Fontana del Moro

Listen first. Before you look closely, let the sound reach you: water falling into water, a steady splash under the voices of the square. Feel the paving stones underfoot, smooth and slightly uneven. You are standing at the southern end of Piazza Navona, beside the Fontana del Moro, the Fountain of the Moor.

Look along the length of the square. It is long and narrow, with one rounded end, and that shape is no accident. Under these buildings lie the remains of the Stadium of Domitian, an arena from the first century of the Christian era. Romans once watched athletes race here. The houses and palaces later rose on top of the old seating, so the square still follows the outline of the ancient track.

Three fountains run down the middle of the piazza, almost like beads on a string. At the far northern end stands the Fountain of Neptune. In the centre rises Bernini's Fountain of the Four Rivers, with its obelisk. And here at the southern end is the fountain in front of you. Each one draws on water from the Acqua Vergine, one of the aqueducts that the popes restored to feed Rome's fountains.

The story of this fountain begins in the late sixteenth century. The architect Giacomo della Porta designed the basin in the 1570s, during a period when the papacy was bringing running water back to the city's squares. In those days the fountain was simpler. It held the basin and a ring of carved figures around the edge, but nothing yet stood in the middle.

Look at those figures on the rim. You will see tritons, the sea creatures of classical myth, half man and half fish. Some of them blow into shells, as if they are calling across the waves. Between them sit grotesque masks, faces with open mouths that spill water. These figures belong to the sixteenth century design, and they give the fountain a playful, crowded energy.

Here is the first surprise. The tritons and masks you see today are not the originals. In the 1870s, the old carvings were taken away and replaced with copies. The original sculptures went to the gardens of the Villa Borghese, the large park on the northern edge of the historic centre. So the figures in front of you are faithful replicas, carved to protect older work from wear.

Now turn to the centre. A muscular figure stands on a large shell, gripping a dolphin by the tail. His body twists, and his head turns as if he is fighting the animal or holding it steady. This central figure came in the 1650s. Gian Lorenzo Bernini designed it, the sculptor who shaped so much of Baroque Rome. Baroque is the dramatic, theatrical style of seventeenth century art, full of movement and emotion.

Bernini made the design, but another sculptor carved the marble. This was common practice at the time. A great master produced drawings and models, and his workshop or a trusted colleague did the cutting. That is why the figure carries Bernini's sense of drama, even though his own hands did not finish every surface.

The second surprise is the name. The figure was never officially called a Moor. Romans gave him that nickname, probably because of the shape of his face and his features. The name stuck, and over the centuries it spread from the statue to the whole fountain. Today almost nobody calls it anything else, and the nickname has become part of the square's everyday language.

Why did Bernini work on this fountain at all? The answer stands just across the square. The Pamphili family, one of Rome's powerful noble houses, owned a palace on the piazza. When a Pamphili became Pope Innocent the Tenth in the mid seventeenth century, he set out to turn Piazza Navona into a showcase for his family. Bernini's Four Rivers fountain was the centrepiece, and the work here belonged to the same project.

Across from the central fountain you can see the church of Sant'Agnese in Agone, with its curved front and high dome. The architect Francesco Borromini shaped much of that facade. Bernini and Borromini were famous rivals, and they worked within sight of each other in this square. Locals still tell stories about their rivalry, though many of these tales are more legend than record.

Piazza Navona also had a watery side to its social life. For a long period, Romans sometimes blocked the fountain drains in summer, and the low centre of the square filled with a shallow lake. Carriages rolled through the water, and crowds gathered to watch. The custom ended in the nineteenth century, but it shows how these fountains were part of daily life, not just decoration.

Take a slow walk around the basin. Notice how the figure changes as you move. From one side, the struggle with the dolphin looks fierce. From another, it looks almost calm. Watch where the water falls, and how the light catches it in the afternoon. Painters, street musicians, and portrait artists often work nearby, and their voices mix with the splash of the water.

Before you leave, stand still for a moment. The paving under your feet sits above an ancient racetrack. The basin in front of you holds a sixteenth century design, a seventeenth century figure, and nineteenth century copies, all working together. As you walk north towards the other fountains, listen for the sound of water changing from one fountain to the next.