Surprisingly, the park was not crowded. There seemed to be room enough for all - joggers, horseback riders, bocce players, and parents with babies bundled up against the 60-degree ``chill.''
Also at play were all manner of dogs and their owners. In fact, we saw attached to a light pole a flier whose only English words were ``Dog Day.'' In Italian were, we assumed, a list of programs for that weekend. And even with all the unleashed dogs, the park was amazingly clean and free of droppings.
Many people were visiting the small zoo that stretches along the northern border of the park, which also has museums. One, the Galleria Borghese, contains one of Rome's best collections, including sculptures by Bernini and paintings by Caravaggio. Unfortunately, it was closed for renovation when we were there. Even more unfortunately, the beautiful building was surrounded by ugly corrugated metal.
Also on the park's grounds are the Villa Giulia, which contains Etruscan art, and the Galleria d'Arte Moderna, which has art created since 1800, and includes works by Cezanne, Morandi and Kandinsky.
(A word of warning: Several guidebooks urge caution about possible crime at Villa Borghese, advising visitors to keep watch over handbags and other valuables. We neither encountered trouble nor saw others encounter it. Still, on vacation or at home, it pays to exercise reasonable caution.)
Villa Borghese really was once the family country estate of the Borgheses. The land was developed between 1613 and 1616 by Cardinal Scipione Borghese. After some turn-of-the-century land speculation trimmed the tract, King Umberto I bought it in 1902 and presented it to the City of Rome. His statue now gazes down on the visitors who are the beneficiaries of his gift.
With all the recreational possibilities, the greatest may be simply wandering. As Henry James wrote in Italian Hours, Villa Borghese ``is free to all the world at all times and yet never crowded; for when the whirl of carriages is great in the middle regions you may find a hundred untrodden spots and silent corners. . . .'' And always, happily, the spreading canopies of the umbrella pines.
