The Old Forgotten Barracks

By Christian Morisot
Rust leaves little room for the original paint; an open wrought-iron gate is frozen on its hinges. A few memories, however, still offer the illusion of a radiant past. The gray facade of a large building rises to its full height above an overgrown garden.

It does not attract the sun; the light struggles to illuminate the wild, dense, and persistent vegetation, teeming with dark shadows as much as with mysteries. Clouds drift by in the distance, a languid caravan returning from a long journey. When you pass through the gate, a curious emotion leaves you uneasy. A strange feeling emanates from here… as if gazes buried in the shadows of the trees or behind the dark, dirty, and icy panes of windows were leaving behind the fleeting and implacable image of a recent past that vanished all too quickly. Everything will be destroyed for new buildings, for new things, they say!

Just desserts?
Wasn't it the same when the legionnaires moved into this barracks, which already bore the indelible imprint of the history of those who had passed through it before them? Could we change the course of events that an implacable destiny cannot prevent from succumbing to the monstrous emptiness that consumes all living things? Are we made of a different stuff than the dreams that haunt us throughout our lives and are constantly fueled by a saving hope for a better world?

Leaving for elsewhere, rebuilding anew, imbuing the places once more with its unique character, settling down, leaving again and again for other horizons; constantly changing with the times! Never, ever, will we succeed in extinguishing this invisible passion that forms our cohesion and our strength; our ancestors possessed it, and we, their rightful heirs, will know how to face it as they did in other circumstances… Always and forevermore: “More Majorum.”