The Roman Road
One of my favorite stories in Kenneth Grahame’s 1895 classic The Golden Age (stories told from the vantage point of a pre-adolescent sibling about his experiences growing up in rural England) is called “The Roman Road”. The boy narrator begins in an unhappy state of mind. When the sense of injustice or disappointment was heavy upon me, and things were very black indeed within, . . . I turned my back for an afternoon on a world that had unaccountably declared itself against me. And so he went for a walk.
This day none of the roads near his home seemed adequate to his mood – except one which seemed different . . . in its masterful suggestion of a serious purpose, speeding you along with a strange uplifting of the heart. Children called it “The Knight’s Road”, grown ups, “Pilgrims’ Way”. And then someone had told him once that all roads lead to Rome. And sure enough, Miss Smedley, his history teacher, revealed that this road (here in his neighborhood) ran right down through England and over into France en route to the Eternal City – laid down centuries ago when Britain was part of the Roman Empire.
Immediately he began to fantasize what Rome must be like. It became his dream city of which he was the sole architect. And then: Down a delectable street of cloud-built palaces I was . . . pacing, when I happened upon the Artist. He was seated by the roadside, painting the broad spaces of the downs – and our little friend sat himself beside him. The artist eventually said, ‘Fine afternoon we’re having: going far today?’ To which the boy replied: ‘I was thinking of going on to Rome, but I’ve put it off.’
‘Pleasant place, Rome,’ murmured the artist: ‘you’ll like it.’ This led to their both imagining Rome so that the artist seemed – from the boy’s point of view – framed in a kind of Roman halo. The boy imagines he will find Lancelot there, and Arthur and Robinson Crusoe and ‘all the nice men in the stories who don’t marry the Princess, ‘cos only one man ever gets married in a book, you know. They’ll be there!’
The shadows began to lengthen and the artist stood up and he was very straight and tall, and the sunset was in his hair . . . He took my hand like an equal. ‘I’ve enjoyed our conversation very much,’ he said . . . ‘We shall meet again, I hope?’
‘Of course we shall,’ replied the boy, surprised that there should be any doubt about it.
‘In Rome perhaps?’ said the artist.
‘Yes, in Rome,’ answered the boy, ‘or else in that other city – when we’ve found the way there. I’ll look out for you, and you’ll sing out as soon as you see me. And we’ll go down the street arm-in-arm, and into all the shops, and then I’ll choose my house, and you’ll choose your house, and we’ll live there like princes and good fellows.’
And you thought the incident in today’s Gospel about two disciples meeting the risen Christ on the road to Emmaus happened only to them – two thousand years ago! Grahame’s lovely narrative tells us that such meetings happen all the time – often in subtle ways, so that as you make your way along the highway of life you don’t realize it has happened to you – anymore than the two disciples knew they were talking to the risen Christ – until: they realized their hearts were burning within them while he spoke to them along the way.