Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. Robert Louis Stevenson

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СКАЧАТЬ morn cam’, an’ the morn’s morning, an’ it was aye the same uncanny weather, sair on folks and bestial. O’ a’ that were the waur, nane suffered like Mr Soulis; he could neither sleep nor eat, he tauld his elders; an’ when he wasna writin’ at his weary book, he wad be stravaguin’ ower a’ the country-side like a man possessed, when a’ body else was blithe to keep caller ben the house.

      Abune Hangin ‘Shaw, in the bield o’ the Black Hill, there’s a bit enclosed grund wi’ an iron yett; an’ it seems, in the auld days, that was the kirkyaird o’ Ba’weary, an’ consecrated by the Papists before the blessed licht shone upon the kingdom. It was a great howff, o’ Mr Soulis’s onyway; there he wad sit an’ consider his sermons; an’ indeed it’s a bieldy bit. Weel, as he cam’ ower the wast end o’ the Black Hill, ae day, he saw first twa, an’ syne fower, an’ syne seeven corbie craws fleein’ round an’ round abune the auld kirkyaird. They flew laigh an’ heavy, an’ squawked to ither as they gaed; an’ it was clear to Mr Soulis that something had put them frae their ordinar. He wasna easy fleyed, an’ gaed straucht up to the wa’s; an’ what suld he find there but a man, or the appearance o’ a man, sittin’ in the inside upon a grave. He was of a great stature, an’ black as hell, and his e’en were singular to see. Mr Soulis had heard tell o’ black men, mony’s the time; but there was something unco about this black man that daunted him. Het as he was, he took a kind o’ cauld grue in the marrow o’ his banes; but up he spak for a’ that; an’ says he: ‘My friend, are you a stranger in this place?’ The black man answered never a word; he got upon his feet, an’ begoud on to hirsle to the wa’ on the far side; but he aye lookit at the minister; an’ the minister stood an’ lookit back; till a’ in a meenit the black man was ower the wa’ an’ rinnin’ for the bield o’ the trees. Mr Soulis, he hardly kenned why, ran after him; but he was fair forjeskit wi’ his walk an’ the het, unhalesome weather; an’ rin as he likit, he got nae mair than a glisk o’ the black man amang the birks, till he won doun to the foot o’ the hillside, an’ there he saw him ance mair, gaun, hap-step-an’-lawp, ower Dule water to the manse.

      Mr Soulis wasna weel pleased that this fearsome gangrel suld mak’sae free wi ‘Ba’weary manse; an’ he ran the harder, an’, wet shoon, ower the burn, an’ up the walk; but the de’il a black man was there to see. He stepped out upon the road, but there was naebody there; he gaed a’ ower the gairden, but na, nae black man. At the hinder end, an’ a bit feared as was but natural, he lifted the hasp an’ into the manse; and there was Janet M’Clour before his e’en, wi’ her thrawn craig, an’ nane sae pleased to see him. An’ he aye minded sinsyne, when first he set his e’en upon her, he had the same cauld and deidly grue.

      ‘Janet’, says he, ‘have you seen a black man?’

      ‘A black man!’ quo’ she. ‘Save us a’! Ye’re no wise, minister. There’s nae a black man in a’ Ba’weary.’

      But she didna speak plain, ye maun understand; but yam-yammered, like a powney wi’ the bit in its moo.

      ‘Weel,’ says he, ‘Janet, if there was nae black man, I have spoken with the Accuser of the Brethren.’

      An ‘he sat doun like ane wi’ a fever, an’ his teeth chittered in his heid.

      ‘Hoots,’ says she, ‘think shame to yourseP, minister’; an’ gied him a drap brandy that she keept aye by her.

      Syne Mr Soulis gaed into his study amang a ‘his books. It’s a lang, laigh, mirk chalmer, perishin’ cauld in winter, an’ no’ very dry even in the top o’ the simmer, for the manse stands near the burn. Sae doun he sat, and thocht of a’ that had come an’ gane since he was in Ba’weary, an’ his hame, an’ the days when he was a bairn an’ ran daffin’ on the braes; an’ that black man aye ran in his heid like the owercome of a sang. Aye the mair he thocht, the mair he thocht o’ the black man. He tried the prayer, an’ the words wouldna come to him; an’ he tried, they say, to write at his book, but he couldna mak’ nae mair o’ that. There was while he thocht the black man was at his oxter, an’ the swat stood upon him cauld as well-water; and there was ither whiles, when he cam’ to himsel’ like a christened bairn an’ minded naething.

      The upshot was that he gaed to the window an ‘stood glowrin’ at Dule water. The trees are unco thick, an’ the water lies deep an’ black under the manse; an’ there was Janet washin’ the cla’es wi’ her coats kilted. She had her back to the minister, an’ he, for his pairt, hardly kenned what he was lookin’ at. Syne she turned round, an’ shawed her face; Mr Soulis had the same cauld grue as twice that day afore, an’ it was borne in upon him what folk said, that Janet was deid lang syne, an’ this was a bogle in her clay-cauld flesh. He drew back a pickle and he scanned her narrowly. She was tramp-trampin’ in the cla’es croonin’ to herseP; and eh! Gude guide us, but it was a fearsome face. Whiles she sang louder, but there was nae man born o’ woman that could tell the words o ‘her sang; an’ whiles she lookit side-lang doun, but there was naething there for her to look at. There gaed a scunner through the flesh upon his banes; an ‘that was Heeven’s advertisement. But Mr Soulis just blamed himsel’, he said, to think sae ill o’ a puir, auld afflicted wife that hadna a freend forbye himsel’; an ‘he put up a bit prayer for him an’ her, an’ drank a little caller water – for his heart rose again’ the meat – an’ gaed up to his naked bed in the gloamin’.

      That was a nicht that has never been forgotten in Ba’weary, the nicht o ‘the seeventeenth o’ August, seeventeen hun’er an’ twal’. It had been het afore, as I hae said, but that nicht it was hetter than ever. The sun gaed doun amang unco-lookin’ clouds; it fell as mirk as the pit; no’ a star, no’ a breath o’wund; ye couldna see your han’ afore your face, an’ even the auld folk cuist the covers frae their beds an’ lay pechin’ for their breath. Wi’ a that he had upon his mind, it was gey an’ unlikely Mr Soulis wad get muckle sleep. He lay an’ he tummled; the gude, caller bed that he got into brunt his very banes; whiles he slept, an’ whiles he waukened; whiles he heard the time o’ nicht, an’ whiles a tyke yowlin’ up the muir, as if somebody was deid; whiles he thocht he heard bogles claverin’ in his lug, an’ whiles he saw spunkies in the room. He behoved, he judged, to be sick; an’ sick he was – little he jaloosed the sickness.

      At the hinder end, he got a clearness in his mind, sat up in his sark on the bed-side, an ‘fell thinkin’ ance mair o’ the black man an’ Janet. He couldna weel tell how – maybe it was the cauld to his feet – but it cam’ in upon him wi’ a spate that there was some connection between thir twa, an’ that either or baith o’ them were bogles. An’ just at that moment, in Janet’s room, which was neist to his, there cam’a stramp o’ feet as if men were wars’lin’, an’ then a loud bang; an’ then a wund gaed reishling round the fower quarters o’ the house; an’ then a’ was ance mair as seelent as the grave.

      Mr Soulis was feared for neither man nor de’il. He got his tinder-box, an ‘lit a can’le, an’ made three steps o’t ower to Janet’s door. It was on the hasp, an’ he pushed it open, an’ keeked bauldly in. It was a big room, as big as the minister’s ain, an’ plenished wi’ grand, auld solid gear, for he had naething else. There was a fower-posted bed wi’ auld tapestry; an’ a braw cabinet o’ aik, that was fu’ o’ the minister’s divinity books, an’ put there to be out o’ the gate; an’ a wheen duds o’ Janet’s lying here an’ there about the floor. But nae Janet could Mr Soulis see; nor ony sign o’ a contention. In he gaed (an’ there’s few that wad hae followed him) an’ lookit a’ round, an’ listened. But there was naething to be heard, neither inside the manse nor in a’ Ba’weary parish, an’ naething to be seen but the muckle shadows turnin’ round the can’le. An’ then, a’ at aince, the minister’s heart played dunt an’ stood stock-still; an’ a cauld wund blew amang the hairs o’ his heid. Whaten a weary sicht was that for the puir man’s e’en! For there СКАЧАТЬ