Gardens of Sallust

Stand at the railing in Piazza Sallustio and look down. The modern street hums with scooters and the hiss of tyres on asphalt. Then the ground simply drops away. Far below your feet, a wall of warm, rust-coloured Roman brick rises out of a pit, its arches dark and cool. You are standing on the nineteenth century. Down there is the second century. Between them lies a gap of many metres of earth, poured in by builders who wanted a flat city.

What you are looking at is one surviving piece of the Horti Sallustiani, the Gardens of Sallust. In ancient Rome, the word horti meant something grander than a garden. It meant a private estate on the edge of the city. There were villas, pavilions, fountains, shaded walks and collections of sculpture. Wealthy Romans built these retreats on the hills just beyond the crowded centre. This was one of the largest and most admired of them all.

The man behind the name was Gaius Sallustius Crispus, known in English as Sallust. He lived in the first century before Christ. He was a politician and an ally of Julius Caesar. Today he is remembered mostly as a historian. His accounts of a conspiracy against the Republic and of a war in North Africa are still read in schools. But Sallust had a less noble reputation too.

Caesar made him governor of a new province in North Africa. Sallust came home extremely rich. His enemies accused him of squeezing the province for everything it had. He was never convicted. Instead, he retired from politics, wrote history, and spent his fortune here. So there is a quiet irony in this place. The historian who wrote so sharply about Roman greed and moral decline paid for his paradise with money that many Romans believed was taken unfairly.

The estate filled the valley between two hills, the Quirinal and the Pincian. Imagine a natural hollow, green and sheltered, with water and shade. Today that valley is gone. When this district was developed in the late nineteenth century, engineers filled the hollow to create level streets and apartment blocks. That is why the ruin sits so far below you. The ancient ground level did not sink. The modern city rose on top of it.

After Sallust died, the gardens passed to his heir. In the early first century, under the emperor Tiberius, they became imperial property. From then on, they belonged to the emperors of Rome. Several rulers preferred this calm retreat to the palaces on the Palatine Hill. Ancient writers record that the emperor Vespasian liked to stay here. According to later sources, the elderly emperor Nerva died in these gardens at the end of the first century.

Now look closely at the brick structure below. It is the remains of a large pavilion, built against the slope of the old valley. Many scholars date it to the age of the emperor Hadrian, in the early second century. That means it was added long after Sallust himself. Notice the domed hall and the curved walls. Roman architects of this period loved experimenting with curves, domes and play of light. This building belongs to the same creative moment that produced the Pantheon.

Here is something most visitors walking past never realise. The pavilion once stood several storeys tall, and parts of its upper levels survive. People were still living near it and using it centuries after Rome fell. The brick you see has been patched, reused and reinforced many times. Look for changes in the colour and size of the bricks. Each change marks a different generation of builders who decided this structure was worth saving.

The gardens were also an open-air museum. Over the centuries, the soil here gave up remarkable sculpture. In the early seventeenth century, this land belonged to the Ludovisi family, who built a great villa on top of the ruins. Their workers uncovered ancient statues that are now among the treasures of Rome's museums. A famous marble pair of a Gaul killing himself beside his wife is linked to this area. So are other works now displayed in Rome and abroad.

One object from these gardens is easy to visit today. A tall Egyptian-style obelisk once stood here. It was not carved in Egypt. Romans made it, copying Egyptian hieroglyphs to decorate the estate. In 1789, it was moved to the top of the Spanish Steps, in front of the church of Trinità dei Monti. Thousands of tourists photograph it every day. Very few know that it started its life in this valley.

The end of the gardens came with violence. In the year 410, the Visigoths under their king Alaric broke into Rome. It was the first time in about eight hundred years that a foreign army had captured the city. The ancient historian Procopius wrote that the invaders entered through the Salarian Gate, very close to here. He also wrote that they burned the house of Sallust. The gardens never recovered their old glory.

Today the name survives all around you. Piazza Sallustio, Via Sallustiana, and the wider neighbourhood keep the memory alive. Just a short walk away is Via Veneto, with its grand hotels and old cafés from the era of Fellini's films. Above ground, this is a quarter of elegant late nineteenth century apartments and quiet offices. Below ground, the ancient estate continues in fragments under buildings, courtyards and roads. Much of it has never been excavated, and much of it probably never will be.

Before you leave, take one more look over the railing. Notice how the sunlight reaches only the top of the old brick walls, while the base stays in shadow. Listen to the traffic above, and imagine instead the sound of fountains and birds in a green valley. This was once the favourite retreat of emperors. Now it is a quiet pit in a busy square. As you walk on toward Via Veneto, remember that the pavement under your feet is resting on a buried garden.