Francis Bacon, Essays, Of Travel (1625)
“He that travelleth into a country, before he hath some entrance into the language, goeth to school, and not to travel. That young men travel under some tutor, or grave servant, I allow well; so that he be such a one that hath the language, and hath been in the country before; whereby he may be able to tell them what things are worthy to be seen, in the country where they go; what acquaintances they are to seek; what exercises, or discipline, the place yieldeth. For else, young men shall go hooded, and look abroad little.”
Anne Carson, The Fall of Rome: A Traveller’s Guide, 199?
[Excerpts]
I.
By this time tomorrow I will be a man of Rome.
VII.
Who I am doesn’t matter.
As you see me
fighting to survive,
fighting to be esteemed and honoured
(so that my past vanishes),
you will dismiss me as nothing terrific.
Fair enough,
but there is one thing about me:
I can take you to Anna Xenia.
VIII.
She is a citizen of the ancient republic,
historian of its wars
and ravishing
in
her
armour.
IX.
Now although I hate to travel
I go a lot of places
and have noted
certain recurrent phenomena.
A journey, for example,
begins with a voice
calling your name out
behind you.
This seems a convenient arrangement.
How else would you know it’s time to go?
[…]
Anna Xenia has studied at Oxford.
Maybe
she can explain
some of this to me.
XI.
What is the holiness of the citizen?
It is to open
a day
to a stranger,
who has no day
of his own.
XIV.
There is a wonderful lot of talk in Anna Xenia.
She cocks her head like Cicero
and pretends
I am someone talking back.
Good afternoon.
I am well thanks how are you?
XV.
From deep within
my traveller’s clothes
I watch these conversations take place.
XXII.
What is the holiness of the stranger?
He has none.
XXIV.
A stranger is poor, voracious, and turbulent.
He comes
from nowhere in particular
and pushes prices up.
His method of knowing something
is to eat it.
XXXIII.
Rome collapsed when Alaric ran out the dawn side.
XXXIV.
A stranger is someone who comes on the wrong day.
XL.
A stranger is someone desperate for conversation.
Then why is it I never have anything to say?
We perch in our armour
at the kitchen table.
XLIV.
A stranger is someone
who sits
very still at the kitchen table,
looks down at his knuckles,
thinks someday we will laugh about this,
doesn’t believe it.
LIII.
What is the holiness of conversation?
It is
to master death.
Anne Carson, The Fall of Rome: A Traveller’s Guide
excerpted from Pequod.
. . . . .