The Spanish Steps borrow their name from the Spanish embassy that once stood in the square below, though a French diplomat's bequest paid for the stone and a French church crowns the summit. Francesco de Sanctis won the commission in the 1720s, taming a stubborn slope between the piazza and the Pincian hill into terraces that widen, narrow and merge again. There are around a hundred and thirty-five steps, and no two flights meet the eye the same way, because the staircase was designed to be walked through rather than looked at from one spot.
At the foot sits the Barcaccia, a fountain shaped like a half-sunken boat, designed to work with the weak pressure of an ancient aqueduct rather than fight it. Climb, and the rooftops of Rome open behind you; in spring the terraces fill with pots of azaleas, a brief blaze of pink against pale travertine. To one side stands the house where the poet John Keats died young in 1821, now a small museum. Today the steps are as much a meeting point as a route between the square and the church above, and people gather along them from morning until late at night.