Giambattista Bodoni. Valerie Lester

       The man fit to make a fortune in this ancient capital of Italy must be a chameleon sensitive to all the colors which the light casts on his surroundings. He must be flexible, insinuating, a great dissimulator, impenetrable, obliging, often base, ostensibly sincere, always pretending to know less than he does, keeping to one tone of voice, patient, in complete control of his countenance, cold as ice when another in his place would be on fire; and if he is so unfortunate as not to have religion in his heart, he must have it in his mind, and, if he is an honest man, accept the painful necessity of admitting to himself that he is a hypocrite. If he loathes the pretense, he should leave Rome and seek his fortune in England.

      GIACOMO CASANOVA

      IT RAINS once or twice a week in Rome in February, torrential, lashing rain. Water gushes and spews, and not just from fountains. A person can be walking along, completely unprepared for rain and, all of a sudden, sodden. Rain streams through the eye of the Pantheon, the Tiber swells, and trees along its banks drown in the swift, swirling, muddy water. The usually easy-going river becomes a raging torrent, and floods the city. Plaques on churches record the heights reached by the water over the centuries, and you crane your neck to see some of them.

      Rain may have streamed down on Giambattista and Domenico as they made their way down the Janiculum hill, across the Tiber, and into the thick of things, but if they were lucky it was a sparkling winter day in which the air was mild and bright, the ochre and red buildings glowed in the sunshine, the white of ancient columns drew the eye skyward, almond and cherry trees were in blossom, and oranges were ripening on trees all over the city.

      Gorgeous though it appeared, the city stank.

      The population, which during the heady years of the Roman empire had reached more than two million, had declined precipitously to approximately 160,000 by 1758. Rome was experiencing rural sprawl as the countryside crept back into the city and weeds sprouted among the ruins. Previously inhabited land returned to pasture, vineyards, and wasteland. The Forum became the site of rock-throwing battles. Farm animals mooed, baa-ed, and honked their way through the streets, leaving a trail of excrement behind them. Despite the considerable available space, the Roman people crowded together near the bend in the Tiber and on the Quirinal hill, their homes surrounded by elegant churches and palazzi, even as they lived cheek by jowl with their livestock. “The corridores [sic], arcades, and even staircases of their most elegant palaces, are depositories of nastiness, and indeed in summer smell as strong as spirit of hartshorn,”¹⁹ grumbled Smollett, and with justification.

      Certainly, Rome was warmer, smellier, louder, more crowded, and more bewitching than Saluzzo. The new arrivals found it crammed with clerics, venders, artists, dealers, writers, aristocrats, foreigners, shepherds and shepherdesses (often elegantly dressed and without sheep), servants, and the omnipresent poor. They had landed in the religious omphalos, the cultural magnet, the academy of Europe, at a moment when Rome was the apogee of the Grand Tour. Participants in the Tour were drawn to Rome by Piranesi’s engravings, which circulated all over Europe and lured pale, northern moths to a city that reeked of the decay that accompanies monumental splendor and the sweat of romantically inspired artistic endeavor. But the Grand Tourists were mainly drawn to Rome by the itch for possession. They wanted to see Rome and buy, and agents like the Scottish artist/archaeologist Gavin Hamilton were only too pleased to assist them.

      That the city was crammed with clerics is no overstatement; forty percent of the population consisted of clergy, including at least thirty orders of monks. The Capuchins, with their recognizable hoods, brown habits, beards, and bare feet, were the most beloved. They took on tasks that others avoided: pulling teeth, attending the funerals of the poor, and acting as models for artists who could ill afford the going rate. Even men who were not members of the clergy often dressed as if they were. Ministering to the poor by both clergy and lay people was a Christian duty and taken seriously for the indulgences it bestowed, but the beggars’ omnipresence struck visitors forcibly. “It is execrable to see the amount of beggars by whom one is assailed in the streets of Rome,” laments Charles de Brosses, on his visit to Rome in 1739.²⁰

      When Bodoni arrived in 1758, Pope Benedict XIV (Prospero Lambertini) was nearing the end of his reign. Regarded as the most erudite of all the popes, he made his particular mark with his ecclesiastical writings. Learned in a wide range of topics including science and mathematics, he was also a diplomat and skilled negotiator, even on occasion capable of reconciling Catholics and Protestants. A witty and sometimes racy conversationalist, he sought the company of clever people in all levels of society. He was well acquainted with the poor with whom he conversed during his walks into the more unsavory parts of Rome.

      Horace Walpole, one of Pope Benedict’s most dedicated admirers, composed the following words about him for an inscription: “A priest without insolence, a prince without favorites, a pope without nepotism, an author without vanity. In short, a man whom neither wit nor power could spoil.”²¹ When the pope saw a copy of this inscription, he is said to have smiled and shaken his head, declaring, “Alas! I am like the statues of the Piazza S. Pietro — admirable at a distance but monstrous when seen at close quarters!”²²

      Benedict XIV was determined that Rome should be the city where art and religion flourished in seamless magnificence. He supervised urban beautification projects, including most of the construction of the Trevi fountain, and initiated the restoration of many of Rome’s major churches. He spent time and money supporting archaeological excavations, procuring antiquities, and buying hundreds of paintings for his new public museums. Giambattista Bodoni had arrived in a city that was humming with activity.