Temple of Augustus and Rome

Listen first. Somewhere close by, pigeons beat their wings against the dome of a mosque. Footsteps cross smooth paving. Then your eyes settle on two tall walls of pale, weathered marble. They stand without a roof, open to the Ankara sky. The stone is warm grey in some places and honey-coloured in others. Up close, the surface is covered in tiny carved letters, row after row, like the page of a giant book.

You are standing in Ulus, the old heart of Ankara, in the district of Altındağ. This is the Temple of Augustus and Rome. It was built when this city was called Ancyra. At that time it was the capital of a new Roman province called Galatia. Rome took control of the region in 25 BCE. Most scholars think the temple went up in the years soon after, although its exact date is still debated.

The name tells you who it honoured. Augustus was the first Roman emperor. Roma was the goddess who stood for the city of Rome itself. In the eastern provinces, local communities often built temples to the two of them together. It was a way to show loyalty to the new power. It was also a way for local leaders to gain favour and status. A temple like this was politics carved in marble.

Who were the people who built it? The name Galatia comes from the Galatians. They were Celtic tribes who had moved into central Anatolia in the third century before Christ. Yes, Celts... relatives of peoples in Gaul and Britain, living here on the high plateau. By the time of Augustus, their elite had learned Greek and were making deals with Rome. This temple sits where those worlds met.

Now look again at the letters. This is the real reason people travel here from across the world. Carved into these walls is a text called the Res Gestae Divi Augusti. In Latin, that means 'the deeds of the divine Augustus'. It is the emperor's own account of his life. He lists his victories, his public buildings, his gifts of money to the people, and the honours he received.

Here is the first surprise. The original text was not meant for Anatolia at all. Augustus left instructions for it to be set up on bronze pillars in front of his tomb in Rome. Those bronze pillars disappeared long ago. Copies were carved in provincial cities, and fragments survive in a few places. But the copy here in Ankara is by far the most complete. Without these walls, much of the emperor's own words would be lost.

And here is the second surprise. The text appears twice, in two languages. The Latin version is carved on the inner walls of the entrance porch. A Greek translation runs along an outer wall of the main chamber. Greek was the everyday language of educated people in the eastern Roman world. So the temple spoke to Roman officials and to local citizens at the same time. Scholars have used the two versions to fill gaps in each other.

Because of this inscription, the building is often called the Monumentum Ancyranum, which simply means 'the monument of Ancyra'. It is also known by a grand nickname — 'the queen of inscriptions'. Historians of Rome rely on it constantly. Very few ancient rulers left such a direct statement of how they wanted to be remembered. As you look at the worn letters, you are reading propaganda, autobiography and history all at once.

The temple did not stay a pagan shrine. Later, in the Byzantine period, it was turned into a Christian church. The builders made changes to suit their new purpose. Look for the rectangular windows cut through the walls. They were not part of the Roman design. These openings let light into the church, but they also cut through some of the carved text. The building carries the marks of each new age that used it.

Then came another change. Turn and look at the mosque that stands right beside the ruins. This is the Hacı Bayram Mosque, built in the fifteenth century. It honours Hacı Bayram Veli, a Sufi teacher and poet from this region, whose tomb is next to it. Sufism is the mystical tradition within Islam. For centuries, people have come here to pray and visit the tomb. A Roman temple, a Byzantine church and an Ottoman mosque now share one small hill.

For a long time, Western Europe knew little about the inscription. That changed in the sixteenth century. A diplomat named Ogier Ghiselin de Busbecq travelled through Ankara on a mission to the Ottoman court. He noticed the Latin text and had parts of it copied. Scholars and travellers followed in later centuries. They made drawings, then plaster casts and photographs. Each generation tried to read a little more of the damaged stone.

Today, the walls are fragile. Marble cracks with frost and heat, and the city air does not help. You may notice supports, protective structures or barriers around parts of the site. Conservation work here is slow and careful. Experts have to protect the letters without hiding them. Walk slowly around the outside, and you will see how the colour of the stone changes from wall to wall, and how some lines of text are sharp while others have almost faded.

The neighbourhood around you is part of the experience too. Ulus is an old commercial area, with narrow streets that climb toward Ankara Castle on the hill above. On Fridays and religious holidays, the square by the mosque fills with worshippers and families. Street sellers offer simit, a ring of bread covered in sesame seeds. Roman ruins are scattered elsewhere in this district too, including the remains of a large public bath not far away.

Before you leave, stand still for a moment in front of the walls. Picture the full temple, with its columns and its roof, and a crowd reading the emperor's words. Then come back to now. Hear the call to prayer, the traffic below, the voices in the square. Run your eyes along one last line of letters. Two thousand years ago, someone carved each one by hand — and you are still reading them.