Theatre of Marcellus

Run your hand along the low railing and look up. The stone in front of you is travertine, a pale limestone full of tiny holes, like old sponge. It has turned the colour of weak tea. Arches rise in two neat rows. Above them, strangely, sit shuttered windows, flower pots and the glow of a reading lamp. You are looking at an ancient Roman theatre. Some people also live in it.

This is the Theatre of Marcellus. Its arches come from the age of Rome's first emperor, Augustus. The building on top of it comes from much later. Very few places in the city stack its layers so openly. Antiquity sits at the bottom. The Middle Ages and the Renaissance sit on top. Modern Rome carries on all around you. Traffic hums along the road behind you, and pigeons settle in the old stone arches.

The project began with Julius Caesar. He planned a great theatre on this spot, near the bend of the Tiber. He cleared the ground, but he was assassinated before the work could go far. His adopted heir, Augustus, took over the plan and finished it. The theatre was dedicated in the final decades before the Common Era. It became one of the largest theatres the city had ever seen.

Augustus named it after a young man he had lost. Marcus Claudius Marcellus was his nephew and also his son-in-law. Many Romans expected him to become the next ruler. Then, in 23 BCE, Marcellus fell ill and died, still only around twenty years old. So this theatre is also a memorial. It is a family's grief, carved in stone and placed in the heart of the city.

Now picture the crowd. Scholars disagree on the exact number of seats. Estimates often fall somewhere between eleven thousand and twenty thousand spectators. Either way, it was a huge audience for plays, music and public celebrations. The seats rose in a half circle and faced a tall stage building towards the river. Romans sat by rank. Senators sat close to the stage, and ordinary citizens and women sat higher up.

Look carefully at the two surviving storeys of arches. The lower level uses the Doric style, the plainest of the classical orders, with simple, solid half-columns. The upper level uses the Ionic style. You can spot it by the scroll-shaped curls at the tops of the columns. Most experts believe a third level once sat above these. It was probably a lighter, closed wall with flat pilasters. That level has not survived.

Here is a detail many visitors miss. This curved facade, with arches framed by stacked column styles, is an early example of a pattern that later appeared at the Colosseum. That arena came almost a century later. Many historians see this theatre as one of its models. Stand here, then picture the Colosseum's outer ring. The family likeness is easy to see.

After Rome's empire fell, the theatre lost its purpose. Nobody staged plays here anymore. Builders treated the old walls as a quarry, and the ground slowly rose around them. In the Middle Ages, powerful Roman families saw something else in it — a ready-made fortress. Thick walls and a raised position near the river made it easy to defend. Different noble families held it over the centuries.

The second big surprise rises above the arches. In the sixteenth century, the Savelli family owned the site. They commissioned the architect Baldassarre Peruzzi to build them a palace on top of the ancient ruin. Later, the property passed to the Orsini, another great Roman family. The upper floors you see today grew from that palace. They still hold private apartments. Imagine coming home each evening to rooms resting on Augustus's theatre.

For centuries, the ground-floor arches had a busy, practical life of their own. Small shops and workshops filled them. Craftsmen worked inside the ancient vaults, and the street level was much higher than it is now. In the twentieth century, the area was cleared and excavated. Workers removed the shops and dug down to the old Roman level. That is why the arches seem to stand in a shallow, open pit.

Turn slightly and look nearby. Three tall, fluted columns stand close to the theatre. They belonged to the Temple of Apollo, which stood beside it in ancient times. A short walk away lies the Portico of Octavia, another Augustan monument. Beyond it begins the old Jewish quarter, one of the longest-standing communities in the city. The neighbourhood is small, and walking past these places brings together many centuries of Roman life.

On summer evenings, the theatre sometimes returns to its first job. Concerts are often held in the archaeological area beside the arches. Music drifts over the old stone while the sky turns dark blue above the apartments. Even on an ordinary day, the space has a quiet, theatrical feeling. Walkers pause on the path, cats sleep in the sun, and the sound of the city seems to soften here.

Before you leave, look once more at the line where the old stone meets the newer walls above. You can often see the change in texture and colour. Pale, pitted travertine sits below, and smoother, warmer plaster sits above. That line is about fifteen centuries long. As you walk away, listen to the traffic and the footsteps. This theatre stopped hosting performances long ago, yet the city around it still provides its own show.