A Mere Kindly Animal

Robert Louis Stevenson's little book, Travels with a Donkey in the Cevennes, is a miniature masterpiece of travel writing. As well as conveying the shape of a journey and a keen sense of place, it also explores the turbulent history of a region, a surprising number of religious questions and some lovely reflections on the experience of being out of doors.

His short journey of 12 days in a region in the south of the Massif Central passes without major incident but is rich in the small trials, questions and interactions - getting lost, a stubborn beast of burden, suspicious locals, religious intolerance, simple meals shared with strangers - that are so formative in our developing sense of our humanity. For me, it is his reflection on his relationship with nature that stands out and I'd like to share one passage:

At what inaudible summons, at what gentle touch of Nature, are all these sleepers thus recalled in the same hour to life? Do the stars rain down an influence, or do we share some thrill of mother earth below our resting bodies? Even shepherds and old country-folk, who are the deepest read in these arcana, have not a guess as to the means or purpose of this nightly resurrection. Towards two in the morning they declare the thing takes place; and neither know nor inquire further. And at least it is a pleasant incident. We are disturbed in our slumber only, like the luxurious Montaigne, 'that we may the better and more sensibly relish it.' We have a moment to look upon the stars. And there is a special pleasure for some minds in the reflection that we share the impulse with all outdoor creatures in our neighbourhood, that we have escaped out of the Bastille of civilisation, and are become, for the time being, a mere kindly animal and a sheep of Nature's flock.

It strikes me that those of us who live in Northern Europe and work within four walls, seeing very little of the sky and knowing little of the rhythms of the natural world are likely to struggle to feel at home in the world at least some of the time. Travel is one of the ways we begin to redress that balance and reacquaint ourselves with where it is that we belong. We are not made to be static and enclosed, but in motion, in interaction with others and with the world around us.

Comments

[Bene]

Yes, indeed, both to the delights of this book (my enlightened PNEU school gave it as our set book age 12) and to the distancing of our lives from that other world.

[Rosemary Hannah]

I always feel bad saying this, but living as I do at 700 feet above sea level, with animals who live outdoors and need cared for year round, I honestly don't feel at all distanced form the natural world, but very much part of it.

[John McLuckie]

Curiously, one of the things I miss about being a parish priest is the chance to be outdoors between things during the day. I'm sure it can't be healthy for hospitals to have such an aversion to fresh air! And I'm sure we'd all be healthier with a few animals around.