Fountain of Neptune, Bologna

Listen first. Water falls into a stone basin, steady and soft, under the noise of footsteps and bicycle bells. The air near the fountain feels a little cooler than the rest of the square. Above you, a bronze figure leans forward with one arm stretched out, as if he is telling the whole city to be quiet. This is the Fountain of Neptune, and Bolognese people have a simpler name for him. They call him il Gigante... the Giant.

You are standing in Piazza del Nettuno, a small square that opens directly onto the much larger Piazza Maggiore. The two spaces flow into each other, so the fountain sits at a kind of hinge in the centre of Bologna. To one side rises Palazzo d'Accursio, the old seat of city government, with its heavy brick walls. On another side is Sala Borsa, a former stock exchange that is now a public library. Neptune stands among them all.

The fountain belongs to the 1560s, a time when Bologna was part of the Papal States, the lands in central Italy ruled directly by the pope. The project came from the papal administration in the city. Senior churchmen working for Pope Pius the Fourth wanted a public monument that would show order, generosity and power. To make room for it, older buildings were cleared away. The square around you exists largely because of this fountain.

The design of the fountain as a whole is credited to Tommaso Laureti, an architect from Palermo in Sicily. But the bronze figures came from a younger sculptor, born in Flanders, in what is now northern France. His name was Jean de Boulogne. In Italy he became Giambologna. Here is a small surprise — despite the name, he was not from Bologna at all. He later became one of the leading sculptors in Florence, and this fountain was among his early major commissions.

Now look carefully at Neptune himself. He is the Roman god of the sea, and his body twists in a strong, spiralling pose. His weight rests on one leg, his chest turns, and his right hand holds a trident, the three-pointed spear of the sea god. His left arm reaches out and down, palm open. The gesture is calm, not angry. The idea is a god calming the waves. In the language of the time, this was a clear message: just as Neptune rules the sea, the pope rules the world.

Below the god, at the corners of the fountain, sit four small boys, often called putti, a word for cherub figures in Italian art. Each one represents a great river from one of the continents known to Europeans at the time. They are usually identified as the Ganges, the Nile, the Amazon and the Danube. Together they turn this small Italian square into a picture of the whole world, with Neptune standing above it.

Lower still are four female figures, sea creatures from myth, seated over curling dolphins. Look at their hands. Each one presses her breasts, and water streams out in thin jets. To modern eyes it can feel startling, even comic. In the sixteenth century, the image linked water with life, nourishment and abundance. It also showed off the skill of the bronze casters, who had to plan every channel for the water inside the metal.

On the stone base you can find Latin inscriptions. Among them are the words Fori ornamento, which means for the decoration of the square, and Populi commodo, which means for the benefit of the people. Another phrase, aere publico, refers to public money. So the fountain was presented as a gift to the city. It was beautiful, but it was also practical. In its early days it was part of the public water supply for people living nearby.

Now for the story every local wants to tell you. And it is a story, not a documented fact. Legend has it that Giambologna wanted to make Neptune more impressive below the waist, but the Church would not allow it. So, according to the tale, the sculptor found a clever answer. From one particular spot, the god's outstretched left thumb seems to line up with his body in a very suggestive way. The angle turns a calm gesture into a cheeky joke.

Locals say that the best spot is marked by a dark stone in the pavement, near the entrance to Sala Borsa, behind and to one side of the statue. Some people call it the stone of shame. You will often see visitors shuffling around, heads tilted, looking for the right line of sight. Nobody can prove that Giambologna planned this. But the joke has lasted for centuries, and it says a lot about Bologna's humour — a city that is learned and also a little irreverent.

The fountain has needed care over its long life. Bronze darkens, stone cracks, and water leaves mineral deposits. A major restoration in the 2010s cleaned the figures and repaired the structure. Restorers worked on the surface of the bronze, so the tones you see today are closer to the original intention. In bright sunlight, look for warm brown and golden notes in the metal, especially on Neptune's shoulders and back.

Before you leave, turn toward the wall of Palazzo d'Accursio, close to the fountain. There you will see rows of small photographs and names. This is a memorial to local partisans, the resistance fighters who died in the Second World War. Many people walk past it without noticing. It brings the twentieth century right next to the sixteenth, and it reminds you that this square has always been a place where the city gathers, celebrates and remembers.

Take one more moment here. Let the sound of the water settle under the voices around you. Look up at Neptune's open hand, then down at the small river children, then out across the brick façades toward Piazza Maggiore. As you walk on, notice how the square opens and widens behind you. The Giant keeps his place at the centre, still calming the waves, still watching the city go by.