Since print is meant primarily to be read, the first law of its being is
legibility. As a general principle this must be accepted, but in the
application certain important reservations must be made, all relating
themselves to the question _how_ the print is to be read. For
straightaway, long-time reading, or for reading in which the aim is to
get at the words of the author with the least hindrance, the law of
legibility holds to its full extent--is, in fact, an axiom; but not all
reading is long-continued, and not all is apart from considerations
other than instantaneous contact with the author's thought through his
words. It is these two classes of exceptions that we have now to
consider.
Let us begin with an example outside the field of typography. On the
first issue of the Lincoln cent were various sizes of lettering, the
largest being devoted to the words which denote the value of the coin,
and the smallest, quite undistinguishable in ordinary handling, to the
initials of the designer, afterwards discarded. Obviously these sizes
were chosen with reference to their power to attract attention; in the
one case an excess of legibility and in the other case, quite as
properly, its deficiency. Thus, what is not designed for the cursory
reader's eye, but serves only as a record to be consulted by those who
are specially interested in it, may, with propriety, be made so
inconspicuous as to be legible only by a distinct effort. Cases in
everyday typography are the signatures of books and the cabalistic
symbols that indicate to the newspaper counting room the standing of
advertisements. Both are customarily rendered inconspicuous through
obscure position, and if to this be added the relative illegibility of
fine type, the average reader will not complain, for all will escape his
notice.
Again, we may say that what is not intended for ordinary continuous
reading may, without criticism, be consigned to type below normal size.
Certain classes of books that are intended only for brief consultation
come under this head, the best examples being encyclopedias,
dictionaries, and almanacs. As compactness is one of their prime
requisites, it is a mistake to put them into type even comfortably
large. The reader opens them only for momentary reference, and he can
well afford to sacrifice a certain degree of legibility to handiness.
The Encyclopædia Britannica is a classic instance of a work made bulky
by type unnecessarily coarse for its purpose; the later, amazingly
clear, photographic reduction of the Britannica volumes is a recognition
of this initial mistake. The Century and Oxford dictionaries, on the
other hand, are splendid examples of the judicious employment of fine
print for the purpose both of condensation and the gradation of
emphasis. One has only to contrast with these a similar work in uniform
type, such as Littré's Dictionnaire, to appreciate their superiority for
ready reference.
The departure from legibility that we have thus far considered has
related to the size of the letters. Another equally marked departure is
possible in respect to their shape. In business printing, especially in
newspaper advertisements, men are sometimes tempted to gain amount at
the risk of undue fineness of type. But no advertiser who counts the
cost will take the chance of rendering his announcement unreadable by
the use of ornamental or otherwise imperfectly legible letters. He sets
no value upon the form save as a carrier of substance. In works of
literature, on the contrary, form may take on an importance of its own;
it may even be made tributary to the substance at some cost to
legibility.
In this field there is room for type the chief merit of which is apart
from its legibility. In other words, there is and always will be a place
for beauty in typography, even though it involve a certain loss of
clearness. As related to the total bulk of printing, works of this class
never can amount to more than a fraction of one per cent. But their
proportion in the library of a cultivated man would be vastly greater,
possibly as high as fifty per cent. In such works the esthetic sense
demands not merely that the type be a carrier of the alphabet, but also
that it interpret or at least harmonize with the subject-matter. Who
ever saw Mr. Updike's specimen pages for an edition of the "Imitatio
Christi," in old English type, without a desire to possess the completed
work? Yet we have editions of the "Imitatio" that are far more legible
and convenient. The "Prayers" of Dr. Samuel Johnson have several times
been published in what we may call tribute typography; but no edition
has yet attained to a degree of homage that satisfies the lovers of
those unaffected devotional exercises.
What, therefore, shall be the typography of books that we love, that we
know by heart? In them, surely, beauty and fitness may precede
legibility unchallenged. These are the books that we most desire and
cherish; this is the richest field for the typographic artist, and one
that we venture to pronounce, in spite of all that has yet been done,
still almost untilled. Such books need not be expensive; we can imagine
a popular series that should deserve the name of tribute typography.
Certain recent editions of the German classics, perhaps, come nearer to
justifying such a claim than any contemporary British or American work.
In more expensive publications some of Mr. Mosher's work, like his
quarto edition of Burton's "Kasîdah," merits a place in this class. A
better known, if older, instance is the holiday edition of Longfellow's
"Skeleton in Armor." Who would not rather read the poem in this Old
English type than in any Roman type in which it has ever been printed?
The work of the Kelmscott Press obviously falls within this class.
The truth is, there is a large body of favorite literature which we are
glad to be made to linger over, to have, in its perusal, a brake put
upon the speed of our reading; and in no way can this be done so
agreeably as by a typography that possesses a charm of its own to arrest
the eye. Such a delay increases while it prolongs the pleasure of our
reading. The typography becomes not only a frame to heighten the beauty
of the picture, but also a spell to lengthen our enjoyment of it. It
cannot be expected that the use of impressive type will be confined to
literature. That worthiest use will find the field already invaded by
pamphlet and leaflet advertisements, and this invasion is certain to
increase as the public taste becomes trained to types that make an
esthetic appeal of their own.
Ordinary type is the result of an attempt to combine with legibility an
all-round fitness of expression. But that very universality robs it of
special appropriateness for works of a strongly marked character. It is
impossible to have a new type designed for every new work, but classes
of types are feasible, each adapted to a special class of literature.
Already there is a tendency to seek for poetry a type that is at least
removed from the commonplace. But hitherto the recognition of this
principle has been only occasional and haphazard. Where much is to be
gained much also can be lost, and interpretative or expressional
typography that misses the mark may easily be of a kind to make the
judicious grieve. But the rewards of success warrant the risk. The most
beautiful of recent types, the New Humanistic, designed for The
University Press, has hardly yet been used. Let us hope that it may soon
find its wider mission so successfully as to furnish an ideal
confirmation of the principle that we have here been seeking to
establish.