The streets of Rome are full of surprises.
Between the Vespas and the pigeons, the gelato stands and the trattorias, fragments of the
ancient city appear in places you’d never expect.
Two years ago, I made a pair of videos about some of these hidden ruins.
When I returned to Rome this spring, I decided to see if I could find a few more disguised
or overlooked bits of antiquity.
As it turned out, I found more than a few.
This is the church of San Bernardo alle Terme.
As the “Terme” in its name suggests, this was once part of a bath.
More specifically, it was part of the colossal Baths of Diocletian.
As I describe in one of my earlier videos, the central frigidarium of those baths was
converted into the church of Santa Maria degli Angeli.
San Bernardo, a few modern blocks from Santa Maria, occupies a small rotunda that was once
part of the baths’ enclosure wall.
Originally, it seems to have served as a monumental entrance to the bath complex.
Preserved through the Middle Ages by its brick-faced concrete walls, it was consecrated in the
late sixteenth century, and has been a church ever since.
Not too far from San Bernardo, I detoured down the Via in Selci to check out a building
I mentioned in one of my earlier videos: a late Roman mansion that has served as a convent
since the Renaissance.
Although the ancient doors and windows have been filled, the walls are still preserved
to their original height.
I headed next to the ancient Campus Martius, the area in the bend of the Tiber that became
the heart of medieval and Renaissance Rome.
Here, narrow streets wind through blocks of buildings whose foundations are Roman temples
and theaters, and the ancient world seems to crop up at every corner – sometimes literally,
as in the case of this colossal marble foot, which stands at one end of the aptly named
Via del Pie di Marmo (that is, Marble Foot Street).
The sandaled foot – about four conventional feet long – was found nearby centuries ago.
The statue to which it belonged, which must have been something like 25 feet tall, likely
stood in the Sanctuary of Isis.
The obelisk in the Piazza della Minerva likely came from the same source.
A short stroll away, on the Via dell'Arco della Ciambella, two battered masses of Roman
concrete rear up from an otherwise nondescript row of houses.
These belonged to the central rotunda of the Baths of Agrippa, Rome’s first monumental
bath complex.
Marcus Agrippa – the right-hand man of Augustus – was also responsible for the original
Pantheon, among much else.
Like the Pantheon, these baths were rebuilt later; the fragments we see today date to
the early third century.
Much more of this structure was still standing in the sixteenth century, when Palladio and
other architects drew plans.
One Renaissance noble, in fact, wanted to convert the ruins into a palace.
But these plans never came to fruition, and the remains of the baths were gradually submerged
beneath less ambitious houses.
A short distance from the Baths of Agrippa, and only a block from the Pantheon, two granite
columns stand beside a parking lot.
These belonged to what was once one of the most grandiose structures in Rome: the Baths
of Nero.
Unlike the emperor who built them, these were universally admired.
As the poet Martial once remarked: “there was no one worse than Nero – but there is
nothing better than Nero’s Baths.”
Especially as reconstructed by Alexander Severus in the third century, the baths were noted
for their use of exotic stone.
Two of the Pantheon’s columns, damaged during the Middle Ages, were replaced by granite
columns found in the ruins of Nero’s Baths, and a huge granite basin from the baths still
serves as a fountain on the Via degli Staderari.
Although these fragments, along with the columns featured in the video, are the only remains
visible from the street, the walls of the baths still survive – up to three stories
high – inside some of the surrounding buildings.
On the other side of the Pantheon, down a narrow alley known as the Vicolo della Spada
d'Orlando, part of an ancient wall and the battered stump of a column protrude from the
pavement.
These almost certainly belong to the temple that Hadrian built for Matidia, his mother-in-law
– a rare gesture in any age.
A brisk five-minute walk from the Temple of Matidia, behind the Palazzo Massimo alle Colonne,
a column stands in a quiet courtyard.
Nineteen centuries ago, this cipollino marble column belonged to the Odeon of Domitian,
a small theater constructed to house plays and musical competitions.
It was the counterpart of Domitian’s stadium, which is now covered by Piazza Navona.
Domitian’s Odeon is also buried, but the curved façade of the Palazzo Massimo – built
on top of it – mirrors the curve of its seating area.
The column behind it likely belonged to the Odeon’s stage building.
This fusion of Renaissance palace and ancient theater, I think, epitomizes the city of Rome,
where so much history is visible, and so much more is hidden.
For more hidden ruins, check out my new video about the Roman fort of Vindolanda on Hadrian’s
Wall, where I toured the ongoing digs.
I have a new book: Insane Emperors, Sunken Cities, and Earthquake Machines: more frequently
asked questions about the ancient Greeks and Romans.
It’s a sequel to Naked Statues, Fat Gladiators, and War Elephants; and it’s available for
pre-order now on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and through your local bookstore.
If you’re interested in more toldinstone content (including my podcast), check out
my channel Toldinstone Footnotes.
I also have a channel called Scenic Routes to the Past, which is dedicated to historically-themed
travel.
You'll find both channels linked in the description.
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