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Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
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Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
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Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
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Czyta Martin Jarvis
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Czcionka:Mniejsze АаWiększe Aa


Redakcja

Jadwiga Witecka

Projekt okładki

Amadeusz Targoński, targonski.pl

Ilustracja na okładce

FXQuadro | shutterstock.com

Skład i łamanie

Protext

Opracowanie e-wydania

Nagranie, realizacja dźwięku, opracowanie muzyczne

Grzegorz Dondziłło, Studio Maxx

Lektor

Patryk Steczek

© Copyright by Poltext Sp. z o.o.

Wszelkie prawa zastrzeżone. Nieautoryzowane rozpowszechnianie całości lub fragmentów niniejszej publikacji w jakiejkolwiek postaci zabronione. Wykonywanie kopii metodą elektroniczną, fotograficzną, a także kopiowanie książki na nośniku filmowym, magnetycznym, optycznym lub innym powoduje naruszenie praw autorskich niniejszej publikacji. Niniejsza publikacja została elektronicznie zabezpieczona przed nieautoryzowanym kopiowaniem, dystrybucją i użytkowaniem. Usuwanie, omijanie lub zmiana zabezpieczeń stanowi naruszenie prawa.

Warszawa 2018

Poltext Sp. z o.o.

www.poltext.pl

handlowy@mtbiznes.pl

ISBN 978-83-7561-936-2 (format epub)

ISBN 978-83-7561-937-9 (format mobi)

W wersji do nauki angielskiego dotychczas ukazały się:

A Christmas Carol

Opowieść wigilijna

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

Alicja w Krainie Czarów

Anne of Green Gables

Ania z Zielonego Wzgórza

Christmas Stories

Opowiadania świąteczne

Fairy Tales by Hans Christian Andersen

Baśnie Hansa Christiana Andersena

Fanny Hill. Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure

Wspomnienia kurtyzany

Frankenstein

Frankenstein

Peter and Wendy

Piotruś Pan

Pride and Prejudice

Duma i uprzedzenie

Short Stories by Edgar Allan Poe

Opowiadania Allana Edgara Poe

Short Stories of F. Scott Fitzgerald: A Collection

Opowiadania autora Wielkiego Gatsby’ego

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes Part 1

Przygody Sherlocka Holmesa

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes Part 2

Przygody Sherlocka Holmesa. Ciąg dalszy

The Blue Castle

Błękitny Zamek

The Great Gatsby

Wielki Gatsby

The Hound of the Baskervilles

Pies Baskerville’ów

The Picture of Dorian Gray

Portret Doriana Graya

The Secret Garden

Tajemniczy ogród

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Doktor Jekyll i pan Hyde

The Time Machine

Wehikuł czasu

The War of the Worlds

Wojna światów

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

Czarnoksiężnik z Krainy Oz

Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog)

Trzech panów w łódce (nie licząc psa)

Spis treści

1  Okładka

2  Strona tytułowa

3  Strona redakcyjna

4  Seria

5  WERSJA AUDIO GRATIS

6  Spis treści

7  Wstęp

8  Part 1 Słownictwo Rozumienie tekstu O słowach Gramatyka Kultura i historia Ćwiczenia

9  Part 2 Słownictwo Rozumienie tekstu O słowach Gramatyka Kultura i historia Ćwiczenia

10  Part 3 Słownictwo Rozumienie tekstu O słowach Gramatyka Kultura i historia Ćwiczenia

11  Part 4 Słownictwo Rozumienie tekstu O słowach Gramatyka Kultura i historia Ćwiczenia

12  Part 5 Słownictwo Rozumienie tekstu O słowach Gramatyka Kultura i historia Ćwiczenia

13  Słowniczek

14  Klucz

Wstęp

Powieść szkockiego autora, Roberta Louisa Stephensona, „Dziwny przypadek doktora Jekylla i pana Hyde’a” ukazała się w 1886 roku. Liczy sobie zatem, bagatela, już ponad 130 lat. Tym bardziej zaskakujące jest, jak mało się zestarzała.

Była prekursorką powieści gotyckiej, która z kolei współcześnie jest uważana za prapoczątek obecnego fantasy i science-fiction. Drugim, równie istotnym powodem jej aktualności, są pewne ponadczasowe wątki, które porusza.

Sama fabuła jest w ogólnym zarysie dość powszechnie znana – choćby dlatego, że postacie doktora Jekylla i pana Hyde’a weszły na stałe do popkultury. Głównym wątkiem jest dwoistość ludzkiej natury, którą należy odczytywać raczej jako alegorię człowieczeństwa w ogóle niż prostą historię o rozdwojeniu jaźni czy cyklofrenii. Każde z nas doświadcza sprzecznych namiętności, waha się między dobrem a złem, ulega pokusom. To do nich nawiązuje autor, starając się trafić do wyobraźni czytelników i czytelniczek. Jednocześnie współcześnie książka ta jest fenomenalnym obrazem wiktoriańskiej Anglii – w detalach pokazując, jak ważna była gra pozorów na potrzeby świata zewnętrznego i jak rozpowszechniona była hipokryzja obyczajowa.

Co ciekawe, w chwili publikacji powieść była postrzegana raczej jako moralizatorska; wykorzystywano ją jako przykład inspirujący dla kaznodziejów. Nie przeszkodziło jej to stać się błyskawicznym bestsellerem.

Według relacji samego Stephensona, włożył ogromny wysiłek w to, aby efekt jego pracy był perfekcyjny. Gdy małżonka zwróciła mu uwagę, że choć ma wyraźnie intencje alegoryczne, ale pisze bardzo dosłownie, spalił manuskrypt gotowej powieści i rozpoczął pracę od początku. Co prawda historycy literatury nie znajdują żadnych dowodów na to, że tak drastyczny krok faktycznie miał miejsce, ale legenda ta wyraźnie obrazuje jednak, że sam autor miał głębokie przekonanie, że tworzy swoje opus magnum.

 

Pisanie od początku szło mu jednak najwyraźniej łatwo, bo odtworzenie głównej osi powieści zajęło mniej niż tydzień, a szlifowanie niecałe dwa miesiące. Co prawda twórca i jego rodzina utrzymywali, że proces pisania miał miejsce podczas, gdy był złożony ciężką chorobą w łóżku i pełnił wręcz funkcję terapeutyczną. Jednakże nie bez wpływu na tempo prac było zapewne to, że Stephenson prawdopodobnie regularnie zażywał w tym czasie kokainę.

Warto dodać, że dzieło, choć pełne było uniwersalnych przemyśleń, opierało się jednak częściowo na całkiem realnych inspiracjach. Impulsem do napisania powieści dla Stephensona mogła być bowiem wieloletnia przyjaźń z Eugene’em Chantrelle, nauczycielem francuskiego, który wiódł na pozór przykładne i spokojne życie. Z czasem okazało się jednak, że był seryjnym mordercą – a swoje ofiary, włącznie z żoną, uśmiercał, podając im zabójcze dawki opium ukryte w serze, serwowanym na sutych kolacjach. Samo nazwisko autor bez pardonu zapożyczył od znajomego wikarego.

Bez doktora Jekylla i pana Hyde’a nie sposób sobie wyobrazić choćby postaci Hulka – którego ludzkie alter ego, nomen omen, także było doktorem – ale i wielu innych powracających toposów i archetypów. Warto sięgnąć po tę powieść, aby je lepiej zauważać, a także delektować się tą perłą literatury angielskiej.

Opracowany przez nas podręcznik oparty na oryginalnym tekście powieści został skonstruowany według przejrzystego schematu.

 Na marginesach tekstu podano objaśnienia trudniejszych wyrazów.

 Każdy rozdział jest zakończony krótkim testem sprawdzającym stopień rozumienia tekstu.

 Zawarty po każdym rozdziale dział O słowach jest poświęcony poszerzeniu słownictwa z danej dziedziny, synonimom, kolokacjom, wyrazom kłopotliwym oraz wyrażeniom idiomatycznym.

 W dziale poświęconym gramatyce omówiono wybrane zagadnienia gramatyczne, ilustrowane fragmentami poszczególnych części powieści.

 Dla dociekliwych został również opracowany komentarz do wybranych tematów związanych z kulturą i historią.

Różnorodne ćwiczenia pozwolą Czytelnikowi powtórzyć i sprawdzić omówione w podręczniku zagadnienia leksykalne i gramatyczne. Alfabetyczny wykaz wyrazów objaśnianych na marginesie tekstu znajduje się w słowniczku. Odpowiedzi do wszystkich zadań zamkniętych są podane w kluczu na końcu książki.

Part 1
Słownictwo
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 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 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 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; 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 stories high; showed no window, nothing but a door on the lower story 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 view-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 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; 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 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. 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. 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, 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-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, 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; 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 presently 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.”