Page:The Atlantic Monthly Volume 136.djvu/817

 these treasures, notably Antonio Sinibaldi’s Vergil. The contrast between the hand-lettering in these volumes and the best I had ever seen before was startling. Here was a hand-letter, developed under the most romantic and dramatic conditions, which represented the apotheosis of the art of hand-lettering. The thought flashed through my mind that all the types in existence up to this point had been based upon previous hand-lettering less beautiful and less perfect in execution.

‘Why is it,’ I demanded excitedly, ‘that no type has ever been designed based upon this hand-lettering at its highest point of perfection?’

Dr. Biagi looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. ‘This, my friend,’ he said, smiling, ‘is your opportunity.’

At this point began one of the most fascinating and absorbing adventures in which anyone interested in books could possibly engage. At some time, I suppose, in the life of every typographer comes the ambition to design a special type, so it was natural that the idea contained in Dr. Biagi’s remark should suggest possibilities which filled me with enthusiasm. I was familiar with the history of the best special faces, and had learned how difficult each ambitious designer had found the task of translating drawings into so rigid a medium as metal; so I reverted soberly and with deep respect to the subject of type design from the beginning.

In studying the early fonts of type, I found them exact counterfeits of the best existing forms of hand-lettering at that time employed by the scribes. The first italic font cut by Aldus, for instance, was based upon the sharp, thin, inclined handwriting of Petrarch. The contrast between these slavish copies of hand-lettered models and the mechanical precision of characters turned out by modern type-founders made a deep impression. Of the two I preferred the freedom of the earliest types, but appreciated how ill-adapted these models were to the requirements of typography. A hand-lettered page, even with the inevitable irregularities, is pleasing because the scribe makes a slight variation in forming the various characters. When, however, an imperfect letter is cut in metal and repeated many times upon the same page the irregularity forces itself unpleasantly upon the eye. Nicolas Jenson was the first to realize this, and in his famous Roman type he made an exact interpretation of what the scribe intended to accomplish in each of the letters, instead of copying any single hand-letter, or making a composite of many hand-designs of the same character. For this reason the Jenson type has not only served as the basis of the best standard Roman fonts down to the present time, but has also proved the inspiration for later designs of distinctive type-faces, such as William Morris’s Golden type, and Emery Walker’s Doves type.

William Morris’s experience is an excellent illustration of the difficulties a designer experiences. He has left a record of how he studied the Jenson type with great care, enlarging it by photography, and redrawing it over and over again before he began designing his own letter. When he actually produced his Golden type the design was as far removed from the model he selected as can be imagined, showing the strong effect of the German influence that the types of Schöffer, Mentelin, and Günther Zainer made upon him. The Doves type is based flatly upon the Jenson model; yet it is an absolutely original face, retaining all the charm of the model, to which is added the artistic genius of the designer. Each receives its personality from the understanding and interpretation of the creator.

From this I came to realize that it is