Equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius

Stand on the smooth pavement of the hilltop square and look up. An emperor rides a bronze horse, one arm stretched out over the city. The metal is dark, almost green in places. Swifts cut across the sky above, and somewhere below you can hear the traffic of Rome rushing past the foot of the hill. Up here, though, it feels calm. You are standing on the Capitoline Hill, one of the oldest sacred places in Rome, and the rider in front of you is Marcus Aurelius.

Marcus Aurelius ruled the Roman Empire in the second century. He is remembered as one of the so-called good emperors, a group of rulers whose reigns brought relative stability to the empire. But he is also remembered for something unusual for an emperor. He was a philosopher. He followed Stoicism, a school of thought that taught calm, self-control, and acceptance of what we cannot change. His private notes, now known as the Meditations, are still read by millions of people today.

Here is the first surprise. Marcus wrote much of that book while he was on military campaign, far from Rome, along the northern frontiers of the empire. He wrote it in Greek, not Latin, and he wrote it for himself. It was never meant for publication. So the calm, thoughtful man of the Meditations and the commanding rider in front of you are the same person. Look at his raised right hand. It is often read as a gesture of peace or of address — an emperor speaking to his people, not attacking them.

Now look closely at the horse. It is a strong, heavy animal, caught in mid-step, with one front leg lifted. Notice that the rider has no stirrups. That is not a mistake by the sculptor. Romans simply did not use stirrups in this period. Riders gripped with their legs. The horse's head turns slightly, its mouth is open, and its mane is carved in thick, rippling locks. It is a living, moving animal in bronze.

And here is the second surprise, perhaps the biggest one. Rome once had many bronze statues of emperors on horseback. Almost all of them are gone. Over the centuries, bronze was valuable, and most ancient statues were melted down to make coins, weapons, or church bells. This statue is one of the very few large ancient bronze equestrian statues to survive anywhere in the world. Why did this one escape the furnace?

The answer is a case of mistaken identity. During the Middle Ages, many people believed this rider was Constantine, the first Christian emperor. Destroying a statue of Constantine would have seemed wrong to a Christian city. So the statue was protected. For centuries it stood near the Lateran, the old seat of the popes on the other side of Rome. Only later did scholars become confident that the rider was in fact Marcus Aurelius, a pagan emperor who never converted.

In the sixteenth century, the statue came here. In 1538, Pope Paul III had it moved to the Capitoline Hill. At that time, the hilltop was a messy, muddy place. The pope asked Michelangelo to transform it into a grand civic square. Michelangelo made the bronze emperor the centre of his whole design. He shaped the pedestal, and he planned the buildings and the square around the rider.

Take a moment to look around you, because the square itself is part of the story. On three sides stand palaces with matching facades. The square is not a perfect rectangle. The side buildings are angled, which makes the space feel wider and more open than it really is. Under your feet, the pavement carries a large star-shaped pattern inside an oval, rising gently towards the statue. Michelangelo designed this pattern, but it was only laid in the twentieth century, long after his death.

Now for something many visitors miss. The statue in front of you is not the ancient original. It is a modern copy. In 1981, the original was taken down for careful restoration, because centuries of pollution and weather had damaged the bronze. Afterwards, it was not returned to the open air. Instead, a faithful replica was placed here, and the ancient bronze moved indoors to keep it safe for future generations.

The original now stands inside the Capitoline Museums, in a bright hall covered with glass, in the building to your right as you face the main palace. If you go inside, you can see it at eye level, under soft daylight. Look for small patches of gold on its surface. The statue was once gilded, covered in a thin layer of gold. Imagine it shining in the Roman sun, gleaming like fire over the city.

Those patches of gold have their own legend. Locals say that when the statue becomes fully golden again, the end of the world will come. Another popular tale is linked to the tuft of hair between the horse's ears. In some old stories, people saw it as an owl, and said that the owl would sing on the Day of Judgement. These are folklore, not history, but they show how deeply Romans connected this rider with the fate of their city.

The statue also travels in a quieter way. If you have Italian coins in your pocket, look at a fifty-cent coin. On one side, you will find this very image, the emperor on his horse, surrounded by Michelangelo's star-patterned pavement. Every day, without thinking about it, people across Italy pass this hilltop from hand to hand. Few monuments have become so much a part of ordinary life.

Before you leave, stand still for a moment beside the pedestal. Look up at the outstretched hand, then follow its direction out across the rooftops. Notice the light on the bronze, the sound of footsteps on the pavement, the voices of people sitting on the steps. When you walk down the wide, gentle ramp of stairs, turn back once. The rider will still be there, calm and steady, raising his hand over Rome, as he has for nearly two thousand years.