Gardens of Bomarzo

Listen for a moment. Under the oaks there is the soft crunch of leaves, the drip of water somewhere below, and a strange quiet. The air is cool and smells of moss and damp earth. Then, through the trees, a grey stone face appears. It is huge, and its mouth hangs open. Welcome to the Sacred Wood of Bomarzo, a garden that many people simply call the Park of Monsters.

This is not a garden in the usual sense. There are no neat hedges, no long avenues, no clear plan that leads you from one view to the next. Instead, the paths wander down a wooded slope below the village. Giant figures rise from the ground as you walk. A sea monster, a dragon, a sleeping woman, an elephant. Most of them are carved directly from boulders that were already lying here.

That stone is called peperino. It is a grey volcanic rock found across this part of northern Lazio, the region around Rome. It is soft enough to carve, but it weathers quickly. Touch it if you are allowed, and you will feel a rough, grainy surface. Lichen grows in patches of yellow and pale green. After nearly five centuries in the open air, the edges of many faces are soft, almost melted.

The man behind all this was Pier Francesco Orsini, known by his nickname, Vicino. He came from one of the great noble families of Rome. He was a soldier in the wars of the mid-sixteenth century, and for a time he was held as a prisoner of war. He was also a reader, a thinker, and a friend of writers. His garden reflects all of these sides... the violence, the learning, and a great deal of grief.

That grief had a name. Vicino's wife was Giulia Farnese. After her death, the garden seems to have taken a more personal direction. Near the top of the park stands a small temple with columns and a dome. Many historians link this building to her memory. It is quiet and formal, and it feels very different from the wild figures below. Keep it in mind as you walk. It may be the emotional centre of the whole wood.

Who designed the garden is less certain. Some scholars suggest the architect Pirro Ligorio played a role, but there is no firm proof, and the question is still debated. What is clear is the intention. Inscriptions are carved on the stones here and there. One near the start asks, in effect, whether these wonders were made to trick the visitor or to show the power of art. Vicino wanted you to feel unsettled. He wanted you to ask questions.

Now, the first surprise. Look for a small house that leans sharply to one side. Step inside, and the floor tilts under your feet. Your eyes and your sense of balance start to disagree. Within seconds, many people feel slightly dizzy. This was built on purpose. It is a joke in stone, more than four hundred years old, and it still works on every visitor who enters.

Further along you will meet the elephant. It carries a tower on its back, and in its trunk it holds a soldier. For people of the sixteenth century, this image called to mind Hannibal, the general from Carthage in North Africa who brought war elephants against ancient Rome. Nearby, a dragon fights off attacking animals. These scenes are full of struggle. Some readers see Vicino's own memories of battle in them.

And then there is the Ogre. This is the face you may have seen in photographs. Its mouth is wide enough to walk into, and inside there is a small room with a stone table and bench. Around the lips runs an inscription in Italian. It reads, "Ogni pensiero vola", meaning "every thought flies". Speak inside the mouth, and the hollow space changes the sound of your voice. Children love it. Adults usually love it too.

Here is the second surprise. For centuries after Vicino's death, this wood was almost forgotten. The figures were left to the weather. Trees grew around them, and earth slowly covered some of them. Visitors came only now and then. In the mid-twentieth century, artists and writers began to take an interest. Salvador Dalí, the Spanish surrealist painter, is known to have visited. For the surrealists, this place looked like a dream made solid, long before their own movement began.

The real rescue came from a private family. In the 1950s, the Bettini family took over the site and began a long work of clearing and restoration. They uncovered statues, repaired paths, and opened the garden to the public. The park is still privately managed today. When you see the clear paths and the cleaned stones, remember that much of what you see was dug out from under soil and roots within living memory.

As you walk, notice how the garden plays with scale and direction. A giant tortoise carries a figure on its back. A huge head of a sea god rises from the ground. A woman lies asleep on her side, as if the wood is guarding her. There is no single correct route. Many visitors get a little lost, and that is part of the design. Vicino did not want a lesson. He wanted a journey.

Before you leave, stand still for a moment. Listen again to the leaves and the water. Look back at the grey shapes between the trees, softened by moss and time. A grieving soldier made this wood for his own thoughts. Now it belongs a little to everyone who walks through it. As you climb back toward the village, watch the stones behind you. Some of them seem to be watching you too.