Essays; Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894 -- Travel
I begin my little pilgrimage in the most enviable of all humours: that in
which a person, with a sufficiency of money and a knapsack, turns his
back on a town and walks forward into a country of which he knows only by
the vague report of others. Such an one has not surrendered his will and
contracted for the next hundred miles, like a man on a railway. He may
change his mind at every finger-post, and, where ways meet, follow vague
preferences freely and go the low road or the high, choose the shadow or
the sun-shine, suffer himself to be tempted by the lane that turns
immediately into the woods, or the broad road that lies open before him
into the distance, and shows him the far-off spires of some city, or a
range of mountain-tops, or a rim of sea, perhaps, along a low horizon.
In short, he may gratify his every whim and fancy, without a pang of
reproving conscience, or the least jostle to his self-respect. It is
true, however, that most men do not possess the faculty of free action,
the priceless gift of being able to live for the moment only; and as they
begin to go forward on their journey, they will find that they have made
for themselves new fetters. Slight projects they may have entertained
for a moment, half in jest, become iron laws to them, they know not why.
They will be led by the nose by these vague reports of which I spoke
above; and the mere fact that their informant mentioned one village and
not another will compel their footsteps with inexplicable power. And yet
a little while, yet a few days of this fictitious liberty, and they will
begin to hear imperious voices calling on them to return; and some
passion, some duty, some worthy or unworthy expectation, will set its
hand upon their shoulder and lead them back into the old paths. Once and
again we have all made the experiment. We know the end of it right well.
And yet if we make it for the hundredth time to-morrow: it will have the
same charm as ever; our heart will beat and our eyes will be bright, as
we leave the town behind us, and we shall feel once again (as we have
felt so often before) that we are cutting ourselves loose for ever from
our whole past life, with all its sins and follies and circumscriptions,
and go forward as a new creature into a new world.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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