Robert Louis Stevenson

Travels with a Donkey in the Cevennes Robert Louis Stevenson

In a little place called Le Monastier, in a pleasant highland valley fifteen miles from Le Puy, I spentabout a month of fine days. Monastier is notable for the making of lace, for drunkenness, forfreedom of language, and for unparalleled political dissension. There are adherents of each of thefour French parties-Legitimists, Orleanists, Imperialists, and Republicans-in this little mountaintown; and they all hate, loathe, decry, and calumniate each other. Except for business purposes, orto give each other the lie in a tavern brawl, they have laid aside even the civility of speech. 'Tis amere mountain Poland. In the midst of this Babylon I found myself a rallying-point; every one wasanxious to be kind and helpful to the stranger. This was not merely from the natural hospitality ofmountain people, nor even from the surprise with which I was regarded as a man living of his ownfree will in Le Monastier, when he might just as well have lived anywhere else in this big world; itarose a good deal from my projected excursion southward through the Cevennes. A traveller of mysort was a thing hitherto unheard of in that district. I was looked upon with contempt, like a manwho should project a journey to the moon, but yet with a respectful interest, like one setting forthfor the inclement Pole. All were ready to help in my preparations; a crowd of sympathiserssupported me at the critical moment of a bargain; not a step was taken but was heralded by glassesround and celebrated by a dinner or a breakfast.