He looked at me reproachfully. ‘No, my son,’ he answered, with deep impressiveness; ‘I am writing my introduction in Latin, which, though called a dead language, will be living long after the present living languages are dead.’
Ceriani placed at my disposal the humanistic volumes in the Ambrosiana, and introduced me to his assistant, whose cooperation was of the utmost value in my work. I was particularly struck by the personality of this younger priest. He was in close touch with affairs outside the Church and asked searching questions regarding conditions in America. He spoke several languages with the same facility with which he spoke his own Italian. His knowledge of books and of bookmaking, past and present, surprised me. All in all, I found him one of the most charming men I have ever met. His name was Achille Ratti, and when he became Bishop of Milan in 1921, and was elevated to the College of Cardinals two months later, I realized how far that wonderful personality was taking him. One could scarcely have foreseen, however, that in less than a year from this time he would become Pope Pius XI.
When, after my drawings were finally completed, I returned to America, I took up the matter of the type design with Charles Eliot Norton, my old art professor at Harvard, then emeritus. Professor Norton was genuinely interested in the whole undertaking, and as the proofs of the various punches later came into my hands he became more and more enthusiastic.
I had arranged to use this type in a series of volumes to be published in London by John Murray, and in America by Little, Brown, and Company. An important question arose as to what should be the first title, and after careful consideration I decided that as Petrarch was the father of humanism his Trionfi would obviously be an ideal selection. The volume was to be printed in English rather than in the original Italian, and I settled upon Henry Boyd’s translation as the most distinguished.
Upon investigation it developed that the original edition of this book was out of print and copies were exceedingly rare. The only one I could find was in the Petrarch collection of the late Willard Fiske. I entered into correspondence with him, and he invited me to be his guest at his villa in Florence. With the type completed and with proofs in my possession, I undertook my second humanistic Odyssey, making Florence my first objective. Professor Fiske welcomed me cordially, and in him I found a most sympathetic personality, eager to contribute in every way to the success of the undertaking. He placed the volume of Boyd’s translation in my hands and asked that I take it with me for use until my edition was completed.
“This book is unique, and so precious that you certainly could not permit it to go out of your possession,’ I protested.
His answer was characteristic. ‘Your love of books,’ he said, ‘is such that this volume is as safe in your hands as it is in mine. Take it and return it to me when it has served its purpose.’
Then came the matter of illustrations. In London I had a conference with Sir Sidney Colvin, Keeper of Prints and Drawings at the British Museum. Colvin had been made familiar with the undertaking by John Murray, who had shown him and Alfred W. Pollard some of the earliest proofs of the punches which I had sent to England. After careful examination of these, both men assured Mr. Murray that his American friend was playing a joke upon him, declaring that the proofs