Placeholder Image

字幕表 動画を再生する

  • STORY OF THE DOOR

  • Mr. Utterson the lawyer was a man of a rugged countenance that was never lighted by a smile;

  • cold, scanty and embarrassed in discourse; backward in sentiment; lean, long, dusty,

  • dreary and yet somehow lovable.

  • At friendly meetings, and when the wine was to his taste, something eminently human beaconed

  • from his eye; something indeed which never found its way into his talk, but which spoke

  • not only in these silent symbols of the after-dinner face, but more often and loudly in the acts

  • of his life.

  • He was austere with himself; drank gin when he was alone, to mortify a taste for vintages;

  • and though he enjoyed the theatre, had not crossed the doors of one for twenty years.

  • But he had an approved tolerance for others; sometimes wondering, almost with envy, at

  • the high pressure of spirits involved in their misdeeds; and in any extremity inclined to

  • help rather than to reprove.

  • "I incline to Cain's heresy," he used to say quaintly: "I let my brother go to the devil

  • in his own way."

  • In this character, it was frequently his fortune to be the last reputable acquaintance and

  • the last good influence in the lives of downgoing men.

  • And to such as these, so long as they came about his chambers, he never marked a shade

  • of change in his demeanour.

  • No doubt the feat was easy to Mr. Utterson; for he was undemonstrative at the best, and

  • even his friendship seemed to be founded in a similar catholicity of good-nature.

  • It is the mark of a modest man to accept his friendly circle ready-made from the hands

  • of opportunity; and that was the lawyer's way.

  • His friends were those of his own blood or those whom he had known the longest; his affections,

  • like ivy, were the growth of time, they implied no aptness in the object.

  • Hence, no doubt the bond that united him to Mr. Richard Enfield, his distant kinsman,

  • the well-known man about town.

  • It was a nut to crack for many, what these two could see in each other, or what subject

  • they could find in common.

  • It was reported by those who encountered them in their Sunday walks, that they said nothing,

  • looked singularly dull and would hail with obvious relief the appearance of a friend.

  • For all that, the two men put the greatest store by these excursions, counted them the

  • chief jewel of each week, and not only set aside occasions of pleasure, but even resisted

  • the calls of business, that they might enjoy them uninterrupted.

  • 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 weekdays.

  • 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 distained.

  • 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 asleepóstreet after street, all lighted up as if for a procession

  • and all as empty as a churchótill 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 coolnessófrightened too, I could see thatóbut 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 doorwhipped 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 genuine.

  • 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. Enfield.

  • "But I happen to have noticed his address; he lives in some square or other."

  • "And you never asked about theóplace 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 ask."

  • "A very good rule, too," said the lawyer.

  • "But I have studied the place for myself," continued Mr. Enfield.

  • "It seems scarcely a house.

  • There is no other door, and nobody goes in or out of that one but, once in a great while,

  • the gentleman of my adventure.

  • There are three windows looking on the court on the first floor; none below; the windows

  • are always shut but they're clean.

  • And then there is a chimney which is generally smoking; so somebody must live there.

  • And yet it's not so sure; for the buildings are so packed together about 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 consideration.

  • "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

  • already.

  • 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."

  • SEARCH FOR MR.

  • HYDE

  • 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 contents.

  • 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 wine.

  • 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 hisóone 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

  • pictures.

  • 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 examined.

  • 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 shops.

  • In the morning before office hours, at noon when business was plenty, and time scarce,

  • at night under the face of the fogged city moon, by all lights and at all hours of solitude

  • or concourse, the lawyer was to be found on his chosen post.

  • "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'sóMr.

  • Utterson of Gaunt Streetóyou must have heard of my name; and meeting you so conveniently,

  • I thought you might admit me."

  • "You will not find Dr. Jekyll; he is from home," replied Mr. Hyde, blowing in the key.

  • And then suddenly, but still without looking up, "How did you know me?" he asked.

  • "On your side," said Mr. Utterson "will you do me a favour?"

  • "With pleasure," replied the other.

  • "What shall it be?"

  • "Will you let me see your face?" asked the lawyer.

  • Mr. Hyde appeared to hesitate, and then, as if upon some sudden reflection, fronted about

  • with an air of defiance; and the pair stared at each other pretty fixedly for a few seconds.

  • "Now I shall know you again," said Mr. Utterson.

  • "It may be useful."

  • "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 address.

  • "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 solved.

  • 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-room?"

  • "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 wheelóif 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.

  • DR.

  • JEKYLL WAS QUITE AT EASE

  • 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 fireóa large, well-made, smooth-faced man of fifty, with something of a stylish

  • cast perhaps, but every mark of capacity and kindnessóyou 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 fellowóyou needn't frownóan excellent fellow, and I always mean

  • to see more of him; but a hide-bound pedant for all that; an ignorant, blatant pedant.

  • I was never more disappointed in any man than Lanyon."

  • "You know I never approved of it," pursued Utterson, ruthlessly disregarding the fresh

  • topic.

  • "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 strangeóa 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 it."

  • "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."

STORY OF THE DOOR

字幕と単語

ワンタップで英和辞典検索 単語をクリックすると、意味が表示されます

B1 中級

Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde - R.L. Stevenson Chapters 1-3 [captions](Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde - R.L. Stevenson Chapters 1-3 [captions])

  • 17 0
    林宜悉 に公開 2023 年 07 月 24 日
動画の中の単語