Nîmes, 1764.
My grandfather, Étienne, had a feverish soul. He was an antiquarian, meaning he was passionate about everything that bore the mark of the Roman world. In Nîmes, he only had to bend down to dream. Everywhere, ruins, fragments, traces of the past. He kept a notebook with an ink-stained cover, in which he carefully copied Latin inscriptions, drew forgotten moldings, and noted his thoughts. For him, each stone was a poem.

This is how the tour begins: in the footsteps of an 18th-century man, then of his granddaughter, Élise, who will take up the torch in the following century. Together, they will guide us through the Nîmes of knowledge, elegance, and loving archaeology.

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