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    The strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
    The strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
    The strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
    Ebook103 pages1 hourUniversals

    The strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

    By Robert Louis Stevenson

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    In the shadowy streets of Victorian London, Dr. Henry Jekyll, a respected scientist and physician, struggles with a dark secret: the belief that within every human being coexist two opposing natures. Desperate to unleash his wilder, darker side, Jekyll creates a potion that allows him to transform into Edward Hyde, a ruthless and unscrupulous being.

    As Hyde commits horrific crimes, Jekyll becomes trapped in an internal battle between his conscience and the monster he has unleashed. The duality of his being threatens to destroy him, and the line between the two characters begins to blur. Can Jekyll control his creation, or will Hyde prevail forever?
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherEdicions Perelló
    Release dateJan 31, 2025
    ISBN9788410227026
    Author

    Robert Louis Stevenson

    Robert Lewis Balfour Stevenson was born on 13 November 1850, changing his second name to ‘Louis’ at the age of eighteen. He has always been loved and admired by countless readers and critics for ‘the excitement, the fierce joy, the delight in strangeness, the pleasure in deep and dark adventures’ found in his classic stories and, without doubt, he created some of the most horribly unforgettable characters in literature and, above all, Mr. Edward Hyde.

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      The strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson

      Portada de The Strange case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde hecha por Robert Louis Stevenson

      This collection treasures the most important works of universal literature, each one in its original language.

      In the English Letters Series, the following stand out: The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald; The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde; Alice in Wonderland, by Lewis Carrol; A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens; The Autobiography, by Benjamin Franklin; The Best Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, by Arthur Conan Doyle; Self-Reliance, by Ralph Waldo Emerson; The finest story in the world, by Rudyard Kipling; Romeo and Juliet, by William Shakespeare; The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, by Mark Twain; Frankenstein; Or, The Modern Prometheus, by Mary Shelley; The shadow over Innsmouth, by H.P. Lovecraft; The Scarlet Plague, by Jack London; Carmilla, by Sheridan Le Fanu...

      Robert Louis Stevenson

      The Strange Case of

      Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

      © Ed. Perelló, SL, 2025

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      I.S.B.N.: 978-84-10227-02-6

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      All rights reserved. Any form of reproduction, distribution,

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      Contact CEDRO (Spanish Center for Reprographic Rights,www.cedro.org)

      if you need to photocopy or scan a snippet of this work.

      I

      Story of the door

      Mr. Utterson the lawyer was a man of a rugged countenance that was never lighted by a smile; cold, scanty and embarrassed in discourse; backward in sentiment; lean, long, dusty, dreary and yet somehow lovable. At friendly meetings, and when the wine was to his taste, something eminently human beaconed from his eye; something indeed which never found its way into his talk, but which spoke not only in these silent symbols of the after-dinner face, but more often and loudly in the acts of his life. He was austere with himself; drank gin when he was alone, to mortify a taste for vintages; and though he enjoyed the theatre, had not crossed the doors of one for twenty years. But he had an approved tolerance for others; sometimes wondering, almost with envy, at the high pressure of spirits involved in their misdeeds; and in any extremity inclined to help rather than to reprove. I incline to Cain’s heresy, he used to say quaintly: I let my brother go to the devil in his own way. In this character, it was frequently his fortune to be the last reputable acquaintance and the last good influence in the lives of downgoing men. And to such as these, so long as they came about his chambers, he never marked a shade of change in his demeanour.

      No doubt the feat was easy to Mr. Utterson; for he was undemonstrative at the best, and even his friendship seemed to be founded in a similar catholicity of good-nature. It is the mark of a modest man to accept his friendly circle ready-made from the hands of opportunity; and that was the lawyer’s way. His friends were those of his own blood or those whom he had known the longest; his affections, like ivy, were the growth of time, they implied no aptness in the object. Hence, no doubt the bond that united him to Mr. Richard Enfield, his distant kinsman, the well-known man about town. It was a nut to crack for many, what these two could see in each other, or what subject they could find in common. It was reported by those who encountered them in their Sunday walks, that they said nothing, looked singularly dull and would hail with obvious relief the appearance of a friend. For all that, the two men put the greatest store by these excursions, counted them the chief jewel of each week, and not only set aside occasions of pleasure, but even resisted the calls of business, that they might enjoy them uninterrupted.

      It chanced on one of these rambles that their way led them down a by-street in a busy quarter of London. The street was small and what is called quiet, but it drove a thriving trade on the weekdays. The inhabitants were all doing well, it seemed and all emulously hoping to do better still, and laying out the surplus of their grains in coquetry; so that the shop fronts stood along that thoroughfare with an air of invitation, like rows of smiling saleswomen. Even on Sunday, when it veiled its more florid charms and lay comparatively empty of passage, the street shone out in contrast to its dingy neighbourhood, like a fire in a forest; and with its freshly painted shutters, well-polished brasses, and general cleanliness and gaiety of note, instantly caught and pleased the eye of the passenger.

      Two doors from one corner, on the left hand going east the line was broken by the entry of a court; and just at that point a certain sinister block of building thrust forward its gable on the street. It was two storeys high; showed no window, nothing but a door on the lower storey and a blind forehead of discoloured wall on the upper; and bore in every feature, the marks of prolonged and sordid negligence. The door, which was equipped with neither bell nor knocker, was blistered and distained. Tramps slouched into the recess and struck matches on the panels; children kept shop upon the steps; the schoolboy had tried his knife on the mouldings; and for close on a generation, no one had appeared to drive away these random visitors or to repair their ravages.

      Mr. Enfield and the lawyer were on the other side of the by-street; but when they came abreast of the entry, the former lifted up his cane and pointed.

      Did you ever remark that door? he asked; and when his companion had replied in the affirmative, It is connected in my mind, added he, with a very odd story.

      Indeed? said Mr. Utterson, with a slight change of voice, and what was that?

      Well, it was this way, returned Mr. Enfield: "I was coming home from some place at the end of the world, about three o’clock of a black winter morning, and my way lay through a part of town where there was literally nothing to be seen but lamps. Street after street and all the folks asleep—street after street, all lighted up as if for a procession and all as empty as a church—till at last I got into that state of mind when a man listens and listens and begins to long for the sight of a policeman. All at once, I saw two figures: one a little man who was stumping along eastward at a good walk, and the other a girl of maybe eight or ten who was running as hard as she was able down a cross street. Well, sir, the two ran into one another naturally enough at the corner; and then came the horrible part of the thing; for the man trampled calmly over the child’s body and left her screaming on the ground. It sounds nothing to hear, but it was hellish to see. It wasn’t like a man; it was like some damned Juggernaut. I gave a few halloa, took to my heels, collared my gentleman, and brought him back to where there was already quite a group about the screaming child. He was perfectly cool and made no resistance, but gave me one look, so ugly that it brought out the sweat on me like running. The people who had turned out were the girl’s own family; and pretty

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