Santa Maria in Ara Coeli

Stand at the foot of the staircase and look up. The marble steps rise steeply ahead of you, worn smooth and slightly hollowed in the middle by centuries of feet. There are 124 of them, and they do not let up. At the very top, a plain brick facade waits against the sky. There are no statues and no gold. There is only a wall the colour of dry earth and three simple doors.

This is Santa Maria in Ara Coeli, the church of Saint Mary of the Altar of Heaven. It sits on the highest point of the Capitoline Hill, the smallest and most sacred of Rome's seven hills. In ancient times, this summit held the citadel, called the Arx. It was the last line of defence for the city. Temples stood here, and the priests who read the flight of birds came here to search the sky for omens.

The name of the church comes from a legend, and it is a good one. According to the popular tale, the Emperor Augustus climbed this hill to ask a prophetess, the Tiburtine Sibyl, whether he should allow the people to worship him as a god. She answered with a vision. The sky opened, and Augustus saw a woman holding a child, standing on an altar. A voice said that this was the altar of the Son of God. Historians treat the story as medieval legend, not fact. But it gave the church its name — Ara Coeli, the altar of heaven.

Now, back to the steps under your feet. The staircase was built in the mid-fourteenth century, and tradition links it to the years of the Black Death. Romans are said to have raised it as a thank-offering when the plague passed. For a long time, this was the grand way up to the hill. Then, in the sixteenth century, Michelangelo designed the gentler ramp just beside it, which leads to the square of the Capitol. The two routes sit side by side — one steep and medieval, one smooth and Renaissance.

Here is a small secret most visitors miss. If the climb looks like too much, there is an easier way in. From the square of the Capitol, a side stair leads up to a door on the flank of the church. You reach the same interior with far less effort. Many people climb the main stairs, find the front doors closed, and only then discover the side entrance.

Step inside, and the mood changes completely. After the bare brick outside, the interior feels dim, tall, and full of gold. Look first at the columns that divide the nave into three aisles. They do not match. Some are smooth, some are fluted, some are grey granite, and others are pale marble. The builders took them from ancient Roman buildings and reused them here. You are walking between pieces of the old city, set in new rows.

Now look down. The floor is laid in Cosmatesque work — a medieval Roman style of inlaid marble. Small pieces of red porphyry, green serpentine, and white marble form circles, squares, and long ribbons of pattern. Set into the floor are old tombstones, many worn almost flat by footsteps. One of them, for a man named Giovanni Crivelli, is attributed to the Florentine sculptor Donatello. Its carving is now very faint, so it is easy to walk straight across it.

Then look up. The ceiling is a deep grid of gilded wooden panels. It celebrates the naval Battle of Lepanto in 1571, when a Christian fleet defeated the Ottoman navy off the coast of Greece. Among the gold, you can find carved ships and symbols of victory. A Roman commander, Marcantonio Colonna, fought in that battle, and the city honoured his return. This ceiling is part of that celebration, held high above the heads of the faithful.

The Franciscan friars took charge of the church in the thirteenth century, and they still serve here today. In the Middle Ages, this was more than a place of prayer. The government of the city of Rome met on this hill, and the church served as a kind of civic heart. Councils gathered here. Important public decisions were announced here. For centuries, faith and city politics shared the same hilltop.

Walk to the first chapel on the right as you face the altar. This is the Bufalini Chapel, and its walls are painted by Pinturicchio, a painter from Umbria, in central Italy. The frescoes tell the life of Saint Bernardino of Siena, a popular preacher of the fifteenth century. Notice the soft landscapes behind the figures, with hills, trees, and small towns fading into blue distance. Notice, too, the calm faces. These paintings are quieter than the drama of later Roman art.

Now for the most loved object in the church — the Santo Bambino, the Holy Child. It is a small figure of the infant Jesus, dressed in rich robes and covered with jewels. Legend says the original was carved from olive wood from the Garden of Gethsemane, in Jerusalem. Romans believed it could heal the sick, and for generations it was carried to the bedsides of the dying. In 1994, the original figure was stolen and never recovered. The figure you see today is a copy, but devotion to it continues.

At Christmas, the church holds a tradition that surprises many visitors. Children stand on a small platform in front of the Holy Child and give short sermons and recite poems. They speak to a crowd of parents, friars, and strangers. Some speak with great confidence. Others whisper and forget their lines. It is one of the gentlest customs in Rome, and it has continued here for a very long time.

One more story belongs to this hilltop. In the eighteenth century, the English historian Edward Gibbon sat among the ruins of the Capitol one evening. He heard the friars singing their evening prayers in this church. In that moment, he later wrote, the idea came to him to write the history of the decline and fall of Rome. Years of work followed, and his famous book grew from that quiet evening on this hill.

When you leave, pause at the top of the great staircase before you go down. Below you, traffic circles the wide square of Piazza Venezia. To your left, the huge white monument to King Victor Emmanuel catches the light. Behind you stands the plain brick wall of a church that has watched this city change for many centuries. Take the steps slowly. Feel the hollows in the marble. Every one of them was made by someone who climbed here before you.