Overjoyed at first to see Bodoni, but all too quickly appalled by the gravity of his illness, the family set about lowering his temperature with cold compresses, the old tried-and-true method for reducing fever. (The new treatment for malaria, quinine, was available in Rome during the 18th century, first sent there from Peru by a Jesuit priest a century beforehand, but it is impossible to know whether it would have been available to the Bodoni family in Piedmont in 1766.) The family could make no headway curing him. One day he was gravely ill, the next day he rallied, and the next he fell gravely ill again. They were learning that malaria was notorious for its repetitive behavior, and the type of malaria Bodoni suffered from was Tertian Fever, so named because it revisits the patient every third day.
Only a catastrophic illness could have deflected Bodoni from his journey and forced him to stay close to home. The weeks and months dragged on, but finally his strong constitution prevailed and the episodes of fever became fewer and further between. Unable to stand the boredom of convalescence, he called for his friend Cappa, the same young man who had wanted to accompany him to Rome a decade earlier but had lost his nerve. In the intervening years, Cappa had joined his father’s metalworking business in Saluzzo and was now a smith in his own right. Bodoni showed him that he, too, was a worker in metals but on a far smaller scale, and when he had strength enough to wield file and graver, he demonstrated the art of punchcutting to Cappa. Soon they were working together, and by Easter 1767 Bodoni was able to print with his own type a sonnet in celebration of Christ’s resurrection, in this way not only celebrating the risen Christ but his own resurrection from mortal illness.
This printed sonnet became an advertisement for his skill. Orders started flowing in. As he increased in physical vigor, he accepted commissions, working side by side with his father and his brothers, Domenico and Giuseppe. Soon a year had passed. He could easily have settled back into a comfortable existence in Saluzzo, surrounded by family and childhood friends, and marrying a local woman, but that assumes his ambition had died a premature death during his illness. This was definitely not the case. As soon as he was able to travel, he began making forays to Turin to keep abreast of what was happening in the busy and evolving world of European printing.
MEANWHILE, slap in the middle of northern Italy, in the city of Parma, Ferdinando Maria Filippo Lodovico Sebastiano Francesco Giacomo, the young duke of Parma, was being importuned by his prime minister, the Frenchman Guillaume Du Tillot, about the necessity of establishing a royal press as a component in their greater dream of turning Parma into a miniature Paris, with all the accoutrements of the City of Light. Du Tillot pointed out that every self-respecting city in Europe — Paris, Madrid, Vienna, Naples, Turin, and Florence — had a press with which to promote itself. It was time to put Parma on the map, and the way to do this was by founding, and funding, a royal press, a magnificent press that would be the envy of all nations. The malleable 17-year-old duke was persuaded. He charged Du Tillot with finding the right person to establish and run the press, someone who could produce the highest quality work for the glorification of his city.
Du Tillot, being French, naturally sought advice in Paris, then the epicenter of European printing. He specifically addressed Pierre-Jean Mariette, a vastly erudite connoisseur of prints, drawings, and the art of printing, begging him to recommend someone who combined efficiency with artistic brilliance. Mariette responded sagely, advising Du Tillot to choose an Italian rather than a Frenchman, someone who would be able to pay proper attention to works published in Italian. Du Tillot took Mariette’s words to heart and sought advice from someone right in his own backyard, none other than the librarian of Parma, Father Paolo Maria Paciaudi, the priest from Piedmont who had earlier recognized Bodoni’s talents at the Propaganda Fide. Remembering the extraordinary ability as well as the social acumen of the young man, Paciaudi suggested that Bodoni would be the perfect person for the job — if he could locate him.
Pierre-Jean Mariette (1694-1774).
Paciaudi wrote first to Father Giorgi in Rome asking for Bodoni’s whereabouts. Giorgi informed him that Bodoni had returned to Piedmont and suggested that he try to find him through Francesco Berta, the head librarian in Turin. On 5 January 1758, Paciaudi wrote the letter that changed Bodoni’s life. In it, he informed Berta of the duke of Parma’s wish to establish a royal press and to find someone sufficiently gifted and competent to run it. He stated that he, Paciaudi, had recommended Giambattista Bodoni of Saluzzo for the post, having met him in Rome with Cardinal Spinelli at the Propaganda Fide. “He is full of talent, industrious, and honorable,”74 continued Paciaudi, aware that Bodoni would need permission from the duke of Savoy before leaving Piedmont. He implored Berta to find Bodoni and to pave the way with the duke, adding that if the duke’s permission were granted, Bodoni must come immediately to Parma, bearing with him punches and matrices for characters of all sizes in Greek and Hebrew as well as an assortment of both Roman and cursive characters. These would then become the property of the press. He would be paid for them; his lodgings would be provided; and all the expenses of the press would be assumed by the duke. Time was of the essence. Bodoni was needed immediately to print a work that was both voluminous and important.75
Paciaudi added: “He will be in charge of the press, and will act as compositor on occasion to print items of a secret nature. He will oversee the other compositors, and will always review the first proofs . . . His journey and the cost of transporting his tools and characters will be paid for by the duke.” As far as his monthly salary was concerned, it would be neither too little nor too much. “It’s better to keep it low at first, so that if he merits more, it can be added to.”76
Father Berta fulfilled his duties as emissary, and everything went according to plan. He located Bodoni, handed him the invitation from Parma, and gained permission from Vittorio Amedeo III, the duke of Savoy (and later king of Sardinia) for Bodoni to leave Saluzzo; and the contract was signed. Bodoni rushed to Turin to present himself to the duke of Savoy, who received him warmly and showered him with gifts. “I would like to see you again before you take yourself off to the Court of Parma,” cried out Carlo Emanuele, the duke’s 15-year-old son.77
Bodoni returned to Saluzzo to make preparations for his departure and for the shipment of his equipment and tools. Then for the second time in his life, he bade a tearful farewell to his family and friends, and on 8 February 1768, left Saluzzo for Parma, stopping again in Turin for final instructions from the duke and another pledge of royal bounty.
The city of Parma.
La Pilotta from the town.
4
Parma 1768
City of sweet, enveloping fogs and flat horizons marked by majestic poplars . . . city of masks and narcissistic poses, sophistication, epicurean appetites, and earthy realism . . . All in all, the city is gorgeous.
WALLIS WILDE-MENOZZI
PARMA in February is damp and cold. On some winter days, fog obscures the distant Apennines; sometimes it obscures the hand in front of your face. On other days, snow and ice turn cobbles into treacherous chutes. The city boasts an air of mystery and chilly grandeur that is swiftly dispelled by shafts of winter sun illuminating red and ochre buildings and the pink Verona marble of the baptistry. Unlike Saluzzo and Rome, Parma is flat, sitting on a bed of gravel 400 meters deep that helps absorb earthquakes. The city bestrides the Parma, a considerable river for most of the year as it snakes its way to join the Po, but which is referred to as a torrente rather than a river because of its ability to flood in autumn and dry up completely