The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 05Stevenson, Robert Louis
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The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 05
Stevenson, Robert Louis
English literature -- 19th century; Fiction
I must here speak by theory alone, saying not that which I know, but
that which I suppose to be most probable. The evil side of my nature, to
which I had now transferred the stamping efficacy, was less robust and
less developed than the good which I had just deposed. Again, in the
course of my life, which had been, after all, nine-tenths a life of
effort, virtue, and control, it had been much less exercised and much
less exhausted. And hence, as I think, it came about that Edward Hyde
was so much smaller, slighter, and younger than Henry Jekyll. Even as
good shone upon the countenance of the one, evil was written broadly and
plainly on the face of the other. Evil besides (which I must still
believe to be the lethal side of man) had left on that body an imprint
of deformity and decay. And yet when I looked upon that ugly idol in the
glass, I was conscious of no repugnance, rather of a leap of welcome.
This too, was myself. It seemed natural and human. In my eyes it bore a
livelier image of the spirit, it seemed more express and single, than
the imperfect and divided countenance I had been hitherto accustomed to
call mine. And in so far I was doubtless right. I have observed that
when I bore the semblance of Edward Hyde, none could come near to me at
first without a visible misgiving of the flesh. This, as I take it, was
because all human beings, as we meet them, are commingled out of good
and evil: and Edward Hyde, alone in the ranks of mankind, was pure evil.
I lingered but a moment at the mirror: the second and conclusive
experiment had yet to be attempted; it yet remained to be seen if I had
lost my identity beyond redemption and must flee before daylight from a
house that was no longer mine; and, hurrying back to my cabinet, I once
more prepared and drank the cup, once more suffered the pangs of
dissolution, and came to myself once more with the character, the
stature, and the face of Henry Jekyll.
That night I had come to the fatal cross roads. Had I approached my
discovery in a more noble spirit, had I risked the experiment while
under the empire of generous or pious aspirations, all must have been
otherwise, and from these agonies of death and birth I had come forth an
angel instead of a fiend. The drug had no discriminating action; it was
neither diabolical nor divine; it but shook the doors of the
prison-house of my disposition; and like the captives of Philippi, that
which stood within ran forth. At that time my virtue slumbered; my
evil, kept awake by ambition, was alert and swift to seize the occasion;
and the thing that was projected was Edward Hyde. Hence, although I had
now two characters as well as two appearances, one was wholly evil, and
the other was still the old Henry Jekyll, that incongruous compound of
whose reformation and improvement I had already learned to despair. The
movement was thus wholly toward the worse.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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