(1736�1796) claimed to have translated from the Macpherson. Gaelic writings of Ossian, a 3rd-century poet-2. Susceptibility to emotional influence. warrior figure in traditional Irish folklore. A com-3. Especially. mittee of scholars appointed in 1797 determined 4. The name given by the Romans to a Celtic peothat the prose poems were largely composed by ple living in modern-day France.
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FROUDE: THE ENGLISH IN THE WEST INDIES / 1621
volume of intestines, must appear, no doubt, horrible; but yet has it not an udacious, sparkling, immaterial manner with it, which lifts one out of routine, and sets one's spirits in a glow?
All tendencies of human nature are in themselves vital and profitable; when they are blamed, they are only to be blamed relatively, not absolutely. This holds true of the Saxon's phlegm as well as of the Celt's sentiment. Out of the steady humdrum habit of the creeping Saxon, as the Celt calls him,�out of his way of going near the ground,�has come, no doubt, Philistinism,5 that plant of essentially Germanic growth, flourishing with its genuine marks only in the German fatherland, Great Britain and her colonies, and the United States of America; but what a soul of goodness there is in Philistinism itself! and this soul of goodness I, who am often supposed to be Philistinism's mortal enemy merely because I do not wish it to have things all its own way, cherish as much as anybody. This steady-going habit leads at last, as I have said, up to science, up to the comprehension and interpretation of the world. With us in Great Britain, it is true, it does not seem to lead so far as that; it is in Germany, where the habit is more unmixed, that it can lead to science. Here with us it seems at a certain point to meet with a conflicting force, which checks it and prevents its pushing on to science; but before reaching this point what conquests has it not won! and all the more, perhaps, for stopping short at this point, for spending its exertions within a bounded field, the field of plain sense, of direct practical utility. How it has augmented the comforts and conveniences of life for us! Doors that open, windows that shut, locks that turn, razors that shave, coats that wear, watches that go, and a thousand more such good things, are the invention of the Philistines.
$ $ *<
1867 5. A label Arnold repeatedly used for the attitude sees a resemblance to the biblical tribe who fought of the unenlightened middle classes of his time, in against the people of Israel, "the children of light." whose opposition to the defenders of culture he
JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE
The historian Froude (1818�1894) came to fame as the author of a twelve-volume History of England (1856�70) and the biography of his mentor, Thomas Carlyle (1882-1884). Inspired by his visits to South Africa to explore other parts of the empire, he toured British possessions in the Caribbean in the winter of 1886�87 and there gathered information for The English in the West Indies (1888), in which he expressed his belief that the colonies populated by nonwhite people were not suited to self-rule. In the following selection he focuses on his travels in Trinidad, a Caribbean island that passed from Spanish to British control near the end of the eighteenth century.
From The English in the West Indies
Trinidad is not one of our oldest possessions, but we had held it long enough for the old planter civilisation to take root and grow, and our road led us
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1622 / EMPIRE AND NATIONAL IDENTITY
through jungles of flowering shrubs which were running wild over what had been once cultivated estates. Stranger still (for one associates colonial life instinctively with what is new and modern), we came at one place on an avenue of vast trees, at the end of which stood the ruins of a mansion of some great man of the departed order. Great man he must have been, for there was a gateway half crumbled away on which were his crest and shield in stone, with supporters on either side, like the Baron of Bradwardine's Bears;' fallen now like them, but unlike them never, I fear, to be set up again. The Anglo-West Indians, like the English gentry in Ireland, were a fine race of men in their day, and perhaps the improving them off the earth has been a less beneficial process in either case than we are in the habit of supposing.
Entering among the hills we came on their successors. In Trinidad there are 18,000 freeholders, most of them negroes and representatives of the old slaves. Their cabins are spread along the road on either side, overhung with bread-fruit trees, tamarinds, calabash trees, out of which they make their cups and water jugs. The luscious granadilla climbs among the branches; plantains throw their cool shade over the doors; oranges and limes and citrons perfume the air, and droop their boughs under the weight of their golden burdens. There were yams in the gardens and cows in the paddocks, and cocoa bushes loaded with purple or yellow pods. Children played about in swarms, in happy idleness and abundance, with schools, too, at intervals, and an occasional Catholic chapel, for the old religion prevails in Trinidad, never having been disturbed. What form could human life assume more charming than that which we were now looking on? Once more, the earth does not contain any peasantry so well off, so well cared for, so happy, so sleek and contented as the sons and daughters of the emancipated slaves in the English West Indian Islands. Sugar may fail the planter, but cocoa, which each peasant can grow with small effort for himself, does not fail and will not. He may 'better his condition,' if he has any such ambition, without stirring beyond his own ground, and so far, perhaps, his ambition may extend, if it is not turned off upon politics. Even the necessary evils of the tropics are not many or serious. His skin is proof against mosquitoes. There are snakes in Trinidad as there were snakes in Eden. 'Plenty snakes,' said one of them who was at work in his garden, 'plenty snakes, but no bitee.' As to costume, he would prefer the costume of innocence if he was allowed. Clothes in such a climate are superfluous for warmth, and to the minds of the negroes, unconscious as they are of shame, superfluous for decency.
We made several similar small expeditions into the settled parts of the neighbourhood, seeing always (whatever else we saw) the boundless happiness of the black race. Under the rule of England in these islands the two million of these poor brothers-in-law of ours are the most perfectly contented specimens of the human race to be found upon the planet. Even Schopenhauer,2 could he have known them, would have admitted that there were some of us who were not hopelessly wretched. If happiness be the satisfaction of every conscious desire, theirs is a condition which admits of no improvement: were they
1. A reference to Sir Walter Scott's novel Waverley position by its end. (1814). The baron's battlements are adorned with 2. Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1860), German carved stone bears that are torn down during the philosopher who emphasized the tragedy of life. course of the novel and restored to their original
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FROUDE: THE ENGLISH IN THE WEST INDIES / 1623
independent, they might quarrel among themselves, and the weaker become the bondmen' of the stronger; under the beneficent despotism of the English Government, which knows no difference of colour and permits no oppression, they can sleep, lounge, and laugh away their lives as they please, fearing no danger. If they want money, work and wages are waiting for them. No one can say what may be before them hereafter. The powers which envy human beings too perfect felicity may find ways one day of disturbing the West Indian negro; but so long as the English rule continues, he may be assured of the same tranquil existence.
As life goes he has been a lucky mortal. He was taken away from Dahomey and Ashantee4�to be a slave indeed, but a slave to a less cruel master than he would have found at home. He had a bad time of it occasionally, and the plantation whip and the branding irons are not all dreams, yet his owner cared for him at least as much as he cared for his cows and his horses. Kind usage to animals is more economical than barbarity, and Englishmen in the West Indies were rarely inhuman. Lord Rodney5 says:
'I have been often in all the West India Islands, and I have often made my observations on the treatment of the negro slaves, and can aver that I never knew the least cruelty inflicted on them, but that in general they lived better than the honest day-labouring man in England, without doing a fourth part of his work in a day, and I am fully convinced that the negroes in our islands are better provided for and five better than when in Guinea.'6
Rodney, it is true, was a man of facts and was defective in sentiment. Let us suppose him wrong, let us believe the worst horrors of the slave trade or slave usage as fluent tongue of missionary or demagogue has described them, yet nevertheless, when we consider what the lot of common humanity has been and is, we shall be dishonest if we deny that the balance has been more than redressed; and the negroes who were taken away out of Africa, as compared with those who were left at home, were as the 'elect to salvation,'7 who after a brief purgatory are secured an eternity of blessedness. The one condition is the maintenance of the authority of the English crown. The whites of the islands cannot equitably rule them. They have not shaken off the old traditions. If, for the sake of theory or to shirk responsibility, we force them to govern themselves, the state of Hayti8 stands as a ghastly example of the condition into which they will then inevitably fall. If we persist, we shall be sinning against light�the clearest light that was ever given in such affairs. The most hardened believers in the regenerating effects of political liberty cannot be completely blind to the ruin which the infliction of it would necessarily bring upon the race for whose interests they pretend particularly to care.
1886-87
3. Bondsmen, slaves. 4. Also Asante, Ashanti (now part of Ghana), like Dahomey an area of western Africa that prospered in the 18th and 19th centuries and engaged in the slave trade. 5. George Brydges Rodney (1719-1792), British admiral who commanded several naval campaigns against Britain's rival colonial powers in the West Indies. 6. Region of western Africa involved in the slave trade until the middle of the 19th century (the 1888
transatlantic slave trade had been outlawed by Britain and the United States in 1807 and 1808, respectively).
7. Cf. 2 Thessalonians 2.13. In Calvinist Protestantism, the "elect" are those people chosen by God to be saved from eternal damnation. 8. Haiti, which gained its independence following a slave revolt that began in 1791. Through much of the 19th century, it experienced rapid and sometimes violent changes of leadership.
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1 1624
JOHN JACOB THOMAS
Thomas (ca. 1840�1889), a descendant of slaves, was born into poverty on the Caribbean island of Trinidad. Primarily a self-educated intellectual, he became a linguist, folklorist, teacher, civil servant, editor, and author. His Froudacity (1889) is a spirited book-length rebuttal of James Anthony Froude's English in the West Indies (1888), challenging its assumptions about the inferiority of nonwhite people and exposing its mistakes and its misrepresentations of his native land.
From Froudacity
From Social Revolution
Never was the Knight of La Mancha1 more convinced of his imaginary mission to redress the wrongs of the world than Mr. James Anthony Froude seems to be of his ability to alter the course of events, especially those bearing on the destinies of the Negro in the British West Indies. The doctrinaire style of his utterances, his sublime indifference as to what Negro opinion and feelings may be, on account of his revelations, are uniquely charming. In that portion of his book headed "Social Revolution" our author, with that mixture of frankness and cynicism which is so dear to the soul of the Rritish esprit fort1 of today, has challenged a comparison between British Colonial policy on the one hand, and the Colonial policy of France and Spain on the other. This he does with an evident recklessness that his approval of Spain and France involves a definite condemnation of his own country. However, let us hear him:�
"The English West Indies, like other parts of the world, are going through a silent revolution. Elsewhere the revolution, as we hope, is a transition state, a new birth; a passing away of what is old and worn out, that a fresh and healthier order may rise in its place. In the West Indies the most sanguine of mortals will find it difficult to entertain any such hope at all."
As Mr. Froude is speaking dogmatically here of his, or rather our, West Indies, let us hear him as he proceeds:�
"We have been a ruling power there for two hundred and fifty years; the whites whom we planted as our representatives are drifting into ruin, and they regard England and England's policy as the principal cause of it. The hlacks whom, in a fit of virtuous benevolence, we emancipated, do not feel particularly obliged to us. They think, if they think at all, that they were ill-treated originally, and have received no more than was due to them."
Thus far. Now, as to "the whites whom we planted as our representatives," and who, Mr. Froude avers, are drifting into ruin, we confess to a total ignorance of their whereabouts in these islands in this jubilee year of Negro Emancipation. 3 Of the representatives of Britain immediately before and after Emancipation we happen to know something, which, on the testimony of Englishmen, Mr. Froude will be made quite welcome to before our task is ended. With respect to Mr. Froude's statement as to the ingratitude of the emanci
1. Don Quixote, the title character of Miguel de 3. The fifty-year anniversary of the freeing of Cervantes's novel (1605, 1615), whose name be-slaves in the British West Indies. Slavery was abolcame synonymous with foolish, self-deluded ideal-ished in British colonial possessions in 1833, but ism. ex-slaves working on plantations were apprenticed 2. Freethinker (French). to their former owners until 1838.
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ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON / 162 5
pated Blacks, if it is aimed at the slaves who were actually set free, it is utterly untrue; for no class of persons, in their humble and artless way, are more attached to the Queen's majesty, whom they regard as incarnating in her gracious person the benevolence which Mr. Froude so jauntily scoffs at. But if our censor's remark under this head is intended for the present generation of Blacks, it is a pure and simple absurdity. What are we Negroes of the present day to be grateful for to the us, personified by Mr. Froude and the Colonial Office exportations? We really believe, from what we know of Englishmen, that very few indeed would regard Mr. Froude's reproach otherwise than as a palpable adding of insult to injury. Obliged to "us," indeed! Why, Mr. Froude, who speaks of us as dogs and horses, suggests that the same kindliness of treatment that secures the attachment of those noble brutes would have the same result in our case. With the same consistency that marks his utterances throughout his book, he tells his readers "that there is no original or congenital difference between the capacity of the White and the Negro races." He adds, too, significantly: "With the same chances and with the same treatment, I believe that distinguished men would be produced equally from both races." After this truthful testimony, which Pelion upon Ossa4 of evidence has confirmed, does Mr. Froude, in the fatuity of his skin-pride, believe that educated men, worthy of the name, would be otherwise than resentful, if not disgusted, at being shunted out of bread in their own native land, which their parents' labours and taxes have made desirable, in order to afford room to blockheads, vulgarians, or worse, imported from beyond the seas? Does Mr. Froude's scorn of the Negroes' skin extend, inconsistently on his part, to their intelligence and feelings also? And if so, what has the Negro to care�if let alone and not wantonly thwarted in his aspirations? It sounds queer, not to say unnatural and scandalous, that Englishmen should in these days of light be the champions of injustice towards their fellow-subjects, not for any intellectual or moral disqualification, but on the simple account of the darker skin of those who are to be assailed and thwarted in their life's career and aspirations. Really, are we to be grateful that the colour difference should be made the basis and justification of the dastardly denials of justice, social, intellectual, and moral, which have characterized the regime of those who Mr. Froude boasts were left to be the representatives of Britain's morality and fair play?
ft � �
1889
4. I.e., mountains. The proverbial phrase "to heap Olympus and threaten the gods by stacking one Ossa upon Pelion" derives from Greek mythology mountain on top of the other, and the unsuccessful attempt of the giants to scale ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON
In his capacity as poet laureate, Tennyson (1809�1892) was invited by Albert Edward, the Prince of Wales and Queen Victoria's eldest son, to write a poem for the opening of the Indian and Colonial Exhibition of 1886. It was one of numerous elaborately
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1626 / EMPIRE AND NATIONAL IDENTITY
staged and popular events�hosted by London after the success of the Great Exhibition in 1851�that made a spectacle of colonial products, crafts, and peoples for the British public. Tennyson's verses were set to music by Sir Arthur Sullivan (1842� 1900) and sung at the inaugural ceremony at the Albert Hall in the presence of the queen.
Opening of the Indian and Colonial Exhibition by the Queen
Written at the Request of the Prince of Wales
i
Welcome, welcome with one voice! In your welfare we rejoice, Sons and brothers that have sent, From isle and cape and continent,
s Produce of your field and flood. Mount and mine, and primal wood; Works of subtle brain and hand, And splendours of the morning land,� the East Gifts from every British zone;
io Britons, hold your own!1
II May we find, as ages run, The mother featured in the son; And may yours for ever be That old strength and constancy is Which has made your fathers great In our ancient island State, And wherever her flag fly, Glorying between sea and sky, Makes the might of Britain known; 20 Britons, hold your own!
III Britain fought her sons of yore� Britain fail'd; and never more, Careless of our growing kin, Shall we sin our fathers' sin, 25 Men that in a narrower day�
Unprophetic rulers they� Drove from out the mother's nest That young eagle of the West� United States
To forage for herself alone; 30 Britons, hold your own!
IV Sharers of our glorious past, Brothers, must we part at last? Shall we not thro' good and ill Cleave to one another still?
1. A phrase reminiscent of Tennyson's earlier "Britons, Guard Your Own" (1852), a poem that supported the formation of a militia against the threat of French forces.
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MUKHARJI: A VISIT TO EUROPE / 162 7
35 Britain's myriad voices call,
'Sons, be welded each and all,
Into one imperial whole,
One with Britain, heart and soul!
One life, one flag, one fleet, one Throne!'
40
Britons, hold your own!
1886
T. N. MUKHARJI Trailokya Nath Mukharji, a government official and Brahman (a member of the highest Hindu caste), traveled to England with the Indian delegation for the Indian and Colonial Exhibition of 1886. On his return home his impressions of the trip were serialized in a weekly Indian newspaper, and then reprinted in a book published in London and Calcutta. In the following selection Mukharji describes his experiences with, and observations of, the British.
From A Visit to Europe
[THE INDIAN AND COLONIAL EXHIBITION]
Another place of considerable interest to the natives of England was the Indian Bazar where Hindu and Muhammadan artisans carried on their avocations, to witness which men, women and children flocked from all parts of the kingdom. A dense crowd always stood there, looking at our men as they wove the gold brocade, sang the patterns of the carpet1 and printed the calico with the hand. They were as much astonished to see the Indians produce works of art with the aid of rude apparatus they themselves had discarded long ago, as a Hindu would be to see a chimpanzee officiating as a priest in a funeral ceremony and reading out Sanskrit texts from a palm leaf book spread before him. We were very interesting beings no doubt, so were the Zulus before us, and so is the Sioux chief at the present time (1887). Human nature everywhere thirsts for novelty, and measures out its favours in proportion to the rarity and oddity of a thing. It was from the ladies that we received the largest amount of patronage. We were pierced through and through by stares from eyes of all colours�green, gray, blue and black�and every movement and act of ours, walking, sitting, eating, reading, received its full share of "O, I, never!" The number of wives we left behind at home was also a constant theme of speculation among them, and shrewd guesses were sometimes made on this point, 250 being a favourite number. You could tell any amount of stories on this subject without exciting the slightest suspicion. Once, one of our number told a pretty waitress�"I am awfully pleased with you, and I want to marry you. Will you accept the fortieth wifeship in my household which became vacant just before I left my country?" She asked�"How many wives have you altogether?" "Two hundred and fifty, the usual number," was the ready answer.
1. When carpets are produced on handiooms, overseers sometimes sing out the number and color of each thread needed for the pattern; the weavers then repeat back the instructions in a chorus.
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162 8 / EMPIRE AND NATIONAL IDENTITY
"What became of your wife, number 40?" "I killed her, because one morning she could not cook my porridge well." The poor girl was horrified, and exclaimed�"O you monster, O you wretch!" Then she narrated the sad fate of a friend of hers. She was a sweet little child, when an African student studying in Edinburgh came and wooed her. They got married in England and fondly loved each other. Everything went well as long as the pair lived in England, but after a short time he took his fair wife to his desert home in Liberia. Not a single white man or woman could she see there, and she felt very lonely. But the sight of her mother-in-law, who dressed in feathers and skins came dancing into the house half-tipsy, was more than she could bear. She pined for a short time and died.
Of course, every nation in the world considers other nations as savages or at least much inferior to itself. It was so from the beginning and it will be so as long as human nature will retain its present character. We did not therefore wonder that the common people should take us for barbarians, awkward as we were in every respect. They have very strict notions of dress, manners and the general bearing of a man, any deviation from which is seriously noticed. Utmost indulgence was however shewn to us everywhere. Her Majesty was graciously pleased to lay aside the usual rules, and this favour was shewn us wherever we went. Gentlemen and ladies of high education and culture, however, honoured us as the representatives of the most ancient nation now existing on the face of the earth. They would frequently ask us home, get up private parties and arrange for all sorts of amusements. In other houses we grew more intimate and formed part of the family party. To these we were always welcome, and could go and come whenever we liked. We got some friends among them, and these gentlemen would often come and fetch us home if we absented ourselves for more than the ordinary length of time. I fondly remember the happy days I passed with them, and feel thankful for the kindness they shewed me during my sojourn in their country.
In public matters non-official gentlemen were also very partial to us. "We want to hear the turbanned gentleman" was the wish often and often expressed. But we ceased not to be a prodigious wonder to strangers and to the common people. Would they discuss us so freely if they knew that we understood their language? It was very amusing to hear what they said about us. Often when fatigued with work, or when cares and anxieties cast a gloom upon our mind, we found such talks about us more refreshing than a glass of port wine. I wish I had the ability to do justice to the discussing power of these ladies and gentlemen exercised in their kind notice of us, for in that case I could produce one of the most interesting books ever published. Or if I had known that I would be required to write an account of my visit to Europe, I would have taken notes of at least some of the remarkable hits on truth unconsciously made by ignorant people from the country, which are applicable to all nations and which set one to philosophise on the material difference that exists between our own estimate of ourselves and the estimate which others form of us.
If we were interesting beings in the eyes of the Londoners, who had oftener opportunities of seeing their fellow subjects from the far East, how much more would we be so to the simple villagers who came by thousands to see the wonders of the Exhibition. Their conduct towards us was always kind and respectful. They liked to talk to us, and whenever convenient we tried to satisfy their curiosity. Men, women and children, whose relations are in India serving as soldiers or in any other capacity, would come through the crowd, all panting,
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MUKHARJI: A VISIT TO EUROPE / 162 9
to shake hands with us and ask about their friends. Many queer incidents happened in this way. "Do you know Jim,�James Robinson you know of
Regiment?" asked a fat elderly woman, who one day came bustling through the crowd and took me by storm, without any of those preliminary manoeuvres usually adopted to open a conversation with a stranger. I expressed my regret in not having the honour of Jim's acquaintance. The good old lady then explained to me that she was Jim's aunt, and gave me a long history of her nephew, and the circumstances which led to his enlistment as a soldier. If the truant nephew lost the golden opportunity of sending through us his dutiful message to his aunt, she on her part was not wanting in her affectionate remembrances of him. Among other things, most of which I did not understand, for she did not speak the English we ordinarily hear nor was her language quite coherent at the time, she begged me to carry to Jim the important intelligence that Mrs. Jones' fat pig obtained a prize at the Smithfield Agricultural Show.2 I shewed my alacrity to carry the message right off to Jim in the wilds of Upper Burma by immediately taking leave of the lady, who joined her friends and explained to them that I was a bosom friend of her nephew.
Once, I was sitting in one of the swellish3 restaurants at the Exhibition, glancing over a newspaper which I had no time to read in the morning. At a neighbouring table sat a respectable-looking family group evidently from the country, from which furtive glances were occasionally thrown in my direction. I thought I might do worse than having a little fun, if any could be made out of the notice that was being taken of me. I seemed to be suddenly aware that I was being looked at, which immediately scared away half a dozen eyes from my table. It took fully five minutes' deep undivided attention to my paper again to reassure and tempt out those eyes from the plates where they took refuge, and the glances from them, which at first flashed and flickered like lightning, became steadier the more my mind seemed to get absorbed in the subject I was reading. The closer inspection to which I submitted ended in my favour. Perhaps, no symptom being visible in my external appearance of the cannibalistic tendencies of my heart, or owing probably to the notion that I must have by that time got over my partiality for human flesh, or knowing at least that the place was safe enough against any treacherous spring which I might take into my head to make upon them, or owing to whatever other cause, the party gradually grew bolder, began to talk in whispers and actually tried to attract my attention towards them. The latter duty ultimately devolved upon the beauty of the party, a pretty girl of about seventeen. Of course it was not intended for my ears, but somehow I heard her say�"Oh, how I wish to speak to him?" Could I withstand such an appeal? I rose and approaching the little Curiosity asked�"Did you speak to me, young lady?" She blushed and hung down her head. Her papa came to the rescue. "My daughter, Sir, is delighted with the magnificent things brought from your country to this Exhibition. She saw some writing in your language on a few plates and shields, and is anxious to know its meaning. We did not know whom to ask, when we saw you. Will you take a seat here, and do me the honour to take a glass of something with me? What will it be? Sparkling moselle?4 I find is good here; or shall it be champagne or anything stronger?" He said. The proferred glass was declined with thanks, but I took a chair and explained the meaning of some of the
2. Britain's most important agricultural event, 3. Stylish, held annually in London since 1799. 4. A white wine.
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1630 / EMPIRE AND NATIONAL IDENTITY
verses damascened on the Koftgari ware.5 The young lady soon got over her bashfulness, and talked with a vivacity which I did not expect from her. She was delighted with everything I said, expressed her astonishment at my knowledge of English, and complimented me for the performance of the band brought from my country, viz., the West Indian band composed of Negroes and Mulattos, which compliment made me wince a little, but nevertheless I went on chattering for a quarter of an hour and furnishing her with sufficient means to annihilate her friend Minnie, Jane or Lizzy or whoever she might be, and to brag among her less fortunate relations for six months to come of her having actually seen and talked to a genuine "Blackie."
# * #
1887 1889
5. Steel merchandise of Indian manufacture with an inlaid pattern in gold. JOSEPH CHAMBERLAIN
Chamberlain (1836�1914) was a manufacturer who made his fortune at the age of thirty-eight; he spent the rest of his life in politics, generally allying himself with radical causes. An enthusiastic promoter of imperial expansion and consolidation, he was appointed colonial secretary in 1895. The following selection is taken from a speech Chamberlain delivered in 1897 at the Royal Colonial Institute's annual dinner; published later that year in his Foreign and Colonial Speeches, the text records the frequent "cheers" and "laughter" and expressions of agreement ("hear, hear") that greeted his performance.
From The True Conception of Empire
It seems to me that there are three distinct stages in our Imperial history. We began to be, and we ultimately became, a great Imperial Power in the eighteenth century, but, during the greater part of that time, the colonies were regarded, not only by us, but by every European Power that possessed them, as possessions valuable in proportion to the pecuniary advantage which they brought to the mother country which, under that order of ideas, was not truly a mother at all, but appeared rather in the light of a grasping and absentee landlord desiring to take from his tenants the utmost rents he could exact. The colonies were valued and maintained because it was thought that they would be a source of profit�of direct profit�to the mother country.
That was the first stage, and when we were rudely awakened by the War of Independence in America from this dream, that the colonies could be held for our profit alone, the second chapter was entered upon, and public opinion seems then to have drifted to the opposite extreme; and, because the colonies were no longer a source of revenue, it seems to have been believed and argued by many people that their separation from us was only a matter of time, and that that separation should be desired and encouraged lest haply they might prove an encumbrance and a source of weakness.
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CHAMBERLAIN: THE TRUE CONCEPTION OF EMPIRE / 1631
It was while those views were still entertained, while the little Englanders1� (laughter)�were in their full career, that this Institute was founded to protest against doctrines so injurious to our interests�(cheers)�and so derogatory to our honour; and I rejoice that what was then, as it were, "a voice crying in the wilderness"2 is now the expressed and determined will of the overwhelming majority of the British people. (Loud cheers.) Partly by the efforts of this Institute and similar organisations, partly by the writings of such men as Froude and Seeley3�-(hear, hear)�but mainly by the instinctive good sense and patriotism of the people at large, we have now reached the third stage in our history, and the true conception of our Empire. (Cheers.)
What is that conception? As regards the self-governing colonies4 we no longer talk of them as dependencies. The sense of possession has given place to the sentiment of kinship. We think and speak of them as part of ourselves�(cheers)� as part of the British Empire, united to us, although they may be dispersed throughout the world, by ties of kindred, of religion, of history, and of language, and joined to us by the seas that formerly seemed to divide us. (Cheers.)
But the British Empire is not confined to the self-governing colonies and the United Kingdom. It includes a much greater area, a much more numerous population in tropical climes, where no considerable European settlement is possible, and where the native population must always vastly outnumber the white inhabitants; and in these cases also the same change has come over the Imperial idea. Here also the sense of possession has given place to a different sentiment�the sense of obligation. We feel now that our rule over these territories can only be justified if we can show that it adds to the happiness and prosperity of the people�(cheers)�and I maintain that our rule does, and has, brought security and peace and comparative prosperity to countries that never knew these blessings before. (Cheers.)
In carrying out this work of civilisation we are fulfilling what I believe to be our national mission, and we are finding scope for the exercise of those faculties and qualities which have made of us a great governing race. (Cheers.) I do not say that our success has been perfect in every case, 1 do not say that all our methods have been beyond reproach; but I do say that in almost every instance in which the rule of the Queen has been established and the great Pax Britannica5 has been enforced, there has come with it greater security to life and property, and a material improvement in the condition of the bulk of the population. (Cheers.) No doubt, in the first instance, when these conquests have been made, there has been bloodshed, there has been loss of life among the native populations, loss of still more precious lives among those who have been sent out to bring these countries into some kind of disciplined order, but it must be remembered that that is the condition of the mission we have to fulfil.
s $ $
* * * You cannot have omelettes without breaking eggs; you cannot destroy the practices of barbarism, of slavery, of superstition, which for centuries have
1. Critics of imperial expansion who advocated British Empire as a natural process. James sharply limiting the scope and responsibilities of Anthony Froude (1818-1894), English author and the British Empire. historian (see p. 1621). 2. Allusion to the Gospels, especially Matthew 4. Canada, New Zealand, Australia, and South 3.3; the phrase is usually interpreted as referring Africa. to John the Baptist's prophecies of the coming of 5. British peace (Latin), which the British Empire Jesus. supposedly imposed on its colonial possessions (by 3. Sir John Robert Seeley (1834-1895), English analogy with the pax Romana of the Roman historian, essayist, and author of The Expansion of Empire). England (1883), which portrays the growth of the
.
163 2 / EMPIRE AND NATIONAL IDENTITY
desolated the interior of Africa, without the use of force; but if you will fairly contrast the gain to humanity with the price which we are bound to pay for it, 1 think you may well rejoice in the result of such expeditions as those which have recently been conducted with such signal success�(cheers)�in Nyassaland, Ashanti, Benin, and Nupe6�expeditions which may have, and indeed have, cost valuable lives, but as to which we may rest assured that for one life lost a hundred will be gained, and the cause of civilisation and the prosperity of the people will in the long run be eminently advanced. (Cheers.) But no doubt such a state of things, such a mission as I have described, involve heavy responsibility. In the wide dominions of the Queen the doors of the temple of Janus7 are never closed�(hear, hear)�and it is a gigantic task that we have undertaken when we have determined to wield the sceptre of empire. Great is the task, great is the responsibility, but great is the honour�(cheers); and I am convinced that the conscience and the spirit of the country will rise to the height of its obligations, and that we shall have the strength to fulfil the mission which our history and our national character have imposed upon us. (Cheers.)
ft ft #
1897 1897
6. All areas of British exploration on the African incorporated into Nigeria; and Nupe, an area of continent during the last decades of the 19th cen-western Africa that is now part of Nigeria. tury: Nyassaland (or Nyasaland), a region of south-7. Twin-faced Roman god of doorways. The doors eastern Africa that constitutes modern-day to his temple near the Roman Forum were kept Malawi'; Ashanti (also Asante, Ashantee), a west-open during wartime and closed during times of ern African state located in the territory of present-peace. day Ghana; Benin, a state in western Africa later J. A. HOBSON John Atkinson Hobson (1858�1940), the distinguished Liberal economist and author,
first taught classics and then worked as a lecturer in English literature and economics
for the Oxford University Extension Delegacy and for the London Society for the Exten
sion of University Teaching, before becoming a freelance writer. His many books include Problems of Poverty (1891), The Evolution of Modern Capitalism (1894), The Problem of the Unemployed (1896), and John Ruskin, Social Reformer (1898).
From Imperialism: A Study
[THE POLITICAL SIGNIFICANCE OF IMPERIALISM]
The curious ignorance which prevails regarding the political character and tendencies of Imperialism cannot be better illustrated than by the following passage from a learned work upon "The History of Colonisation":' "The extent of British dominion may perhaps be better imagined than described, when the fact is appreciated that, of the entire land surface of the globe, approximately
1. H. C. Morris, The History of Colonization (1900), vol. 2, p. 80 [Hobson's note]. The work's full title is The History of Colonization from the Earliest Times to the Present Day.
.
HOBSON: IMPERIALISM: A STUDY / 1633
one-fifth is actually or theoretically under that flag, while more than one-sixth of all the human beings living in this planet reside under one or the other type of English colonisation. The names by which authority is exerted are numerous, and processes are distinct, but the goals to which this manifold mechanism is working are very similar. According to the climate, the natural conditions and the inhabitants of the regions affected, procedure and practice differ. The means are adapted to the situation; there is not any irrevocable, immutable line of policy: from time to time, from decade to decade, English statesmen have applied different treatments to the same territory. Only one fixed rule of action seems to exist; it is to promote the interests of the colony to the utmost, to develop its scheme of government as rapidly as possible, and eventually to elevate it from the position of inferiority to that of association. Under the charm of this beneficent spirit the chief colonial establishments of Great Britain have already achieved substantial freedom, without dissolving nominal ties; the other subordinate possessions are aspiring to it, while, on the other hand, this privilege of local independence has enabled England to assimilate with ease many feudatory States2 into the body politic of her system."
Here then is the theory that Britons are a race endowed, like the Romans, with a genius for government, that our colonial and imperial policy is animated by a resolve to spread throughout the world the arts of free self-government which we enjoy at home,3 and that in truth we are accomplishing this work.
Now, without discussing here the excellencies or the defects of the British theory and practice of representative self-government, to assert that our "fixed rule of action" has been to educate our dependencies in this theory and practice is quite the largest misstatement of the facts of our colonial and imperial policy that is possible. Upon the vast majority of the populations throughout our Empire we have bestowed no real powers of self-government, nor have we any serious intention of doing so, or any serious belief that it is possible for us to do so.
Of the three hundred and sixty-seven millions of British subjects outside these isles, not more than ten millions, or one in thirty-seven, have any real self-government for purposes of legislation and administration.
Political freedom, and civil freedom, so far as it rests upon the other, are simply non-existent for the over-whelming majority of British subjects. In the self-governing colonies of Australasia and North America alone is responsible representative government a reality, and even there considerable populations of outlanders,4 as in West Australia, or servile labour, as in Queensland, temper the genuineness of democracy. In Cape Colony and Natal recent events5 testify how feebly the forms and even the spirit of the free British institutions have taken root in States where the great majority of the population were always excluded from political rights. The franchise and the rights it carries will remain virtually a white monopoly in so-called self-governing colonies, where the coloured population is to the white as four to one and ten to one respectively.
In certain of our older Crown colonies there exists a representative element in the government. While the administration is entirely vested in a governor
2. Feudally subject states. between the British and the Dutch Afrikaners, or 3. "The British Empire is a galaxy of free States," Boers, who had settled in regions of South Africa. said Sir W. Laurier in a speech, 8 July 1902 [Hob-Cape Colony and Natal, former British colonies son's note]. Sir Wilfred Laurier (1841-1919), now part of modern-day South Africa, were sites of Canadian political leader. long-standing friction between the British and the 4. Foreigners denied full citizenship. Boers. 5. The Anglo-Boer War of 1899-1902. fought
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1634 / EMPIRE AND NATIONAL IDENTITY
appointed by the Crown, assisted by a council nominated by him, the colonists elect a portion of the legislative assembly. The following colonies belong to this order: Jamaica, Barbados, Trinidad, Bahamas, British Guiana, Windward Islands, Bermudas, Malta, Mauritius, Ceylon.
The representative element differs considerably in size and influence in these colonies, but nowhere does it outnumber the non-elected element. It thus becomes an advisory rather than a really legislative factor. Not merely is the elected always dominated in numbers by the non-elected element, but in all cases the veto of the Colonial Office is freely exercised upon measures passed by the assemblies. To this it should be added that in nearly all cases a fairly high property qualification is attached to the franchise, precluding the coloured people from exercising an elective power proportionate to their numbers and their stake in the country.
The entire population of these modified Crown colonies amounted to 5,700,000 in 1898.6
The overwhelming majority of the subjects of the British Empire are under Crown colony government, or under protectorates. In neither case do they enjoy any of the important political rights of British citizens: in neither case are they being trained in the arts of free British institutions. In the Crown colony the population exercises no political privileges. The governor, appointed by the Colonial Office, is absolute, alike for legislation and administration; he is aided by a council of local residents usually chosen by himself or by home authority, but its function is merely advisory, and its advice can be and frequently is ignored. In the vast protectorates we have assumed in Africa and Asia there is no tincture of British representative government; the British factor consists in arbitrary acts of irregular interference with native government. Exceptions to this exist in the case of districts assigned to Chartered Companies, where business men, animated avowedly by business ends, are permitted to exercise arbitrary powers of government over native populations under the imperfect check of some British Imperial Commissioner.
Again, in certain native and feudatory States of India our Empire is virtually confined to government of foreign relations, military protection, and a veto upon grave internal disorder, the real administration of the countries being left in the hands of native princes or headmen. However excellent this arrangement may be, it lends little support to the general theory of the British Empire as an educator of free political institutions.
Where British government is real, it does not carry freedom or self- government; where it does carry a certain amount of freedom and self- government, it is not real. Not five per cent, of the population of our Empire are possessed of any appreciable portion of the political and civil liberties which are the basis of British civilisation. Outside the ten millions of British subjects in Canada, Australia, and New Zealand, no considerable body is endowed with full self-government in the more vital matters, or is being "elevated from the position of inferiority to that of association."
This is the most important of all facts for students of the present and probable future of the British Empire. We have taken upon ourselves in these little islands the responsibility of governing huge aggregations of lower races in all parts of the world by methods which are antithetic to the methods of government which we most value for ourselves.
6. In all essential features, India and Egypt are to be classed as Crown colonies [Hobson's note].
.
Late Victorians
The state of mind prevailing during the final decades of the nineteenth century was characterized previously (in the introduction to the Victorian age) as typical neither of the earlier Victorians nor of the twentieth century. As a result of their between-centuries role, writers of the 1880s and 1890s are sometimes styled "Late Victorians"�a perfectly legitimate label, chronologically speak- ing�and sometimes (more ambiguously) "the first of the 'moderns.' " In this anthology, we retain as Late Victorians those writers who made their chief contribution before 1900. And we reserve for the twentieth century a number of writers already on the scene in the last two decades of Victoria's reign whose work achieved particular prominence in the twentieth century: these are William Butler Yeats, Joseph Conrad, A. E. Housman, and Thomas Hardy. The treatment of Hardy's writings exemplifies this principle. He was born fifteen to twenty years before most of the writers of the eighties and nineties, and his last two great novels, Tess of the D'Urbervilles and Jude the Obscure, were published in 1891 and 1896 respectively. But since it was only after 1900 that Hardy made his name as a poet, we include him in the twentieth century, even though many of the attitudes toward life and literature in his poetry are recognizably Victorian and his writings can be considered as having contributed, in part, to the overall accomplishments of Victorian literature. To be sure, the same generalizations might be made about Gerard Manley Hopkins, whom we include in the Victorian section because he wrote during the Victorian period�even though his work was not published until 1918, when it had a great effect on modernist poets and critics. That such placements can be problematic is a striking reminder that literary history, like all history, resists being divided into the time categories we set up for convenient reference.
The writers most closely identified with the fin de siecle (the French for, literally, "end of the century"), a phrase often used in connection with this period, were proponents of "art for art's sake": they believed that art should be restricted to celebrating beauty in a highly polished style, unconcerned with controversial issues such as politics. These tenets are perhaps most frequently associated with Oscar Wilde, but the "aesthetes," as these artists and writers were called, included painters such as James McNeill Whistler, critics such as Arthur Symons, and the young Yeats. In 1936, when Yeats in old age was compiling an anthology of "modern verse," he looked back, as he often did, to the group of poets of the 1890s to which he had once been attached. They styled themselves the Rhymers' Club, and they met at a restaurant in London to read their poems aloud to each other. Yeats recalled that an admiration for the writings of Walter Pater was a badge of membership. Indeed, the first "poem" in his anthology is a passage of Pater's prose that Yeats prints as verse�the passage about the Mona Lisa in Studies in the History of the Renaissance (1873) that begins "She is older than the rocks among which she sits."
The Rhymers' Club poets liked to think of themselves as anti-Victorians, and they had some cause to do so�they consciously revolted against the moral
1635
.
163 6 / LATE VICTORIANS
earnestness of early Victorian prophets such as Thomas Carlyle and against a large set of middle-class opinions that they enjoyed mocking. Even Matthew Arnold, although appreciated for his ridicule of middle-class Philistines, was suspect in the eyes of the aesthetes because he had attacked, in his essay on William Wordsworth, the French poet Theophile Gautier, whom they viewed as a chief progenitor of the aesthetic movement. What Alfred, Lord Tennyson called in 1873 "poisonous honey stolen from France" was, in the 1890s, favored fare. Yet the credo of art for art's sake also had roots in the writings of earlier nineteenth-century British writers. The poets of the aesthetic movement were in a sense the last heirs of the Romantics; the appeal to sensation in their imagery goes back through Dante Gabriel Rossetti and Tennyson to John Keats. They developed this sensationalism much more histrionically than did their predecessors, however, seeking compensation for the drabness of ordinary life in melancholy suggestiveness, antibourgeois outrageousness, heady ritualism, world weariness, or mere emotional debauchery�qualities that led some critics to denounce the fin de siecle as a time of decadence and degeneration. But the importance of this era of English literary history does not lie in its writers' sensationalism and desire to shock. Their strongly held belief in the independence of art, their view that a work of art has its own unique kind of value�that, in T. S. Eliot's phrase, poetry must be judged "as poetry and not another thing"�is what most strongly influenced later generations. Not only did the aesthetic movement nurse the young Yeats and provide him with his lifelong belief in poetry as poetry rather than as a means to some moral or other end; it also provided some of the principal schools of twentieth- century criticism with their basic assumptions. "Art for art's sake" was in the nineties a provocative slogan; in the modern period many leading critics (usually associated with the tenets of New Criticism in North America, and Practical Criticism in Great Britain) were largely concerned with demonstrating the uniqueness of the literary use of language. They sought to train readers to see works of literary art as possessing a special kind of form, a special kind of meaning, and hence a special kind of value. In this regard the later critics were the heirs of the nineties, however much they modified or enriched the legacy. It was the poets of the fin de siecle, too, who first absorbed the influence of the French symboliste poets, an influence that became pervasive in the twentieth century and is especially strong (in different ways) in the poetry of Yeats and Eliot.
Though this era is characterized as "decadent," the poetry of the period was more various than that label suggests. Much as Wilde and Aubrey Beardsley expanded the range of male literary identity through their dandyism and effeminacy, women writers of the aesthetic movement such as the pseudonymous Michael Field (Katharine Harris Bradley and her niece Edith Emma Cooper) and Mary Elizabeth Coleridge made equally untraditional claims for women's experience, as Field translated and elaborated on Sappho's poems and Cole- ridge took on the witch's voice. There were also poets, such as William Ernest Henley and Rudyard Kipling, whose tone was strenuously masculine. They embraced the values not of languid contemplation but of a life of action, and they shared a commitment to realism that links them to naturalist novelists of the decade such as George Gissing and George Moore. Henley's realism appears in his grim sketches of hospital experiences, and Kipling's in his distinctive re-creation of the lives of common soldiers in the British Army in India and Africa.
Realism of another brand is evident in the tightly crafted dramas of the
.
MICHAEL FIELD / 1637
playwright Bernard Shaw. Works such as Mrs Warren's Profession (1898) reveal that some late-century artists wanted to engage with the pressing social, moral, and political issues of the day, and strove to challenge their audiences with thorny problems. Readers were unsettled, too, by one of the best-selling novellas of the period, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1886). Although this horror story owes its allegiance to Gothicism rather than realism, many critics suggest that Robert Louis Stevenson's tale of a man split between his respectable public identity and an amoral secret self captures key anxieties of the fin de siecle. Within Wilde's oeuvre this theme is most closely embodied in the novel The Picture of Dorian Gray (1891), but it also has an important place, in a very different mode, within The Importance of Being Earnest (performed 1895). In this light, bright, and sparkling drama, the concept of the double life is central to the two principal male characters, who have both invented fictitious characters (Algernon's Bunbury and Jack's brother Ernest) that enable them to indulge their desires.
In its variety of literary expressions, the fin de siecle manifests something akin to a split personality. Sometimes that division appears within the work of a single writer. Kipling has often been seen primarily as the spokesman of the British Empire, the poet who coined the phrase "the white man's burden" to describe the northern races' necessary shouldering of the heavy weight of imperial rule. Yet Kipling also created the short story "The Man Who Would Be King" (1888), a highly ambivalent allegory of empire, and wrote "Recessional" for Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee in 1897. Instead of offering a complacent celebration of her sixty-year reign, this hymn delivers a haunting elegy: by placing the achievements of his country and his century in the vaster perspectives of human history, Kipling makes us fully aware of their fragility.
MICHAEL FIELD Katharine Bradley (1846-1914) Edith Cooper (1862-1913)
Michael Field was the pseudonym adopted by Katharine Bradley and her niece Edith Cooper; together they published twenty-seven verse plays and eight volumes of poems. When Robert Browning wrote to Michael Field to praise a volume of plays, Cooper responded by comparing her collaborative relationship with Bradley to that of two famous Jacobean playwrights: "My Aunt and I work together after the fashion of Beaumont and Fletcher. She is my senior, by but fifteen years. She has lived with me, taught me, encouraged me and joined me to her poetic life." When Browning let slip the secret of their authorship, Bradley begged him to maintain the disguise. The revelation of their secret, she pleaded, "would indeed be utter ruin to us," adding, "We have many things to say that the world will not tolerate from a woman's lips."
Katharine Harris Bradley lost her father, a tobacco manufacturer, when she was two and her mother when she was twenty-two. After her mother's death Bradley attended Newnham College, the newly established women's college at Cambridge, and the College de France in Paris. On her return home she joined John Ruskin's Guild of Saint George, a small Utopia n society. When Bradley wrote to Ruskin telling him that she had lost God and found a Skye terrier, he angrily ended their friendship. Shortly thereafter she began attending classes at Bristol University with her niece,
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163 8 / MICHAEL FIELD
Edith Emma Cooper, whom she had adopted and raised after Edith's mother became ill. The two became lovers and began a life of writing and traveling together. Their first joint volume of poetry, Long Ago (1889), was inspired by Henry Wharton's 1885 edition of the writings of the ancient Greek poet Sappho, the first English translation to represent the object of Sappho's love poems as a woman. The preface to Long Ago explains their attempt to create poems elaborating on Sappho's fragments: "Devoutly as the fiery-bosomed Greek turned in her anguish to Aphrodite to accomplish her heart's desires, I have turned to the one woman who has dared to speak unfalteringly of the fearful mastery of love."
Bradley and Cooper knew most of the literary figures of the nineties, including Walter Pater, Oscar Wilde, and William Butler Yeats, although their relationship to the decadent movement was complex. The eroticism of their early poetry, with its frank expression of love between women, seems consistent with the spirit of the decade; but Bradley and Cooper sharply criticized the work of the artist Aubrey Beardsley for its depravity and withdrew one of their poems from publication in The Yellow Book to protest its style (Beardsley was the journal's art editor). In 1906 they converted to Boman Catholicism when their beloved chow dog died, thus reversing the substitution of dog for God that Bradley had flippantly described to Buskin three decades earlier. In 1911 Cooper was diagnosed with cancer. Suffering too from cancer, which she kept a secret from Cooper to spare her pain, Bradley survived her niece by only eight months.
[Maids, not to you my mind doth change]
Talg KaXaig i/x/iiv [TO] vorj/ia TW/XOV oi) dia/ietTiTov.'
Maids, not to you my mind doth change;
Men I defy, allure, estrange,
Prostrate, make bond or free:
Soft as the stream beneath the plane0 tree
s To you I sing my love's refrain;
Between us is no thought of pain,
Peril, satiety.
Soon doth a lover's patience tire,
But ye to manifold desire
io Can yield response, ye know
When for long, museful days I pine,
The presage at my heart divine;
To you I never breathe a sign
Of inward want or woe.
15 When injuries my spirit bruise,
Allaying virtue ye infuse
With unobtrusive skill:
And if care frets ye come to me
As fresh as nymph from stream or tree,
20 And with your soft vitality
My weary bosom fill.
1. A fragment from the works of the Greek poet Sappho (born ca. 612 B.C.E.); the epigraph is translated in the first line of the poem.
.
[IT WAS DEEP APRIL, AND THE MORN] / 163 9
[A girl] 510A girl, Her soul a deep-wave pearl Dim, lucent of all lovely mysteries; A face flowered for heart's ease, A brow's grace soft as seas Seen through faint forest-trees: A mouth, the lips apart, Like aspen-leaflets trembling in the breeze From her tempestuous heart. Such: and our souls so knit, I leave a page half-writ� The work begun Will be to heaven's conception done, If she come to it. 1893 Unbosoming 5ioisThe love that breeds In my heart for thee! As the iris is full, brimful of seeds, And all that it flowered for among the reeds Is packed in a thousand vermilion-beads That push, and riot, and squeeze, and clip,0Till they burst the sides of the silver scrip,0And at last we see What the bloom, with its tremulous, bowery fold Of zephyr-petal at heart did hold: So my breast is rent With the burthen and strain of its great content; For the summer of fragrance and sighs is dead, The harvest-secret is burning red, And I would give thee, after my kind, The final issues of heart and mind. clutch purse 1893 [It was deep April, and the morn] 5It was deep April, and the morn Shakspere was born;1 The world was on us, pressing sore; My Love and I took hands and swore, Against the world, to be
I. Shakespeare's birthday conventionally is given as April 23, 1564.
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164 0 / MICHAEL FIELD
Poets and lovers evermore, To laugh and dream on Lethe's2 shore, To sing to Charon3 in his boat, Heartening the timid souls afloat;
10 Of judgment never to take heed, But to those fast-locked souls to speed, Who never from Apollo4 fled, Who spent no hour among the dead;
Continually 15 With them to dwell, Indifferent to heaven and hell.
1893
To Christina Rossetti
Lady, we would behold thee moving bright As Beatrice or Matilda1 mid the trees, Alas! thy moan was as a moan for ease And passage through cool shadows to the night:
5 Fleeing from love, hadst thou not poet's right To slip into the universe? The seas Are fathomless to rivers drowned in these, And sorrow is secure in leafy light. Ah, had this secret touched thee, in a tomb
io Thou hadst not buried thy enchanting self, As happy Syrinx2 murmuring with the wind, Or Daphne,3 thrilled through all her mystic bloom, From safe recess as genius4 or as elf, Thou hadst breathed joy in earth and in thy kind.
1896
Nests in Elms
The rooks are cawing up and down the trees! Among their nests they caw. O sound I treasure, Ripe as old music is, the summer's measure, Sleep at her gossip, sylvan mysteries,
5 With prate and clamour to give zest of these� In rune I trace the ancient law of pleasure,
2. The river of forgetfulness in the underworld (a top of the mountain of Purgaton1. reference, like those that follow, to classical 2. A nymph who, when pursued by Pan, prayed to mythology). the river nymphs to save her: she was transformed 3. The ferryman who rows the dead across the into reeds, from which Pan made his flute (in river Styx to the underworld. Greek, syrinx literally means "Panpipe"). 4. God of poetry and of the sun. 3. A nymph who, to escape Apollo's pursuit, was 1. An idealized virgin in Dante's Purgatorio (28. transformed into a laurel tree (the literal meaning 30), who explains to the poet that he is in the Gar-of daphne in Greek). den of Eden. Beatrice, Dante's idealized beloved, 4. The spirit of a place. appears to the poet in the Earthly Paradise at the
.
WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY / 1641
Of love, of all the busy-ness of leisure, With dream on dream of never-thwarted ease. O homely birds, whose cry is harbinger
10 Of nothing sad, who know not anything Of sea-birds' loneliness, of Procne's1 strife, Rock round me when I die! So sweet it were To die by open doors, with you on wing Humming the deep security of life.
1908
Eros1
O Eros of the mountains, of the earth, One thing I know of thee that thou art old, Far, sovereign, lonesome tyrant of the dearth Of chaos, ruler of the primal cold!
5 None gave thee nurture: chaos' icy rings Pressed on thy plenitude. O fostering power, Thine the first voice, first warmth, first golden wings, First blowing zephyr, earliest opened flower, Thine the first smile of Time: thou hast no mate,
io Thou art alone forever, giving all: After thine image, Love, thou did'st create Man to be poor, man to be prodigal; And thus, O awful0 god, he is endued awe-inspiring With the raw hungers of thy solitude.
1908
1. In Greek mythology Procne's husband, King fled Tereus, all three were changed into birds: Tereus, raped her sister, Philomela. Tereus then Tereus, into a hoopoe; Procne, a nightingale; and ripped out Philomela's tongue to keep her from Philomela, a swallow. revealing the crime, but she wove the story into a 1. Love (Greek); in Greek mythology the god of tapestry. In revenge Procne killed their son and love. served him to Tereus in a stew. When the sisters WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY 1849-1903
During the 1880s and 1890s William Ernest Henley edited the National Observer and other periodicals in London, where he became a powerful figure in literary circles. The affectionate regard in which he was held by his contemporaries was enhanced by his courageously confronting long years of crippling physical pain caused by tuberculosis of the bone. William Butler Yeats said of him: "I disagreed with him about everything, but I admired him beyond words."
Most of Henley's poems, such as his vivid accounts of his hospital experiences, are realistic sketches of city life, often in free verse. Also characteristic, but in a different vein, are his hearty affirmations of faith in the indomitable human spirit, as in "Invictus" (1888), and his patriotic verses expressing his pride in England's imperial role
.
1642 / WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY
and her shouldering the responsibility for a world order. In "Pro Rege Nostro" (Latin for "For Our Kingdom"; 1892) he writes
They call you proud and hard, England, my England: You with worlds to watch and ward, England, my own! You whose mailed hand keeps the keys Of such teeming destinies You could know nor dread nor ease Were the Song on your bugles blown, England Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
The spirit in poems such as these links Henley's writings to those of his friend Rudyard Kipling, and is also to be found throughout a highly influential anthology that Henley edited for use in schools. First published in 1892 and subtitled "A Book of Verse for Boys," Lyra Heroica (Latin for The Heroic Lyre, or harp) is filled with poetic accounts of selfless and noble deeds that often involve dying for one's country in battle.
In Hospital
Waiting
A square, squat room (a cellar on promotion), Drab to the soul, drab to the very daylight; Plasters' astray in unnatural-looking tinware; Scissors and lint and apothecary's jars.
5 Here, on a bench a skeleton would writhe from, Angry and sore, I wait to be admitted; Wait till my heart is lead upon my stomach, While at their ease two dressers do their chores.
One has a probe�it feels to me a crowbar,
io A small boy sniffs and shudders after bluestone.2 A poor old tramp explains his poor old ulcers. Life is (I think) a blunder and a shame.
Invictus1
Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul.
1. Medicated bandages. have taken poison. 2. Hydrated copper sulfate, commonly used in 1. Unconquered (Latin), emergency wards as an emetic for patients who
.
ROBER T Loui s STEVENSO N / 164 3 5 In the felF clutch of circumstanceI have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. cruel 10Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. isIt matters not how strait0 the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul. narrow 1875 1888
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 1850-1894
Robert Louis (originally Lewis) Balfour Stevenson was born in Edinburgh on November 13, 1850, the only child of Margaret Balfour and Thomas Stevenson, a well- known marine engineer and designer of lighthouses. His family was part of the respectable Scottish middle classes, a membership that would both benefit Steven- son�although there were difficult stretches in his relationship with his father, he generally did not have to worry about money�and leave him with a restlessness for adventure and excitement. Driven at the same time by a quest for a climate that would ease his chronically diseased lungs, Stevenson traveled more broadly than any other prominent Victorian writer. And yet it could be argued that although he was constantly on the move in far-flung lands, Stevenson returned again and again in his creative fiction, explicitly or implicitly, to the tensions of his own personal and national heritage�to the pronounced conflicts of his upbringing and of Scotland's somber, religiously oppressive society.
An awkward sensitive boy, Stevenson was subjected to the disciplinary strictures of his stern Presbyterian father and to the more affectionate, although also deeply devout, care of his mother and his nurse. Plagued by night terrors and bouts of sickness, the young Stevenson seemed "in body . . . assuredly badly set up," as a schoolmate said in later years; "his limbs were long, lean, and spidery, and his chest flat, so as almost to suggest some malnutrition." This constitutional weakness was to afflict Stevenson throughout his life, and he enjoyed only short periods of reasonable health. As a student at Edinburgh University, Stevenson soon began to avoid the engineering classes that would have enabled him to follow in his father's footsteps, and embarked instead on a course of reading�"an extensive and highly rational system of truancy," as he called it�to learn how to become a writer. In time, as a compromise to placate his father, he switched to the study of law; although he never practiced as a lawyer, he did pass the Scottish bar examination in 1875. But his interests clearly lay elsewhere: in this period Stevenson began dressing like a bohemian, reading scandalous French poetry, and hanging around brothels, where the prostitutes nicknamed him "Velvet Jack." By all accounts he was a witty and attentive conversationalist; his friend the folklorist and writer Andrew Lang later described him
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1644 / ROBERT Louis STEVENSON
in verse as a "Buffoon and lover, poet and sensualist: / A deal of Ariel, just a streak of Puck, / Much Antony, of Hamlet most of all."
At the age of twenty-two, Stevenson further distanced himself from his father by confessing that he had turned both socialist and agnostic; he subsequently began to spend increasingly longer periods in France, partly because of respiratory troubles but also to be in the company of painters and writers. Back in Britain he developed important and useful friendships with artistic and literary figures, including Sidney Colvin, a professor of art, and the poet and editor W. E. Henley; with their support Stevenson started to publish essays and books of travel writing. As if to complete his breach with bourgeois Scottish respectability, Stevenson then fell in love with Fanny Osbourne, an American woman ten years his senior, who was estranged from her husband but not yet divorced.
In 1879 Stevenson's global wanderings began in earnest, starting with a trip to California to marry the newly divorced Fanny. Despite constant travel and recurrent illness, Stevenson found the time and energy to write. Treasure Island, begun as an amusement for his stepson, was his first popular success: serialized in 1881 and published in book form in 1883, the story of the cabin boy Jim Hawkins's adventures includes a covert portrait of Stevenson's one-legged friend Henley in the figure of the pirate Long John Silver. Soon thereafter he published another children's classic: A Child's Garden of Verses (1885), a collection of poems dedicated to his former nurse. In the years to come, Stevenson worked in numerous genres, including short fiction, swashbuckling romances, historical adventures (Kidnapped, 1886, a story set in Scotland just after the Jacobite rebellion of 1745, and its sequel, Catriona, 1893), and more gothic undertakings, such as the bleak and brooding novel The Master of Ballantrae (1889).
The work that first established Stevenson's critical reputation, however, was a horror story that prefigured The Master of Ballantrae's fascination with the darker side of human nature and reflected his long-standing interest in the idea of a double life: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, written in 1885 and published the following year. The novella rapidly became a best seller in both Britain and America, and like Mary Shelley's Frankenstein of 1818 (to which Jekyll and Hyde pays homage at various moments) and Bram Stoker's Dracula (1897), the story has enjoyed a continuous and lively presence in popular culture up to the present day. Yet our familiarity with the outline of the tale may not prepare us for the psychological and ethical complexity of the original. Certainly the novelist's friends found Jekyll and Hyde genuinely unnerving: the writer and historian J. A. Symonds wrote to Stevenson that the story "has left such a deeply painful impression on my heart that I do not know how I am ever to turn to it again," while Lang commented that "we would welcome a spectre, a ghoul, or even a vampire, rather than meet Mr. Edward Hyde." For some, many aspects of the novella have seemed markedly Scottish in flavor: the novelist
G. K. Chesterton insisted that its London is really Edinburgh, its Englishmen actually Scotsmen�"No modern English lawyer," he protested of the character Mr. Utterson, "ever read a book of dry divinity in the evening, merely because it was Sunday." Nevertheless, the distinctive tone and theme of Jekyll and Hyde have led many critics to characterize it�often together with another work that shares its preoccupation with the divided self, Oscar Wilde's Picture of Dorian Gray (1891)�as an expression of quintessentially fin de siecle anxieties. From 1888 onward the Stevensons embarked on a series of journeys in the South Seas, once again in the hope that the climate would benefit Robert's health. They eventually settled in Samoa, where Stevenson became a favorite with the locals (who called him Tusitala, or "teller of tales") before he died of a cerebral hemorrhage in 1894. At the time of his death, Stevenson was only forty-four years old and still furiously at work, this time on a historical novel titled Weir of Hermiston.
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THE STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE / 1645
The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
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 approved1 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,"2 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 down-going men. And to such as these, so long as they came about his chambers, he never marked a shade of change in his demeanour.
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 catholicity3 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 week-days. The inhabitants were all doing well, it seemed, and all emulously hoping to do better still, and laying out the surplus of their gains in coquetry;4 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.'
1. Proved. keeper?" (Genesis 4.9). 2. Refusal of responsibility for one's fellow man. 3. Universality. After Cain kills his brother, Abel, and God asks 4. Attractive display. where Abel is, Cain responds, "Am I my brother's 5. Passerby.
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1646 / ROBERT Louis STEVENSON
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.6 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.71 gave a view halloa,8 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;9 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 the 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
6. Discolored. wheels many worshippers threw themselves to be 7. A relentless force that crushes individuals in its crushed. path. Originally a title of Krishna (an avatar of the 8. Shout. Hindu god Vishnu); at an annual festival his statue 9. Doctor (slang). was drawn on an enormous cart, under whose
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THE STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE / 1647
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.2 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.3 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,4 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 of it 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 check 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 that place with the door,
in consequence. Though even that, you know, is far from explaining all," he
added, and with the words fell into a vein of musing.
From this he was recalled by Mr. Utterson asking rather suddenly: "And
you don't know if the drawer of the cheque lives there?"
"A likely place, isn't it?" returned Mr. Enfield. "But I happen to have noticed
his address; he lives in some square or other."
"And you never asked about the�place with the door?" said Mr. Utterson.
"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
1. Good name. 3. Gave in. 2. In classical mythology monsters with women's 4. A prestigious London bank. faces and bodies and birds' wings and claws.
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1648 / ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
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,5 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;6 none below; the windows are
always shut but they're clean. And then there is a chimney which is generally
smoking; so somebody must live there. And yet it's not so sure; for the buildings
are so packed together about that court, that it's hard to say where one ends
and another begins."
The pair walked on again for a while in silence; and then "Enfield," said
Mr. Utterson, "that's a good rule of yours." "Yes, I think it is," returned Enfield.
"But for all that," continued the lawyer, "there's one point I want to ask: I
want to ask the name of that man who walked over the child."
"Well," said Mr. Enfield, "I can't see what harm it would do. It was a man
of the name of Hyde."
"H'm," said Mr. Utterson. "What sort of a man is he to see?"
"He is not easy to describe. There is something wrong with his appearance;
something displeasing, something downright detestable. I never saw a man I
so disliked, and yet I scarce know why. He must be deformed somewhere; he
gives a strong feeling of deformity, although I couldn't specify the point. He's
an extraordinary looking man, and yet I really can name nothing out of the
way. No, sir; I can make no hand of it; 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 pres
ently 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 divinity7
on his reading desk, until the clock of the neighbouring church rang out the
5. I.e., looks like someone is in trouble or a bad Americans call the second floor). fix (slang). 7. Theology. 6. I.e., the first floor above the ground floor (what
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THE STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE / 1649
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,8 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., LL.D., F.R.S.,9 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
presentment1 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,2 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. Lan
yon 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
respecters 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 disa
greeably 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
8. In the author's handwriting. 1. Image. 9. Doctor of Medicine, Doctor of Civil Law, Doc-2. A once-aristocratic neighborhood where fashtor of Laws, and Fellow of the Royal Society. ionable doctors had their offices.
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1650 / ROBERT Louis STEVENSON
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."3 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,4) 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 mere5 darkness and besieged 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, and the sleeper recalled,6 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 lamp-
lighted 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:7 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,
3. Two inseparable youths in Greek legend whose 5. Pure, willingness to die for each other symbolizes true 6. Revived, awakened, friendship. 7. Compassion. 4. Legal transfer of property by writing deeds.
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THE STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE / 1651
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
rumour8 of the approach of any passenger preceded him by a long time. Mr.
Utterson had been some minutes at his post, when he was aware of an odd,
light footstep drawing near. In the course of his nightly patrols, he had long
grown accustomed to the quaint effect with which the footfalls of a single
person, while he is still a great way off, suddenly spring out distinct from the
vast hum and clatter of the city. Yet his attention had never before been so
sharply and decisively arrested; and it was with a strong, superstitious prevision
of success that he withdrew into the entry of the court. The steps drew swiftly nearer, and swelled out suddenly louder as they
turned the end of the street. The lawyer, looking forth from the entry, could
soon see what manner of man he had to deal with. He was small and very
plainly dressed, and the look of him, even at that distance, went somehow
strongly against the watcher's inclination. But he made straight for the door,
crossing the roadway to save time; and as he came, he drew a key from his
pocket like one approaching home.
Mr. Utterson stepped out and touched him on the shoulder as he passed.
"Mr. Hyde, I think?"
Mr. Hyde shrank back with a hissing intake of the breath. But his fear was
only momentary; and though he did not look the lawyer in the face, he
answered coolly enough: "That is my name. What do you want?" "I see you are going in," returned the lawyer. "I am an old friend of Dr.
Jekyll's�Mr. Utterson of Gaunt Street�you must have heard my name; and
meeting you so conveniently, I thought you might admit me."
"You will not find Dr. Jekyll; he is from home," replied Mr. Hyde, blowing
in the key. And then suddenly, but still without looking up, "How did you
know me?" he asked. "On your side," said Mr. Utterson, "will you do me a favour?"
"With pleasure," replied the other. "What shall it be?"
"Will you let me see your face?" asked the lawyer.
Mr. Hyde appeared to hesitate, and then, as if upon some sudden reflection,
fronted about with an air of defiance; and the pair stared at each other pretty
fixedly for a few seconds. "Now I shall know you again," said Mr. Utterson.
"It may be useful." "Yes," returned Mr. Hyde, "it is as well we have met; and a propos, you should have my address." And he gave a number of a street in Soho.9
"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?"
8. Noise. 9. Seedy district in central London. "A propos": by the way (French).
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1652 / ROBERT Louis STEVENSON
"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 dis
quietude. 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 some
thing 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?1 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, hand
some 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, archi
tects, shady lawyers and the agents of obscure enterprises. One house, how
ever, 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,2 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.3 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 to-night 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
1. Container. "Troglodytic": like a prehistoric cave why I cannot tell." dweller or apelike. Dr. Fell: figure from the nursery 2. Flagstones. rhyme "I do not like thee Dr. Fell; / The reason 3. Metal frame in front of a fireplace.
.
THE STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE / 1653
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 door, 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 do 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,4 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, lest 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 that 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 shoulder 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 a 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 pleas
ant 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 the loose-tongued had already their foot on the threshold; they liked to
4. With lame foot (Latin). From the Roman poet Horace's Odes 3.2.32: "Rarely has Vengeance with her lame foot abandoned the wicked man with a head start on her."
.
1654 / ROBERT Louis STEVENSON
sit awhile 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
slyish 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 fel
low, 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, Utter-
son; 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
it."
"My good Utterson," said the doctor, "this is very good of you, this is down
right good of you, and I cannot find words to thank you in. I believe you fully;
1 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 so 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 under
stand. 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.
.
THE STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE / 1655
"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."
The Carew Murder Case
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 and 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 sometimes
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-content. 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 dislike. 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 murderer. A purse and a 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,'5 and which bore the name and address of Mr.
Utterson.
5. I.e., postal letter box.
.
1656 / ROBERT Louis STEVENSON
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 lip. "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
Carew." "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 recognised 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 lowered6 over heaven, but the wind was con
tinually charging and routing these embattled vapours; so that as the cab
crawled from street to street, Mr. Utterson beheld a marvellous 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 swirl
ing 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 rein
vasion 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 numbers7 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 quarter of a million sterling.8 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
6. Was gloomy and threatening. "Gin palace:" cheap bar. 7. Cheap serial installments of popular fiction. 8. I.e., pounds sterling.
.
THE STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE / 1657
said, this was Mr. Hyde's, but he was not at home; he had been in that night
very late, but 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 added. "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 napery9 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 piles 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 gray 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, com
pleted 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 photo
graphed; 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.
Incident of the Letter
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 indifferently1 known as the laboratory or the 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 destination2
of the block at the bottom of the garden. It was the first time that the lawyer
9. Table linen. 2. Purpose. I. Without distinction.
.
1658 / ROBERT Louis STEVENSON
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,3 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.4 It was a large room, fitted round with glass
presses, furnished, among other things, with a cheval-glass5 and a business
table, and looking out upon the court by three dusty windows barred with iron.
A 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 deadly 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
right. 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 anyone. Rut 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 police. 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 letter."
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. 3. Room with tiers of rising seats surroucentral platform, used for lectures anddemonstrations. 4. Small private room. "Baize": coarsending a medical woolen material. 5. Large freestanding mirror, hinged on a frame. "Presses": cupboards with glass doors.
.
THE STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE / 1659
"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 disappearance?"
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 have 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
like?" 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 cab
inet; 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."6 That was the
funeral oration of one friend and client; and he could not help a certain appre
hension lest the good name of another should be sucked down in the eddy of
the scandal. 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 dis
tance from the fire, a bottle of a particular old wine that had long dwelt unsun
ned in the foundations of his house. The fog still slept on the wing above the
drowned city, where the lamps glimmered like carbuncles;7 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 dye8 had softened with time, as the colour grows richer
in stained windows; and the glow of hot autumn afternoons on hillside vine
yards, 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 rights? 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 would scarce read so strange a doc
6. Member of Parliament. 8. Purple. 7. Precious fiery-red stones.
.
166 0 / ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
ument without dropping a remark; and by that remark Mr. Utterson might
shape his future course.
"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 doc
ument 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 pas
sion. "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,"9 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 forward. "What!" he thought.
"Henry Jekyll forge for a murderer!" And his blood ran cold in his veins.
Remarkable Incident of Dr. Lanyon
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 cru
elty, 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 withdrawal, a new life began for Dr. Jekyll. Fie 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
9. Odd, unusual.
.
THE STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE / 1661
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 1 5th, 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 reply. "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 pathet
ically worded, and sometimes darkly mysterious in drift. The quarrel with Lan
yon 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 friend
ship, 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
.
1662 / ROBERT Louis STEVENSON
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 mad
ness; 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 today," 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. Rut 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 communicate. 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 fre
quency of his visits.
Incident at the Window
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.
.
THE STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE / 1663
"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, Utter-
son 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 smile. 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 silence.
The Last Night
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."
.
1664 / ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
"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 yourself?"
Mr. Utterson's only answer was to rise and get his hat and great coat; 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 a flying wrack of the most
diaphanous and lawny1 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 born in upon his mind a crushing antici
pation of calamity. The square, when they got there, was all 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 house
maid broke into hysterical whimpering; and the cook, crying out "Bless God!
1. Of fine linen. "Wrack": i.e., rack, a mass of high clouds driven by the wind.
.
THE STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE / 1665
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 up 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 hands2
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
1 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 and through the surgical theatre, with
its lumber3 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, or 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
2. We'll deal with this. 3. Stored accumulation.
.
166 6 / ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
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
town. 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 the most sedulous care, and should any of the same
quality be left, to 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 had 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 theatre
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 crates. 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 quills. 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 face.
"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
.
THE STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE / 1667
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
certain. 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," 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 bal
anced 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 butler.
"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
ever you 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 it 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.
"Pull yourself together, Bradshaw," said the lawyer. "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
.
1668 / ROBERT Louis STEVENSON
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 scud4 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 force!" "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 in sunder and the wreck of the door fell
inwards on the carpet.
The besiegers, appalled by their own riot and the stillness that had suc
ceeded, 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.
4. Loose clouds driven rapidly before the wind.
.
THE STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE / 1669
Right in the midst there lay the body of a man sorely contorted and still
twitching. They drew near on tip-toe, 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
master."
The far greater proportion of the building was occupied by the theatre,
which filled almost the whole ground story 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. Nowhere 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-street. 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 lawyer.
"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 mea
sured 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.
5. I.e., pits: cyanide smells of bitter almond or of peach pits.
.
1670 / ROBERT Louis STEVENSON
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 have 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. Utterson. 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 solemnly. "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 Utterson.
"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 mid
night, 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.
.
THE STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE / 1671
Dr. Lanyon's Narrative
On the ninth of January, now four days ago, I received by the evening deliv
ery a registered envelope, addressed in the hand of my colleague and old
school-companion, Henry Jekyll. 1 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 inter
course 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 locksmith. 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 after
wards, 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
.
1672 / ROBERT Louis STEVENSON
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, H.J."
"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,6 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 responsibility. I rose accordingly from table, got into a hansom, and drove straight to Jekyll's house. 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 carpenter. 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 hours' 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 book7 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 tincture, a paper 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 usefulness. 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
6. Mixture. 7. School notebook used to record translations.
.
THE STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE / 1673
this gentleman to be received by me in secret? 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 eye8 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,9 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 laughter. Rather, as there was something abnormal and misbegotten in the very essence of the creature that now faced me�something seizing,1 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 excitement.
"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 preoccu
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