TIMGAD
The road, on leaving Biskra, runs due north over a land which
usually looks barren, but which in periods of rain produces a
plentiful crop of cereals. Very soon a ridge is topped, and Biskra
and the Sahara are lost to sight. Some people will heave a sigh
of relief at leaving for the last time these desolate expanses;
others will look back longingly, and these will return sooner or
later. Once the Sahara has gripped the heart there is nothing in
the world which will free it from its hold.
Just over fifty kilometers from Biskra the oasis of El Kantara is
reached, and of all the beauty-spots in North Africa it is one of
the most attractive. It is really better to approach it from the
north, descending from a high level toward an apparently unbroken
barrier of rock. Some trees proclaim the few houses which cluster
about the little Hotel Bertrand, nestling under the towering cliffs
while the river gurgles at its feet.
Then suddenly a cleft appears in the rocks, and the road and the
railway creep out side by side into the plain beyond. It is the
complete contrast of the north and south—of winter and summer. On
one side of the mountain the soil is dark and fertile, and on the
other it is rosy and desertic. The Arabs say that all rain stops
north of the Gorge of El Kantara.
Arriving from the south the first thing we shall see will be the
oasis: a long array of palm-trees shading a river which is more
than often full of water. If time permits, it is well worth the
trouble to cross over an iron bridge and visit the curious little
villages. There are some interesting Roman remains and a series of
views of the palmery, which, even if one is not an artist, furnish
material for beautiful photographs.
Proceeding through the Gorge of El Kantara, which incidentally
means the bridge, we come to _the_ bridge, built by the famous Third
Legion which garrisoned this part of North Africa. Unfortunately
it has been badly restored, but the stones used by the Romans are
still there.
The Hotel Bertrand is a restful place, a paradise for painters, and,
if one is interested in climbing or shooting the elusive moufflon,
there is plenty of this sport in the district.
The road climbs on, winding up the steep gradient on to the cereal
plains of Batna. The tall peaks of the Aurès Mountains rise up,
covered with pines and cedars, and in winter often deep in snow. It
is a great contrast after the Sahara. The rest of the road is
uninteresting, as is also the modern town of Batna, where one will
find all comforts as usual at the Transatlantic Hotel.
The traveler will, of course, make his plans before starting,
but it seems opportune to put in some suggestion for the visit to
Timgad. If time presses it is advised to leave Biskra early, lunch
at Batna, or, better still, picnic at Lambèse, go to Timgad, and
return to sleep at Batna. If time is not of importance it would be
far pleasanter to leave Biskra later, spend some time at El Kantara,
lunch there, sleep at Batna, and spend the whole day at Timgad,
and sleep again at Batna.
Or, if Roman ruins do not attract one, go to Timgad in the morning,
lunch there, leaving about three in the afternoon, and arrive at
Constantine for dinner.
As stated in the note at the end of Chapter XXV, it is possible to
do Biskra, Batna, and sleep at Sétif in one burst, which permits
one to be in Algiers the following day.
The road from Batna to Timgad runs over a rolling, inhospitable
country dominated on the right by the frowning Aurès Mountains. The
first place of interest is Lambèse, the Roman Lambæsis. It was
founded at the end of the first century as the headquarters of that
amazing Third Legion which garrisoned North Africa at that period.
It is one of the best existing examples of a military camp, with
its magazines, parade ground, officers’ quarters and military
church. It has also an amphitheater and a few temples, but their
remains are not so interesting as in many other Roman cities. The
prætorium, or rather its entrance, built of massive blocks of stone,
is in a very good state of preservation; through the middle passed
the main roads which ran straight across North Africa—north,
south, east and west. Traces of this masterpiece of engineering
are continually being unearthed.
Leaving Lambèse, the same scenery continues, a triumphal arch is
passed, a few relics of Roman houses, then at the thirtieth kilometer
there appear in the distance two tall pillars, which seem to leap up
out of the plain to a great height and stand pointing to the sky in
solitary grandeur. Straining the eyes, one soon discerns buildings
and more pillars. A great arch defines itself—we are arriving at
the dead city of Timgad. Two thousand years ago the Emperor Trajan
decided to found a settlement for the Roman soldiers who had fought
in the Parthian campaigns, and he commanded that Thamugadi should
be built by the men of the Third Legion.
Thus Timgad did not grow up according to the needs of the settlers,
but was conceived and born in its entirety. For this reason it is one
of the most perfect examples of a Roman town of the period. Some
writers have called it the African Pompeii, but, though the
drifting sand preserved it as did the ashes Pompeii, this is the
only thing analogous about the two places. Pompeii was a seaside
resort, a town of pleasure and luxury; Timgad was an outpost of a
mighty empire. Everything was done to make it resemble as much as
possible the settlers’ homes in the mother country, and it must
have been a strange sensation for the Berbers of the Aurès who
ventured down from their mountain homes to see all the civilized
organization going on in the middle of this desolate land. Timgad
was, however, never an important nor even a large city. Its area
did not exceed one hundred and fifty acres and, though it is
interesting to us because it escaped the total destruction meted
out by the Vandals and Arabs to most of the other Roman cities,
it never created anything in particular.
Entering by the northern gate, we find on our right the big
baths. Built with the utmost care and paved with marble brought
from Italy, they contained every improvement of the day, and were
practically identical with the baths of Caracalla at Rome. They
are in a high state of preservation, and it is most interesting to
examine the various devices for bringing in water and for heating
the many chambers.
Walking up the street from the baths, one passes what must have been
shops; only the lower parts of the walls remain. The first building
of interest discloses itself on the left. There is a pillared portico
and a kind of altar with shelves around; the inscription suggests
that it was the public library, but this is not certain. It may
have been the shrine of the Lares—household gods.
[Illustration: The Bridge of the Third Legion at El Kantara]
[Illustration: _Photograph by Mr. Julian Sampson_
An Arab of Tadjmout]
The street now leads into the Decumanus Maximus, the main
thoroughfare. Graceful columns line either side, leading into what
must have been large houses. The paving-stones, placed diagonally
to prevent their being worn away by the chariots, are nevertheless
deeply rutted. Between the chinks can be seen the drain which ran
beneath the middle of the way. Immediately opposite this intersection
are the steps leading up to the forum: a white-paved court with many
pillars, some fifty yards long, with at one end a tribunal where sat
the judge. There must have been many statues, but they are no more.
Just below the forum, on the north side, are the public latrines
which, with their carved hand-rests, are interesting and worth
examining.
On the south side of the forum there is a charming inscription:
_“Veneri, lavari, ludere, ridere—occe est vita!”_ “Hunting,
bathing, gambling, laughing—this is life!”
Climbing out on an eminence above the forum, we come to the
theater. The auditorium is hollowed out of the hill and is in a fine
state of preservation. The seating accommodation makes the modern
play-goer think, as from every stall the stage is fully visible
and the acoustic properties are faultless. Looking across from the
theater can be seen the tall pillars we first espied from the road;
they are the ruins of the Temple of Jupiter on the capitol. The
pillars are immense, fifty feet high, with each capitol three feet,
making a total of fifty-six feet. In the middle was a gigantic
statue of Jupiter, now in the Louvre in Paris. There is nothing so
drearily desolate, so terribly silent, as the two pillars of this
temple. It seems as if they stood there to warn the people who pass
of the vanity of human things.
Near by are some interesting villas of a more luxurious conception
than those we saw before. The rooms are more numerous and spacious,
and there is a reservoir for keeping fish.
On the hill behind the capitol, stand the remains of a Christian
church, with a baptistery of which the mosaics are in a perfect
state of preservation. Leaving this Christian church, we now
retrace our steps, leaving the capitol on the right, and make for
the triumphal arch of which we have already caught a glimpse from
the Decumanus Maximus. Before reaching it there is an interesting
market-place. The large court is surrounded by a colonnade, and
the stone counters of the shops are just as they were at the time.
Opposite the market-place is a small temple, but what strikes the
attention at once is the triumphal arch of Trajan. It has three
openings, and niches for statues, and is certainly the most imposing
monument of Algeria.
Hence we can wander back through narrow streets to the gate by which
we entered, and near which stands the museum which is well worth a
visit. In addition to all sorts of curiosities such as hair-pins,
needles and implements for dentistry of the time, it contains some
of the fine mosaics which have been unearthed from the houses and
pieced together. If we look at them for a moment and imagine what
they looked like up there near the capitol, we can get a small
idea of how charming the residences must have been. There are also
drawings of what it is supposed Timgad was like in the days of its
glory, and certainly, if the artist was not carried away by his
imagination— and there is no reason to suppose this—it must have
been indeed a noble city. And yet its aspect now leaves the traveler
with a feeling of sorrow. The silence is, first of all, appalling;
the atmosphere of desolation is impossible to convey in words,
and, as one sits in the forum or on the stone steps of the theater
and tries to conjure up the gay figures who once frequented these
now silent spaces, one is filled with an unspeakable awe. All this
luxury, all this amusement, all these habitations—for what? For
the future planned by Imperial Rome, since it is evident that no
nation would have built the great town, with all in it, as a mere
pastime. They intended to stay; they believed in their unshakable
greatness; they believed in the power of the sword.
But Rome fell, as had fallen other empires, and as others will
also fall. And Timgad is left to the jackals and to the hyenas,
to a few intelligent excavators, and to the host of chattering
tourists who rush through these ruins of a glorious past without
a thought for the cultured race who once lived there.
“Vanity, vanity—all is vanity!”
For this reason I have said as little as possible on this city of
the dead, and I leave it to the traveler to go himself and feel
the atmosphere which no painter or writer can reproduce.