Latest / The Story of Italy: Rome, Renaissance, and the Birth of Modern Europe — Fexingo History / The Corso: Rome's Ancient Race and Modern Grandeur
Transcript
- Lucas: So last time we talked about the Appian Way — the queen of roads, built for armies and slaves. Today I want to take you to a street that served a very different purpose: the Via del Corso in Rome. Luna: Oh, the Corso — that's the shopping street, right? The one that goes from Piazza Venezia to Piazza del Popolo? Lucas: Exactly. But its origins are much older and much wilder. The Corso follows the line of the ancient Via Lata — a broad straight road that was part of the Flaminian Way, the road that led north to the Adriatic. And for centuries, it was the setting for one of Rome's most spectacular and brutal traditions: the horse race known as the 'corso'. Luna: Wait — the street is named after the race? I thought 'corso' just meant 'course' or 'run'. Lucas: It does, but in this case, it's directly from the race. Every year during Carnival — the period before Lent — Rome held a race of riderless horses down this very street. They were Barbary horses, fast and fierce, and they'd be let loose from the Porta del Popolo at the northern end and would gallop all the way to the Capitoline Hill. The street was lined with barriers and crowds, and the horses would thunder past, sometimes trampling spectators. It was chaotic, dangerous, and incredibly popular. Luna: Riderless horses — so no jockeys? Just the horses running wild? Lucas: That's right. Before the race, the horses were goaded and excited — they'd have spiked balls attached to their flanks or be given stimulants — and then they'd be released. The owner of the first horse to reach the finish line won a prize, usually a piece of cloth called a 'palio'. The race was a central event of Roman Carnival for centuries, from at least the 15th century right up until the late 1800s. Luna: It sounds more like a spectacle than a sport. Lucas: Exactly right. And the street itself was transformed for the occasion. Balconies and windows along the Corso would be packed with spectators, and the noble families would rent out rooms with the best views. The race was so important that Pope Paul II, in 1466, actually moved the Carnival festivities to the Via Lata and formalized the corso as the main event. He even had the street paved and straightened to make it a proper racecourse. Luna: So the pope essentially turned a public street into a racetrack. That's a very Roman thing to do. Lucas: It is. And this is the same pope, by the way, who gave the street its current name — Via del Corso. Before that it was just the Via Lata, the 'broad way'. But the corso race became so iconic that the name stuck. Now, the race itself was eventually stopped in 1882, after a particularly bad accident where a horse crashed into a crowd. But the street kept its name and its legacy as the heart of Roman Carnival. Luna: What else happened on the Corso besides the race? It's also where all the great palaces are — like Palazzo Doria Pamphilj, right? Lucas: Right. So the Corso became the most prestigious address in Renaissance and Baroque Rome. The great families — the Colonna, the Doria, the Ruspoli, the Bonaparte — all built their palaces along this street. Palazzo Doria Pamphilj, for example, is one of the largest private palaces in Rome, and it houses an incredible art collection. But the street was also the processional route for papal possessi — the formal possession ceremonies where a new pope would travel from St. Peter's to the Lateran, his official cathedral. The Corso was the main stage for papal power. Luna: And there's the church of Santa Maria in Via Lata, which I've walked past many times. Lucas: Yes — Santa Maria in Via Lata is a fascinating site. It was built over a Roman crypt, and tradition says that St. Paul lived and preached there while under house arrest in Rome. The church itself is Baroque, with a beautiful facade by Pietro da Cortona. And if you go down into the crypt, you can see the remains of the ancient Via Lata pavement — the actual Roman road that ran beneath the modern street. So the Corso has layers of history stacked on top of each other. Luna: So the ancient road is still there, underground? Lucas: Exactly. The modern street level is about two meters higher than the Roman road, because of centuries of debris and rebuilding. But in places like the crypt of Santa Maria in Via Lata, you can walk on the actual basalt paving stones of the Via Lata, worn smooth by Roman chariots and feet. It's a direct connection to the city's ancient past. Luna: It's amazing that a street that's been in continuous use for over two thousand years still feels so alive. Lucas: And that continuity is really the theme of Italian history, isn't it? If today's conversation was useful to you — the way the Corso has been useful to Romans for millennia — we hope you'll consider keeping this show ad-free. Listener support at buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo makes that possible. Luna: Yeah, it's a small way to help us keep digging into these stories without any commercial breaks. Lucas: Now, the Corso also had a darker side. During the Counter-Reformation, the street was used for public executions and for the auto-da-fé of the Inquisition. Heretics and criminals would be paraded from the Porta del Popolo to the execution site near the Capitoline. So it's not all palaces and carnivals — the Corso has also witnessed the harshest face of papal authority. Luna: Right — that's the other side of Renaissance Rome. The popes were both patrons of art and enforcers of orthodoxy. Lucas: Exactly. And the Corso was the stage for both. Let's talk about the northern terminus of the street: Piazza del Popolo. That square was redesigned in the 19th century by Giuseppe Valadier, but its origins are ancient. The gate at the north end — the Porta del Popolo — was originally the Porta Flaminia, the gateway of the Flaminian Way. In 1561, Pope Pius IV had it redesigned by Michelangelo's student Nanni di Baccio Bigio, with a grand facade facing outward. But the inner facade, facing the piazza, was designed by Bernini in 1655 for the arrival of Queen Christina of Sweden, who had converted to Catholicism. Luna: So the gate was essentially a triumphal arch for Christina's entrance? Lucas: Exactly. And the inscription on the inner facade says 'Felici faustoque ingressui' — 'for the happy and fortunate entrance'. The whole piazza was designed as a ceremonial space. In the center, there's an obelisk — the Flaminian Obelisk, which was originally brought from Heliopolis in Egypt by Augustus and set up in the Circus Maximus. It was moved to Piazza del Popolo in 1589 by Pope Sixtus V, as part of his campaign to place obelisks as landmarks in the city. Luna: So the obelisk has traveled from Egypt to the Circus Maximus to Piazza del Popolo. That's a lot of movement for a stone. Lucas: And it's not even the most traveled obelisk in Rome — the Lateran obelisk is older and heavier. But the Flaminian Obelisk does mark an important point: it's the starting point of the Corso, the place where the horse race would begin. The horses were released from a starting gate near the obelisk, and they'd race down the straight line of the street. The finishing point was near the Capitoline, where the winner was declared. Luna: So the whole race course was essentially the Via del Corso itself, from the obelisk to the Capitol. Lucas: Exactly. And the street is about 1.5 kilometers long, which is a good distance for a sprint. The Barbary horses were known for their speed and endurance over short distances. The race was called 'la corsa dei barberi', and it was one of the highlights of the Roman calendar. There's a famous painting by Ippolito Caffi from the 1840s that shows the Corso packed with people during the race, with horses thundering down the middle of the street. Luna: I've seen that painting — it's chaotic. People on balconies, on rooftops, everywhere. Lucas: It was the Super Bowl of its day. But by the mid-19th century, attitudes were changing. The race was increasingly seen as cruel to the horses and dangerous to the public. In 1882, after a horse crashed into a crowd and killed several people, the race was permanently banned. The Carnival itself was suppressed by the Italian government after the unification of Italy, as part of a broader effort to modernize and secularize the city. Luna: So what replaced the race? The Corso obviously didn't become a quiet backstreet. Lucas: No, it became something else: a promenade. In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the Corso became the fashionable street for the passeggiata — the evening stroll where Romans would see and be seen. Cafés opened, like the famous Caffè Aragno, and the street was lined with shops selling luxury goods. It was the epicenter of Rome's social life. And it still is, to some extent — although nowadays it's mostly high-street brands and tourists. Luna: So it went from horse races to shopping — still a kind of spectacle, just a different one. Lucas: Exactly. And the architecture reflects that transformation. The palaces along the Corso were originally built as noble residences, but many now house shops, banks, and government offices. Palazzo Bonaparte, for example, was the home of Napoleon's mother, Letizia Ramolino, who lived there after the fall of the Empire. It's now a museum and event space. And the street still serves as the main route for the annual Rome Marathon, which finishes at the Colosseum but passes through the Corso. Luna: So the marathon is a modern version of the corso — runners instead of horses. Lucas: In a way, yes. The idea of a race along that axis has persisted. There's also the historical reenactment called the 'Carnevale Romano', which sometimes includes a symbolic race, though it's nothing like the original. The spirit of the corso lives on, even if the horses are gone. Luna: What about the other parts of the Corso? You mentioned the churches. Lucas: There are several notable churches along the Corso. One of the most interesting is San Marcello al Corso, which is dedicated to Pope Marcellus I. The church was rebuilt after a fire in 1519, and it has a beautiful facade by Carlo Fontana. Inside, there's a miraculous crucifix that was carried in processions during the plague of 1522. Then there's Santa Maria in Via, which has a famous icon of the Madonna that supposedly saved the city from an earthquake. Luna: So the street is lined with miracle stories. Lucas: It is. And that's part of what makes the Corso so fascinating — it's a layering of pagan, Christian, Renaissance, and modern Rome. The street itself is a living document of the city's history. And if you ever walk it, you can feel that depth. Starting at Piazza del Popolo, you pass the church of Santa Maria dei Miracoli and Santa Maria di Montesanto — the twin churches designed by Carlo Rainaldi and Bernini. Then you walk past Palazzo Rondinini, Palazzo Doria Pamphilj, and the Galleria Alberto Sordi, which was originally the Cinema Barberini. Every step has a story. Luna: I think the Corso is one of those streets that you can walk a hundred times and still notice something new. Lucas: Absolutely. And that's true of Rome as a whole. But the Corso, in particular, encapsulates the contradictions of the city: the sacred and the profane, the ancient and the modern, the noble and the vulgar. It's a street that has seen emperors, popes, artists, revolutionaries, and tourists. And it's still the main artery of the historic center, pulsing with life every day. Luna: It makes me want to go back and walk it with new eyes. Lucas: That's the power of history. When you know the stories behind a place, the street itself becomes a different experience. So next time you're in Rome, take a stroll down the Corso — but imagine it filled with crowds, the roar of hooves, and the smell of gunpowder from the starting pistol. It'll feel like stepping into a past that's still very much alive.