Pincian Hill

Listen for the gravel first. It crunches under your shoes along the shaded avenues, and the sound mixes with birdsong and the slow creak of umbrella pines overhead. Below you, out of sight for now, the traffic of Rome hums like distant surf. Up here the air feels a few degrees cooler. The light comes down in broken patches through the leaves. This is the Pincian Hill, and the city has used it as a garden for more than two thousand years.

Start with a small surprise. The Pincian is not one of the famous seven hills of ancient Rome. It sat just outside that original group, on the northern edge of the old city. The Romans gave it a lovely nickname — the Hill of Gardens. Wealthy families built private pleasure grounds here, with terraces, fountains and shaded walks. The modern name came much later, from a powerful family called the Pincii, who owned land here in the late Roman period.

The most famous of those ancient estates were the Gardens of Lucullus. Lucullus was a Roman general of the first century before Christ. He became so rich from his eastern campaigns that his name turned into a word for luxury. People still describe a lavish feast as Lucullan. His gardens spread across these slopes, and later owners prized them for generations. Nothing obvious of them survives above ground today. The ground under your feet, though, is the same ground.

Those gardens also hold a darker story. According to the Roman historian Tacitus, Messalina — the third wife of the emperor Claudius — wanted these gardens badly. She arranged the downfall of their owner to get them. A few years later, her own plots against her husband came to light. She was killed here, in the very gardens she had schemed to possess. It is a strange thought on such a peaceful hill.

Now walk toward the edge, to the great terrace. This is the Terrazza del Pincio, and the view here is the reason most people climb up. Directly below lies Piazza del Popolo, a vast oval square with an obelisk at its centre. Beyond it, the rooftops of Rome stretch west in shades of ochre, rust and cream. On the horizon, look for a grey dome rising above everything else. That is Saint Peter's Basilica, across the river in the Vatican.

The terrace and the square below were planned together, as one design. The architect was Giuseppe Valadier, and he worked on this project in the early nineteenth century. Part of that period fell under French rule, when Napoleon controlled Rome. Valadier linked the hilltop to the square with ramps, staircases and terraces. Look down and you can trace his zigzagging paths. He turned a steep, scrubby slope into a stage, with the city as its audience.

Turn around and walk the avenues, and you will meet a crowd of stone faces. Marble busts line the paths on tall pedestals. There are well over two hundred of them. They show famous Italians — poets, painters, scientists, statesmen and saints. The idea came during the brief Roman Republic of 1849, a moment of patriotic hope, and more busts were added over the following decades. Read a few of the names as you pass. Many will be familiar from history books.

Here is a detail many visitors miss. Look closely at the noses. Over the years, a surprising number of these busts have lost theirs to vandals and careless hands. Restorers have repaired many of them. On some faces, you can see the join where a new nose meets old marble. The colour is slightly different. It gives the gallery a quietly human quality, like a crowd of old men who have taken a few knocks.

Now look for an Egyptian obelisk standing among the trees. This one has an unusual history. The emperor Hadrian raised it in the second century in memory of Antinous, a young man he loved deeply. Antinous drowned in the Nile, and Hadrian grieved publicly, even founding a city in his name. The obelisk moved around Rome over the centuries. It arrived on the Pincian in the 1820s. Its carved symbols were made in Rome, imitating Egyptian hieroglyphs.

Another oddity waits near a small pond. It is a water clock, set inside a slender iron frame that looks a little like a garden pavilion. A Dominican friar, Giovanni Battista Embriaco, designed it in the nineteenth century. Falling water drives the mechanism, rather than springs or weights. It was shown at the Paris Exhibition of 1867 before it came here. Children often gather around it, watching the water and waiting for the hands to move.

The Pincian also has neighbours worth knowing. To the north, a footbridge carries you over a busy road into Villa Borghese, one of the largest parks in Rome. That road runs beside a stretch of ancient city wall called the Muro Torto, which means the crooked wall. It leans, and it has leaned for many centuries. To the south stands Villa Medici, a Renaissance villa that has housed the French Academy in Rome since the early nineteenth century.

You might also notice an elegant white building near the terrace. This is the Casina Valadier, another work by the same architect. Over the years it has served as a café and restaurant, and it has welcomed writers, politicians and film stars. On warm evenings, its terrace fills with the soft clink of glasses. Romans come up here too — couples, joggers, families with strollers, old friends on benches. For many locals, the Pincio is simply the place for an evening walk.

If you can, stay for sunset. The sun drops behind Saint Peter's dome, and the whole city turns gold, then pink, then a deep dusky blue. The church bells below begin to ring for evening. Street musicians often play near the balustrade. People lean on the stone rail, side by side, mostly quiet. It is one of those moments when strangers share a view without needing to say anything at all.

Before you leave, take one more look over the edge. Notice the obelisk in the square below, and the twin domed churches at the far side, where three long streets fan out into the city. Then listen again for the gravel under your shoes as you walk away. Lucullus walked on this hill. So did Messalina, and Valadier, and generations of Romans after them. Now, for a little while, so have you.