A tale of times

I am getting old. The passing years start to show their effects on my face and my body. I once found joy in every season, now I prefer the hot days of summer. But there are not many who lived what I had been through and still stand. After all, I’m 2000 years old.

Maison Carre, Nimes

I was young and beautiful once. It was like yesterday when they opened the doors for my first ceremony. Everything was more glorious then.  I was dedicated to two young men, Gaius and Lucius Caesar, grandsons of the mighty Augustus , emperor of Rome! They sacrificed two bulls on my steps; one was white as the clouds and the other as black as the wings of the raven. What a wonderful day it was. The priests were singing and burning sweet smelling incense, the consuls were scheming as usual, the legionnaires walking around in their shining armour while the common people were trying to catch a glimpse of someone important .One of the senators, I forgot which one, even threw silver coins to the crowds filling the Forum. The merchants and the prostitutes at the Agora did good business that day, I knew. They all came to me with their offerings afterwards.

Arena of Nimes

I remember another ceremony, not long after the first one. It was the day the Arena opened. Many people travelled to my city to see the animal fights and the gladiators. I never saw them fighting of course, but came to know most of the gladiators. I used to hear their names chanted by the thousands filling the arena. There was the brave Calistus for example, young Eros the Secutor and the mighty Retiare Xantus. They seldom came themselves, but their concubines were making many offerings for their victory, so were the gamblers who betted on their blood. Some won their freedom and riches, but most became memories on the sands of the arena.

I watched my city grow around me with new buildings but I was always the most beautiful. My priests used to adorn me with offerings and images of the Gods they were praying.  At first, my people were worshiping many different gods; I was -mais bien sure- dedicated to the mightiest of them. Then they started to pray for the One that was killed at the cross and changed me to one of His temples. I didn't object. I wanted to tell my people that as long as they had love in their hearts they would be heard by whichever God they prayed for.  I've never spoken the words, but I think some have heard me when they left their worries behind after spending time in my peaceful halls.

Pont-du-Gard

There was a young man once, an architect who came often to pray. He whispered in his prayers that he wished to build the world’s highest aqueduct. He stopped coming to me one day, later I heard he died at his work. But his dreams came alive soon afterwards; the waters of the Gard river flew into the ancient baths just two streets from where I stand today.

Don’t think it was all celebration and prayers; I had my share of wars too. The soldiers always came to me to pray, one day this group and the other day the next. They all prayed for the same things though, for the health of their families and to see their lovers once again. I watched many of them die on my steps. I shouted them to stop hurting each other, but nobody heard my voice. I did what I do best then, restored their memories in my stone body, so they could be remembered as long as I stand here.

Talking about my steps, it wasn’t always humans who climbed them. There was a time when my people killed their kings and killed the ones who killed the kings until they found a new kind of king, the one who called himself Nap. During that time they were using me as a shelter for their horses. I didn’t mind it, I always liked horses. I didn’t like the smell tough. Afterwards they gave me a new facelift and some new accessories, et voila, I became gorgeous once again.

The Arena survived through the worst of it as well, people were using it as a garrison in their wars once; but now they started to use it for bull fights. I’m hearing people shouting ‘Ole’ every once in a while , even see the new gladiators – they are called matadors now – in their beautiful clothes. Although I’m not a fan of any kind of violence myself (you know the old saying : once a temple - always a temple), I prefer it to the memories of the past wars.

So many things happened till then, sometimes I’m getting confused. But then I realise that things are changing for the better. Now children play on my grounds while young boys and girls come to sit on my steps. They laugh and dance and make a lot of noise. I always liked the sound of laughter.  Instead of soldiers and politicians, students are coming to me now. They sit under my columns for hours and study. If I listen carefully I can hear their thoughts like I used to hear the prayers of the past.

Still beautiful

And every once in a while someone comes from far away who is willing to listen to my stories. To her, I open my secrets.

I am Rome. I am the legionnaire praying for glory and I am his wife praying for safe return. I am the wisdom of the poet and the genius of the architect.  I am the blood at the Arena and the laughter at the Agora.

I am also Nimes. I am the wine on the table and the camera of the tourist. I am the perfume of the beautiful woman shopping on my back alleys and the noise of the kid on his skateboard. I am the spirit that shook a kingdom and changed the word.

I am eternal. And I plan to be here for another 2000 years. If you are around, stop by. I’ll have some new stories by then.