Palazzo d'Accursio

Stand still for a moment on the warm stone of Piazza Maggiore and turn to face the long, brick-red wall on the western side of the square. In the late afternoon the light turns the brick the colour of baked earth. Pigeons cross the square in low arcs. Voices bounce between the buildings, and somewhere a bicycle bell rings twice. The building in front of you is Palazzo d'Accursio, the town hall of Bologna, and for centuries the heart of the city's political life.

The first thing to understand is that this is not one building. It is a cluster of buildings, joined, extended and rebuilt over several hundred years. Look along the façade and you will see the joins. Windows do not quite line up. One section has battlements along the roofline, like a castle. Another section is calmer and more formal. The palace grew the way a city grows, piece by piece, and the stone and brick still show where each piece meets the next.

The name comes from a man, not a family dynasty or a saint. Accursius was a celebrated legal scholar of the thirteenth century, one of the glossators — scholars who wrote explanatory notes in the margins of ancient Roman law. Bologna was the great centre of legal study in medieval Europe, and its university is often called the oldest in the Western world. Accursius lived here, and his house became part of the complex. So the seat of the city's government carries the name of a lawyer. In a city built on the study of law, that feels fitting.

During the fourteenth century, the city's governing council moved into these buildings, and from then on this was where Bologna was ruled. For much of its later history, Bologna was part of the Papal States, the territory governed by the Pope. The palace became the residence of the papal legate, the Pope's representative in the city. That explains the fortress-like character of parts of the building. Power here needed walls, guards and thick doors, not only fine rooms.

Now raise your eyes above the main doorway. A large bronze figure sits there, one hand lifted in blessing. This is Pope Gregory the Thirteenth, who was born in Bologna. His name may sound familiar for another reason. He gave the world the Gregorian calendar, the calendar most of us use today. So every date on your phone traces back to a man whose statue now looks down over this square.

There is a story attached to this statue, and it is worth hearing even if you hold it lightly. When Napoleon's armies arrived in Italy at the end of the eighteenth century, symbols of papal power were in danger. According to the tale often told in Bologna, locals protected the bronze pope by changing it. They altered its details and labelled it as Saint Petronius, the patron saint of the city. A pope disguised as a saint, hiding in plain sight above the door.

A little to the left, higher up on the façade, look for a smaller and gentler figure. It is a terracotta Madonna and Child, set under a small canopy. It is the work of Niccolò dell'Arca, a fifteenth-century sculptor famous in Bologna for very expressive figures in clay and stone. Most visitors walk straight past it, because the bronze pope takes all the attention. Terracotta is simply fired clay, the same earth as the bricks around it, and that is part of its charm.

Above the building rises the clock tower. Clocks on public buildings were statements of civic order. They told the whole city when to work, when to trade and when to gather. In recent years the tower has been opened to visitors at certain times, and the view from the top looks across the red roofs toward the two leaning towers of the city. If the tower is open on the day you visit, it gives you one of the best ways to understand how compact medieval Bologna really is.

Now walk through the main entrance into the courtyard. The noise of the square drops away. Inside, look for the great staircase, a wide stair with very shallow, broad steps that climbs gently upward. The design is traditionally attributed to the Renaissance architect Bramante. The steps are so low and so wide for a practical reason. They allowed horses, and even carriages, to climb to the upper floors. Imagine the sound of hooves on this stone, echoing up the stairwell.

On the upper floors are the municipal art collections, a series of grand rooms with painted ceilings, old furniture and paintings from many centuries. It is a quiet visit compared with the large museums of Italy. You often have whole rooms almost to yourself. The rooms help you picture the palace as a lived-in place, where officials met, guests waited and decisions about the city were made under those painted beams.

Here is a detail many visitors miss. On the side of the complex, near Piazza del Nettuno, is the Salaborsa, a public library inside a former trading hall. Walk in and look down. Part of the floor is glass. Beneath your feet are the excavated remains of earlier Bologna, including traces from the Roman city. You can stand in a modern library, surrounded by students and children with picture books, and see layers of ancient foundations under the glass.

Before you leave, go back outside to the wall facing Piazza del Nettuno. There you will find a memorial covered with small photographs of faces. These are the partisans — local men and women of the resistance who were killed in the Second World War. Many of them were very young. Fresh flowers often appear here. It is a reminder that this building is not only a monument to popes and lawyers. It also carries the memory of ordinary citizens who died for the city's freedom.

So take one last look at the long brick façade. Notice the uneven windows, the battlements, the bronze pope and the small clay Madonna above him. Behind you, Neptune's fountain splashes, and the square keeps moving as it has for centuries. As you walk away, listen to the footsteps around you on the stone. Many of these people are simply crossing to work, to the library or to a café. For them, this palace is not history. It is still their town hall.