Castello Sforzesco

Wide brick walls rise from the open square, the color of old rust against the sky. A tall tower stands over the main gate, and beyond it lie courtyards within courtyards. This is the Castello Sforzesco, the castle of the Sforza dukes, and for centuries it guarded the city of Milan.

A fortress first stood here in the fourteenth century, built by the Visconti family who ruled Milan. It was a stronghold at the city's edge, meant to control the roads and to protect, or to threaten, the people inside the walls. When the Visconti line ended, the building was damaged in the unrest that followed.

Around the middle of the fifteenth century, a new ruler took charge. Francesco Sforza was a soldier of fortune who married into the old ruling family and became duke. He rebuilt the fortress on a grand scale. His son Ludovico later turned the harsh castle into a court, filled with artists and learning.

Among the artists who worked for the Sforza was Leonardo da Vinci. He spent many years in Milan in their service. Inside one of the castle's rooms, the Sala delle Asse, he painted the ceiling as a canopy of interwoven trees and branches, so that those below would seem to stand in a living grove. Parts of his work can still be traced on the vault.

The tall tower over the entrance is named for Filarete, the architect who first designed it. The original tower did not survive. In 1521, when the castle was used to store gunpowder, a vast explosion destroyed it. The tower you see today was rebuilt in the early twentieth century, in 1905, from old drawings.

That rebuilding was the work of Luca Beltrami, an architect who fought to save the castle. By the late nineteenth century, the building was run down, and some in the city wanted it torn down. Beltrami argued for its history and led a careful restoration. Because of him, the castle stands today as a monument rather than a memory.

Pass under the tower and you enter the first great courtyard, wide and open. Soldiers once drilled here. Beyond it lie smaller, quieter courts that belonged to the duke's household, where the family lived behind thicker walls. The change from public space to private space is easy to feel as you walk inward. Children cross the open stones while pigeons scatter before them.

Today the castle holds a group of museums, owned by the city. Their rooms are filled with sculpture, paintings, furniture, instruments, and objects gathered over many years. You can spend a full day moving among them. A single ticket usually covers the collections, and on certain days entry is free.

The museums cover a wide range. One holds ancient sculpture and carved tombs; another, a picture gallery, hangs paintings by Italian masters. There are rooms of old musical instruments, of furniture and tapestry, and a collection of Egyptian objects below ground. If your time is short, ask at the entrance for a simple route and choose two or three rooms rather than trying to see them all.

The most moving piece is kept in a quiet hall of its own. It is the Rondanini Pieta, the last sculpture by Michelangelo, showing Mary holding the body of her son. He worked on it as an old man and left it unfinished at his death. The figures are rough and thin, barely freed from the stone, and there is great feeling in their incompleteness.

The collections also include other treasures saved from churches and palaces across the region, alongside the painted hall of Leonardo and the old arms and armor. Signs explain the rooms, and the pace is calm. Even on busy days, the thick walls keep the noise of the city outside.

Behind the castle stretches a large park, Parco Sempione, laid out where the dukes once had their hunting grounds. After the museums, it is a fine place to rest under the trees. Families walk the paths, and street musicians sometimes play near the water. From its paths you can look back at the great brick walls and see how large the whole stronghold truly is.

Sit on a bench in the courtyard before you leave. The same walls that were built for war now shelter art and quiet visitors. Power passed from one ruler to the next, and each left a mark here, in stone and paint. What began as a place to keep people out has become a place that gathers them in.