Collected works > Edinburgh edition, 1894-98 - Works of Robert Louis Stevenson > Volume 3, 1895 - Travels and Excursions, Volume II

THE KETURN
them. The bulk of the time I spent in repeating as
much French poetry as I could remember to the
horses, who seemed to enjoy it hugely. And now
it went —
' O ma vieille Font-georges
Oil volent les rouges-gorges : '
and again, to a more trampling measure —
' Et tout tremble, Irun, Coimbre,
Sautander, Almodovar,
Sitot qu'on entend le timbre
Des cymbales de Bivar.'
The redbreasts and the brooks of Europe, in that
dry and songless land ; brave old names and wars,
strong cities, cymbals, and bright armour, in that
nook of the mountain, sacred only to the Indian
and the bear ! This is still the strangest thing in all
man's travelling, that he should carry about with
him incongruous memories. There is no foreign
land ; it is the traveller only that is foreign, and
now and again, by a flash of recollection, lights up
the contrasts of the earth.
But while I was thus wandering in my fancy,
great feats had been transacted in the bar. Corwin
the bold had fallen, Kelmar was again crowned with
laurels, and the last of the ship's kettles had changed
hands. If I had ever doubted the purity of Kelmar 's
motives, if I had ever suspected him of a single eye
to business in his eternal dallyings, now at least,
when the last kettle was disposed of, my suspicions
must have been allayed. I dare not guess how much
more time was wasted ; nor how often we drove off,
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