In Rome's Piazza Chiesa Nuova, near the Chiesa di Santa Maria in Vallicella, sits an unassuming fountain with an unexpected past. The Fontana della Terrina was sculpted by Giacomo della Porta, a student of Michelangelo and a man whose resume would be the envy of most renaissance artists of the era. His talents extended beyond masonry—he was entrusted with the technical execution of several domes and fountains throughout Rome, including completing the dome of St. Peter’s Basilica after Michelangelo’s death.

But if Porta were to stroll through Rome today, not only would he fail to recognize his own fountain—he probably wouldn’t even find it. Originally, the Fontana della Terrina stood proudly in the bustling Campo de' Fiori marketplace, where it had an open, airy design and no lid to speak of. It was fed by the Acqua Vergine aqueduct, and water gently bubbled over four bronze dolphins, which were originally intended for the Turtle Fountain (Fontana delle Tartarughe) in nearby Piazza Mattei.

Unfortunately, what started as an elegant public water feature quickly devolved into a soggy health hazard. Vendors at the market used it to wash fruits, vegetables, and meat, while animals drank from it and passersby found... other creative ways to pollute it. Within 50 years, the once-charming fountain had become less of a picturesque landmark and more of a medieval petri dish.

Pope Gregory XV was bothered by the grimy mess and decided Rome deserved better. He ordered a cover for the fountain—transforming it into a giant stone soup tureen. Who actually designed the lid remains a mystery and the dolphins were removed and vanished.

In 1889, the fountain was removed by the city to install a bronze statue of Giordano Bruno, the philosopher and scientist who was burned alive in Campo di Fiori in 1600 after being declared a heretic by the Pope Clemente VIII. The statue remains there today, standing as a solemn reminder of the importance of free thought—while the fountain itself was unceremoniously shuffled off to storage, where it gathered dust for decades.

In 1924, city workers stumbled upon the forgotten tureen in storage and put it in its current location, slightly sunken below street level near a city bus stop. These days, most people pass by the fountain without giving it a second glance. But if they do stop to look, they’ll find the faded remnants of a single inscription around the top left by the mysterious lid-maker: "Love God and do not fail, do good and let it be said. MDCXXII."