Welcome to Sleep Stories with Steph,
Your go-to podcast that guarantees you a calm and relaxing transition into a great night's sleep.
Today's story is called Dr.
Jekyll and Mr.
Hyde.
First published in 1886,
This story explores the duality of human nature and suggests that within each and every one of us lies both good and evil.
But before we begin,
Let's take a moment to focus on where we are now.
It is time to relax and fully let go.
There is nothing you need to be doing now and nowhere you need to go.
Take a deep breath in through your nose.
Then let it out on a long sigh.
Chapter Eight 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 the front of the door,
Both stopped to gaze on it.
Well,
Said Enfield,
That story's at an end at least.
We shall never see more of Mr.
Hyde.
I hope not,
Said Utterson.
Did I ever tell you I once saw him and shared your feeling of repulsion?
It was impossible to do one without the other,
Returned Enfield.
And by the way,
What an ass you must have thought me not to know this was a back way to Dr.
Jekyll's.
It was partly your own fault 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 in 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 halfway open,
And sitting close beside it,
Taking the air in with an infinite sadness of mien,
Like some disconsolate prisoner,
Utterson saw Dr.
Jekyll.
What?
Jekyll?
He cried.
I trust you're 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.
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's quite impossible.
I dare not.
But indeed,
Utterson,
I'm very glad to see you.
This really is 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 stay down here and speak with you from where we are.
That is 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'd 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 unanswering 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.
Chapter 9 The Last Night Mr.
Utterson was sitting by his fireside one evening after dinner,
When he was surprised to receive a visit from Paul.
Bless me,
Paul,
What brings you here?
He cried,
And then,
Taking a second look at him,
What ails you,
Man?
Is the doctor ill?
Mr.
Utterson,
Said Paul,
There is something wrong.
Take a seat,
And here is a glass of wine for you,
Said the lawyer.
Now take your time and tell me plainly what you want.
You know the doctor's ways,
Sir,
Replied Paul,
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 Paul,
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 a 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've got some good reason,
Paul.
I think there's something seriously amiss.
Try to tell me what it is.
I think there's been foul play,
Said Paul,
Hoarsely.
Foul play,
Cried the lawyer,
A good deal frightened,
Rather inclined to be irritated in consequence.
What foul play?
What does the man mean?
I didn't say,
Sir,
Was the answer,
But will you come along with me and say it 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 lawny texture.
The wind made talking difficult and flecked the blood into the face.
It seemed to have swept the streets,
Unusually bare of passengers besides,
For Mr.
Utterson thought he had never seen that part of London so deserted.
He could have wished it otherwise,
Never in his life had he been so 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 anticipation 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.
Paul,
Who had kept 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 dues 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,
Paul,
Said the lawyer.
Thereupon the servant knocked in a very guarded manner,
The door was opened on the chain,
And a voice answered from within.
Is that you,
Paul?
It's all right,
Said Paul,
Open the door.
The hall when they entered it was brightly lighted up,
The fire was built high,
And about the hearth,
The whole of the servants,
Men and women,
Stood huddled together like a flock of sheep.
At the sight of Mr.
Utterson,
The housemaid broke into hysterical whimpering,
And the cook,
Crying out,
Bless God,
It's Mr.
Utterson,
Ran forward,
As if to take him in her arms.
What,
What,
Are you all here?
Said the lawyer,
Peevishly,
Very irregular,
Very unseemly,
Your master would be far from pleased.
They're all afraid,
Said Paul.
Then blank silence followed,
No one protesting,
Only the maid lifted up her voice and now wept loudly.
Hold your tongue,
Paul said to her,
With a ferocity of accent that testified to his own jangled nerves,
And indeed,
When the girl had so suddenly raised her note of lamentation,
They all started and turned towards the inner door,
With faces of dreadful expectation.
