing straw, and the light falling dimly through the foggy cupola.
At the further end, a flight of stairs mounted to a door covered with red baize;
and through this, Mr. Utterson was at last received into the doctor's cabinet.
It was a large room fitted round with glass presses, furnished, among other things,
with a cheval-glass and a business table, and looking out upon the court by three
dusty windows barred with iron.
The fire burned in the grate; a lamp was set lighted on the chimney shelf, for even
in the houses the fog began to lie thickly; and there, close up to the warmth, sat Dr.
Jekyll, looking deathly sick.
He did not rise to meet his visitor, but held out a cold hand and bade him welcome
in a changed voice.
"And now," said Mr. Utterson, as soon as Poole had left them, "you have heard the
news?" The doctor shuddered.
"They were crying it in the square," he said.
"I heard them in my dining-room." "One word," said the lawyer.
"Carew was my client, but so are you, and I want to know what I am doing.
You have not been mad enough to hide this fellow?"
"Utterson, I swear to God," cried the doctor, "I swear to God I will never set
eyes on him again. I bind my honour to you that I am done with
him in this world.
It is all at an end. And indeed he does not want my help; you do
not know him as I do; he is safe, he is quite safe; mark my words, he will never
more be heard of."
The lawyer listened gloomily; he did not like his friend's feverish manner.
"You seem pretty sure of him," said he; "and for your sake, I hope you may be
If it came to a trial, your name might appear."
"I am quite sure of him," replied Jekyll; "I have grounds for certainty that I cannot
share with any one.
But there is one thing on which you may advise me.
I have--I have received a letter; and I am at a loss whether I should show it to the
I should like to leave it in your hands, Utterson; you would judge wisely, I am
sure; I have so great a trust in you." "You fear, I suppose, that it might lead to
his detection?" asked the lawyer.
"No," said the other. "I cannot say that I care what becomes of
Hyde; I am quite done with him. I was thinking of my own character, which
this hateful business has rather exposed."
Utterson ruminated awhile; he was surprised at his friend's selfishness, and yet
relieved by it. "Well," said he, at last, "let me see the
The letter was written in an odd, upright hand and signed "Edward Hyde": and it
signified, briefly enough, that the writer's benefactor, Dr. Jekyll, whom he
had long so unworthily repaid for a
thousand generosities, need labour under no alarm for his safety, as he had means of
escape on which he placed a sure dependence.
The lawyer liked this letter well enough; it put a better colour on the intimacy than
he had looked for; and he blamed himself for some of his past suspicions.
"Have you the envelope?" he asked.
"I burned it," replied Jekyll, "before I thought what I was about.
But it bore no postmark. The note was handed in."
"Shall I keep this and sleep upon it?" asked Utterson.
"I wish you to judge for me entirely," was the reply.
"I have lost confidence in myself."
"Well, I shall consider," returned the lawyer.
"And now one word more: it was Hyde who dictated the terms in your will about that
The doctor seemed seized with a qualm of faintness; he shut his mouth tight and
nodded. "I knew it," said Utterson.
"He meant to murder you.
You had a fine escape." "I have had what is far more to the
purpose," returned the doctor solemnly: "I have had a lesson--O God, Utterson, what a
lesson I have had!"
And he covered his face for a moment with his hands.
On his way out, the lawyer stopped and had a word or two with Poole.
"By the bye," said he, "there was a letter handed in to-day: what was the messenger
But Poole was positive nothing had come except by post; "and only circulars by
that," he added. This news sent off the visitor with his
fears renewed.
Plainly the letter had come by the laboratory door; possibly, indeed, it had
been written in the cabinet; and if that were so, it must be differently judged, and
handled with the more caution.
The newsboys, as he went, were crying themselves hoarse along the footways:
"Special edition. Shocking murder of an M.P."
That was the funeral oration of one friend and client; and he could not help a certain
apprehension lest the good name of another should be sucked down in the eddy of the
It was, at least, a ticklish decision that he had to make; and self-reliant as he was
by habit, he began to cherish a longing for advice.
It was not to be had directly; but perhaps, he thought, it might be fished for.
Presently after, he sat on one side of his own hearth, with Mr. Guest, his head clerk,
upon the other, and midway between, at a nicely calculated distance from the fire,
a bottle of a particular old wine that had
long dwelt unsunned in the foundations of his house.
The fog still slept on the wing above the drowned city, where the lamps glimmered
like carbuncles; and through the muffle and smother of these fallen clouds, the
procession of the town's life was still
rolling in through the great arteries with a sound as of a mighty wind.
But the room was gay with firelight.
In the bottle the acids were long ago resolved; the imperial dye had softened
with time, as the colour grows richer in stained windows; and the glow of hot autumn
afternoons on hillside vineyards, was ready
to be set free and to disperse the fogs of London.
Insensibly the lawyer melted.
There was no man from whom he kept fewer secrets than Mr. Guest; and he was not
always sure that he kept as many as he meant.
Guest had often been on business to the doctor's; he knew Poole; he could scarce
have failed to hear of Mr. Hyde's familiarity about the house; he might draw
conclusions: was it not as well, then, that
he should see a letter which put that mystery to right? and above all since
Guest, being a great student and critic of handwriting, would consider the step
natural and obliging?
The clerk, besides, was a man of counsel; he could scarce read so strange a document
without dropping a remark; and by that remark Mr. Utterson might shape his future
"This is a sad business about Sir Danvers," he said.
"Yes, sir, indeed. It has elicited a great deal of public
feeling," returned Guest.
"The man, of course, was mad." "I should like to hear your views on that,"
replied Utterson.
"I have a document here in his handwriting; it is between ourselves, for I scarce know
what to do about it; it is an ugly business at the best.
But there it is; quite in your way: a murderer's autograph."
Guest's eyes brightened, and he sat down at once and studied it with passion.
"No sir," he said: "not mad; but it is an odd hand."
"And by all accounts a very odd writer," added the lawyer.
Just then the servant entered with a note.
"Is that from Dr. Jekyll, sir?" inquired the clerk.
"I thought I knew the writing. Anything private, Mr. Utterson?"
"Only an invitation to dinner.
Why? Do you want to see it?" "One moment.
I thank you, sir;" and the clerk laid the two sheets of paper alongside and
sedulously compared their contents.
"Thank you, sir," he said at last, returning both; "it's a very interesting
autograph." There was a pause, during which Mr.
Utterson struggled with himself.
"Why did you compare them, Guest?" he inquired suddenly.
"Well, sir," returned the clerk, "there's a rather singular resemblance; the two hands
are in many points identical: only differently sloped."
"Rather quaint," said Utterson.
"It is, as you say, rather quaint," returned Guest.
"I wouldn't speak of this note, you know," said the master.
"No, sir," said the clerk.
"I understand." But no sooner was Mr. Utterson alone that
night, than he locked the note into his safe, where it reposed from that time
"What!" he thought. "Henry Jekyll forge for a murderer!"
And his blood ran cold in his veins.
Time ran on; thousands of pounds were offered in reward, for the death of Sir
Danvers was resented as a public injury; but Mr. Hyde had disappeared out of the ken
of the police as though he had never existed.
Much of his past was unearthed, indeed, and all disreputable: tales came out of the
man's cruelty, at once so callous and violent; of his vile life, of his strange
associates, of the hatred that seemed to
have surrounded his career; but of his present whereabouts, not a whisper.
From the time he had left the house in Soho on the morning of the murder, he was simply
blotted out; and gradually, as time drew on, Mr. Utterson began to recover from the
hotness of his alarm, and to grow more at quiet with himself.
The death of Sir Danvers was, to his way of thinking, more than paid for by the
disappearance of Mr. Hyde.
Now that that evil influence had been withdrawn, a new life began for Dr. Jekyll.
He came out of his seclusion, renewed relations with his friends, became once
more their familiar guest and entertainer; and whilst he had always been known for
charities, he was now no less distinguished for religion.
He was busy, he was much in the open air, he did good; his face seemed to open and
brighten, as if with an inward consciousness of service; and for more than
two months, the doctor was at peace.
On the 8th of January Utterson had dined at the doctor's with a small party; Lanyon had
been there; and the face of the host had looked from one to the other as in the old
days when the trio were inseparable friends.
On the 12th, and again on the 14th, the door was shut against the lawyer.
"The doctor was confined to the house," Poole said, "and saw no one."
On the 15th, he tried again, and was again refused; and having now been used for the
last two months to see his friend almost daily, he found this return of solitude to
weigh upon his spirits.
The fifth night he had in Guest to dine with him; and the sixth he betook himself
to Dr. Lanyon's.
There at least he was not denied admittance; but when he came in, he was
shocked at the change which had taken place in the doctor's appearance.
He had his death-warrant written legibly upon his face.
The rosy man had grown pale; his flesh had fallen away; he was visibly balder and
older; and yet it was not so much these tokens of a swift physical decay that
arrested the lawyer's notice, as a look in
the eye and quality of manner that seemed to testify to some deep-seated terror of
the mind.
It was unlikely that the doctor should fear death; and yet that was what Utterson was
tempted to suspect.
"Yes," he thought; "he is a doctor, he must know his own state and that his days are
counted; and the knowledge is more than he can bear."
And yet when Utterson remarked on his ill- looks, it was with an air of great firmness
that Lanyon declared himself a doomed man. "I have had a shock," he said, "and I shall
never recover.
It is a question of weeks. Well, life has been pleasant; I liked it;
yes, sir, I used to like it. I sometimes think if we knew all, we should
be more glad to get away."
"Jekyll is ill, too," observed Utterson. "Have you seen him?"
But Lanyon's face changed, and he held up a trembling hand.
"I wish to see or hear no more of Dr. Jekyll," he said in a loud, unsteady voice.
"I am quite done with that person; and I beg that you will spare me any allusion to
one whom I regard as dead."
"Tut-tut," said Mr. Utterson; and then after a considerable pause, "Can't I do
anything?" he inquired. "We are three very old friends, Lanyon; we
shall not live to make others."
"Nothing can be done," returned Lanyon; "ask himself."
"He will not see me," said the lawyer. "I am not surprised at that," was the
"Some day, Utterson, after I am dead, you may perhaps come to learn the right and
wrong of this. I cannot tell you.
And in the meantime, if you can sit and talk with me of other things, for God's
sake, stay and do so; but if you cannot keep clear of this accursed topic, then in
God's name, go, for I cannot bear it."
As soon as he got home, Utterson sat down and wrote to Jekyll, complaining of his
exclusion from the house, and asking the cause of this unhappy break with Lanyon;
and the next day brought him a long answer,
often very pathetically worded, and sometimes darkly mysterious in drift.
The quarrel with Lanyon was incurable.
"I do not blame our old friend," Jekyll wrote, "but I share his view that we must
never meet.
I mean from henceforth to lead a life of extreme seclusion; you must not be
surprised, nor must you doubt my friendship, if my door is often shut even
to you.
You must suffer me to go my own dark way. I have brought on myself a punishment and a
danger that I cannot name. If I am the chief of sinners, I am the
chief of sufferers also.
I could not think that this earth contained a place for sufferings and terrors so
unmanning; and you can do but one thing, Utterson, to lighten this destiny, and that
is to respect my silence."
Utterson was amazed; the dark influence of Hyde had been withdrawn, the doctor had
returned to his old tasks and amities; a week ago, the prospect had smiled with
every promise of a cheerful and an honoured
age; and now in a moment, friendship, and peace of mind, and the whole tenor of his
life were wrecked.
So great and unprepared a change pointed to madness; but in view of Lanyon's manner and
words, there must lie for it some deeper ground.
A week afterwards Dr. Lanyon took to his bed, and in something less than a fortnight
he was dead.
The night after the funeral, at which he had been sadly affected, Utterson locked
the door of his business room, and sitting there by the light of a melancholy candle,
drew out and set before him an envelope
addressed by the hand and sealed with the seal of his dead friend.
"PRIVATE: for the hands of G. J. Utterson ALONE, and in case of his predecease to be
destroyed unread," so it was emphatically superscribed; and the lawyer dreaded to
behold the contents.
"I have buried one friend to-day," he thought: "what if this should cost me
another?" And then he condemned the fear as a
disloyalty, and broke the seal.
Within there was another enclosure, likewise sealed, and marked upon the cover
as "not to be opened till the death or disappearance of Dr. Henry Jekyll."
Utterson could not trust his eyes.
Yes, it was disappearance; here again, as in the mad will which he had long ago
restored to its author, here again were the idea of a disappearance and the name of
Henry Jekyll bracketted.
But in the will, that idea had sprung from the sinister suggestion of the man Hyde; it
was set there with a purpose all too plain and horrible.
Written by the hand of Lanyon, what should it mean?
A great curiosity came on the trustee, to disregard the prohibition and dive at once
to the bottom of these mysteries; but professional honour and faith to his dead
friend were stringent obligations; and the
packet slept in the inmost corner of his private safe.
It is one thing to mortify curiosity, another to conquer it; and it may be
doubted if, from that day forth, Utterson desired the society of his surviving friend
with the same eagerness.
He thought of him kindly; but his thoughts were disquieted and fearful.
He went to call indeed; but he was perhaps relieved to be denied admittance; perhaps,
in his heart, he preferred to speak with Poole upon the doorstep and surrounded by
the air and sounds of the open city, rather
than to be admitted into that house of voluntary bondage, and to sit and speak
with its inscrutable recluse. Poole had, indeed, no very pleasant news to
The doctor, it appeared, now more than ever confined himself to the cabinet over the
laboratory, where he would sometimes even sleep; he was out of spirits, he had grown
very silent, he did not read; it seemed as if he had something on his mind.
Utterson became so used to the unvarying character of these reports, that he fell
off little by little in the frequency of his visits.
It chanced on Sunday, when Mr. Utterson was on his usual walk with Mr. Enfield, that
their way lay once again through the by- street; and that when they came in front of
the door, both stopped to gaze on it.
"Well," said Enfield, "that story's at an end at least.
We shall never see more of Mr. Hyde." "I hope not," said Utterson.
"Did I ever tell you that I once saw him, and shared your feeling of repulsion?"
"It was impossible to do the one without the other," returned Enfield.
"And by the way, what an ass you must have thought me, not to know that this was a
back way to Dr. Jekyll's! It was partly your own fault that I found
it out, even when I did."
"So you found it out, did you?" said Utterson.
"But if that be so, we may step into the court and take a look at the windows.
To tell you the truth, I am uneasy about poor Jekyll; and even outside, I feel as if
the presence of a friend might do him good."
The court was very cool and a little damp, and full of premature twilight, although
the sky, high up overhead, was still bright with sunset.
The middle one of the three windows was half-way open; and sitting close beside it,
taking the air with an infinite sadness of mien, like some disconsolate prisoner,
Utterson saw Dr. Jekyll.
"What! Jekyll!" he cried.
"I trust you are better." "I am very low, Utterson," replied the
doctor drearily, "very low.
It will not last long, thank God." "You stay too much indoors," said the
lawyer. "You should be out, whipping up the
circulation like Mr. Enfield and me.
(This is my cousin--Mr. Enfield--Dr. Jekyll.)
Come now; get your hat and take a quick turn with us."
"You are very good," sighed the other.
"I should like to very much; but no, no, no, it is quite impossible; I dare not.
But indeed, Utterson, I am very glad to see you; this is really a great pleasure; I
would ask you and Mr. Enfield up, but the place is really not fit."
"Why, then," said the lawyer, good- naturedly, "the best thing we can do is to
stay down here and speak with you from where we are."
"That is just what I was about to venture to propose," returned the doctor with a
But the words were hardly uttered, before the smile was struck out of his face and
succeeded by an expression of such abject terror and despair, as froze the very blood
of the two gentlemen below.
They saw it but for a glimpse for the window was instantly thrust down; but that
glimpse had been sufficient, and they turned and left the court without a word.
In silence, too, they traversed the by- street; and it was not until they had come
into a neighbouring thoroughfare, where even upon a Sunday there were still some
stirrings of life, that Mr. Utterson at last turned and looked at his companion.
They were both pale; and there was an answering horror in their eyes.
"God forgive us, God forgive us," said Mr. Utterson.
But Mr. Enfield only nodded his head very seriously, and walked on once more in
Mr. Utterson was sitting by his fireside one evening after dinner, when he was
surprised to receive a visit from Poole.
"Bless me, Poole, what brings you here?" he cried; and then taking a second look at
him, "What ails you?" he added; "is the doctor ill?"
"Mr. Utterson," said the man, "there is something wrong."
"Take a seat, and here is a glass of wine for you," said the lawyer.
"Now, take your time, and tell me plainly what you want."
"You know the doctor's ways, sir," replied Poole, "and how he shuts himself up.
Well, he's shut up again in the cabinet; and I don't like it, sir--I wish I may die
if I like it. Mr. Utterson, sir, I'm afraid."
"Now, my good man," said the lawyer, "be explicit.
What are you afraid of?"
"I've been afraid for about a week," returned Poole, doggedly disregarding the
question, "and I can bear it no more."
The man's appearance amply bore out his words; his manner was altered for the
worse; and except for the moment when he had first announced his terror, he had not
once looked the lawyer in the face.
Even now, he sat with the glass of wine untasted on his knee, and his eyes directed
to a corner of the floor. "I can bear it no more," he repeated.
"Come," said the lawyer, "I see you have some good reason, Poole; I see there is
something seriously amiss. Try to tell me what it is."
"I think there's been foul play," said Poole, hoarsely.
"Foul play!" cried the lawyer, a good deal frightened and rather inclined to be
irritated in consequence.
"What foul play! What does the man mean?"
"I daren't say, sir," was the answer; "but will you come along with me and see for
Mr. Utterson's only answer was to rise and get his hat and greatcoat; but he observed
with wonder the greatness of the relief that appeared upon the butler's face, and
perhaps with no less, that the wine was
still untasted when he set it down to follow.
It was a wild, cold, seasonable night of March, with a pale moon, lying on her back
as though the wind had tilted her, and flying wrack of the most diaphanous and
lawny texture.
The wind made talking difficult, and flecked the blood into the face.
It seemed to have swept the streets unusually bare of passengers, besides; for
Mr. Utterson thought he had never seen that part of London so deserted.
He could have wished it otherwise; never in his life had he been conscious of so sharp
a wish to see and touch his fellow- creatures; for struggle as he might, there
was borne in upon his mind a crushing anticipation of calamity.
The square, when they got there, was full of wind and dust, and the thin trees in the
garden were lashing themselves along the railing.
Poole, who had kept all the way a pace or two ahead, now pulled up in the middle of
the pavement, and in spite of the biting weather, took off his hat and mopped his
brow with a red pocket-handkerchief.
But for all the hurry of his coming, these were not the dews of exertion that he wiped
away, but the moisture of some strangling anguish; for his face was white and his
voice, when he spoke, harsh and broken.
"Well, sir," he said, "here we are, and God grant there be nothing wrong."
"Amen, Poole," said the lawyer.
Thereupon the servant knocked in a very guarded manner; the door was opened on the
chain; and a voice asked from within, "Is that you, Poole?"
"It's all right," said Poole.
"Open the door."
The hall, when they entered it, was brightly lighted up; the fire was built
high; and about the hearth the whole of the servants, men and women, stood huddled
together like a flock of sheep.
At the sight of Mr. Utterson, the housemaid broke into hysterical whimpering; and the
cook, crying out "Bless God! it's Mr. Utterson," ran forward as if to take him in
her arms.
"What, what? Are you all here?" said the lawyer
peevishly. "Very irregular, very unseemly; your master
would be far from pleased."
"They're all afraid," said Poole. Blank silence followed, no one protesting;
only the maid lifted her voice and now wept loudly.
"Hold your tongue!"
Poole said to her, with a ferocity of accent that testified to his own jangled
nerves; and indeed, when the girl had so suddenly raised the note of her
lamentation, they had all started and
turned towards the inner door with faces of dreadful expectation.
"And now," continued the butler, addressing the knife-boy, "reach me a candle, and
we'll get this through hands at once." And then he begged Mr. Utterson to follow
him, and led the way to the back garden.
"Now, sir," said he, "you come as gently as you can.
I want you to hear, and I don't want you to be heard.
And see here, sir, if by any chance he was to ask you in, don't go."
Mr. Utterson's nerves, at this unlooked-for termination, gave a jerk that nearly threw
him from his balance; but he recollected his courage and followed the butler into
the laboratory building through the
surgical theatre, with its lumber of crates and bottles, to the foot of the stair.
Here Poole motioned him to stand on one side and listen; while he himself, setting
down the candle and making a great and obvious call on his resolution, mounted the
steps and knocked with a somewhat uncertain hand on the red baize of the cabinet door.
"Mr. Utterson, sir, asking to see you," he called; and even as he did so, once more
violently signed to the lawyer to give ear.
A voice answered from within: "Tell him I cannot see anyone," it said complainingly.
"Thank you, sir," said Poole, with a note of something like triumph in his voice; and
taking up his candle, he led Mr. Utterson back across the yard and into the great
kitchen, where the fire was out and the beetles were leaping on the floor.
"Sir," he said, looking Mr. Utterson in the eyes, "Was that my master's voice?"
"It seems much changed," replied the lawyer, very pale, but giving look for
look. "Changed?
Well, yes, I think so," said the butler.
"Have I been twenty years in this man's house, to be deceived about his voice?
No, sir; master's made away with; he was made away with eight days ago, when we
heard him cry out upon the name of God; and who's in there instead of him, and why it
stays there, is a thing that cries to Heaven, Mr. Utterson!"
"This is a very strange tale, Poole; this is rather a wild tale my man," said Mr.
Utterson, biting his finger.
"Suppose it were as you suppose, supposing Dr. Jekyll to have been--well, murdered
what could induce the murderer to stay? That won't hold water; it doesn't commend
itself to reason."
"Well, Mr. Utterson, you are a hard man to satisfy, but I'll do it yet," said Poole.
"All this last week (you must know) him, or it, whatever it is that lives in that
cabinet, has been crying night and day for some sort of medicine and cannot get it to
his mind.
It was sometimes his way--the master's, that is--to write his orders on a sheet of
paper and throw it on the stair.
We've had nothing else this week back; nothing but papers, and a closed door, and
the very meals left there to be smuggled in when nobody was looking.
Well, sir, every day, ay, and twice and thrice in the same day, there have been
orders and complaints, and I have been sent flying to all the wholesale chemists in
Every time I brought the stuff back, there would be another paper telling me to return
it, because it was not pure, and another order to a different firm.
This drug is wanted bitter bad, sir, whatever for."
"Have you any of these papers?" asked Mr. Utterson.
Poole felt in his pocket and handed out a crumpled note, which the lawyer, bending
nearer to the candle, carefully examined. Its contents ran thus: "Dr. Jekyll presents
his compliments to Messrs. Maw.
He assures them that their last sample is impure and quite useless for his present
purpose. In the year 18--, Dr. J. purchased a
somewhat large quantity from Messrs. M.
He now begs them to search with most sedulous care, and should any of the same
quality be left, forward it to him at once. Expense is no consideration.
The importance of this to Dr. J. can hardly be exaggerated."
So far the letter had run composedly enough, but here with a sudden splutter of
the pen, the writer's emotion had broken loose.
"For God's sake," he added, "find me some of the old."
"This is a strange note," said Mr. Utterson; and then sharply, "How do you
come to have it open?"
"The man at Maw's was main angry, sir, and he threw it back to me like so much dirt,"
returned Poole. "This is unquestionably the doctor's hand,
do you know?" resumed the lawyer.
"I thought it looked like it," said the servant rather sulkily; and then, with
another voice, "But what matters hand of write?" he said.
"I've seen him!"
"Seen him?" repeated Mr. Utterson. "Well?"
"That's it!" said Poole. "It was this way.
I came suddenly into the theater from the garden.
It seems he had slipped out to look for this drug or whatever it is; for the
cabinet door was open, and there he was at the far end of the room digging among the
He looked up when I came in, gave a kind of cry, and whipped upstairs into the cabinet.
It was but for one minute that I saw him, but the hair stood upon my head like
Sir, if that was my master, why had he a mask upon his face?
If it was my master, why did he cry out like a rat, and run from me?
I have served him long enough.
And then..." The man paused and passed his hand over his
"These are all very strange circumstances," said Mr. Utterson, "but I think I begin to
see daylight.
Your master, Poole, is plainly seized with one of those maladies that both torture and
deform the sufferer; hence, for aught I know, the alteration of his voice; hence
the mask and the avoidance of his friends;
hence his eagerness to find this drug, by means of which the poor soul retains some
hope of ultimate recovery--God grant that he be not deceived!
There is my explanation; it is sad enough, Poole, ay, and appalling to consider; but
it is plain and natural, hangs well together, and delivers us from all
exorbitant alarms."
"Sir," said the butler, turning to a sort of mottled pallor, "that thing was not my
master, and there's the truth.
My master"--here he looked round him and began to whisper--"is a tall, fine build of
a man, and this was more of a dwarf." Utterson attempted to protest.
"O, sir," cried Poole, "do you think I do not know my master after twenty years?
Do you think I do not know where his head comes to in the cabinet door, where I saw
him every morning of my life?
No, sir, that thing in the mask was never Dr. Jekyll--God knows what it was, but it
was never Dr. Jekyll; and it is the belief of my heart that there was murder done."
"Poole," replied the lawyer, "if you say that, it will become my duty to make
Much as I desire to spare your master's feelings, much as I am puzzled by this note
which seems to prove him to be still alive, I shall consider it my duty to break in
that door."
"Ah, Mr. Utterson, that's talking!" cried the butler.
"And now comes the second question," resumed Utterson: "Who is going to do it?"
"Why, you and me, sir," was the undaunted reply.
"That's very well said," returned the lawyer; "and whatever comes of it, I shall
make it my business to see you are no loser."
"There is an axe in the theatre," continued Poole; "and you might take the kitchen
poker for yourself." The lawyer took that rude but weighty
instrument into his hand, and balanced it.
"Do you know, Poole," he said, looking up, "that you and I are about to place
ourselves in a position of some peril?" "You may say so, sir, indeed," returned the
"It is well, then that we should be frank," said the other.
"We both think more than we have said; let us make a clean breast.
This masked figure that you saw, did you recognise it?"
"Well, sir, it went so quick, and the creature was so doubled up, that I could
hardly swear to that," was the answer.
"But if you mean, was it Mr. Hyde?--why, yes, I think it was!
You see, it was much of the same bigness; and it had the same quick, light way with
it; and then who else could have got in by the laboratory door?
You have not forgot, sir, that at the time of the murder he had still the key with
him? But that's not all.
I don't know, Mr. Utterson, if you ever met this Mr. Hyde?"
"Yes," said the lawyer, "I once spoke with him."
"Then you must know as well as the rest of us that there was something queer about
that gentleman--something that gave a man a turn--I don't know rightly how to say it,
sir, beyond this: that you felt in your marrow kind of cold and thin."
"I own I felt something of what you describe," said Mr. Utterson.
"Quite so, sir," returned Poole.
"Well, when that masked thing like a monkey jumped from among the chemicals and whipped
into the cabinet, it went down my spine like ice.
O, I know it's not evidence, Mr. Utterson; I'm book-learned enough for that; but a man
has his feelings, and I give you my bible- word it was Mr. Hyde!"
"Ay, ay," said the lawyer.
"My fears incline to the same point. Evil, I fear, founded--evil was sure to
come--of that connection.
Ay truly, I believe you; I believe poor Harry is killed; and I believe his murderer
(for what purpose, God alone can tell) is still lurking in his victim's room.
Well, let our name be vengeance.
Call Bradshaw." The footman came at the summons, very white
and nervous. "Put yourself together, Bradshaw," said the
"This suspense, I know, is telling upon all of you; but it is now our intention to make
an end of it. Poole, here, and I are going to force our
way into the cabinet.
If all is well, my shoulders are broad enough to bear the blame.
Meanwhile, lest anything should really be amiss, or any malefactor seek to escape by
the back, you and the boy must go round the corner with a pair of good sticks and take
your post at the laboratory door.
We give you ten minutes, to get to your stations."
As Bradshaw left, the lawyer looked at his watch.
"And now, Poole, let us get to ours," he said; and taking the poker under his arm,
led the way into the yard. The scud had banked over the moon, and it
was now quite dark.
The wind, which only broke in puffs and draughts into that deep well of building,
tossed the light of the candle to and fro about their steps, until they came into the
shelter of the theatre, where they sat down silently to wait.
London hummed solemnly all around; but nearer at hand, the stillness was only
broken by the sounds of a footfall moving to and fro along the cabinet floor.
"So it will walk all day, sir," whispered Poole; "ay, and the better part of the
night. Only when a new sample comes from the
chemist, there's a bit of a break.
Ah, it's an ill conscience that's such an enemy to rest!
Ah, sir, there's blood foully shed in every step of it!
But hark again, a little closer--put your heart in your ears, Mr. Utterson, and tell
me, is that the doctor's foot?"
The steps fell lightly and oddly, with a certain swing, for all they went so slowly;
it was different indeed from the heavy creaking tread of Henry Jekyll.
Utterson sighed.
"Is there never anything else?" he asked. Poole nodded.
"Once," he said. "Once I heard it weeping!"
"Weeping? how that?" said the lawyer, conscious of a sudden chill of horror.
"Weeping like a woman or a lost soul," said the butler.
"I came away with that upon my heart, that I could have wept too."
But now the ten minutes drew to an end.
Poole disinterred the axe from under a stack of packing straw; the candle was set
upon the nearest table to light them to the attack; and they drew near with bated
breath to where that patient foot was still
going up and down, up and down, in the quiet of the night.
"Jekyll," cried Utterson, with a loud voice, "I demand to see you."
He paused a moment, but there came no reply.
"I give you fair warning, our suspicions are aroused, and I must and shall see you,"
he resumed; "if not by fair means, then by foul--if not of your consent, then by brute
"Utterson," said the voice, "for God's sake, have mercy!"
"Ah, that's not Jekyll's voice--it's Hyde's!" cried Utterson.
"Down with the door, Poole!"
Poole swung the axe over his shoulder; the blow shook the building, and the red baize
door leaped against the lock and hinges. A dismal screech, as of mere animal terror,
rang from the cabinet.
Up went the axe again, and again the panels crashed and the frame bounded; four times
the blow fell; but the wood was tough and the fittings were of excellent workmanship;
and it was not until the fifth, that the
lock burst and the wreck of the door fell inwards on the carpet.
The besiegers, appalled by their own riot and the stillness that had succeeded, stood
back a little and peered in.
There lay the cabinet before their eyes in the quiet lamplight, a good fire glowing
and chattering on the hearth, the kettle singing its thin strain, a drawer or two
open, papers neatly set forth on the
business table, and nearer the fire, the things laid out for tea; the quietest room,
you would have said, and, but for the glazed presses full of chemicals, the most
commonplace that night in London.
Right in the middle there lay the body of a man sorely contorted and still twitching.
They drew near on tiptoe, turned it on its back and beheld the face of Edward Hyde.
He was dressed in clothes far too large for him, clothes of the doctor's bigness; the
cords of his face still moved with a semblance of life, but life was quite gone:
and by the crushed phial in the hand and
the strong smell of kernels that hung upon the air, Utterson knew that he was looking
on the body of a self-destroyer. "We have come too late," he said sternly,
"whether to save or punish.
Hyde is gone to his account; and it only remains for us to find the body of your
The far greater proportion of the building was occupied by the theatre, which filled
almost the whole ground storey and was lighted from above, and by the cabinet,
which formed an upper story at one end and looked upon the court.
A corridor joined the theatre to the door on the by-street; and with this the cabinet
communicated separately by a second flight of stairs.
There were besides a few dark closets and a spacious cellar.
All these they now thoroughly examined.
Each closet needed but a glance, for all were empty, and all, by the dust that fell
from their doors, had stood long unopened.
The cellar, indeed, was filled with crazy lumber, mostly dating from the times of the
surgeon who was Jekyll's predecessor; but even as they opened the door they were
advertised of the uselessness of further
search, by the fall of a perfect mat of cobweb which had for years sealed up the
entrance. No where was there any trace of Henry
Jekyll dead or alive.
Poole stamped on the flags of the corridor. "He must be buried here," he said,
hearkening to the sound.
"Or he may have fled," said Utterson, and he turned to examine the door in the by-
It was locked; and lying near by on the flags, they found the key, already stained
with rust. "This does not look like use," observed the
"Use!" echoed Poole. "Do you not see, sir, it is broken? much as
if a man had stamped on it." "Ay," continued Utterson, "and the
fractures, too, are rusty."
The two men looked at each other with a scare.
"This is beyond me, Poole," said the lawyer.
"Let us go back to the cabinet."
They mounted the stair in silence, and still with an occasional awestruck glance
at the dead body, proceeded more thoroughly to examine the contents of the cabinet.
At one table, there were traces of chemical work, various measured heaps of some white
salt being laid on glass saucers, as though for an experiment in which the unhappy man
had been prevented.
"That is the same drug that I was always bringing him," said Poole; and even as he
spoke, the kettle with a startling noise boiled over.
This brought them to the fireside, where the easy-chair was drawn cosily up, and the
tea things stood ready to the sitter's elbow, the very sugar in the cup.
There were several books on a shelf; one lay beside the tea things open, and
Utterson was amazed to find it a copy of a pious work, for which Jekyll had several
times expressed a great esteem, annotated, in his own hand with startling blasphemies.
Next, in the course of their review of the chamber, the searchers came to the cheval-
glass, into whose depths they looked with an involuntary horror.
But it was so turned as to show them nothing but the rosy glow playing on the
roof, the fire sparkling in a hundred repetitions along the glazed front of the
presses, and their own pale and fearful countenances stooping to look in.
"This glass has seen some strange things, sir," whispered Poole.
"And surely none stranger than itself," echoed the lawyer in the same tones.
"For what did Jekyll"--he caught himself up at the word with a start, and then
conquering the weakness--"what could Jekyll want with it?" he said.
"You may say that!" said Poole.
Next they turned to the business table. On the desk, among the neat array of
papers, a large envelope was uppermost, and bore, in the doctor's hand, the name of Mr.
The lawyer unsealed it, and several enclosures fell to the floor.
The first was a will, drawn in the same eccentric terms as the one which he had
returned six months before, to serve as a testament in case of death and as a deed of
gift in case of disappearance; but in place
of the name of Edward Hyde, the lawyer, with indescribable amazement read the name
of Gabriel John Utterson.
He looked at Poole, and then back at the paper, and last of all at the dead
malefactor stretched upon the carpet. "My head goes round," he said.
"He has been all these days in possession; he had no cause to like me; he must have
raged to see himself displaced; and he has not destroyed this document."
He caught up the next paper; it was a brief note in the doctor's hand and dated at the
top. "O Poole!" the lawyer cried, "he was alive
and here this day.
He cannot have been disposed of in so short a space; he must be still alive, he must
have fled!
And then, why fled? and how? and in that case, can we venture to declare this
suicide? O, we must be careful.
I foresee that we may yet involve your master in some dire catastrophe."
"Why don't you read it, sir?" asked Poole. "Because I fear," replied the lawyer
"God grant I have no cause for it!" And with that he brought the paper to his
eyes and read as follows:
"My dear Utterson,--When this shall fall into your hands, I shall have disappeared,
under what circumstances I have not the penetration to foresee, but my instinct and
all the circumstances of my nameless
situation tell me that the end is sure and must be early.
Go then, and first read the narrative which Lanyon warned me he was to place in your
hands; and if you care to hear more, turn to the confession of
"Your unworthy and unhappy friend,
"HENRY JEKYLL." "There was a third enclosure?" asked
"Here, sir," said Poole, and gave into his hands a considerable packet sealed in
several places. The lawyer put it in his pocket.
"I would say nothing of this paper.
If your master has fled or is dead, we may at least save his credit.
It is now ten; I must go home and read these documents in quiet; but I shall be
back before midnight, when we shall send for the police."
They went out, locking the door of the theatre behind them; and Utterson, once
more leaving the servants gathered about the fire in the hall, trudged back to his
office to read the two narratives in which this mystery was now to be explained.
On the ninth of January, now four days ago, I received by the evening delivery a
registered envelope, addressed in the hand of my colleague and old school companion,
Henry Jekyll.
I was a good deal surprised by this; for we were by no means in the habit of
correspondence; I had seen the man, dined with him, indeed, the night before; and I
could imagine nothing in our intercourse
that should justify formality of registration.
The contents increased my wonder; for this is how the letter ran:
"10th December, 18--.
"Dear Lanyon,--You are one of my oldest friends; and although we may have differed
at times on scientific questions, I cannot remember, at least on my side, any break in
our affection.
There was never a day when, if you had said to me, `Jekyll, my life, my honour, my
reason, depend upon you,' I would not have sacrificed my left hand to help you.
Lanyon my life, my honour, my reason, are all at your mercy; if you fail me to-night,
I am lost.
You might suppose, after this preface, that I am going to ask you for something
dishonourable to grant. Judge for yourself.
"I want you to postpone all other engagements for to-night--ay, even if you
were summoned to the bedside of an emperor; to take a cab, unless your carriage should
be actually at the door; and with this
letter in your hand for consultation, to drive straight to my house.
Poole, my butler, has his orders; you will find him waiting your arrival with a
The door of my cabinet is then to be forced: and you are to go in alone; to open
the glazed press (letter E) on the left hand, breaking the lock if it be shut; and
to draw out, with all its contents as they
stand, the fourth drawer from the top or (which is the same thing) the third from
the bottom.
In my extreme distress of mind, I have a morbid fear of misdirecting you; but even
if I am in error, you may know the right drawer by its contents: some powders, a
phial and a paper book.
This drawer I beg of you to carry back with you to Cavendish Square exactly as it
stands. "That is the first part of the service: now
for the second.
You should be back, if you set out at once on the receipt of this, long before
midnight; but I will leave you that amount of margin, not only in the fear of one of
those obstacles that can neither be
prevented nor foreseen, but because an hour when your servants are in bed is to be
preferred for what will then remain to do.
At midnight, then, I have to ask you to be alone in your consulting room, to admit
with your own hand into the house a man who will present himself in my name, and to
place in his hands the drawer that you will have brought with you from my cabinet.
Then you will have played your part and earned my gratitude completely.
Five minutes afterwards, if you insist upon an explanation, you will have understood
that these arrangements are of capital importance; and that by the neglect of one
of them, fantastic as they must appear, you
might have charged your conscience with my death or the shipwreck of my reason.
"Confident as I am that you will not trifle with this appeal, my heart sinks and my
hand trembles at the bare thought of such a possibility.
Think of me at this hour, in a strange place, labouring under a blackness of
distress that no fancy can exaggerate, and yet well aware that, if you will but
punctually serve me, my troubles will roll away like a story that is told.
Serve me, my dear Lanyon and save "Your friend,
"P.S.--I had already sealed this up when a fresh terror struck upon my soul.
It is possible that the post-office may fail me, and this letter not come into your
hands until to-morrow morning.
In that case, dear Lanyon, do my errand when it shall be most convenient for you in
the course of the day; and once more expect my messenger at midnight.
It may then already be too late; and if that night passes without event, you will
know that you have seen the last of Henry Jekyll."
Upon the reading of this letter, I made sure my colleague was insane; but till that
was proved beyond the possibility of doubt, I felt bound to do as he requested.
The less I understood of this farrago, the less I was in a position to judge of its
importance; and an appeal so worded could not be set aside without a grave
I rose accordingly from table, got into a hansom, and drove straight to Jekyll's
The butler was awaiting my arrival; he had received by the same post as mine a
registered letter of instruction, and had sent at once for a locksmith and a
The tradesmen came while we were yet speaking; and we moved in a body to old Dr.
Denman's surgical theatre, from which (as you are doubtless aware) Jekyll's private
cabinet is most conveniently entered.
The door was very strong, the lock excellent; the carpenter avowed he would
have great trouble and have to do much damage, if force were to be used; and the
locksmith was near despair.
But this last was a handy fellow, and after two hour's work, the door stood open.
The press marked E was unlocked; and I took out the drawer, had it filled up with straw
and tied in a sheet, and returned with it to Cavendish Square.
Here I proceeded to examine its contents.
The powders were neatly enough made up, but not with the nicety of the dispensing
chemist; so that it was plain they were of Jekyll's private manufacture: and when I
opened one of the wrappers I found what
seemed to me a simple crystalline salt of a white colour.
The phial, to which I next turned my attention, might have been about half full
of a blood-red liquor, which was highly pungent to the sense of smell and seemed to
me to contain phosphorus and some volatile ether.
At the other ingredients I could make no guess.
The book was an ordinary version book and contained little but a series of dates.
These covered a period of many years, but I observed that the entries ceased nearly a
year ago and quite abruptly.
Here and there a brief remark was appended to a date, usually no more than a single
word: "double" occurring perhaps six times in a total of several hundred entries; and
once very early in the list and followed by
several marks of exclamation, "total failure!!!"
All this, though it whetted my curiosity, told me little that was definite.
Here were a phial of some salt, and the record of a series of experiments that had
led (like too many of Jekyll's investigations) to no end of practical
How could the presence of these articles in my house affect either the honour, the
sanity, or the life of my flighty colleague?
If his messenger could go to one place, why could he not go to another?
And even granting some impediment, why was this gentleman to be received by me in
The more I reflected the more convinced I grew that I was dealing with a case of
cerebral disease; and though I dismissed my servants to bed, I loaded an old revolver,
that I might be found in some posture of self-defence.
Twelve o'clock had scarce rung out over London, ere the knocker sounded very gently
on the door.
I went myself at the summons, and found a small man crouching against the pillars of
the portico. "Are you come from Dr. Jekyll?"
I asked.
He told me "yes" by a constrained gesture; and when I had bidden him enter, he did not
obey me without a searching backward glance into the darkness of the square.
There was a policeman not far off, advancing with his bull's eye open; and at
the sight, I thought my visitor started and made greater haste.
These particulars struck me, I confess, disagreeably; and as I followed him into
the bright light of the consulting room, I kept my hand ready on my weapon.
Here, at last, I had a chance of clearly seeing him.
I had never set eyes on him before, so much was certain.
He was small, as I have said; I was struck besides with the shocking expression of his
face, with his remarkable combination of great muscular activity and great apparent
debility of constitution, and--last but not
least--with the odd, subjective disturbance caused by his neighbourhood.
This bore some resemblance to incipient rigour, and was accompanied by a marked
sinking of the pulse.
At the time, I set it down to some idiosyncratic, personal distaste, and
merely wondered at the acuteness of the symptoms; but I have since had reason to
believe the cause to lie much deeper in the
nature of man, and to turn on some nobler hinge than the principle of hatred.
This person (who had thus, from the first moment of his entrance, struck in me what I
can only, describe as a disgustful curiosity) was dressed in a fashion that
would have made an ordinary person
laughable; his clothes, that is to say, although they were of rich and sober
fabric, were enormously too large for him in every measurement--the trousers hanging
on his legs and rolled up to keep them from
the ground, the waist of the coat below his haunches, and the collar sprawling wide
upon his shoulders.
Strange to relate, this ludicrous accoutrement was far from moving me to
Rather, as there was something abnormal and misbegotten in the very essence of the
creature that now faced me--something seizing, surprising and revolting--this
fresh disparity seemed but to fit in with
and to reinforce it; so that to my interest in the man's nature and character, there
was added a curiosity as to his origin, his life, his fortune and status in the world.
These observations, though they have taken so great a space to be set down in, were
yet the work of a few seconds. My visitor was, indeed, on fire with sombre
"Have you got it?" he cried. "Have you got it?"
And so lively was his impatience that he even laid his hand upon my arm and sought
to shake me.
I put him back, conscious at his touch of a certain icy pang along my blood.
"Come, sir," said I. "You forget that I have not yet the
pleasure of your acquaintance.
Be seated, if you please."
And I showed him an example, and sat down myself in my customary seat and with as
fair an imitation of my ordinary manner to a patient, as the lateness of the hour, the
nature of my preoccupations, and the horror
I had of my visitor, would suffer me to muster.
"I beg your pardon, Dr. Lanyon," he replied civilly enough.
"What you say is very well founded; and my impatience has shown its heels to my
I come here at the instance of your colleague, Dr. Henry Jekyll, on a piece of
business of some moment; and I understood..."
He paused and put his hand to his throat, and I could see, in spite of his collected
manner, that he was wrestling against the approaches of the hysteria--"I understood,
a drawer..."
But here I took pity on my visitor's suspense, and some perhaps on my own
growing curiosity.
"There it is, sir," said I, pointing to the drawer, where it lay on the floor behind a
table and still covered with the sheet.
He sprang to it, and then paused, and laid his hand upon his heart: I could hear his
teeth grate with the convulsive action of his jaws; and his face was so ghastly to
see that I grew alarmed both for his life and reason.
"Compose yourself," said I.
He turned a dreadful smile to me, and as if with the decision of despair, plucked away
the sheet.
At sight of the contents, he uttered one loud sob of such immense relief that I sat
And the next moment, in a voice that was already fairly well under control, "Have
you a graduated glass?" he asked. I rose from my place with something of an
effort and gave him what he asked.
He thanked me with a smiling nod, measured out a few minims of the red tincture and
added one of the powders.
The mixture, which was at first of a reddish hue, began, in proportion as the
crystals melted, to brighten in colour, to effervesce audibly, and to throw off small
fumes of vapour.
Suddenly and at the same moment, the ebullition ceased and the compound changed
to a dark purple, which faded again more slowly to a watery green.
My visitor, who had watched these metamorphoses with a keen eye, smiled, set
down the glass upon the table, and then turned and looked upon me with an air of
"And now," said he, "to settle what remains.
Will you be wise? will you be guided? will you suffer me to take this glass in my hand
and to go forth from your house without further parley? or has the greed of
curiosity too much command of you?
Think before you answer, for it shall be done as you decide.
As you decide, you shall be left as you were before, and neither richer nor wiser,
unless the sense of service rendered to a man in mortal distress may be counted as a
kind of riches of the soul.
Or, if you shall so prefer to choose, a new province of knowledge and new avenues to
fame and power shall be laid open to you, here, in this room, upon the instant; and
your sight shall be blasted by a prodigy to stagger the unbelief of Satan."
"Sir," said I, affecting a coolness that I was far from truly possessing, "you speak
enigmas, and you will perhaps not wonder that I hear you with no very strong
impression of belief.
But I have gone too far in the way of inexplicable services to pause before I see
the end." "It is well," replied my visitor.
"Lanyon, you remember your vows: what follows is under the seal of our
And now, you who have so long been bound to the most narrow and material views, you who
have denied the virtue of transcendental medicine, you who have derided your
He put the glass to his lips and drank at one gulp.
A cry followed; he reeled, staggered, clutched at the table and held on, staring
with injected eyes, gasping with open mouth; and as I looked there came, I
thought, a change--he seemed to swell--his
face became suddenly black and the features seemed to melt and alter--and the next
moment, I had sprung to my feet and leaped back against the wall, my arms raised to
shield me from that prodigy, my mind submerged in terror.
"O God!"
I screamed, and "O God!" again and again; for there before my eyes--pale and shaken,
and half fainting, and groping before him with his hands, like a man restored from
death--there stood Henry Jekyll!
What he told me in the next hour, I cannot bring my mind to set on paper.
I saw what I saw, I heard what I heard, and my soul sickened at it; and yet now when
that sight has faded from my eyes, I ask myself if I believe it, and I cannot
My life is shaken to its roots; sleep has left me; the deadliest terror sits by me at
all hours of the day and night; and I feel that my days are numbered, and that I must
die; and yet I shall die incredulous.
As for the moral turpitude that man unveiled to me, even with tears of
penitence, I can not, even in memory, dwell on it without a start of horror.
I will say but one thing, Utterson, and that (if you can bring your mind to credit
it) will be more than enough.
The creature who crept into my house that night was, on Jekyll's own confession,
known by the name of Hyde and hunted for in every corner of the land as the murderer of
I was born in the year 18-- to a large fortune, endowed besides with excellent
parts, inclined by nature to industry, fond of the respect of the wise and good among
my fellowmen, and thus, as might have been
supposed, with every guarantee of an honourable and distinguished future.
And indeed the worst of my faults was a certain impatient gaiety of disposition,
such as has made the happiness of many, but such as I found it hard to reconcile with
my imperious desire to carry my head high,
and wear a more than commonly grave countenance before the public.
Hence it came about that I concealed my pleasures; and that when I reached years of
reflection, and began to look round me and take stock of my progress and position in
the world, I stood already committed to a profound duplicity of me.
Many a man would have even blazoned such irregularities as I was guilty of; but from
the high views that I had set before me, I regarded and hid them with an almost morbid
sense of shame.
It was thus rather the exacting nature of my aspirations than any particular
degradation in my faults, that made me what I was, and, with even a deeper trench than
in the majority of men, severed in me those
provinces of good and ill which divide and compound man's dual nature.
In this case, I was driven to reflect deeply and inveterately on that hard law of
life, which lies at the root of religion and is one of the most plentiful springs of
Though so profound a double-dealer, I was in no sense a hypocrite; both sides of me
were in dead earnest; I was no more myself when I laid aside restraint and plunged in
shame, than when I laboured, in the eye of
day, at the furtherance of knowledge or the relief of sorrow and suffering.
And it chanced that the direction of my scientific studies, which led wholly
towards the mystic and the transcendental, reacted and shed a strong light on this
consciousness of the perennial war among my members.
With every day, and from both sides of my intelligence, the moral and the
intellectual, I thus drew steadily nearer to that truth, by whose partial discovery I
have been doomed to such a dreadful
shipwreck: that man is not truly one, but truly two.
I say two, because the state of my own knowledge does not pass beyond that point.
Others will follow, others will outstrip me on the same lines; and I hazard the guess
that man will be ultimately known for a mere polity of multifarious, incongruous
and independent denizens.
I, for my part, from the nature of my life, advanced infallibly in one direction and in
one direction only.
It was on the moral side, and in my own person, that I learned to recognise the
thorough and primitive duality of man; I saw that, of the two natures that contended
in the field of my consciousness, even if I
could rightly be said to be either, it was only because I was radically both; and from
an early date, even before the course of my scientific discoveries had begun to suggest
the most naked possibility of such a
miracle, I had learned to dwell with pleasure, as a beloved daydream, on the
thought of the separation of these elements.
If each, I told myself, could be housed in separate identities, life would be relieved
of all that was unbearable; the unjust might go his way, delivered from the
aspirations and remorse of his more upright
twin; and the just could walk steadfastly and securely on his upward path, doing the
good things in which he found his pleasure, and no longer exposed to disgrace and
penitence by the hands of this extraneous evil.
It was the curse of mankind that these incongruous faggots were thus bound
together--that in the agonised womb of consciousness, these polar twins should be
continuously struggling.
How, then were they dissociated? I was so far in my reflections when, as I
have said, a side light began to shine upon the subject from the laboratory table.
I began to perceive more deeply than it has ever yet been stated, the trembling
immateriality, the mistlike transience, of this seemingly so solid body in which we
walk attired.
Certain agents I found to have the power to shake and pluck back that fleshly vestment,
even as a wind might toss the curtains of a pavilion.
For two good reasons, I will not enter deeply into this scientific branch of my
First, because I have been made to learn that the doom and burthen of our life is
bound for ever on man's shoulders, and when the attempt is made to cast it off, it but
returns upon us with more unfamiliar and more awful pressure.
Second, because, as my narrative will make, alas! too evident, my discoveries were
Enough then, that I not only recognised my natural body from the mere aura and
effulgence of certain of the powers that made up my spirit, but managed to compound
a drug by which these powers should be
dethroned from their supremacy, and a second form and countenance substituted,
none the less natural to me because they were the expression, and bore the stamp of
lower elements in my soul.
I hesitated long before I put this theory to the test of practice.
I knew well that I risked death; for any drug that so potently controlled and shook
the very fortress of identity, might, by the least scruple of an overdose or at the
least inopportunity in the moment of
exhibition, utterly blot out that immaterial tabernacle which I looked to it
to change.
But the temptation of a discovery so singular and profound at last overcame the
suggestions of alarm.
I had long since prepared my tincture; I purchased at once, from a firm of wholesale
chemists, a large quantity of a particular salt which I knew, from my experiments, to
be the last ingredient required; and late
one accursed night, I compounded the elements, watched them boil and smoke
together in the glass, and when the ebullition had subsided, with a strong glow
of courage, drank off the potion.
The most racking pangs succeeded: a grinding in the bones, deadly nausea, and a
horror of the spirit that cannot be exceeded at the hour of birth or death.
Then these agonies began swiftly to subside, and I came to myself as if out of
a great sickness.
There was something strange in my sensations, something indescribably new
and, from its very novelty, incredibly sweet.
I felt younger, lighter, happier in body; within I was conscious of a heady
recklessness, a current of disordered sensual images running like a millrace in
my fancy, a solution of the bonds of
obligation, an unknown but not an innocent freedom of the soul.
I knew myself, at the first breath of this new life, to be more wicked, tenfold more
wicked, sold a slave to my original evil; and the thought, in that moment, braced and
delighted me like wine.
I stretched out my hands, exulting in the freshness of these sensations; and in the
act, I was suddenly aware that I had lost in stature.
There was no mirror, at that date, in my room; that which stands beside me as I
write, was brought there later on and for the very purpose of these transformations.
The night however, was far gone into the morning--the morning, black as it was, was
nearly ripe for the conception of the day-- the inmates of my house were locked in the
most rigorous hours of slumber; and I
determined, flushed as I was with hope and triumph, to venture in my new shape as far
as to my bedroom.
I crossed the yard, wherein the constellations looked down upon me, I could
have thought, with wonder, the first creature of that sort that their unsleeping
vigilance had yet disclosed to them; I
stole through the corridors, a stranger in my own house; and coming to my room, I saw
for the first time the appearance of Edward Hyde.
I must here speak by theory alone, saying not that which I know, but that which I
suppose to be most probable.
The evil side of my nature, to which I had now transferred the stamping efficacy, was
less robust and less developed than the good which I had just deposed.
Again, in the course of my life, which had been, after all, nine tenths a life of
effort, virtue and control, it had been much less exercised and much less
And hence, as I think, it came about that Edward Hyde was so much smaller, slighter
and younger than Henry Jekyll.
Even as good shone upon the countenance of the one, evil was written broadly and
plainly on the face of the other.
Evil besides (which I must still believe to be the lethal side of man) had left on that
body an imprint of deformity and decay.
And yet when I looked upon that ugly idol in the glass, I was conscious of no
repugnance, rather of a leap of welcome. This, too, was myself.
It seemed natural and human.
In my eyes it bore a livelier image of the spirit, it seemed more express and single,
than the imperfect and divided countenance I had been hitherto accustomed to call
And in so far I was doubtless right. I have observed that when I wore the
semblance of Edward Hyde, none could come near to me at first without a visible
misgiving of the flesh.
This, as I take it, was because all human beings, as we meet them, are commingled out
of good and evil: and Edward Hyde, alone in the ranks of mankind, was pure evil.
I lingered but a moment at the mirror: the second and conclusive experiment had yet to
be attempted; it yet remained to be seen if I had lost my identity beyond redemption
and must flee before daylight from a house
that was no longer mine; and hurrying back to my cabinet, I once more prepared and
drank the cup, once more suffered the pangs of dissolution, and came to myself once
more with the character, the stature and the face of Henry Jekyll.
That night I had come to the fatal cross- roads.
Had I approached my discovery in a more noble spirit, had I risked the experiment
while under the empire of generous or pious aspirations, all must have been otherwise,
and from these agonies of death and birth,
I had come forth an angel instead of a fiend.
The drug had no discriminating action; it was neither diabolical nor divine; it but
shook the doors of the prisonhouse of my disposition; and like the captives of
Philippi, that which stood within ran forth.
At that time my virtue slumbered; my evil, kept awake by ambition, was alert and swift
to seize the occasion; and the thing that was projected was Edward Hyde.
Hence, although I had now two characters as well as two appearances, one was wholly
evil, and the other was still the old Henry Jekyll, that incongruous compound of whose
reformation and improvement I had already learned to despair.
The movement was thus wholly toward the worse.
Even at that time, I had not conquered my aversions to the dryness of a life of
I would still be merrily disposed at times; and as my pleasures were (to say the least)
undignified, and I was not only well known and highly considered, but growing towards
the elderly man, this incoherency of my life was daily growing more unwelcome.
It was on this side that my new power tempted me until I fell in slavery.
I had but to drink the cup, to doff at once the body of the noted professor, and to
assume, like a thick cloak, that of Edward Hyde.
I smiled at the notion; it seemed to me at the time to be humourous; and I made my
preparations with the most studious care.
I took and furnished that house in Soho, to which Hyde was tracked by the police; and
engaged as a housekeeper a creature whom I knew well to be silent and unscrupulous.
On the other side, I announced to my servants that a Mr. Hyde (whom I described)
was to have full liberty and power about my house in the square; and to parry mishaps,
I even called and made myself a familiar object, in my second character.
I next drew up that will to which you so much objected; so that if anything befell
me in the person of Dr. Jekyll, I could enter on that of Edward Hyde without
pecuniary loss.
And thus fortified, as I supposed, on every side, I began to profit by the strange
immunities of my position.
Men have before hired bravos to transact their crimes, while their own person and
reputation sat under shelter. I was the first that ever did so for his
I was the first that could plod in the public eye with a load of genial
respectability, and in a moment, like a schoolboy, strip off these lendings and
spring headlong into the sea of liberty.
But for me, in my impenetrable mantle, the safety was complete.
Think of it--I did not even exist!
Let me but escape into my laboratory door, give me but a second or two to mix and
swallow the draught that I had always standing ready; and whatever he had done,
Edward Hyde would pass away like the stain
of breath upon a mirror; and there in his stead, quietly at home, trimming the
midnight lamp in his study, a man who could afford to laugh at suspicion, would be
Henry Jekyll.
The pleasures which I made haste to seek in my disguise were, as I have said,
undignified; I would scarce use a harder term.
But in the hands of Edward Hyde, they soon began to turn toward the monstrous.
When I would come back from these excursions, I was often plunged into a kind
of wonder at my vicarious depravity.
This familiar that I called out of my own soul, and sent forth alone to do his good
pleasure, was a being inherently malign and villainous; his every act and thought
centered on self; drinking pleasure with
bestial avidity from any degree of torture to another; relentless like a man of stone.
Henry Jekyll stood at times aghast before the acts of Edward Hyde; but the situation
was apart from ordinary laws, and insidiously relaxed the grasp of
It was Hyde, after all, and Hyde alone, that was guilty.
Jekyll was no worse; he woke again to his good qualities seemingly unimpaired; he
would even make haste, where it was possible, to undo the evil done by Hyde.
And thus his conscience slumbered.
Into the details of the infamy at which I thus connived (for even now I can scarce
grant that I committed it) I have no design of entering; I mean but to point out the
warnings and the successive steps with which my chastisement approached.
I met with one accident which, as it brought on no consequence, I shall no more
than mention.
An act of cruelty to a child aroused against me the anger of a passer-by, whom I
recognised the other day in the person of your kinsman; the doctor and the child's
family joined him; there were moments when
I feared for my life; and at last, in order to pacify their too just resentment, Edward
Hyde had to bring them to the door, and pay them in a cheque drawn in the name of Henry
But this danger was easily eliminated from the future, by opening an account at
another bank in the name of Edward Hyde himself; and when, by sloping my own hand
backward, I had supplied my double with a
signature, I thought I sat beyond the reach of fate.
Some two months before the murder of Sir Danvers, I had been out for one of my
adventures, had returned at a late hour, and woke the next day in bed with somewhat
odd sensations.
It was in vain I looked about me; in vain I saw the decent furniture and tall
proportions of my room in the square; in vain that I recognised the pattern of the
bed curtains and the design of the mahogany
frame; something still kept insisting that I was not where I was, that I had not
wakened where I seemed to be, but in the little room in Soho where I was accustomed
to sleep in the body of Edward Hyde.
I smiled to myself, and in my psychological way, began lazily to inquire into the
elements of this illusion, occasionally, even as I did so, dropping back into a
comfortable morning doze.
I was still so engaged when, in one of my more wakeful moments, my eyes fell upon my
Now the hand of Henry Jekyll (as you have often remarked) was professional in shape
and size: it was large, firm, white and comely.
But the hand which I now saw, clearly enough, in the yellow light of a mid-London
morning, lying half shut on the bedclothes, was lean, corder, knuckly, of a dusky
pallor and thickly shaded with a swart growth of hair.
It was the hand of Edward Hyde.
I must have stared upon it for near half a minute, sunk as I was in the mere stupidity
of wonder, before terror woke up in my breast as sudden and startling as the crash
of cymbals; and bounding from my bed I rushed to the mirror.
At the sight that met my eyes, my blood was changed into something exquisitely thin and
Yes, I had gone to bed Henry Jekyll, I had awakened Edward Hyde.
How was this to be explained? I asked myself; and then, with another
bound of terror--how was it to be remedied?
It was well on in the morning; the servants were up; all my drugs were in the cabinet--
a long journey down two pairs of stairs, through the back passage, across the open
court and through the anatomical theatre,
from where I was then standing horror- struck.
It might indeed be possible to cover my face; but of what use was that, when I was
unable to conceal the alteration in my stature?
And then with an overpowering sweetness of relief, it came back upon my mind that the
servants were already used to the coming and going of my second self.
I had soon dressed, as well as I was able, in clothes of my own size: had soon passed
through the house, where Bradshaw stared and drew back at seeing Mr. Hyde at such an
hour and in such a strange array; and ten
minutes later, Dr. Jekyll had returned to his own shape and was sitting down, with a
darkened brow, to make a feint of breakfasting.
Small indeed was my appetite.
This inexplicable incident, this reversal of my previous experience, seemed, like the
Babylonian finger on the wall, to be spelling out the letters of my judgment;
and I began to reflect more seriously than
ever before on the issues and possibilities of my double existence.
That part of me which I had the power of projecting, had lately been much exercised
and nourished; it had seemed to me of late as though the body of Edward Hyde had grown
in stature, as though (when I wore that
form) I were conscious of a more generous tide of blood; and I began to spy a danger
that, if this were much prolonged, the balance of my nature might be permanently
overthrown, the power of voluntary change
be forfeited, and the character of Edward Hyde become irrevocably mine.
The power of the drug had not been always equally displayed.
Once, very early in my career, it had totally failed me; since then I had been
obliged on more than one occasion to double, and once, with infinite risk of
death, to treble the amount; and these rare
uncertainties had cast hitherto the sole shadow on my contentment.
Now, however, and in the light of that morning's accident, I was led to remark
that whereas, in the beginning, the difficulty had been to throw off the body
of Jekyll, it had of late gradually but
decidedly transferred itself to the other side.
All things therefore seemed to point to this; that I was slowly losing hold of my
original and better self, and becoming slowly incorporated with my second and
Between these two, I now felt I had to choose.
My two natures had memory in common, but all other faculties were most unequally
shared between them.
Jekyll (who was composite) now with the most sensitive apprehensions, now with a
greedy gusto, projected and shared in the pleasures and adventures of Hyde; but Hyde
was indifferent to Jekyll, or but
remembered him as the mountain bandit remembers the cavern in which he conceals
himself from pursuit. Jekyll had more than a father's interest;
Hyde had more than a son's indifference.
To cast in my lot with Jekyll, was to die to those appetites which I had long
secretly indulged and had of late begun to pamper.
To cast it in with Hyde, was to die to a thousand interests and aspirations, and to
become, at a blow and forever, despised and friendless.
The bargain might appear unequal; but there was still another consideration in the
scales; for while Jekyll would suffer smartingly in the fires of abstinence, Hyde
would be not even conscious of all that he had lost.
Strange as my circumstances were, the terms of this debate are as old and commonplace
as man; much the same inducements and alarms cast the die for any tempted and
trembling sinner; and it fell out with me,
as it falls with so vast a majority of my fellows, that I chose the better part and
was found wanting in the strength to keep to it.
Yes, I preferred the elderly and discontented doctor, surrounded by friends
and cherishing honest hopes; and bade a resolute farewell to the liberty, the
comparative youth, the light step, leaping
impulses and secret pleasures, that I had enjoyed in the disguise of Hyde.
I made this choice perhaps with some unconscious reservation, for I neither gave
up the house in Soho, nor destroyed the clothes of Edward Hyde, which still lay
ready in my cabinet.
For two months, however, I was true to my determination; for two months, I led a life
of such severity as I had never before attained to, and enjoyed the compensations
of an approving conscience.
But time began at last to obliterate the freshness of my alarm; the praises of
conscience began to grow into a thing of course; I began to be tortured with throes
and longings, as of Hyde struggling after
freedom; and at last, in an hour of moral weakness, I once again compounded and
swallowed the transforming draught.
I do not suppose that, when a drunkard reasons with himself upon his vice, he is
once out of five hundred times affected by the dangers that he runs through his
brutish, physical insensibility; neither
had I, long as I had considered my position, made enough allowance for the
complete moral insensibility and insensate readiness to evil, which were the leading
characters of Edward Hyde.
Yet it was by these that I was punished. My devil had been long caged, he came out
I was conscious, even when I took the draught, of a more unbridled, a more
furious propensity to ill.
It must have been this, I suppose, that stirred in my soul that tempest of
impatience with which I listened to the civilities of my unhappy victim; I declare,
at least, before God, no man morally sane
could have been guilty of that crime upon so pitiful a provocation; and that I struck
in no more reasonable spirit than that in which a sick child may break a plaything.
But I had voluntarily stripped myself of all those balancing instincts by which even
the worst of us continues to walk with some degree of steadiness among temptations; and
in my case, to be tempted, however slightly, was to fall.
Instantly the spirit of hell awoke in me and raged.
With a transport of glee, I mauled the unresisting body, tasting delight from
every blow; and it was not till weariness had begun to succeed, that I was suddenly,
in the top fit of my delirium, struck
through the heart by a cold thrill of terror.
A mist dispersed; I saw my life to be forfeit; and fled from the scene of these
excesses, at once glorying and trembling, my lust of evil gratified and stimulated,
my love of life screwed to the topmost peg.
I ran to the house in Soho, and (to make assurance doubly sure) destroyed my papers;
thence I set out through the lamplit streets, in the same divided ecstasy of
mind, gloating on my crime, light-headedly
devising others in the future, and yet still hastening and still hearkening in my
wake for the steps of the avenger.
Hyde had a song upon his lips as he compounded the draught, and as he drank it,
pledged the dead man.
The pangs of transformation had not done tearing him, before Henry Jekyll, with
streaming tears of gratitude and remorse, had fallen upon his knees and lifted his
clasped hands to God.
The veil of self-indulgence was rent from head to foot.
I saw my life as a whole: I followed it up from the days of childhood, when I had
walked with my father's hand, and through the self-denying toils of my professional
life, to arrive again and again, with the
same sense of unreality, at the damned horrors of the evening.
I could have screamed aloud; I sought with tears and prayers to smother down the crowd
of hideous images and sounds with which my memory swarmed against me; and still,
between the petitions, the ugly face of my iniquity stared into my soul.
As the acuteness of this remorse began to die away, it was succeeded by a sense of
The problem of my conduct was solved.
Hyde was thenceforth impossible; whether I would or not, I was now confined to the
better part of my existence; and O, how I rejoiced to think of it! with what willing
humility I embraced anew the restrictions
of natural life! with what sincere renunciation I locked the door by which I
had so often gone and come, and ground the key under my heel!
The next day, came the news that the murder had not been overlooked, that the guilt of
Hyde was patent to the world, and that the victim was a man high in public estimation.
It was not only a crime, it had been a tragic folly.
I think I was glad to know it; I think I was glad to have my better impulses thus
buttressed and guarded by the terrors of the scaffold.
Jekyll was now my city of refuge; let but Hyde peep out an instant, and the hands of
all men would be raised to take and slay him.
I resolved in my future conduct to redeem the past; and I can say with honesty that
my resolve was fruitful of some good.
You know yourself how earnestly, in the last months of the last year, I laboured to
relieve suffering; you know that much was done for others, and that the days passed
quietly, almost happily for myself.
Nor can I truly say that I wearied of this beneficent and innocent life; I think
instead that I daily enjoyed it more completely; but I was still cursed with my
duality of purpose; and as the first edge
of my penitence wore off, the lower side of me, so long indulged, so recently chained
down, began to growl for licence.
Not that I dreamed of resuscitating Hyde; the bare idea of that would startle me to
frenzy: no, it was in my own person that I was once more tempted to trifle with my
conscience; and it was as an ordinary
secret sinner that I at last fell before the assaults of temptation.
There comes an end to all things; the most capacious measure is filled at last; and
this brief condescension to my evil finally destroyed the balance of my soul.
And yet I was not alarmed; the fall seemed natural, like a return to the old days
before I had made my discovery.
It was a fine, clear, January day, wet under foot where the frost had melted, but
cloudless overhead; and the Regent's Park was full of winter chirrupings and sweet
with spring odours.
I sat in the sun on a bench; the animal within me licking the chops of memory; the
spiritual side a little drowsed, promising subsequent penitence, but not yet moved to
After all, I reflected, I was like my neighbours; and then I smiled, comparing
myself with other men, comparing my active good-will with the lazy cruelty of their
And at the very moment of that vainglorious thought, a qualm came over me, a horrid
nausea and the most deadly shuddering.
These passed away, and left me faint; and then as in its turn faintness subsided, I
began to be aware of a change in the temper of my thoughts, a greater boldness, a
contempt of danger, a solution of the bonds of obligation.
I looked down; my clothes hung formlessly on my shrunken limbs; the hand that lay on
my knee was corded and hairy.
I was once more Edward Hyde.
A moment before I had been safe of all men's respect, wealthy, beloved--the cloth
laying for me in the dining-room at home; and now I was the common quarry of mankind,
hunted, houseless, a known murderer, thrall to the gallows.
My reason wavered, but it did not fail me utterly.
I have more than once observed that in my second character, my faculties seemed
sharpened to a point and my spirits more tensely elastic; thus it came about that,
where Jekyll perhaps might have succumbed, Hyde rose to the importance of the moment.
My drugs were in one of the presses of my cabinet; how was I to reach them?
That was the problem that (crushing my temples in my hands) I set myself to solve.
The laboratory door I had closed. If I sought to enter by the house, my own
servants would consign me to the gallows.
I saw I must employ another hand, and thought of Lanyon.
How was he to be reached? how persuaded?
Supposing that I escaped capture in the streets, how was I to make my way into his
presence? and how should I, an unknown and displeasing visitor, prevail on the famous
physician to rifle the study of his colleague, Dr. Jekyll?
Then I remembered that of my original character, one part remained to me: I could
write my own hand; and once I had conceived that kindling spark, the way that I must
follow became lighted up from end to end.
Thereupon, I arranged my clothes as best I could, and summoning a passing hansom,
drove to an hotel in Portland Street, the name of which I chanced to remember.
At my appearance (which was indeed comical enough, however tragic a fate these
garments covered) the driver could not conceal his mirth.
I gnashed my teeth upon him with a gust of devilish fury; and the smile withered from
his face--happily for him--yet more happily for myself, for in another instant I had
certainly dragged him from his perch.
At the inn, as I entered, I looked about me with so black a countenance as made the
attendants tremble; not a look did they exchange in my presence; but obsequiously
took my orders, led me to a private room, and brought me wherewithal to write.
Hyde in danger of his life was a creature new to me; shaken with inordinate anger,
strung to the pitch of murder, lusting to inflict pain.
Yet the creature was astute; mastered his fury with a great effort of the will;
composed his two important letters, one to Lanyon and one to Poole; and that he might
receive actual evidence of their being
posted, sent them out with directions that they should be registered.
Thenceforward, he sat all day over the fire in the private room, gnawing his nails;
there he dined, sitting alone with his fears, the waiter visibly quailing before
his eye; and thence, when the night was
fully come, he set forth in the corner of a closed cab, and was driven to and fro about
the streets of the city. He, I say--I cannot say, I.
That child of Hell had nothing human; nothing lived in him but fear and hatred.
And when at last, thinking the driver had begun to grow suspicious, he discharged the
cab and ventured on foot, attired in his misfitting clothes, an object marked out
for observation, into the midst of the
nocturnal passengers, these two base passions raged within him like a tempest.
He walked fast, hunted by his fears, chattering to himself, skulking through the
less frequented thoroughfares, counting the minutes that still divided him from
Once a woman spoke to him, offering, I think, a box of lights.
He smote her in the face, and she fled.
When I came to myself at Lanyon's, the horror of my old friend perhaps affected me
somewhat: I do not know; it was at least but a drop in the sea to the abhorrence
with which I looked back upon these hours.
A change had come over me. It was no longer the fear of the gallows,
it was the horror of being Hyde that racked me.
I received Lanyon's condemnation partly in a dream; it was partly in a dream that I
came home to my own house and got into bed.
I slept after the prostration of the day, with a stringent and profound slumber which
not even the nightmares that wrung me could avail to break.
I awoke in the morning shaken, weakened, but refreshed.
I still hated and feared the thought of the brute that slept within me, and I had not
of course forgotten the appalling dangers of the day before; but I was once more at
home, in my own house and close to my
drugs; and gratitude for my escape shone so strong in my soul that it almost rivalled
the brightness of hope.
I was stepping leisurely across the court after breakfast, drinking the chill of the
air with pleasure, when I was seized again with those indescribable sensations that
heralded the change; and I had but the time
to gain the shelter of my cabinet, before I was once again raging and freezing with the
passions of Hyde.
It took on this occasion a double dose to recall me to myself; and alas! six hours
after, as I sat looking sadly in the fire, the pangs returned, and the drug had to be
In short, from that day forth it seemed only by a great effort as of gymnastics,
and only under the immediate stimulation of the drug, that I was able to wear the
countenance of Jekyll.
At all hours of the day and night, I would be taken with the premonitory shudder;
above all, if I slept, or even dozed for a moment in my chair, it was always as Hyde
that I awakened.
Under the strain of this continually impending doom and by the sleeplessness to
which I now condemned myself, ay, even beyond what I had thought possible to man,
I became, in my own person, a creature
eaten up and emptied by fever, languidly weak both in body and mind, and solely
occupied by one thought: the horror of my other self.
But when I slept, or when the virtue of the medicine wore off, I would leap almost
without transition (for the pangs of transformation grew daily less marked) into
the possession of a fancy brimming with
images of terror, a soul boiling with causeless hatreds, and a body that seemed
not strong enough to contain the raging energies of life.
The powers of Hyde seemed to have grown with the sickliness of Jekyll.
And certainly the hate that now divided them was equal on each side.
With Jekyll, it was a thing of vital instinct.
He had now seen the full deformity of that creature that shared with him some of the
phenomena of consciousness, and was co-heir with him to death: and beyond these links
of community, which in themselves made the
most poignant part of his distress, he thought of Hyde, for all his energy of
life, as of something not only hellish but inorganic.
This was the shocking thing; that the slime of the pit seemed to utter cries and
voices; that the amorphous dust gesticulated and sinned; that what was
dead, and had no shape, should usurp the offices of life.
And this again, that that insurgent horror was knit to him closer than a wife, closer
than an eye; lay caged in his flesh, where he heard it mutter and felt it struggle to
be born; and at every hour of weakness, and
in the confidence of slumber, prevailed against him, and deposed him out of life.
The hatred of Hyde for Jekyll was of a different order.
His terror of the gallows drove him continually to commit temporary suicide,
and return to his subordinate station of a part instead of a person; but he loathed
the necessity, he loathed the despondency
into which Jekyll was now fallen, and he resented the dislike with which he was
himself regarded.
Hence the ape-like tricks that he would play me, scrawling in my own hand
blasphemies on the pages of my books, burning the letters and destroying the
portrait of my father; and indeed, had it
not been for his fear of death, he would long ago have ruined himself in order to
involve me in the ruin.
But his love of me is wonderful; I go further: I, who sicken and freeze at the
mere thought of him, when I recall the abjection and passion of this attachment,
and when I know how he fears my power to
cut him off by suicide, I find it in my heart to pity him.
It is useless, and the time awfully fails me, to prolong this description; no one has
ever suffered such torments, let that suffice; and yet even to these, habit
brought--no, not alleviation--but a certain
callousness of soul, a certain acquiescence of despair; and my punishment might have
gone on for years, but for the last calamity which has now fallen, and which
has finally severed me from my own face and nature.
My provision of the salt, which had never been renewed since the date of the first
experiment, began to run low.
I sent out for a fresh supply and mixed the draught; the ebullition followed, and the
first change of colour, not the second; I drank it and it was without efficiency.
You will learn from Poole how I have had London ransacked; it was in vain; and I am
now persuaded that my first supply was impure, and that it was that unknown
impurity which lent efficacy to the draught.
About a week has passed, and I am now finishing this statement under the
influence of the last of the old powders.
This, then, is the last time, short of a miracle, that Henry Jekyll can think his
own thoughts or see his own face (now how sadly altered!) in the glass.
Nor must I delay too long to bring my writing to an end; for if my narrative has
hitherto escaped destruction, it has been by a combination of great prudence and
great good luck.
Should the throes of change take me in the act of writing it, Hyde will tear it in
pieces; but if some time shall have elapsed after I have laid it by, his wonderful
selfishness and circumscription to the
moment will probably save it once again from the action of his ape-like spite.
And indeed the doom that is closing on us both has already changed and crushed him.
Half an hour from now, when I shall again and forever reindue that hated personality,
I know how I shall sit shuddering and weeping in my chair, or continue, with the
most strained and fearstruck ecstasy of
listening, to pace up and down this room (my last earthly refuge) and give ear to
every sound of menace.
Will Hyde die upon the scaffold? or will he find courage to release himself at the last
God knows; I am careless; this is my true hour of death, and what is to follow
concerns another than myself.
Here then, as I lay down the pen and proceed to seal up my confession, I bring
the life of that unhappy Henry Jekyll to an end.