In the centre of this admirable area, I saw an extraordinary fountain spurting clear water through narrow pipes as high as the closing hedge. The water fell back into a wide shell of fine amethyst, three paces in diameter and three inches thick, diminishing to one inch at the rim of this excellent tub. All around it aquatic monsters could be seen, perfectly carved in bas-relief. The ancient craftsmen never managed to achieve such splendid work in hard stone as this admirable and complex ornamentation, nor could Pausanias boast of such when he dedicated his bronze crater at Hippari. This one was expertly fixed on a splendid pillar of jasper, with many veins beautifully intersecting one another, inlaid with diaphanous chalcedony the colour of turbid sea-water. It was a noble artefact, made from two throated vases placed one on the other and separate by a narrow knot. It stood erect, fastened to the centre of a circular plinth of greenish serpentine. This plinth was raised five inches above the flat pavement, as was the surrounding rim of porphyry that was curiously decorated with fine wave-mouldings. Beneath the basin and around the pillar, four golden harpies with rapacious taloned feet rested on the surface of the serpentine plinth. Their back parts were against the pillar, one directly opposite another, and their unfolded wings rose toward the violet lip of the basin. They had the faces of virgins, and hair that flowed down their necks on to their shoulders, while their heads did not reach the underside of the basin. Their serpentine tails were curled up and turned at the end into antique rinceaux, joining the lower vase of the pillar not ungracefully, but with amicable union and interlacing. Inside the amethyst basin, at its navel and directly above the supporting pillar, there rose a well-proportioned vase like a long inverted calyx, reaching as far above the surrounding rim as the basin was deep. Upon this was raised an artistic base that supported the three nude Graces, made from fine gold, equal in height and connected to one another. From the nipples of their breasts there flowed thin streams of water looking like rods of refined silver, polished and striated, as if it had been distilled fom the white pumice of Taracona. Each one held in her right hand a cornucopia that reached a little above her head, then the mouths of all three horns met and made a single round, open form. An abundance of various fruits and leaves overflowed the opening or rim of the intertwined horns.
 
Six little spouts protruded among the fruits and foliage, from which the water flowed through minute openings. The clever metal-sculptor had avoided having the elbows collide by having the statues make a gesture of modesty, hiding with their left hands those parts that should be covered. The open basin’s circumference reached a foot beyond that of the serpentine plinth below it, and well spaced around its rim were six scaly dragons of bright gold, resting on their reptilian feet with their heads high. They were remarkably made so that the water coming from the breasts fell directly into their hollow and open heads. Their wings were spread, their mouths wide open. The water was let out, or rather vomited through a channel so that it fell between the round serpentine plinth and the circle of porphyry, which rose an equal distance above the floor of the courtyard or open pavement, as already described. There was a channel between the serpentine plinth and this porphyry circle, one-and-a-half feet wide and two feet deep. The porphyry circle was three feet wide on its flat surface, with fine wave-mouldings toward the pavement.
 
The rest of the dragons snaked across the shallow basin, then all their tails came together and were transformed into antique rinceaux, making at the appropriate height a satisfying juncture with the support or footing of the three figures, and without deforming the hollow of the precious basin. The latter took on a wonderful colouring from the combination of the green orange-tree hedge, the translucent material and the pure water, so that it resembled a rainbow among the clouds inside the noble, proud and elegant vessel. There were also lion-heads with manes that stood out from the convex part of the basin, equally spaced between each pair of dragons on this splendid water-tub. With perfect aim, the lions spewed out through tubes in their mouths the water that fell from the six little pipes of the beautiful cornucopia. This water was driven with low pressure that made it fall between the dragons into the broad and resonant basin, so that its long fall made a lovely tinkling in the open vessel. It was rare work, this proud fountain erected with keen ingenuity, with its perfect harpies and the rare dignity of the support for the three brilliant golden figures, all executed with the highest artistry and finish. I could never make a brief and lucid exposition of it, much less describe it all. It was no work of merely human skill, but I can freely testify, calling the gods to witness, that never in our age has there been a more graceful or admirable sculpture, nor even one to equal it. I was stupefied as I considered how hard and resistant the stones were that supported the great basin, namely the pillar which was made from two throated vases, one above the other, with as much ease and facility as though the material in question had been soft wax.

Read by David Greagg. Recorded on 28 March 2007. 

This extract is taken from Hypnerotomachia Poliphili: The Strife of Love in a Dream by Francesco Colonna, translated by Joscelyn Godwin. © 1999 Joscelyn Godwin. Reprinted by kind permission Thames & Hudson Ltd., London