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Our wonder from the first is that anyone should ever have regarded him as anything else than the poor blustering, blundering villain he is. From the total ineffectiveness of the character, one cannot but imagine that Stevenson was hampered by the idea of representing strictly the historical personage. In this, for aught I know, he may have succeeded; but he has certainly not succeeded in making his protagonist interesting in the theatre, or in telling the story so as to extract one tithe of its possibilities of dramatic effect. As for his technique, let one specimen suffice. I will read you one of the many soliloquies—the faulty method of conducting action and revealing character by soliloquy was one from which Stevenson could never emancipate himself. It is a speech delivered by Deacon Brodie while he is making preparations for a midnight gambling excursion.
"(Brodie closes, locks, and double-bolts the doors of his bedroom .)
"Now for one of the Deacon's headaches! Rogues all, rogues all! (He goes to the clothes-press and proceeds to change his coat.) On with the new coat, and into the new life! Down with the Deacon and up with the robber! Eh God! how still the house is! There's something in hypocrisy after all. If we were as good as we seem, what would the world be? The city has its vizard on, and we—at night we are our naked selves. Trysts are keeping, bottles cracking, knives are stripping; and here is Deacon Brodie flaming forth the man of men he is! How still it is! … My father and Mary—Well! the day for them, the night for me; the grimy cynical night that makes all cats grey, and all honesties of one complexion. Shall a man not have half a life of his own? not eight hours out of twenty-four? Eight shall he have should he dare the pit of Tophet. Where 's the blunt? I must be cool tonight, or … steady, Deacon, you must win; damn you, you must! You must win back the dowry that you've stolen, and
