Part 2

“An unsightly figure,” said Anna, as she examined the one in her husband’s hand, “and not to be compared to our St. Christopher,”--glancing at the wall opposite, where hung a picture of the saint,--“which was made with a pen!”

“Nay, it was made from an engraved block, like the card,” said Gutenberg.

“Was our picture made in that manner?” eagerly asked the wife. “What an excellent art, since it keepeth before us the memory of the saints! The good St. Christopher!” she exclaimed, and with clasped hands for a moment gazed devoutly at the picture,--a curious wood-cut, representing the legendary saint in the act of carrying the infant Jesus across the sea; beneath, was the date, 1423. The art of engraving had doubtless existed long before, but this is the only positive proof that wood-engraving was used in devotional pictures at that early period. Some years after, the art made an onward and most important step,--an inscription being added to this picture; and the famous block books, complete with cuts and written explanations, appeared.

The picture Anna so earnestly regarded, was one of the later-date impressions, accompanied with a Latin legend. It was of folio size, and colored, like playing-cards. Beneath was the inscription, or legend:--

“We almost worshipped that picture in my father’s house,” said Anna; “but prithee tell me the meaning of the inscription; there was none upon ours.”

“It saith,” explained Gutenberg, “that one cannot be overtaken by evil, or die, on the day that he looks upon the face of this saint.”

“Since that is true, we do well to gaze upon the picture early and late,” remarked the wife.

“I revere the saint,” returned Gutenberg, smiling, “but am free to confess that I do not see how there can be any power to shield one from harm in simply looking at his picture. The good saint himself had not so easy a path to prosperity.”

“Pray tell me of him,” said she; “I do not remember to have heard the story since, when a little child, I sat upon my father’s knee.”

“I will even tell it to thee,” answered Gutenberg, “as I heard it in my childhood.

“Offerus, as he was called, was a giant soldier; a heathen, who lived in the land of Canaan. He had a body twelve ells long. He did not like to obey, but to command. He did not care what harm he did to others, but lived a wild life, attacking and plundering all who came in his way. He only wished for one thing: to sell his services to the mightiest. And he first engaged in the service of the Emperor,--having heard in those days that he was the head of Christendom,--yet was not bound by any promise. Thereupon he went with the Emperor through all the land, and the Emperor was delighted with him. All the soldiers in the combat were miserable, helpless creatures compared with Offerus, with his Samson strength, giant chest, and mighty fists. Once, at even-tide, they pitched the tents near a forest, when the Emperor, in the midst of his eating and drinking and the singing of the minstrel, bade Offerus and his comrades beware of the wicked fiend who was said often to haunt the forest with great rage and fury, adding, ‘Let alone the chase in this forest; for in filling thy larder, thou mightest harm thy soul.’ Then Offerus said, ‘I will enter the service of this lord, who is mightier than you,’ and thereupon took his departure, and strode off cheerily into the thickest depths of the forest. There on a coal black horse he saw a pitch-black rider, who rode at him furiously, and sought to bind him with solemn promises. But Offerus said, ‘We shall see!’ However, one day, as they went together through the kingdoms of the world, along the high road three tall crosses stood before them. The middle cross so appalled Satan that he shrunk away, saying, ‘The Son of Mary, the Lord Christ, now exercises great power.’ Said Offerus, ‘Now will I seek further for the mightiest, whom only I will serve,’ and asking every traveller he met where he dwelt. But alas! few have Him in their hearts, and no one could tell, until he was sent by a pious old hermit to a good priest, who showed him plainly the path of faith, and told him he must fast and pray, as John the Baptist did of old in the wilderness. But that advice was not to the giant’s liking; wherefore the prior said, ‘Give yourself up heartily to achieve some good work. See, there flows a mighty river, which hinders pilgrims on their way to Rome; it has neither ford nor bridge: carry the faithful over on thy back.’ ‘Ah, I have strength for that!’ said Offerus. ‘If I can please the Saviour in that way, willingly will I carry the travellers to and fro.’ And thereupon he built a hut of reeds, and dwelt among the water-rats and beavers on the river’s brink, carrying pilgrims over the river cheerfully, like a camel or an elephant. But if any one offered him ferry-money, he said, ‘I labor for eternal life!’ And when now, after many years, Offerus’s hair had grown white, one stormy night a plaintive little voice called to him, ‘Dear, good, tall Offerus, carry me across.’ Offerus was tired and sleepy; but he thought faithfully of Jesus Christ, and with weary arms seizing the pine-trunk which was his staff when the floods swelled high, he waded through the water, but saw no pilgrim there; so he thought, ‘I was dreaming,’ and went back and lay down to sleep. Again came the little voice, plaintive and touching, ‘Offerus, good, dear, great, tall Offerus, carry me across.’ Patiently the old giant crossed the river again; but neither man nor mouse was to be seen; and he went back again, and fell asleep, when once more came the little voice, clear, and plaintive, and imploring, “Good, dear, giant Offerus, carry me across.” The third time he seized his pine-stem, and went through the cold river. This time he found a tender, fair little boy, with golden hair. In his left hand was the standard of the Lamb; in his right, the globe. He looked at the giant with eyes full of love and trust, and Offerus lifted him up with two fingers; but when he entered the river, the little child weighed on him like a ton. Heavier and heavier grew the weight, until the water almost reached his chin; great drops of sweat stood on his brow, and he had nearly sunk in the stream with the little one. However, he struggled through, and, tottering to the other side, set the child gently down on the bank, and said, ‘My little Lord, prithee, come not this way again, for scarcely have I escaped this time with life.’ But the fair child baptized Offerus on the spot, and said to him, ‘Know, all thy sins are forgiven; and, although thy limbs tottered, fear not, nor marvel, but rejoice; thou hast carried the Saviour of the world! For a token, plant thy pine-trunk, so long dead and leafless, in the earth; to-morrow it shall shoot out green twigs. And henceforth thou shalt not be called Offerus, but Christopher.’ Then Christopher folded his arms, and prayed, and said, ‘I feel my end draws nigh. My limbs tremble; my strength fails; and God has forgiven me all my sins.’ Thereupon the child vanished in light; and Christopher set his staff in the earth. And so, on the morrow, it shot out green leaves and red blossoms, like an almond. And three days afterwards the angels carried Christopher to Paradise.”

Anna’s eyes swam in tears as Gutenberg finished his graphic and touching rehearsal, and she said, “A most hopeful history. May you, my husband, worthily achieve some good work, like St. Christopher!”

“Aye, dear; and, God helping me I will do something: the world is full of useful labor, which calleth for willing hearts and hands. And the Lord Christ meeteth with his blessing the patient laborers who faint not.”

“I can never think,” said the wife, “of equaling St. Christopher or thee in good works, since I am neither strong nor wise; but I will even do what I can, and help thee bear thy burdens. But it may be the gentle Christ will freely _give_ me eternal life, since I have no means to purchase it.”

“Aye, Anna, that would be so like Him: and to me also, for I am no saint, and dare not hope to be.”

“But I value the picture the more since your recital,” said Anna. “Even if it cannot, as you think, preserve us from evil, it can incite us to persevere in doing well.”

“Aye, dear,” rejoined Gutenberg, “and devotional pictures like this are much to be prized; they in some sort fill the place of books, which are so rare and costly. But valuable as this picture is, I found it surpassed in the Cathedral. Dost remember I carried thither the jewels which the Abbot employed me to polish? He took me into the library, and showed me books of engraved pictures, each far more excellent than our ‘St. Christopher.’ These books were the ‘Ars Memorandi,’ ‘Ars Moriendi,’ and ‘Biblia Pauperum,’ which last consists of forty pictures, with written explanations.”

“Truly a marvel,--a book of pictures! And what do they signify?”

“The ‘Biblia Pauperum,’ or ‘Bible for the Poor,’ is a history or series of sketches from the Old and New Testaments; it is sometimes so called instead of the name I first mentioned.”

“Aye, I remember to have heard of it, but would fain learn more about it.”

“Its forty pictures were made by impressing paper with engraved blocks, as in the ‘St. Christopher.’ The color is brown, the pictures are placed opposite each other, and the blank backs are pasted together into one strong leaf.”

“Pray, how large are the pictures?” and her interest growing with her husband’s recital, she quite forgot the work on which she was engaged, as he went on to say,--

“They are each ten inches high and seven or eight inches wide, and consist of three pictures which are separated by lines; and, moreover, there are four half-length figures of prophets, two above and two below the larger pictures. Latin inscriptions are on each side of the upper figures, also verses in rhyme on each side of the lower, and other sentences on labels at the bottom of the whole.”

“Wonderful truly! and what more?”

“The middle pictures are from the New Testament, the others from the Old; and the latter in some way allude to or explain the former.”

“But what interests me most in this book,” added Gutenberg, “is the fact that it is printed from blocks, like the ‘St. Christopher.’”

“Dost thou truly think so? Art thou well advised that it is not the handicraft of a skillful scribe?”

“Assuredly I am; it was not made with a pen, but with the engraved blocks, which are to be chosen rather than the slower mode of copying, since being once for all engraved, a number of books can be imprinted as easily as one.”

“Aye,” returned Anna, “and they will be cheaper than the works written out by the scribes, and still be so dear that whoever maketh them must become enriched by their sale. If thou art taken with this tide, it will lead thee on to fortune. Thou art ingenious; and canst thou not make a ‘Biblia Pauperum?’”

“A ‘Biblia Pauperum!’ Little wife, thou must be dreaming.” And Gutenberg saw that she had penetrated his secret.

“But couldst thou not?” she persisted archly; “thou art so wise at devising things difficult to be accomplished.”

Gutenberg laughed, saying, “I will even bethink me of it when nothing of more service can be done.”

But although the suggestion of Anna had been treated as a new and impracticable idea, it was one, as she had divined, that Gutenberg was revolving; and seizing the first leisure hour, he commenced engraving a block, choosing for his subject as simplest and nearest at hand, one of the images of the playing cards.

Anna’s estimate of Gutenberg was just. He had a passion for mechanical studies; and history tells us that “he invented many wonderful arts,” some of which were connected with his occupation. Not content with following the beaten track, his mind was fertile in expedients for saving labor and perfecting his work. He devised ways to improve the process of polishing stones and mirrors; and these new methods were ranked by the observing among his “arts.” These “arts” were stepping-stones to something better and higher--to the crowning discovery of his life. The great art could only be reached by patiently ascending to it through many lower steps of toil and invention. “It seems,” says one, “that every advancement of humanity is purchased with tears, and that suffering is the fatal law of all great beginnings.”

But how eventful the path he trod, we shall see as we progress.

III.

Ancient Books and their Materials.--Sculptures.--Printing in China.--Use of Metals.--Seal.--Stencils.--Waxen Tablets.-- Bark, Leaves, Shells.--Papyrus.--Parchments.--Paper.--Palimpsests. --Books written by Hand.--The Scriptorium.--Copyists and their Habits.--Illuminations.--Character of Ancient Books.--Scarcity and Costliness of Books.--Richard de Bury and Library.--Statutes of St. Mary’s College.--Books Chained.--Abundance of Books in Modern Times.

Leaving Gutenberg occupied with his experiment, let us glance briefly at the books of that day, and the modes in which they were made and given to the world.

The most ancient materials used for recording events were bricks, tiles, shells, and tables of stone. The modes of writing on these different substances were various. The tiles and brick were impressed with a stamp when in a soft state; the shells and tablets of stone were etched or graven, the figures or characters being cut in their surface, and in some cases also stained with various colors. It was by the ancient art of stamping that the walls, palaces, and towers of Babylon were covered with hieroglyphics, which have but recently been brought to light from under the immense mounds of Mesopotamia by Layard and other explorers.

The patriarch Job, who is supposed to have lived about 2,300 years after the creation, exclaimed, “O that my words were now written! O that they were printed in a book! that they were graven with an iron pen, and hid in the rock forever!” Stung with the unjust accusation of his friends, he desires to record his words that the generations following might see the justice of his cause. The English translation has given the allusion to printing to the text, the original word signifying rather to ingrave on a plate, which was doubtless the only printing known to Job.

Montfauçon purchased at Rome in 1699 an ancient book entirely composed of lead. It was about four inches long and three inches wide; and not only were the two pieces that formed the cover, and the leaves, six in number, of lead, but also the stick inserted through the rings to hold the leaves together, as well as the hinges and nails. It contained figures of Egyptian idols, and unintelligible writing.

China, our ancestor in invention, from remote ages had a kind of stereotyping or printing. It was not, however, as some have supposed, like our printing, phonetic, or the expression of sound, but, like the Egyptian, hieroglyphical; being purely of an artificial structure, denoting every idea by its appropriate sign without any relation to the utterance, and speaking to the eye like the numerical ciphers of the Europeans, which every one understands and utters in his own way. And like most other nations of antiquity, the Chinese were content to remain without alphabetical writing. It is, however, due to the Chinese to add, that they led the way in making good printing-paper. When they invented making it, does not appear, some affirming that they had the use of it from time immemorial; others that they first discovered it in the second century of the Christian era.

Brass, as more durable, was used for inscriptions designed to last the longest, such as treaties, laws, and alliances. Seals, also, were used by the ancients for impressing soft substances. In the British Museum there is a stamp of metal with raised letters. On the back of it is a ring, enabling the owner to wear it as a signet; his name, Caius Julius Cæcilius Hermias, being engraved in reversed letters upon it.

+-------------+ | CICAECILI | | HERMIAE.SN. | +-------------+

Expanded according to the modern practice, the signet reads:--

C. I. CÆCILII HERMIÆ SIGNUM. _Caii Julii Cæcilii Hermiæ Signum._

This seal of Hermias was intended for stamping parchment with ink, as is shown by the fact that the roughness of the surface below the letters unfits it for stamping any soft substance into which it would sink, as into wax. If rubbed with printer’s ink and pressed upon paper, it prints very well. Thus the seed of this noble art was among the Romans. With a block of wood covered with raised letters, they might have printed a page, as well as a single name. But they were suffered to grope their way from age to age blindfolded to the art of which they had the clew. They almost grasped the great discovery, unconscious of the prize.

Quintilian, speaking of the education of youth, says, “When the boy has begun to trace the forms of the letters, it will be useful for him to have the letters of the tablet engraved, that through them, as through furrows, he may draw his style. For thus he will neither make mistakes, being prevented by the edges on both sides, nor will he be able to go beyond the proper bound; and by tracing quickly and frequently certain forms, he will strengthen his joints, and will not need the assistance of some one to put his hand above his own, and guide it.” Here we find that the old Romans knew something of the art of stenciling.

The Emperor Justin, who lived in the sixth century, could not write, and, to avoid the shame of making only a mark for his name, caused holes to be bored through a tablet in the shape of the first four letters of his name. Through these holes he traced the letters in red ink. Theodoric, King of the Ostrogoths, it is said, wrote his name through a gold plate, in the same manner.

Tablets, or little tables of wood, as well as of metal, came at length to take the place of stone tables. The thin wooden tables were sometimes covered with wax, which was written upon with a style, or ivory pencil. These were so much like tracing in the sand, as soon to be laid aside, and the smooth, inner bark of trees, called _liber_ in the Latin, was used instead; also the leaves of the palm-tree, cloths of cotton and linen, the intestines and skins of animals, and the backs of tortoises. We derive our name _book_ from the Danish _bog_, the beech-tree, since that was used to engrave on in Denmark, because of its abundance.

The Egyptians very early employed a broad-leafed rush growing on the banks of the Nile, as a material upon which to write. This was the _papyrus_, a word which has given its name to our modern paper. Large bundles of papyrus manuscripts, covered with hieroglyphics, have been found in the ancient tombs and temples of that country, some of which are capable of being deciphered at the present day.

Parchment, which is the prepared skins of animals, came into use B. C. 250. It was so called from Pergamus (_membrana pergamea_), whose king, Eumenes, seeking to collect a library which should vie with that of Alexandria, and being debarred a supply of papyrus by the jealousy of the Ptolemies, had recourse to this substitute. After the eighth century, parchment generally took the place of papyrus.

Ancient books were not commonly disposed in a square form, as with us, but were _rolled_ up. Hence the word _volume_, signifying a roll.

Paper from cotton and linen rags began, it is thought, to be made as early as the ninth century. For several centuries, however, the manufacture was so scanty as to increase very little the facilities for copying. Gradually, it became more plentiful, and writing material of small cost laid the foundation for that cheap and expeditious mode of copying which we call printing.

In the age when parchment was used, it was often difficult to be obtained; and it became common to erase the original writing from a manuscript and trace another upon it. A parchment thus used was called _palimpsest_, which means “twice prepared for writing.” Thus, many valuable works were destroyed to make way for newer, and, in some cases, less important ones. Happily we live in a time when we have no occasion to destroy one library to produce another.

It seems strange, too, that a transcriber familiar with the labor of copying would not be deterred by his love of learning from putting even one book out of existence. But necessity knew no law; and the writer, deeming his own work to possess greater utility, sacrificed another to make room for it,--to such straits were the scribes sometimes brought for the lack of writing material. Struggling to express thought, there was no room to put it down. Written language, scarcely second to spoken language, had almost perished; and had the art of printing been invented before paper was known, it would have been comparatively useless.

The writing and rewriting on parchment, as it was often done two or three times, has recently led learned men to make these ancient parchments a study; and they have thus deciphered or read the last writing, then, effacing that, have deciphered the second, and, effacing that, have read the first,--often the most valuable,--and in this way have brought to light lost works, and found out many important facts of history.

The books of those early days were written out by hand, _manuscripta_; and the profession of the copyist was one of the most numerous, honorable, and lucrative. Some booksellers employed great numbers of copyists, paying them salaries, and made their own livelihood on the profits of selling the works thus copied. There were in Rome, and in some of the great cities of Greece and of Asia, particular places where such works were sold. The rich also sometimes had slaves, prized more highly and treated more familiarly than other slaves, who were devoted by them to copying the works of antiquity and of their time, for their libraries. Government, too, employed a great many copyists for its edicts, and orators employed them in transcribing their discourses. Later, the eunuchs copied at Byzantium the chief works of Greek, Latin, and Hebrew antiquity. Finally, there were the monks, who, in the retirement of the monasteries, gave their time very much to the multiplication of books by the slow process of writing.

In every great religious house, or abbey, there was an apartment called the scriptorium, or writing-room, where boys and young men were employed from morning till night in copying the singing-books of the choir, and the less valuable books of the library. Only a few of the monks copied in this large apartment, enough to give directions, and keep order among the boys and novices. Most of the “Holy Fathers,” as they chose to be styled, spent their time in the cells, transcribing Bibles and other valuable works.

A monk copying. He has a cowl on his head, and wears the priest’s long gown with flowing sleeves. His waist is girt with a belt; and he sits bolt upright, or slightly leans forward in the most perpendicular of arm-chairs, which seems to be joined to the desk of his cell. How curiously he holds his quill and pointed ferule! His prior is cautious and methodical; for he has chained the manuscript from which the monk is copying to the wall, as if experience had taught him that he cannot overmuch trust the brothers.

An author of those times would make a similar appearance, save that there would be no book before him, unless for reference.