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A Lodging for the Night
It was late in November 1456. The snow fell over Paris with rigorous, relentless persistence; sometimes the wind made a sally and scattered it in flying vortices; sometimes there was a lull, and flake after flake descended out of the black night air, silent, circuitous, interminable. To poor people, looking up under moist eyebrows, it seemed a wonder where it all came from. Master Francis Villon had propounded an alternative that afternoon, at a tavern window: was it only Pagan Jupiter plucking geese upon Olympus, or were the holy angels moulting? He was only a poor Master of Arts, he went on; and as the question somewhat touched upon divinity, he durst not venture to conclude. A silly old priest from Montargis, who was among the company, treated the young rascal to a bottle of wine in honor of the jest and the grimaces with which it was accompanied, and swore on his own white beard that he had been just such another irreverent dog when he was Villon’s age.
29 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 1877
About the author
Robert Louis Stevenson
7,914 books7,277 followersRobert Louis Balfour Stevenson was a Scottish novelist, poet, and travel writer, and a leading representative of English literature. He was greatly admired by many authors, including Jorge Luis Borges, Ernest Hemingway, Rudyard Kipling and Vladimir Nabokov.
Most modernist writers dismissed him, however, because he was popular and did not write within their narrow definition of literature. It is only recently that critics have begun to look beyond Stevenson's popularity and allow him a place in the Western canon.
Most modernist writers dismissed him, however, because he was popular and did not write within their narrow definition of literature. It is only recently that critics have begun to look beyond Stevenson's popularity and allow him a place in the Western canon.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 70 reviews
January 6, 2018
The ill-fated adventure that was the life of the poet François Villon (1431-1463?) inspired this short story. Stevenson imagines a bleak and snowy night in Paris and then discusses the concepts of honor, social status and the human instinct to survive.
Few words and so much to ponder; art pleasing to the eye.
Jan 08, 18
* Also on my blog.
'You may still repent and change.'
'I repent daily,' said the poet. 'There are few people more given to repentance than poor Francis. As for change, let somebody change my circumstances. A man must continue to eat, if it were only that he may continue to repent.'
Few words and so much to ponder; art pleasing to the eye.
Jan 08, 18
* Also on my blog.
June 18, 2021
Ordinarily, I don't review individual short stories, since I typically read them in book-length collections, rather than as free-standing works. In the case of this one, though, I originally read it as a kid in an anthology for which, sadly, I've long since forgotten author/title information; and this reread was from Studying the Short-Story: Sixteen Short-Story Classics, with Introductions, Notes and a New Laboratory Study Method for Individual Reading and Use in Colleges and Schools, which I'm not going to read in its entirety. My reread of the tale was prompted by a recent review from one of my Goodreads friends, who was "not terribly impressed with it as a whole." When I'd read it, I'd liked (or at least appreciated) it; but though I could remember the whole basic plot and a number of exact words of narration and dialogue, I didn't feel that I could review it with enough authority to justify a better opinion without a reread. So I suggested it for a current buddy read in the Reading for Pleasure group here on Goodreads; and I found the reread rewarding.
First published in 1877, when the author was 26, this was (according to anthology editor J. Berg Esenwein) "Stevenson's first published narrative." Our setting is the mean streets of Paris, France on a bitterly cold and snowy night in November, 1456. (Stevenson had actually visited Paris in the early 1870s, which accounts for his assurance with Parisian geography here.) The protagonist and main viewpoint character of the tale is a real-life person, poet/thief Francis Villon (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fran%C3... ). Biographical details of his life are relatively sketchy (for instance, the date and circumstances of his death are unknown); the principal sources for reconstructing it are court and university records, and the numerous autobiographical references in his own poetry. But the reconstruction of his biography up to 1456, lifestyle and personality in the story is consistent with this information. Guy Tabary --or Tabarie; medieval spellings vary-- was also a real-life person, who gave evidence against Villon to the authorities in 1458; and the chaplain of St. Benoit (whose name was Guillaume de Villon, though the story doesn't give that detail) actually was Villon's foster father, whose last name he took.
Written in the Romantic style, the story characteristically draws on a medieval setting (in which daily life was, for most people, simpler, more elemental, and lived more "on the edge" than it was for the average well-off Victorian reader in 1877), and on extreme circumstances and a milieu outside of law and convention, to provide the atmosphere and backdrop for a tale that appeals to emotions of horror, fear, pity and other reactions more complex. (The poverty and moral grunginess of Villon's world is evoked very effectively.) But it also appeals to the mind, both as a vivid, penetrating character study of a complex, three-dimensional personality and as a serious dialogue of ideas between two very different people, with drastically contrasting attitudes. What constitutes honor, as a moral quality? Is theft justified if it's done to survive rather than starve? What moral responsibility does society as a whole bear for the results of class inequalities? What role should the grace of God play in all of this? Does criminal behavior become justified if it's done by soldiers in war? Stevenson doesn't provide canned answers to any of these questions; he just raises them in such a way that the reader has to think about them.
This is a serious story, effectively told, and has lost none of its relevance in the passage of over 140 years. IMO, it shows Stevenson to be a master of the art of short fiction, as well as of the novel.
First published in 1877, when the author was 26, this was (according to anthology editor J. Berg Esenwein) "Stevenson's first published narrative." Our setting is the mean streets of Paris, France on a bitterly cold and snowy night in November, 1456. (Stevenson had actually visited Paris in the early 1870s, which accounts for his assurance with Parisian geography here.) The protagonist and main viewpoint character of the tale is a real-life person, poet/thief Francis Villon (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fran%C3... ). Biographical details of his life are relatively sketchy (for instance, the date and circumstances of his death are unknown); the principal sources for reconstructing it are court and university records, and the numerous autobiographical references in his own poetry. But the reconstruction of his biography up to 1456, lifestyle and personality in the story is consistent with this information. Guy Tabary --or Tabarie; medieval spellings vary-- was also a real-life person, who gave evidence against Villon to the authorities in 1458; and the chaplain of St. Benoit (whose name was Guillaume de Villon, though the story doesn't give that detail) actually was Villon's foster father, whose last name he took.
Written in the Romantic style, the story characteristically draws on a medieval setting (in which daily life was, for most people, simpler, more elemental, and lived more "on the edge" than it was for the average well-off Victorian reader in 1877), and on extreme circumstances and a milieu outside of law and convention, to provide the atmosphere and backdrop for a tale that appeals to emotions of horror, fear, pity and other reactions more complex. (The poverty and moral grunginess of Villon's world is evoked very effectively.) But it also appeals to the mind, both as a vivid, penetrating character study of a complex, three-dimensional personality and as a serious dialogue of ideas between two very different people, with drastically contrasting attitudes. What constitutes honor, as a moral quality? Is theft justified if it's done to survive rather than starve? What moral responsibility does society as a whole bear for the results of class inequalities? What role should the grace of God play in all of this? Does criminal behavior become justified if it's done by soldiers in war? Stevenson doesn't provide canned answers to any of these questions; he just raises them in such a way that the reader has to think about them.
This is a serious story, effectively told, and has lost none of its relevance in the passage of over 140 years. IMO, it shows Stevenson to be a master of the art of short fiction, as well as of the novel.
June 15, 2021
Francis Villon was both a poet and a thief in 15th Century Paris. He would steal to survive, but he had a more sensitive nature compared to other thieves. During the evening he saw someone stabbed in the heart, and he tripped over a frozen body. He knew he needed to find shelter as the temperature dropped.
Villon was fed and housed by an old soldier during the snowy night. The two debated about who was the greater thief. Villon said that a conquering soldier is a greater thief because he is allowed to take more when he plunders the defeated population. The two men also talked about honor with Villon reminding the old soldier that he has not stabbed the old man and stolen his gold because it would not be an honorable thing for a guest to do.
Villon conversed with the old soldier for hours. He was fed and kept warm by the fire until dawn arrived. He avoided being frozen on the cold pavement or being attacked by people roaming the streets by keeping the debate going on for hours. The clever poet/thief survived another night.
Villon was fed and housed by an old soldier during the snowy night. The two debated about who was the greater thief. Villon said that a conquering soldier is a greater thief because he is allowed to take more when he plunders the defeated population. The two men also talked about honor with Villon reminding the old soldier that he has not stabbed the old man and stolen his gold because it would not be an honorable thing for a guest to do.
Villon conversed with the old soldier for hours. He was fed and kept warm by the fire until dawn arrived. He avoided being frozen on the cold pavement or being attacked by people roaming the streets by keeping the debate going on for hours. The clever poet/thief survived another night.
October 17, 2023
If you are a gamer and gravitate to the role of Thief in your RPGs, you should get familiar with François Villon.
Villon was a poet who has enjoyed multiple degrees of celebrity over the centuries, but his subject matter was informed by his hard life as a medieval thief and overall rogue, scratching and surviving with his misfit band of lockpickers and pickpockets while constantly pursued by the long arm of the law. His work is a staple of outsider poetry, touching on what it is like to live in extreme poverty, painting portraits of colorful everyday guys and girls who would have been anonymous and forgotten to history, and expounding on various exploits, some light-hearted, often heart-breaking.
Robert Louis Stevenson had a mild literary crush for the outlaw poet, and if you want to learn more about Villon, you should read Stevenson's brief biography in his book "Familiar Studies of Men and Books," which beautifully details what little we know about this infamous rogue.
After examining the scattered remnants of Villon's life, Stevenson deduced a composite of his personality and applied this to a fictional short story called "A Lodging for the Night." It's like being a fly on the wall at a moment in the distant past.
We meet Villon on a snowy night huddled in a cabin with his fellow thieves, who are described so efficiently yet beautifully that you really feel you know these characters as real people. Villon is taking some time to write one of his ballads, and is struggling to make a rhyme, while two others are playing a game of chance that ends with a sore loser. Suddenly it's, "Jiggers, fellas, the cops!" After everyone scatters, Villon finds himself being taken in by an unusual host who tries to get inside his head.
For as old as this story is, there is a distinct Quentin Tarantino vibe, a comic but brutal deconstruction of the tragic but unrepentant antihero. Give it a try on a cold night and be glad you are warm in your own bed!
SCORE: 4 lockpicks out of 5
Villon was a poet who has enjoyed multiple degrees of celebrity over the centuries, but his subject matter was informed by his hard life as a medieval thief and overall rogue, scratching and surviving with his misfit band of lockpickers and pickpockets while constantly pursued by the long arm of the law. His work is a staple of outsider poetry, touching on what it is like to live in extreme poverty, painting portraits of colorful everyday guys and girls who would have been anonymous and forgotten to history, and expounding on various exploits, some light-hearted, often heart-breaking.
Robert Louis Stevenson had a mild literary crush for the outlaw poet, and if you want to learn more about Villon, you should read Stevenson's brief biography in his book "Familiar Studies of Men and Books," which beautifully details what little we know about this infamous rogue.
After examining the scattered remnants of Villon's life, Stevenson deduced a composite of his personality and applied this to a fictional short story called "A Lodging for the Night." It's like being a fly on the wall at a moment in the distant past.
We meet Villon on a snowy night huddled in a cabin with his fellow thieves, who are described so efficiently yet beautifully that you really feel you know these characters as real people. Villon is taking some time to write one of his ballads, and is struggling to make a rhyme, while two others are playing a game of chance that ends with a sore loser. Suddenly it's, "Jiggers, fellas, the cops!" After everyone scatters, Villon finds himself being taken in by an unusual host who tries to get inside his head.
For as old as this story is, there is a distinct Quentin Tarantino vibe, a comic but brutal deconstruction of the tragic but unrepentant antihero. Give it a try on a cold night and be glad you are warm in your own bed!
SCORE: 4 lockpicks out of 5
April 21, 2026
I mean a couple of things can be right at the same time so there... a wealth of experience in your station can give you excellent fore and hindsight to your current situation
May 27, 2013
Read on Questia
I'm not entirely sure what the point of this is. (Well, I'm sure Stevenson enjoyed writing it, and it was part of the nineteenth century revival of late medieval Parisian poet Francois Villon...) The story gives an account of what happened when Villon was implicated in the murder of a priest in Paris in 1456. Yet Stevenson doesn't even use the few available facts, which could easily form the skeleton of a story more interesting than this stabbing at a card game - a scene that now seems like something from a mediocre gangster movie.
Villon's character is quite odd. At first he is a familiar figure, the highly intelligent trickster archetype among his band of mates. Then in response to his friend spontaneously stabbing a man, he laughs almost psychopathically, handing out the spoils after this unanticipated crime, and a few minutes later is hunched up in despair. He continues to have further pendulum-like mood swings every few minutes and seems like some woefully damaged creature who was born and brought up in Fagin's house, not a man of 25 who had a kind and influential guardian and a good education, even if he did go off the rails. It would be forgivable if the writing was great, but it's not and there's simply something incoherent and poorly researched about the factual aspects of the story. (Villon was later pardoned as someone who was previously of good character. This does not fit with the hardened criminal actions here, and there is no reason to suppose the historical figure actually lived by thieving at least until he was exiled, even if he did already hang out with various vagabonds sometimes.)
The descriptions of street scenes and the weather are great, just as atmospheric as I would expect from late-Victorian historical fiction. But much of the rest was contrived, clumsy, full of exposition and infodumps and well-below par for a classic author. I will say, though, that I quite liked the conclusion, which was pleasingly un-Victorian.
I'm not entirely sure what the point of this is. (Well, I'm sure Stevenson enjoyed writing it, and it was part of the nineteenth century revival of late medieval Parisian poet Francois Villon...) The story gives an account of what happened when Villon was implicated in the murder of a priest in Paris in 1456. Yet Stevenson doesn't even use the few available facts, which could easily form the skeleton of a story more interesting than this stabbing at a card game - a scene that now seems like something from a mediocre gangster movie.
Villon's character is quite odd. At first he is a familiar figure, the highly intelligent trickster archetype among his band of mates. Then in response to his friend spontaneously stabbing a man, he laughs almost psychopathically, handing out the spoils after this unanticipated crime, and a few minutes later is hunched up in despair. He continues to have further pendulum-like mood swings every few minutes and seems like some woefully damaged creature who was born and brought up in Fagin's house, not a man of 25 who had a kind and influential guardian and a good education, even if he did go off the rails. It would be forgivable if the writing was great, but it's not and there's simply something incoherent and poorly researched about the factual aspects of the story. (Villon was later pardoned as someone who was previously of good character. This does not fit with the hardened criminal actions here, and there is no reason to suppose the historical figure actually lived by thieving at least until he was exiled, even if he did already hang out with various vagabonds sometimes.)
The descriptions of street scenes and the weather are great, just as atmospheric as I would expect from late-Victorian historical fiction. But much of the rest was contrived, clumsy, full of exposition and infodumps and well-below par for a classic author. I will say, though, that I quite liked the conclusion, which was pleasingly un-Victorian.
February 21, 2021
Feb 21, 3pm ~~ Review asap.
Feb 23, 1245pm ~~ This is a very short story (it could really be called a sketch) that RLS wrote based on the life of a fifteenth century poet by the name of Francois Villon. He had described his own life in his poems, and it seems he was a bit of a bad boy, being "involved in criminal behavior and having multiple encounters with law enforcement authorities". (per wiki)
Like other reviewers of this little tale, I wondered about it. To me it seemed like an exercise that you might give yourself from a writing prompt. A trifle to amuse yourself on a night you can't sleep, perhaps. Or a test of how much you might be able to do with such a cad of a character to work with. I imagine that if the author had been anyone other than RLS, this would never have seen the light of day.
This piece starts with our hero and a few friends in a little house inside a cemetery. There is a snowstorm raging outside, but the men are cheerful and comfortable inside. This beginning part, where RLS set the scene, was the best part. The way he described the snow over Paris was impressive.
When the murder happened, it took me completely by surprise and parts of the rest of the story left me a little confused. Our hero was not the one who did the deed, but hut he agreed that they all needed to leave the little house right away. But we readers know something that he only discovers later.
The most confusing part was when he finds shelter for the night and has a long conversation with the owner of the house. I couldn't seem to make sense of anything here. Maybe, like our hero, I was chilled from the storm, I don't know.
Well anyway, there were touches of the master about this but I was not terribly impressed with it as a whole.
Feb 23, 1245pm ~~ This is a very short story (it could really be called a sketch) that RLS wrote based on the life of a fifteenth century poet by the name of Francois Villon. He had described his own life in his poems, and it seems he was a bit of a bad boy, being "involved in criminal behavior and having multiple encounters with law enforcement authorities". (per wiki)
Like other reviewers of this little tale, I wondered about it. To me it seemed like an exercise that you might give yourself from a writing prompt. A trifle to amuse yourself on a night you can't sleep, perhaps. Or a test of how much you might be able to do with such a cad of a character to work with. I imagine that if the author had been anyone other than RLS, this would never have seen the light of day.
This piece starts with our hero and a few friends in a little house inside a cemetery. There is a snowstorm raging outside, but the men are cheerful and comfortable inside. This beginning part, where RLS set the scene, was the best part. The way he described the snow over Paris was impressive.
When the murder happened, it took me completely by surprise and parts of the rest of the story left me a little confused. Our hero was not the one who did the deed, but hut he agreed that they all needed to leave the little house right away. But we readers know something that he only discovers later.
The most confusing part was when he finds shelter for the night and has a long conversation with the owner of the house. I couldn't seem to make sense of anything here. Maybe, like our hero, I was chilled from the storm, I don't know.
Well anyway, there were touches of the master about this but I was not terribly impressed with it as a whole.
October 30, 2014
This is my favorite Stevenson short story, and one of my favorites of all-time. When I was just a boy, I was given a copy of a book of great short stories. I cannot recall the title, but it had stories that changed how I thought of literature. Some of the stories included; Marjorie Daw, The Lottery, The Lady's Juggler, The Leader of the People, and, of course, A Lodging for the Night.
What I admire about this story is that the issues raised are still argued today. Stevenson, Dickens, and Steinbeck had a way of speaking for the downtrodden, without making them two dimensional. The protagonist of this story is a liar and a thief, but there is a noble quality to him as he argues with his rich host over a variety of issues. The wealthy host speaks of valuing piety and honor over food and drink, while the counter argument is that is easy to say when one does not want for such earthly pleasures, and also defends that he has honor and believes in God. There is also a interesting argument over the issue of predestination. I read this story once every few years.
What I admire about this story is that the issues raised are still argued today. Stevenson, Dickens, and Steinbeck had a way of speaking for the downtrodden, without making them two dimensional. The protagonist of this story is a liar and a thief, but there is a noble quality to him as he argues with his rich host over a variety of issues. The wealthy host speaks of valuing piety and honor over food and drink, while the counter argument is that is easy to say when one does not want for such earthly pleasures, and also defends that he has honor and believes in God. There is also a interesting argument over the issue of predestination. I read this story once every few years.
February 7, 2015
The main message of this book is the difference between people. Even though individuals can interact, they don't understand each other sometimes. For example, rich people don't get poor ones; uneducated people find some difficulties talking to educated. These kind fringes I was able to see in this story.
March 19, 2017
This has got to be one of Stevenson's less developed stories.
July 31, 2017
I really don't understand the reason of writing this short story. Completely out of my league.
Not a bit close to what was expected from such a famous writer.
Not a bit close to what was expected from such a famous writer.
January 11, 2016
ما هى أولويات الإنسان؟ القيم أم الإشباع الجسدي؟
هل يختلف حكمنا على نفس الفعل باختلاف فاعله؟
هذا ما يسأله ستيفنسون في تحفة قصيرة أخرى من إبداعاته..
البطل "فرانسيس" قاطع طريق يتصادف في مساء جليدي ان يدخل بيت احد النبلاء و يستضيفه النيبل حتى الصباح..
و عندما يبدأ الرجلان في الحديث يشتبكان في جدال هو حقيقة القيم و أولويات الانسان..
شخصية النبيل كانت شخصية مستفزة جدا لي..
شخصية تمثل تماما ما عليه تفكير الطبقات العليا الثرية في المجتمع..
فالنبيل الذي يظن أن الحرب هى ميدان الشرف لا يجد أي غضاضة في الإستلاء على اموال العدو الميت.. لكن هذا الفعل في نظر النبيل هو سرقة في الأحوال العادية!!!
"-إنك تأخذ قطعة نقود زهيدة من ملابس إمرأة ميتة في الشارع.. ألا يعتبر هذا نوعا من السرقة؟!
-إن هذا النوع من السرقة يا سيدي شائع كثيرا في الحروب!
فرد النبيل متفاخرا:
-إن الحروب ميدان الشرف .. فيها يجازف الإنسان بحياته و يقاتل في سبيل الله و الملك!"
ما الفارق؟!! ما الفارق بين ما يطلق عليه "غنائم الحرب" و بين السرقة ؟؟ في الحالتين يحصل الإنسان على شيء مملوك للغير عن طريق القوة.. لكن بالطبع مبدأ القوة يحتم أن تكون الحرب هى "ميدان الشرف" التي لا تلوثها أي أفعال!
الأسوأ أن الحرب يدفع ثمنها دائما غير المحاربين.. و تصبح الدولة بأكملها في خدمة تلك الجيوش التي تستنزف كل ثروات البلاد..
و في سبيل ماذا؟ في سبيل الشرف! كأن الشرف هو في قتل الآخرين!!
و هذا ما يردده قاطع الطريق :
"إن المعدم يريد طعاما يسد به رمقه و يناله بيده.. وكذلك يفعل المحارب في الغزوات و الحروب.. و لكن المحاربين يستمتعون بالشراب بجانب النار المشبوبة بينما يشقى المواطن العادي ليوفر لهم ثمن الخمر ووقود النار
إن الفلاح قد يسخط إلى حد ما لكنه يتناول ما بقي من طعامه مستكفيا قانعا.. أما انتم معشر المحاربين فإنكم تسيرون في مواكبكم تحت نفخ الابواق و تأخذون من الفلاح كل غنمه ثم تنهالون عليه بالاذي في الوقت نفسه"
كل شيء في سبيل الحرب! في سبيل النصر!
افرض ما شئت من ضرائب..
افرض ما شئت من قوانين مجحفة..
اظلم الناس..
اسجنهم..
اقتلهم ان لزم الأمر!
المهم أن نتنصر في حربنا على العدو!
المهم هو اننا سنفوز بالأمن و الأمان!
ولا تنسى أن الجيش هو الشرف و الحرب هى ميدان الشرف!
و بالرغم من كل هذا فكعادة كل الطبقة العليا لا تفهم أبدا السبب الذي يجعل الشخص يسرق أو يقتل.. ففي أبراجهم العاجية الشرف أهم بكثير من الطعام!
فنجد النيبل يقول:
"انك تتحدث عن الطعام و الشراب و انا اعلم جيدا ان الجوع محنة شديدة يصعب احتمالها لكنك لا تتحدث عن الشرف و الايمان بالله و محبة الناس و المروءة و الحب الطاهر..
انت متكالب علي المطالب اليسيرة و نسيت اعظم المطالب و اكرمها..
انها ليست انبل و اسمى من الطعام فحسب و لكني اراها الزم لنا.."
و طبعا هذه كلمات إنسان لم يشعر أبدا بعذاب الجوع.. لم يشعر أبدا بمعاناة الفقر و ذله..
لهذا يأتي الرد من قاطع الطريق قائلا:
"لو أنني ولدت مركيز دي بريزتو وولدت انت فرانسيس المتعلم الفقير.. أما كنت أنا الآن جالسا في هذا البيت الدافئ و انت تنبش الثلوج بحثا عن المال؟؟
انني اندم كل يوم و ليس في الناس من يساوره التندم مثل فرانسيس المسكين .. أما عن التغيير فليقم أحد بتغيير ظروفي فلابد للمرء أن يأكل!
هل تتصور حقا اني اسرق للتسلية؟! انني امقت السرقة و اسناني لتصطك اذا رايت مشنقة.. لكن لابد لي من الطعام و الشراب... إن أردت إصلاحي فاجعلني في حاشية الملك أو من أقطاب الكنيسة أو من النبلاء.. وعند ذلك يحدث التغيير المنشود"
فكيف نطالب الناس بالحفاظ على القيم و المبادئ و هم لا يجدوا قوت يومهم؟
كيف نطالبهم بالاحترام و التهذيب و هم يصارعون للبقاء على قيد الحياة!
بالتأكيد فرانسيس قاطع الطرق كان هو المنتصر في هذا الجدال.. لكن حتى مع انتصاره فهو يترك البيت ليعود مرة أخرى إلى الطريق..
كأن ستيفنسون يققول انه مهما حاولنا الحديث ففي النهاية لن يتغير شيء.. سيظل الفقير في الشارع و الغني في منزله يحتقره!
قصة جدلية أخرى تزيد إعجابي بهذا الكاتب العبقري..
هل يختلف حكمنا على نفس الفعل باختلاف فاعله؟
هذا ما يسأله ستيفنسون في تحفة قصيرة أخرى من إبداعاته..
البطل "فرانسيس" قاطع طريق يتصادف في مساء جليدي ان يدخل بيت احد النبلاء و يستضيفه النيبل حتى الصباح..
و عندما يبدأ الرجلان في الحديث يشتبكان في جدال هو حقيقة القيم و أولويات الانسان..
شخصية النبيل كانت شخصية مستفزة جدا لي..
شخصية تمثل تماما ما عليه تفكير الطبقات العليا الثرية في المجتمع..
فالنبيل الذي يظن أن الحرب هى ميدان الشرف لا يجد أي غضاضة في الإستلاء على اموال العدو الميت.. لكن هذا الفعل في نظر النبيل هو سرقة في الأحوال العادية!!!
"-إنك تأخذ قطعة نقود زهيدة من ملابس إمرأة ميتة في الشارع.. ألا يعتبر هذا نوعا من السرقة؟!
-إن هذا النوع من السرقة يا سيدي شائع كثيرا في الحروب!
فرد النبيل متفاخرا:
-إن الحروب ميدان الشرف .. فيها يجازف الإنسان بحياته و يقاتل في سبيل الله و الملك!"
ما الفارق؟!! ما الفارق بين ما يطلق عليه "غنائم الحرب" و بين السرقة ؟؟ في الحالتين يحصل الإنسان على شيء مملوك للغير عن طريق القوة.. لكن بالطبع مبدأ القوة يحتم أن تكون الحرب هى "ميدان الشرف" التي لا تلوثها أي أفعال!
الأسوأ أن الحرب يدفع ثمنها دائما غير المحاربين.. و تصبح الدولة بأكملها في خدمة تلك الجيوش التي تستنزف كل ثروات البلاد..
و في سبيل ماذا؟ في سبيل الشرف! كأن الشرف هو في قتل الآخرين!!
و هذا ما يردده قاطع الطريق :
"إن المعدم يريد طعاما يسد به رمقه و يناله بيده.. وكذلك يفعل المحارب في الغزوات و الحروب.. و لكن المحاربين يستمتعون بالشراب بجانب النار المشبوبة بينما يشقى المواطن العادي ليوفر لهم ثمن الخمر ووقود النار
إن الفلاح قد يسخط إلى حد ما لكنه يتناول ما بقي من طعامه مستكفيا قانعا.. أما انتم معشر المحاربين فإنكم تسيرون في مواكبكم تحت نفخ الابواق و تأخذون من الفلاح كل غنمه ثم تنهالون عليه بالاذي في الوقت نفسه"
كل شيء في سبيل الحرب! في سبيل النصر!
افرض ما شئت من ضرائب..
افرض ما شئت من قوانين مجحفة..
اظلم الناس..
اسجنهم..
اقتلهم ان لزم الأمر!
المهم أن نتنصر في حربنا على العدو!
المهم هو اننا سنفوز بالأمن و الأمان!
ولا تنسى أن الجيش هو الشرف و الحرب هى ميدان الشرف!
و بالرغم من كل هذا فكعادة كل الطبقة العليا لا تفهم أبدا السبب الذي يجعل الشخص يسرق أو يقتل.. ففي أبراجهم العاجية الشرف أهم بكثير من الطعام!
فنجد النيبل يقول:
"انك تتحدث عن الطعام و الشراب و انا اعلم جيدا ان الجوع محنة شديدة يصعب احتمالها لكنك لا تتحدث عن الشرف و الايمان بالله و محبة الناس و المروءة و الحب الطاهر..
انت متكالب علي المطالب اليسيرة و نسيت اعظم المطالب و اكرمها..
انها ليست انبل و اسمى من الطعام فحسب و لكني اراها الزم لنا.."
و طبعا هذه كلمات إنسان لم يشعر أبدا بعذاب الجوع.. لم يشعر أبدا بمعاناة الفقر و ذله..
لهذا يأتي الرد من قاطع الطريق قائلا:
"لو أنني ولدت مركيز دي بريزتو وولدت انت فرانسيس المتعلم الفقير.. أما كنت أنا الآن جالسا في هذا البيت الدافئ و انت تنبش الثلوج بحثا عن المال؟؟
انني اندم كل يوم و ليس في الناس من يساوره التندم مثل فرانسيس المسكين .. أما عن التغيير فليقم أحد بتغيير ظروفي فلابد للمرء أن يأكل!
هل تتصور حقا اني اسرق للتسلية؟! انني امقت السرقة و اسناني لتصطك اذا رايت مشنقة.. لكن لابد لي من الطعام و الشراب... إن أردت إصلاحي فاجعلني في حاشية الملك أو من أقطاب الكنيسة أو من النبلاء.. وعند ذلك يحدث التغيير المنشود"
فكيف نطالب الناس بالحفاظ على القيم و المبادئ و هم لا يجدوا قوت يومهم؟
كيف نطالبهم بالاحترام و التهذيب و هم يصارعون للبقاء على قيد الحياة!
بالتأكيد فرانسيس قاطع الطرق كان هو المنتصر في هذا الجدال.. لكن حتى مع انتصاره فهو يترك البيت ليعود مرة أخرى إلى الطريق..
كأن ستيفنسون يققول انه مهما حاولنا الحديث ففي النهاية لن يتغير شيء.. سيظل الفقير في الشارع و الغني في منزله يحتقره!
قصة جدلية أخرى تزيد إعجابي بهذا الكاتب العبقري..
May 15, 2026
2.5 stars—not awful, but not worth the time. RLS is the GOAT—but not this one.
December 5, 2025
Very short story but rich in dialogue, how he set the scenes and how he describes the weather, great writer yet I don’t get the point of the story.
May 20, 2014
Free download available at Project Gutenberg.
Opening lines:
It was late in November, 1456. The snow fell over Paris with rigorous, relentless persistence; sometimes the wind made a sally and scattered it in flying vortices; sometimes there was a lull, and flake after flake descended out of the black night air, silent, circuitous, interminable. To poor people, looking up under moist eyebrows, it seemed a wonder where it all came from. Master Francis Villon had propounded an alternative that afternoon, at a tavern window: was it only pagan Jupiter plucking geese upon Olympus? or were the holy angels molting?
Opening lines:
It was late in November, 1456. The snow fell over Paris with rigorous, relentless persistence; sometimes the wind made a sally and scattered it in flying vortices; sometimes there was a lull, and flake after flake descended out of the black night air, silent, circuitous, interminable. To poor people, looking up under moist eyebrows, it seemed a wonder where it all came from. Master Francis Villon had propounded an alternative that afternoon, at a tavern window: was it only pagan Jupiter plucking geese upon Olympus? or were the holy angels molting?
December 1, 2016
Beautiful language
High up overhead the snow settled among the tracery
of the cathedral towers. Many a niche was drifted full; many a statue
wore a long white bonnet on its grotesque or sainted head. The gargoyles
had been transformed into great false noses, drooping toward the point.
The crockets were like upright pillows swollen on one side. In the
intervals of the wind there was a dull sound dripping about the
precincts of the church.
- Robert Louis Stevenson, A Lodging for the Night
High up overhead the snow settled among the tracery
of the cathedral towers. Many a niche was drifted full; many a statue
wore a long white bonnet on its grotesque or sainted head. The gargoyles
had been transformed into great false noses, drooping toward the point.
The crockets were like upright pillows swollen on one side. In the
intervals of the wind there was a dull sound dripping about the
precincts of the church.
- Robert Louis Stevenson, A Lodging for the Night
March 30, 2021
"But the devil is only a very weak spirit before God's truth, and all his subtleties vanish at a word of true honour, like darkness at morning."
I understand the meaning of the writing. The message in this writing was that we are all the same, no matter what class we belong to, the only difference is how society views us. This is displayed in Villon and the lord of Brisetout's discourse. But it all just felt so irrelevant and boring to me. I know that Robert Louis Stevenson is a classic and highly regarded, and I did like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, but this one just was not for me.
I understand the meaning of the writing. The message in this writing was that we are all the same, no matter what class we belong to, the only difference is how society views us. This is displayed in Villon and the lord of Brisetout's discourse. But it all just felt so irrelevant and boring to me. I know that Robert Louis Stevenson is a classic and highly regarded, and I did like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, but this one just was not for me.
December 21, 2015
Great writing yet again! Love the morbid hints while at the same time creating an actual plot having a perfect take away.
May 6, 2025
Listened to this as an audio book. Not too bad.
July 11, 2019
The prose leaps off the page, particularly Stevenson's associations of men with animals, but this one is once again more of a pretext to start an albeit fascinating discussion on the nature of evil and the blindness of the upper class' entitlement.
May 31, 2023
*booing noises*
November 21, 2025
Was that the whole thing…?
September 12, 2024
Nope, didn't like the story...DNF-ed it... regret, that I kept on reading in the hope, the story would turn: No such luck.
December 11, 2016
I'm not a fan of short stories, but I have several volumes of The World's 100 Best Short Stories: Volume 1 - Adventure published in 1927. I was pleased to see that this volume had several renown authors including Robert Louis Stevenson, O. Henry, Bret Hart and Victor Hugo. I chose to read the Robert Louis Stevenson A Lodging for the Night.
The beauty of the short story is just that, it can be finished quickly however, to me it lacks the depth and totality of a novel and one takes away only a splinter and that is rarely pleasant.
This story surely was evocative of the setting a cold winter's night in Paris in 1456, a poet named Francis Villon is writing with some friends one evening:
Yet there was a small house, backed up against a cemetery wall, which was still awake and awake to evil pupose in that snoring district. There was not much to betray it from without; only a stream of warm vapor from the chimney-top, a patch where the snow melted on the roof, and a few half-obliterated footprints at the door. But within, behind the huttered windows, Master Francis Villon, the poet and some of the thievish crew with whom he consorted were keeping the night alive and passing round the bottle.
This is a bit of a morality tale with no clear ending.
The beauty of the short story is just that, it can be finished quickly however, to me it lacks the depth and totality of a novel and one takes away only a splinter and that is rarely pleasant.
This story surely was evocative of the setting a cold winter's night in Paris in 1456, a poet named Francis Villon is writing with some friends one evening:
Yet there was a small house, backed up against a cemetery wall, which was still awake and awake to evil pupose in that snoring district. There was not much to betray it from without; only a stream of warm vapor from the chimney-top, a patch where the snow melted on the roof, and a few half-obliterated footprints at the door. But within, behind the huttered windows, Master Francis Villon, the poet and some of the thievish crew with whom he consorted were keeping the night alive and passing round the bottle.
This is a bit of a morality tale with no clear ending.
February 27, 2009
This was a very interesting story. In this story, as well as a lot of other Stevensons stories, there is the meeting of two different classes of people, like the rich and poor. In this story, however, is a meeting of a honorable night and a dishonorable scoundral. You see two points of view of life and it makes for an interesting conversation between the two.
November 9, 2012
I think this is 1 or 2 on my all time best short story list...It is quinetssential Stevenson, and as usual he is on the side of the little guy. Making the hero an actual historical person makes it even better.
January 30, 2013
My least favourite of Stevenson's works. The story felt like it was really slow and that nothing majorly important happened. I did stop half way through to try his other short stories. No sense in pushing through a novel as if it were a chore.
October 28, 2010
I thought it was a good book, and enjoyed that philosophical view that talk about.
September 24, 2019
At the starting, we are introduced to a group of odds taking a shelter in a small hut from the snow. There we meet our main character, Ville who becomes a victim of unfortunate circumstances when a fight in the hut results in a murder. With no money and roof over his head, he is forced to find alternatives for the night.
Initially we feel no sympathy for the character as we are made to believe that he was getting his just desserts. But his encounter with the former old 'honorable soldier' adds layers to the character.
It makes us wonder that we preach about right and wrong and expect others to follow that as well but we are able to do that because we don't have our survival at risk. But those near poverty first have to worry about filling their stomachs and live wishing to see the daylight the next day.
Why would they worry about honour and respect or what the society thinks about them. Ville compared his theft to the actions of a soldier.It really made us, as the reader think about how darkness can prevail anywhere and no person is totally untouched from it.
Initially we feel no sympathy for the character as we are made to believe that he was getting his just desserts. But his encounter with the former old 'honorable soldier' adds layers to the character.
It makes us wonder that we preach about right and wrong and expect others to follow that as well but we are able to do that because we don't have our survival at risk. But those near poverty first have to worry about filling their stomachs and live wishing to see the daylight the next day.
Why would they worry about honour and respect or what the society thinks about them. Ville compared his theft to the actions of a soldier.It really made us, as the reader think about how darkness can prevail anywhere and no person is totally untouched from it.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
August 9, 2026
Read in under an hour, this short story was equal parts thriller and a debate on the duality of man—something Robert Louis Stevenson often explores, it seems? At least from what I'm gathering based on the couple of stories I've read by him so far (Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and now this one).
The first half set the scene for a frigid night with a diverse handful of rough characters, showing Stevenson's ability to paint a vivid picture when he slows down to do so. The second half, however, suffered from rushed prose. It's almost as if all hell breaks loose right after the event that sets the men scattering out into the cold. The whole middle bit was rushed forward just so we could get to the great debate between a fictionalized version of the real poet-thief (François Villon) and the Lord of Brisetout. And once the debate was over, it ended abruptly.
This felt like an experimental piece that Stevenson enjoyed jotting down, maybe while thinking about the real Villon, but it isn't wholly fleshed out. Yet, oddly enough, I did enjoy it just a bit more than Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
The first half set the scene for a frigid night with a diverse handful of rough characters, showing Stevenson's ability to paint a vivid picture when he slows down to do so. The second half, however, suffered from rushed prose. It's almost as if all hell breaks loose right after the event that sets the men scattering out into the cold. The whole middle bit was rushed forward just so we could get to the great debate between a fictionalized version of the real poet-thief (François Villon) and the Lord of Brisetout. And once the debate was over, it ended abruptly.
This felt like an experimental piece that Stevenson enjoyed jotting down, maybe while thinking about the real Villon, but it isn't wholly fleshed out. Yet, oddly enough, I did enjoy it just a bit more than Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
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