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They are walking about outside my door. I've been hearing the quiet steps of the servants all day. I can imagine them, sneaking up to the door, listening, trying to make out what I am doing. Once my butler Poole asked me if I wanted anything. So far, I have been capable of answering them with my own voice, and they have left me alone. But I am only too sure that this situation, at best, is temporary. They are getting worried and suspicious, soon they will not be satisfied with knocking at my door. Probably, I have only got a few hours now. This will be my last chance to write down my story.
I can not stand it anymore, my situation has become completely intolerable and my conscience seems to have caught up with me. This is why I have decided to write down a complete confession to all the horrible things I have caused - and the reasons why I, Henry Jekyll, am sitting like a condemned prisoner inside my very own house. I have tried to write down my story earlier, but I have not had the courage to be entirely truthful. Several times, I have let the fire consume my finished writings. It is very painful to tell the whole truth when a man has been guilty of such misdeeds, such atrocities as I have done.
As I write this, I am sitting in a comfortable armchair in front of a merry fire. On the small, elegant table the afternoon tea is set; cups and saucers of fine china, beautifully wrought silver spoons. Everything seems so nice and well ordered. This makes an almost grotesque contrast to the dark story I now must tell. These days, I dare not even leave the room where I am sitting. I reside in a chamber connected to my own laboratory. Yes, it has now gone this far, that I am forced to always stay close to that damned laboratory!
But I am not telling the story in the right way, I must tell about what led me to be in this fearful situation. This will be my confession. I will try not to leave anything out, no matter how horrible it might be to put the words to my paper. Now these terrible things must be known, so that my unhappy fate may prevent others from doing the same. I note that my hand is just a bit unsteady as I am writing these words. I must start from the beginning.
I was born in 1836 as William Henry Jekyll, London. My family was well to do and had a good reputation. My father was a man of high moral standards, and it was his strong hand in my upbringing that made me the man I am today. He could be stern at times, but as a young boy I was sometimes most stubborn, and a good, hard upbringing made wonders with my character. I might have been very different if it was not for my father's guiding hand. I do not remember much about my mother. She was weak and sickly and died before I was fifteen years old; but I seem to recall that she followed father's advice in everything she did. My father was a famous doctor, a forerunner in the art of medicine. He made me want to be like him; already as a young man I wanted to be able to help to relieve suffering. My family was well known for its charity and early on in life, I learned compassion.
The nature of man, her body and soul, always fascinated me. While I was studying, science took great leaps and I was convinced I could find my answers to the great questions of life. Oh yes, I had a younger sister named Thelma. She was taken to the sanatorium with severe hysteria at only sixteen years of age. And there she had to stay until she died by her own hand three years later. Imagine the scandal for my family. I wished that science could have cured poor Thelma, but at that time, there was nothing to be done. This was indeed a great tragedy, but it does not concern the rest of my story, so I will not go into it further.
I will try not to hide anything in this confession, and I will also tell something of my character as a young man. As a youth, I was rather wild and stubborn. I became a man early, and was as tall as my father at fourteen years of age. I am not inclined to exaggerations, and I can be rather confident in telling that I, even now at fifty, am considered to be a handsome man. My hair, gray now, was in my youth rich, dark and wavy. Many young ladies showed their interest in me and I was not the one to turn down an invitation. My experiences in the art of love were made early in life, and I even sought to learn from ladies of a somewhat dubious reputation. But I was very young, and I am relieved to be able to write that this behavior of mine did not continue as the years went on. I was engaged once, but that was a long time ago, and this does not concern my confession.
I have always enjoyed working as a doctor. I have been happy to be able to help my less fortunate fellow humans, to do good and to use my knowledge for healing. Several times, my dinner was cold as I came to my home late at night. So many unhappy people at the hospital needed me, and I simply could not let them down. Some of my friends thought I spent far too much time with the poor and the sick, and I was widely known as a good man and a philantrope.
This is, indeed, the truth, but it is not the entire truth. I have always been something of a double nature. I was immensely pleased as I was helping people as a doctor, but sometimes, other parts of my person made themselves known to me. Oh, if I could have been satisfied with my work as a doctor! I wish that a simple, pure and dedicated life would have been enough to make me happy. I wish I had been more like Utterson, the lawyer. I am proud to be able to call Utterson my friend; he is my lawyer as well as my best friend. I have never met a man more honest, more hard-working or of a more quiet nature. But alas, I was not made that way.
I was at times, filled with different longings, which made me seek out pleasures of a somewhat doubtful kind. I was so ashamed over this behavior of mine, I always went out very late at night to parts of the city where I would never meet any of my friends or colleagues. I recently wrote that I did not carry on my shameful behavior of my younger years, but I realize that this is not entirely truthful. I blush with shame as I print these words, but the whole truth must be told.
I remember always having the idea that some lower part of my nature was hidden deep within me, and that I sometimes had to let this lower part loose to be able to live my ordinary, good life. At this moment, I realize that compared to what was about to come, my sins were insignificant. But how my conscience was tortured at that time! I could not help but being drawn to shameful pleasures. But I was always filled with guilt when I came home late at night, and I always worked twice as hard the next day to make up for my transgression.
I enjoyed life, doing my work at the hospital. But I also enjoyed my secret pleasures - though these pleasures were always mixed with feelings of guilt. I could not understand why I had to be a man with a split soul, and I was often tortured with feelings of remorse. I came from the best of families, I had a first rate upbringing, I had everything: good looks, success in my chosen career, a good reputation and enough money to live comfortably for the rest of my life. Why was I, of all men, a slave to my lower instincts? It was thinking thoughts such as these that made me begin my research. What if I could split my double nature in two halves - one good, hard-working and honest, the other egotistical and only seeking pleasure for himself. What if I could be relieved of the evil influence that constantly threatened to poison my personality? It was in this mind I started the experiments which would cause my doom.
I had for a long time been doing research as well as practicing medicine, and now I started to devote almost all my time to my experiments. I cannot ever write down anything that will lead anyone in the same accursed direction which I went. No one must ever do what I did. I will therefore, not tell you how I arrived at the formula which I knew was correct. I remember it being very late in the night, and I had long hesitated to try this potentially dangerous drug on myself. But I knew I had to do it. I gathered up all my courage and swallowed the potion.
The drug took effect immediately. The most terrible pains struck me; it was a dreadful experience and I was convinced that I was wrong after all, and that this was my moment of death. My legs gave way and I fell to the cold floor in my laboratory. I do not know for how long I lay there, but soon the pains gave way and I was relieved to still be among the living. But when I got up, I instantly noticed a difference. Everything was different.
Oh, how can I ever describe those feelings that ran through my body at that moment? How can I ever explain to you how I felt? I remember it so clearly as if it happened this very day. I will never forget those first, delightful tastes of evil. I was filled with a fire from Hell itself, and yet it was a feeling so wonderful, I do not have words for it. Sensual images filled my head. I felt as if I all my life had been walking outside a fence, looking at a lovely garden, and at this instant, found the gate and entered that place. Everything I ever wanted to do was within my reach, and I couldn't see why I never realized this before now. A thousand chains which had held me a captive broke at once and I was free at last. To feel the blood pounding in my veins! To feel the very life pulse through my body! To feel my strength, my manhood, so powerful, like never before! Ah, that wonderful feeling, the feeling of being alive, alive, alive -
*
I had to stop writing for a while. I feel much more in control now. I am Henry Jekyll and no other. I cannot let myself be overtaken by primitive emotions such as these. When I recently was writing about my feelings after having taken the drug, those feelings became real to me and started affecting me in a most destructive way. For a moment, I feared that I would lose control, and it must not happen as I am writing. Everything would be ruined. I cannot let myself be carried along like this while writing the rest of my confession.
I will continue where I left off. After having taken the drug, I was surprised to find myself having lost in stature. My clothes were hanging loosely on my changed limbs. I was filled with curiosity about this other self. So I went out from my laboratory, across the small garden and entered the main building. In my bedroom there was a mirror. It was indeed a strange feeling to enter my own bedroom, wearing this new shape. I felt out of place among the beautiful bedclothes, oil paintings and nicely wrought furniture. This was not my home, I was a stranger, and I knew this was a world I had chosen to leave behind. When I saw my new face in the big mirror with its golden frame, I was almost happy, though I was not beautiful. My great difference in appearance from my usual self felt like a relief, and confirmed the feelings that I just experienced. I guess I should have guessed that the body is the mirror of the soul, and that the dwarf-like, crouched creature which was myself told of a great evil to come. Alas, I was so naive at that time!
I am not sure of whether the drug would have had the same effect on any person, if it worked independent of the nature of the person taking it. I cannot help wondering if I might have changed into a far better, more benign and moral human being if my purposes had been purer and cleaner. But Henry Jekyll is and was a man with a strange double nature. And it was my worse nature that made itself known under this fateful night.
You might already suspect that my worse nature was identical to the man infamous under the name of Edward Hyde? As Hyde, I always felt wonderfully free. I never experienced a freedom such as this before in my life. I threw away shame, restrictions and guilt like they never existed. I had always been afraid of being discovered earlier when seeking pleasures. Hyde never ran that risk, he was always completely himself. Hyde never needed to conceal anything, he was no hypocrite. In his face anyone could clearly see what kind of man he was. I was so relieved over not having to hide my sins anymore!
If I had to write down every sin, every atrocity I did in the shape of Edward Hyde, I would surely run out of paper before having told half of them. I will only write that Henry Jekylls pleasures in comparison to Hyde's seemed like child's play.
I have always been a man with a certain appetite for life. What I have to say might be immoral, but I have always thought it strange that a strong and healthy, full-grown man must live in a celibate when he is not married. This is something very unnatural. Even my highly moral father I know was a man with strong desires. I remember seeing my father once in a very close situation with one of our maids. I was only a boy then, and my father punished me harder than he used to. I can remember being very angry with him then, but that must have been the only time I was angry with my father. Being only a child, I could not understand what I had seen. But as a grown man, I can see what had happened from another point of view. If not even my father could resist his more primitive instincts - then, who could? I can now understand that my father wanted to spare my mother - who was a very frail woman - from his male instincts. It was surely good for her what happened. The laws that have been written by the placid holy men of the church cannot always be applied to grown men with blood running through their veins.
I was surprised to realize that, though Henry Jekyll was much more pleasant to behold, I did not find it difficult to find a woman when I wanted one as Hyde. Maybe the primitive instincts in Hyde were so strongly present, that those close to him could not help but be affected. But this is merely a theory of mine, and the truth might never be known. As Hyde, my appetites were close to insatiable in everything I did.
I told my servants that my friend Edward Hyde was free to come and go as he wished. This made my secret easier to hide. Soon, I noticed that most of the servants could not come near me without showing revulsion or horror when they encountered me in my second shape. But not all of them. I quickly learned that some of my younger maids had morals of a lesser kind, and some of them became willing victims of Hyde's depravities. Young women without morals such as these, should of course, immediately be given notice. But I must admit that I took secret pleasure in knowing very intimate details concerning the young Sarah or Molly who brought Henry Jekyll his afternoon tea in the library. Watching the shape of those supple young bodies, knowing exactly what was hidden underneath those heavy skirts.
My conscience slumbered during these first months. I, Jekyll, was not concerned with the misdeeds that Hyde thought up and did during the nights. I cared for my patients, I contributed to charity. Hyde was a man of very low - or no - morals, but as Henry Jekyll I seemed to be totally unaffected by his crimes. I thought I had found the perfect solution to my moral dilemma.
At times, I have been amusing myself with thinking about how this drug of mine would have affected another person taking it. Maybe Edward Hyde is inside all of us. Maybe he waits, sleeps, inside every human being, and my drug is only the means for him to burst free. Doctor Lanyon, my respected colleague, what change would have taken place in you if you took the drug? You, who did not believe in me and saw my research as pure superstition? How would your plump and jolly figure have changed? Ah, Lanyon, you were proven wrong at last, though you paid a dear price for your knowledge. My friend Utterson, what change would the drug have brought on you? You, the most moral and quiet of men, would your lean, dry person have changed and have become a wild beast? I cannot help smiling when I imagine Utterson growling with rage like a mad dog. This really should not be funny at all, but somehow I find the thought of it most amusing. There must be another person behind his kind exterior; I cannot be the only man with a hidden side.
Utterson is indeed the best of friends. But lately, he has been somewhat irritating with that curiosity of his. At first, he disagreed upon the will in which I made Edward Hyde my sole heir. Then, directly against my wishes, he dared to spy upon Hyde's doings and tell these to me as Jekyll. Poor Utterson, how could you have known that Henry Jekyll already knew of every single thing that Hyde did. He could not surprise or shock me, no matter what he told me. I have told Utterson several times that everything concerning Hyde is my private matter. Why will he not listen to me? Why does he not just leave me alone?
I have to write about the worst thing of all, the murder of sir Danvers Carew. It is widely known that the old gentleman was brutally beaten to death by a madman, and that the infamous Edward Hyde was identified as the murderer. It was indeed a horrible thing, but it was not the blind rage of a madman, as is generally believed. I must tell you the background to this tragic story.
A very long time ago - it must have been more than twenty years ago - I was engaged to Carolyn Carew, who was the daughter of the murdered man. Sir Danvers Carew was an old friend of my father's, and I had known Carolyn since I was a child. She grew up to be a fine woman, and I started to see more and more of her. My success in my studies and my hard work finally made the old man agree to our engagement. I remember how happy I was. These were probably the best months in my life. Oh, she was a lovely girl; beautiful, well-shaped and elegant, she was everything a woman should be. But I was still young and my passions strong. My patience was unfortunately enough, not as strong, and I made my fiancée aware of the pleasures of marriage before the marriage actually took place. I do not know how it happened, but the old man heard about our secret love-meetings. He broke the engagement and took Carolyn on a long journey. My mind filled with rage when I heard about this. I think I would even have used violence against him if he had been present; and that is not at all like me. I was very strongly affected by what had happened. How could he do this to me? How could he dare to decide over my life? Why, she was mine! That old, pompous ass! I am sure he did not remember what it was like to be young, to have passions. How could he do this?
Over a year later, old Carew and Carolyn returned to London - and she was already married to another man. I never forgot her. Maybe this is one reason why I never married. My memory of Carolyn is still so much alive, that no other woman could ever give me anything more than pleasure for the moment.
Unfortunately, I could not help but meet Carolyn and her father occasionally. We moved in the same circles. Something always grew cold within me when I saw Carolyn and her husband, and I never stopped to talk with them. I am afraid that I would have done something that I would regret otherwise. Carolyn only grew more beautiful in my eyes. At several occasions, she tried to talk to me, wanting us to be friends, but I could never bear it. That would have been like being invited to a table full of delicious food, but never getting to taste anything from it. Carew was always polite to me, but cold, and he never could hide that look of disgust in his eyes. On my part, I could not even bear to hear his name mentioned. I tried to avoid attending meetings when I knew he would be there, afraid that my hatred would show as clearly as I felt it burn in my chest. I was lucky to be very good at self-control, otherwise bad things would probably have happened earlier.
Before the night of the murder, I had been living in abstinence for almost two months. This was caused by my waking up as Hyde one morning after having a very sensual dream, having gone to bed Henry Jekyll. This worried me, as I had noticed that the change went easier every day. At this time, I decided to abstain from the pleasures of Hyde. I was afraid that I would remain Hyde forever, and the fright made me behave for two moths. But it was not long until sin caught up with me again. I tried to concentrate on my duties and my work, but I was constantly tempted by my lower nature, which I tried to fight. The fight was uneven and I had to lose it.
That night, I had decided to pay a visit to my club. It was a while since my last visit, as I had been working very hard lately, living my life as a good man. This particular night, I felt very restless and I thought that I would benefit from a few hours relaxation in the pleasant company of my friends. My mood sank when I saw old Carew at the club. I should not have stayed, I realize that now, as I was becoming increasingly irritated, and finally old Carew dared to make fun of me in front of my friends! He must have been drunk, or he would not have done such a thing. It was a big mistake of him to do that to me, to say those words. Maybe he would still be alive today if he had kept quiet. I do not remember exactly what he said, but I know that I was very disturbed. I was so angry that my wineglass broke in my hand.
I immediately turned and left the club. I tell you this as to explain that my self-control as Henry Jekyll was not in any way affected. I did not touch the old man, though I more than anything wished to revenge myself on him. I let my cab take me home, but I was only more restless because of this incident. If only I could show that insolent old fool! I sent Poole for an old bottle of wine, but my anger still glowed inside me. I could not stop thinking of the events of this evening. As Jekyll, most people recognize me, but no one who knows me - except for that snooping Utterson - ever met Hyde. At one time I found Utterson waiting outside the door that leads to my laboratory, the door which I used to leave my house as Hyde. I instantly realized that he had been spying on me, and I was very angry with him, being in an unusually bad mood. As Hyde, I do not have my usual amount of self-control, and I remember shouting and waving my cane at Utterson. I do not think I hurt him, though.
It must have been at that precise moment, when it suddenly struck me that Hyde would be completely unknown to my friends, that I decided to mix and drink my devilish potion once more.
I was again wonderfully free when the drug took effect. I went out and took another cab back to the club, where I waited outside, hidden in the shadows. I seemed to have an enormous amount of patience this unusually dark and foggy night. After a while, my patience was rewarded, and I watched Carew leave the club. I squeezed my cane; I felt like walking straight up to him at this instant. But instead, I crept up closer to see what the old man was up to. When I heard him dismiss his cab and saying that he would walk home, my heart filled with joy. I knew where he lived - not far from the club - and I quickly ran away as to be able to intercept him at a quiet place.
When I met him, he naturally did not recognize me. He must have been more drunk than I had thought, for he was singing to himself as he walked along the street. I do not really know what I, as Hyde, had planned to do to the old man. I knew I wanted revenge, but not in what form that revenge would come. He stopped to exchange a few words with me. I was disgusted when I felt his breath on my face, stinking of liquor. It is very unnatural and inappropriate for a man of such advanced age to be drinking like that. He filled me with a deep loathing. The deep-set hatred that for so many years had been hidden in Henry Jekyll grew to immense proportions, nurtured by the passions and wild anger of Edward Hyde.
I remember pretending to listen to his senseless blabbering for a short while my rage grew. Soon, I lost control, and let loose all that anger that had been hidden for so long. In a fit of rage, I struck the old man down. Yes, I do remember it very clearly; I can see it happen at this very moment. I can even hear it. The sounds of his bones being broken, the sound of my cane beating his soft flesh, his pained moans. These sounds were like music in my ears, and I could not get enough of it. I continued to beat down on his body long after his life had left him. I didn't stop until I sank down to my knees beside that horribly mangled body, exhausted and sweating. The cobblestones close to me were dark and slick with the old man's blood. So much blood! I wanted to taste it. I felt wonderfully elated, almost ecstatic! I was laughing at the top of my voice! Ah, this was immensely satisfying, more satisfying than being with any Soho slut!
*
Thank God, I am still Henry Jekyll. But I had a very hard time. God, I really had to fight him. I was just writing the last words in my story about the Carew murder when I saw my hands. They were - no, I will not describe what was about to happen. I hate to see myself change these days. Earlier, I had a large mirror installed in my laboratory to be able to watch the changes, but now it stands covered in a corner of the room. I cannot bear to see his horrible face anymore. Hyde's hands are not at all like mine, they are corded and hairy with long nails. His eyes are terrible, black and glistening with evil. My own eyes are of a light blue color. Strange, I seem to remember that many years ago, when I was engaged to Carolyn, she told me that my eyes went black when I was angry. Was I ever that angry with her? I do not remember.
I just read through what I wrote about the Carew murder. My God, what have I written? It is terrible. It was meant to be a confession, not a bragging murderer's gloating over his awful deed. These are not the words of Henry Jekyll. I should destroy this paper, feed it to the fire. My hands are still shaking and I have some difficulty writing this. But I dare not try to write about this thing again, I fear that it would again have the bad effect on me. And the next time, I might not win my continual struggle with the enemy within me. Let it be known that I was not myself as I wrote those words. I would never, ever have felt like that when committing such and awful deed. I did not want this to happen, under no circumstance did I want this to happen, my God, I swear it is the truth, it is, it is -
*
I think I can write the rest now. I am painfully aware that I do not have much time, but I was far too upset recently. It feels terrible to be in the throes of my emotions like this, horribly and unnaturally elated some times and in deep sorrow at other times. Especially for me, who always have been a calm and rational man of a scientific nature. I had to turn my thoughts from my confession for a while to be able to calm down. Sometimes, it seems like the change comes easier to me when I am nervous or distraught. Maybe it is more difficult to fight him when my rational mind is weakened by strong emotions.
I was about to have a cup of tea, but my hands were shaking and I broke the cup. I wonder if they heard the noise? This is certainly not the first time that something breaks in these rooms; Hyde simply cannot control his temper and my laboratory is full of fragile glasses, beakers and tubes. He always seems to be so full of anger, this Hyde. I wonder where his rage comes from?
I am still Henry Jekyll. Though I am much shaken. It seems to be harder and harder for me to remain calm. The next time, I might not be so lucky. I must finish my confession, it is obvious that I cannot resist the evil influences which try to take control over my body and my soul. I have brought a small bottle of cyanide to the small table. When this confession is finished, I will bring my own unhappy life to an end. I cannot risk that Edward Hyde will once more run free in the world.
It is strange, but as I walked around my rooms, I came to remember an incident from my youth; I do not know why I come to think about it right now. I must have been around fifteen years old, for I seem to remember that my mother recently passed away. As a schoolboy, I was at the top of my class both as an athlete and as a student. But I had a teacher who treated me very unfairly. He was an older man who was stern of manner, but in a most unfair way. He often made up impossible questions for me to answer, and many times he punished me in front of my less talented classmates. This was all extremely humiliating to me. There must have been something wrong about him, for he clearly seemed to enjoy harassing me. A few times, he called me to his room to scold me for my "disciplinary problems". That was insane. I might not have been fussing like the rest of the students. Already as a young man, I was very honest and straightforward, but he could not understand that. He had a very bad character.
This is why I do not regret hitting him once. I was once more in his room, and he said something about that he was worried about me. If there is anything that makes me more upset than being made fun of, it must be hypocrisy. I was used to minding my own business and I needed no false compassion. Suddenly I could not stand it anymore. It struck me as being ridiculous that a disgusting person such as him once more would preach to me as if I was a naughty little boy. I know I became very angry. I did not even raise my voice, I just stared straight at him, stood up and gave him what he deserved. People like him do not seem to understand anything less than that. Before I left the room, I reminded him of my father's influential position in society. I do not think that he taught again after that. That was probably for the best, people like him should not be allowed to be teachers.
It is funny, to this day I can still feel the joy of giving a just punishment. This must be why I came to think about this right now. I can see a certain similarity between the event with the teacher and what happened to Carew. I was very upset a little while ago and I know I over-reacted. The incident of Carew was mostly his own fault, after all. I am not at all amused by violence ordinarily, but these repulsive individuals really deserved what came to them. In this way, I might have been the weapon of justice, dealing out justly deserved revenge. Of course Hyde went too far concerning Carew, and this was naturally very bad. But I do understand poor Hyde, he does not own my kind of self-control.
I wonder what my good father would have said if he was alive this day, and saw what had happened to his only son? He would have been ashamed of me, I am sure of it. I have always tried to live up to his high expectations, his ideals and morals. But there must have been some inborn weakness of the soul that made me fall for the Devil like this. It is strange how both my poor sister and I were affected in this way.
Thelma was intelligent and beautiful, like my mother was - but perhaps both she and I inherited my mother's weakness. I visited my sister often when she first had to be put in the sanatorium. My father told me we had better leave her alone, and I wished that I had obeyed him in this! Those things that poor Thelma, in the grips of her disease, said about our father were too terrible to write down. She accused this good man of the most disgusting and ridiculous things. I had to use all of my self-control not to silence her blasphemous mouth from uttering these obscenities. I never visited her again after this. Nor would I have attended her funeral a few years later, if not my father had persuaded me to come. I have to remind myself that it was the disease, not her, speaking, and that she is not to be blamed for those terrible things she said.
But now I must finish my confession - there is not much left to write. Edward Hyde was hunted throughout London as a murderer and I could never yield to the temptation of becoming Hyde once more. Of course, Utterson had to show up the day after the murder and tell me all about it. God, did I not have to suffer enough already, without my lawyer making it worse? I had to pretend to be shocked over the terrible news, I had to tear up my will and admit that Hyde made me write it. Utterson seemed to be satisfied with this. I, for my sake, hoped that my secret was safe and that this whole sorry business was concluded.
For a time I thought that my lower self had left me completely. But I had become used to be able to assume the shape of Hyde whenever I wished, and my ordinary working life seemed extremely dull to me. The demon inside me raged and wanted to be free. I was tempted - and I fell. For only a short while after this, the terrible change happened again without my wanting it.
I was sitting on a bench in Regent's Park after having worked hard at the hospital. I had decided to walk home, as the weather was clear and the air cool and fresh. It was a lovely evening, it was almost warm and the sun was setting. Then I happened to notice a young woman, a nurse holding a small boy by the hand, hurrying through the park. She was an attractive young lady and I watched her intently. I might have turned my thoughts to what I would have liked to do with her if I had my other shape. But the thoughts had barely entered my mind, before I was gripped with feelings I always connected with the change to Edward Hyde. What happened then is awful. Hyde seemed to me wilder than ever before, like an animal. Maybe because I do not let him run loose like he is used to do. I cannot say anything more than that Hyde pulled the girl behind some bushes and violated her. I have absolutely no memory whatsoever of what happened to the child.
I feel sorry for the girl, of course, but she should not have been out alone in a park at that time of evening. A woman looking like her must understand that men look at her, and be much more careful than this young lady was. Maybe she was that kind of girl who likes to stay out late at nights, if you get my point. This young woman had a kind of seductive air about her and she brought forward the beast in me. This would probably have happened to her sooner or later anyway. I must not be the only man who would have reacted strongly to her looks and her behavior.
When I had had my pleasure with the girl, I realized my position. I was a murderer and the gallows awaited me. One thing about Edward Hyde is his wonderful love of life. I have always felt so much more alive as Hyde. My life as Henry Jekyll seemed bland and dull in comparison, like a weak tea compared to strong red wine. Hyde wanted to live, to live at any cost! I could not enter my own house, as the servants would have called the police. So I wrote this letter to my friend and colleague, Dr Lanyon, asking him to bring some chemicals from my laboratory and then await a visitor at midnight.
The visitor was, of course, Edward Hyde. That pompous ass Lanyon did not let me leave with the chemicals, but demanded to know what I would use them for. If he hadn't held a gun in his hand, that would have been the end of him. I remembered gnashing my teeth with anger when he prevented me from leaving his house with what was rightfully mine. If I could only get my hands around that fat throat of his!
Anyway, Lanyon got to know more than he asked for, much more than that. He watched as I prepared and drank down the drug. I was very much amused, watching his face change from a skeptical and calm expression to pure horror as he witnessed my change. He who had doubted my experiments, he who had made fun of my work; at last he got to see the truth with his own eyes. He had to admit that I was right and he was wrong. It was difficult for him, and at one time he looked like he was going to faint. He had had a serious shock, but if he had believed in me from the beginning, this might never had to happen to him. I know I was a bit shaken after the change and I think I might have threatened Lanyon, but I am not sure. I was so worried that he would reveal my secret, and this must never happen, not at any cost. A few weeks later, Lanyon died, but I do not know if this was because of me or not.
*
I had to make another pause, I felt strange once or twice while writing, but I am better now. I am still Henry Jekyll. I do not dare to leave my house any longer, the change may come over me at any time of the day or night. Hyde's evil influence is taking more and more control over my life. I must stay close to my laboratory, to my drugs all the time. Whenever I change, I try to take my drug as soon as possible, I do not wish to be seen in my other shape. But sometimes Hyde is out of my control. I seem to have less control over him every day.
Once, I escaped as Hyde. I was walking in my own back garden, getting some air, as the change suddenly came over me. I remember running away in the night, going to Lanyon's house, I guess I wanted to frighten him. This was about a week ago, just before his death. Luckily, Hyde did no misdeeds this night, and I have been forced to stay indoors ever since. I feel safer that way. I destroyed the key to my back door, so he cannot escape that way. I have been eating all my meals and sleeping in my laboratory ever since Hyde escaped.
Yesterday, Hyde maliciously destroyed the portrait of my father, which has always been hanging over the fireplace. I think he did it right after Utterson was here. His visit made me very upset, very upset indeed. In my painful situation I cannot stand his spying anymore. Utterson was at the laboratory door; he knocked several times and shouted my name over and over again. I know that when he started shouting, I was standing just inside the door, trembling with fear and anticipation, a scalpel firmly held in my hand.
That is funny, when I think of this, I seem to remember being Henry Jekyll as I stood by the door. I must be wrong about this, I am getting more confused and stressed by the day. This constant struggle is taking a heavy toll on me. I would never have done that, had I been myself when Utterson knocked at my door - even though I was irritated with him. Naturally, I would have answered him if I had been Jekyll. Eventually he left, but I fear that he will not be satisfied; I know that he is very suspicious. He will probably not give up until the whole world knows my terrible secret!
Why did Poole let him come to the door? I have given my butler very definite orders that nobody may see me, nobody, no matter how important! I have not seen Poole, nor any other human being this week. I have told my servants that I will be very busy working in my laboratory and cannot be disturbed for any reason. Poole has been bringing me every meal to the laboratory door, and I have brought it in while no one was looking. During this week, I have not had much of an appetite. But Poole has been taking away empty plates; Hyde seems to have as good an appetite as ever.
Sometimes I dare not even speak to my servants. Mostly, I leave notes outside the door. I dare not do otherwise; the change might come over me as I am speaking. Hyde's voice is very different from mine and anyone could hear the difference, I suppose. The servants might have heard me screaming as the change struck me, or heard when I as Hyde was swearing and growling, pacing the laboratory. I simply cannot control myself when I am Hyde.
Yes, Poole has been nervous lately, I have noticed that. But that gives him no right to go against his master's orders! I had not expected him to be so rude. Poole has always been the perfect butler and I cannot understand what has happened to him. Maybe, at a later date, I should remind him what is and is not proper for a servant to do. I should remind him so that he never forgets it again. I think I would even enjoy it.
Very soon, all this will be over. My mind is confused more and more of the time. I cannot fight Edward Hyde any longer; his will has become stronger than mine. And he gets more impatient by the minute. I fear that Hyde will try to leave this house the next time he is free; and if this should happen, everyone I know is in great danger.
I am still Henry Jekyll. But I must act now; the risk is too great to wait any longer. I ask for forgiveness from everyone I ever hurt, may God now forgive me.
*
Well, there it is, the bottle of cyanide, broken against the floor. I would have been insane to end my life for the sake of some insignificant trifles. I have been very afraid, very unsure, very nervous, but I feel much better now. Ah, so much better! Life is to valuable to throw away like a piece of broken pottery - ah, no, it would be blasphemy! To feel my life coursing though my body; could anything be sweeter than this? No, no, I don't know what I could've been thinking about! I live, I breathe, I am free! Free to eat, to drink, to love! It's strange to think that I've been sitting here, trembling like a caged rat! I must leave this enclosed, dusty place very soon, I need other company than these damned tubes and glasses!
I would like to pay my very dear friend Mr Utterson a visit, I know of one or two things that I simply must discuss with him. I haven't been out for quite a while, all this sitting has made me terribly restless, terribly tense. Yes, yes, some night air will do me good, I know it, I am sure of it! And oh, my dear, my beautiful Carolyn, I haven't seen her for a very long time. I must see her soon, just me and her, so we can be really close like we once were. Yes, I know we would have so much to tell one another.
So, they are shouting and knocking again! And that old fool Utterson is back again. I have to wait for a while, it seems. I told them to go away, but they don't recognize my voice any longer. Damn! I should have kept quiet, but I couldn't help myself. May the Devil take them! I know they are going to break the door down in a minute, those accursed idiots, I can hear them outside. Well, just let them come, I'm not afraid of them anymore. Yes, yes, I'm actually looking forward to a visit right now. I'm not afraid of anything. The scalpel is very sharp and its handle fits my hand perfectly. Let them come!