Part 5

“Moreover,” added another, as he compared two copies, “the letters are so exact and regular; why, these two copies have just as many letters and words on a page, made precisely alike!”

“But, the books are unadorned!” broke in Father Melchoir. “And very plain and poverty-stricken they look to me after gazing on our illuminated books, with their beautiful pictures, rich bindings, silk embroidered with gold and silver thread, and their backs of ivory exquisitely carved, or embellished with filigree-work and pearls and precious stones. One would suppose that a lapidary might at least use ornaments that are in his line!”

“I am not ambitious of adornment,” answered Gutenberg. “I would greatly prefer to circulate twelve books in a neat plain dress than one in rich pictures and binding. My twelve books are made to be read; while an embellished copy is only fit to be locked up with clasps, and kept in a chest or cage, to be taken out on great occasions.”

The Superior meanwhile had been absorbed in the copy Gutenberg had presented him, and appeared not to notice the conversation. He now motioned the monks to withdraw; then, turning to Gutenberg, said,--

“I have a word to thee, my son!”

“I am ready to hear, holy Father!”

“Are these books made with the pen of the copyist?” and his keen eye fell on the lapidary with a searching glance.

Gutenberg was embarrassed for an answer.

“It is as I supposed,” continued the Superior. “They are made by engraved blocks, like the ‘St. Christopher’ and the ‘Biblia Pauperum.’”

Gutenberg saw that his secret was out; but his consternation was allayed when the Father added, “It may be that we can furnish you with a work to engrave and imprint. How would you like to undertake with the ‘Biblia Pauperum?’ The copy which belongs to our library is rudely executed, and I doubt not you would greatly improve upon it. It is so rough and uncouth that I sometimes think the original manuscript copy made by Ausgarius in the ninth century must have been a better specimen of art. Think the matter over, my son, and let me know your decision at an early day.”

Gutenberg took leave, and on reaching home consulted the rest of the company about imprinting a new issue of the “Biblia Pauperum.” It chanced that not one of the firm had seen the book, with the exception of Andreas Dritzhn, who once examined the copy in the Cathedral. He was in favor of engaging in the work, if the monks would take copies enough to pay them well for their labor. This was a point which Gutenberg was deputed to ascertain, that there might be no risk in devoting the requisite time to perfect the engraving,--an undertaking of no small magnitude.

Accordingly, shortly after, Gutenberg made another visit to the Cathedral to confer with the Superior. He met with a cordial greeting, and almost abruptly the Father began:--

“And what is thy decision, son Gutenberg; wilt thou prepare for us new copies of the ‘Biblia Pauperum?’”

“I shall rejoice to engage in the enterprise,” was the reply, “if I can do so without too much risk, but it will be a slow and toilsome undertaking, involving much expense”--

“Which you will be paid for when it is finished.”

“But who will buy the book?”

“A goodly number of priests will need copies,” replied the Father. “The forty curious pictures of which the book is composed, were designed to illustrate a series of skeleton sermons. They are of great use in stirring the preacher’s imagination, and storing his memory with excellent texts. The book, therefore, is mainly suited to the different religious orders, and will have sale chiefly among them. Still, as it is taken from the Bible, and called the ‘Bible for the Poor,’ others will buy it besides the priests, and it may have a wide circulation. Numbers will be needed to give the monks each a chance to examine it as often as is desirable, although the different copies will be chained in cages, or on tablets, that no person may appropriate one solely to his own use.”

This was an era in the affairs of Gutenberg. His art was acknowledged and patronized by the Superior, and he himself really promoted above the monks, who were prominent not only among the book-makers or book-sellers, but the literati of their day. Still Gutenberg, as he called to mind the jealousy of Father Melchoir, feared fully to rely on patronage from the friars; and it was only the assurance of the worthy Superior that induced him to engage in the expensive enterprise of bringing out a new “Biblia Pauperum.”

“Tarry a little,” said the Abbot, as the lapidary was leaving; “I will lend thee our ‘Biblia,’ for a copy.” Then going to the side of the room where the light streamed in from a lofty painted window, he unlocked a cage, and taking the valued book from a gilded bracket, unfastened the chain which confined it to the wall, and, carefully wrapping it in paper, gave it to Gutenberg, who hastened away, intent on the new project before him.

Dritzhn had become a skillful engraver, but it was necessary to secure the services of two other wood-engravers, residing in Strasbourg, to whom the subjects were carried,--cuts being taken from the “Biblia” and given to them, one by one, as they could execute them. In this way the pictures were finished in the course of a few months. Gutenberg, Riffe, and Hielman engraved the inscriptions explaining the cuts, of which those at the top and bottom of the page consisted of Scripture and Leonine verses, so called from Leo, the inventor, the end of each line rhyming with the middle, as for example:--

“Gloria _factorum_ temere conceditur _horum_.”

The engraving of this “Poor Man’s Bible” was a great work; and only the invincible energy, enthusiasm, and perseverance of those early artisans enabled them to accomplish it in so short a time. To form some idea of its magnitude, we must keep in mind that each page contained four busts, or figures of persons; the two upper ones represented the prophets, or others whose names were beneath them; the two lower figures are unknown, or can only be conjectured. In the middle of the pages, which are all marked by letters from the alphabet, were three historical pictures, one of which was from the New Testament.

A fac-simile of this curious and ancient work can be seen in the Public Library, Boston, and will richly repay the trouble of examination. This has, however, forty-eight engravings, which may indicate that the work, as first issued by Ausgarius in the ninth century, was comparatively meagre, and grew to its present proportions by successive issues and by the hand of different artists.

In due time the firm was busy in imprinting and binding the choice volume, delighted with the good prospect of remuneration for it; and as soon as one copy was completed, Gutenberg again betook him to the Cathedral to exhibit it to the Abbot, who was warm in his praise of the work.

“This is as I would have it,” said he, with a beaming face, “it is elegantly executed, and more in keeping with the themes which it illustrates. Our priests will now have no excuse for stupid sermons when they officiate in the chapel or cathedral. Thou hast done nobly, and thy labors will subserve the interests of the Church.”

He then bestowed on him a generous sum, as an earnest of the full amount, when the copies he had engaged, were delivered; and Gutenberg, with a happy heart, despite the glance he had of Father Melchoir’s frowning visage, returned to his cottage to rejoice with Anna.

“It is just as I anticipated,” she exclaimed. “I knew thou wouldst triumph. Only to think, a real ‘Biblia Pauperum’ made by my John Gutenberg! I am proud and happy; we shall yet see good days. Then it will so enliven us to have a copy in the house, for I have thy promise of one of each book thou mayst make.”

“Aye, my Anna, that is as little as I can do; when I get rich, I hope to add to thy wardrobe, as well as to our library;” and he glanced painfully at her plain russet gown, for through all his experiments she had practiced a rigid economy in dress.

“When thou art rich,” replied Anna, “I will not refuse the gifts thy kind heart inclines thee to give; but for the present, I am content.”

The “Biblia” sold better than any previous work, and Gutenberg and partners were much gratified. They did not, however, realize as much money as if they had kept to the lapidary and mirror business. The demand for books was so small, a market had to be created; and this required time and the slow progress of events.

But so much pleased were they with their endeavors, that, sanguine of still better success, they soon issued one of the books of the Bible entire. This was the Canticles, or Solomon’s Song, and, like the “Biblia Pauperum,” printed only on one side of the page from engraved wooden blocks. A copy of this work is carefully treasured among antiquities in the British Museum.

Such was the estimation in which it was held as a work of art, and such its sale, that Gutenberg was led to attempt greater things; he even conceived the idea of printing the entire Bible. Anna was greatly in favor of the undertaking.

“All thou wouldst have to do,” said she, vivaciously, “would be to make more blocks,--a block for a page; and it would be so much better than copying. For a monk, if he lives to a good old age, and is diligent with his pen, can only write out two Bibles; and printing from blocks is much greater speed than that.”

“True, Anna,” was the reply; “but hast thou an idea how long it would take to engrave the blocks for the entire Bible?”

“Nay; but thou art so expert that assuredly it would not take thee long,--a few months, I suppose, at farthest. I do hope that thou wilt commence on this work at once. It is so desirable to have the Bible issued by thy art.”

“But let us calculate a little, my dear Anna. There are seven hundred pages in the Bible. By close application, I cannot engrave carefully and suitably more than two pages a month; and I must be full three hundred and fifty months, or nearly thirty years, in engraving blocks enough for the Holy Book!”

“Why, that would be dreadful!” cried Anna in dismay. “Thou wouldst be an old man long before it was done; it would even take thy life-time!”

“Yes, Anna, and this process of engraving fine letters on blocks, when pursued closely, is dimming to the eyes; I should be blind before my work was half done.”

“But thou couldst divide thy labors with thy workmen, couldst thou not?”

“Aye, if I can persuade them to undertake so formidable an enterprise. But the men are getting weary of large works, and beg me to choose smaller ones; they assert that the new process is no better for a large book than copying. Perhaps, however, we can issue the Gospels gradually, by taking one book at a time.”

“Perhaps thou canst,” echoed Anna sadly.

Although Gutenberg was depressed when he thought of the immense labor involved in imprinting so large a work as the Bible, yet he was not wholly disheartened. This was the secret of his success; he would not give up; was not frightened by difficulties; what the faint-hearted would deem impossible, he feared not to attempt. The art of printing would have remained undiscovered until this day without this courageous perseverance.

Gutenberg said nothing to his associates about attempting the execution of the whole Bible; indeed, he dared not entertain the idea himself; but he proposed that they publish the Gospels. They thought this too large a work. He replied that they could imprint the Gospel of St. Matthew, and do as seemed best about the remainder; this was complete in itself, and would find a ready sale.

Accordingly they were soon hard at the task of engraving blocks for the Gospel of Matthew. Dritzhn demurred, as he mechanically toiled away, saying, “Unless prospects brighten, we shall never get back our money.”

Fault-finding is contagious; and Hielman and Riffe soon manifested a similar spirit. Those were gloomy days. Gutenberg meanwhile said little, but wrought at his block with renewed vigor. It was nearly completed; a few turns and gashes of the keen-pointed instrument, and it would be done; when by a slip of the hand the wood was split asunder!

Dritzhn looked up aghast, as much as to say, “How can we afford this great waste of time and labor?” Gutenberg’s quick eye interpreted the glance, and his ingenuity was put to the test of repairing the loss. He commenced fitting the block together in order to save some of the work at least. While thus engaged, the thought occurred to him, What if the carved block were broken up into separate letters, so that they might be put together in any words desired?

He seized his knife and split the wood into the letters carved on its surface. Thus he had wooden type, which he arranged in various words. The light of a great invention had dawned. Absorbed in thoughts of its advantages, he heeds not the curious eyes of his comrades, as they intently regard him, wondering at his apparently aimless performance.

He was a philosopher, and in his search after the natural and practical came to reason thus:--

“I want a system of impressing characters suited to the language. In Latin there are twenty-four letters, and the same letters are used over and over to spell many thousands of words. In a page of words I employ portions of the alphabet a number of times; and after I have done printing with the block, the carved letters are lost. If I could contrive a way of separating them, I could rearrange them without cutting new ones, and apply them to another page of different matter.

“I must, then, have my letters for printing, separate, like the letters of the alphabet, so that I can handle them as readily as I use letters to form words. I must carve the letters in wood with little handles to them, that I may take them up, and place them together as if I were spelling!”

Thus did the patient hero seize upon the idea of movable type,--the key-stone of the art of printing. He soon tried another experiment; splitting a block into strips, and working it down to the right size, he carved a letter on the end of it. This cost him care and labor, for it was more difficult than engraving on the solid block. Many bits of wood were carved before he succeeded in getting a letter to suit him. But after many trials he made one, then another, and another, taking pains to form the sticks of the right thickness, so that when they were placed together, the letters would not be too far apart.

When he had the alphabet carved, each letter on the end of a little wooden peg, he had twenty-four type letters,--quite a little pile,--which he regarded with pride and satisfaction, and called them _stucke_, or type. Like a child in his first efforts in reading, so he carefully spelt his way onward.

_Bonus homo_, “a good man,” were the words he first tried with his type. Taking the bits of wood with the letters _bonus_, he placed them one after the other as he spelt the word, and fastened them together with a string. But when he came to the next word, as he had only one _o_, he stopped and made two more before the word could be set up. As he tried other words, he found that he needed more letters; so, taking time, he cut out a large number of types for each letter in the alphabet. These he placed separately in little boxes to prevent them from being mixed. There was the box of A’s, the box of B’s, the box of C’s, and so on for all the letters. This was a font of movable type, the first ever made, and the great step of progress in his invention.

If you will try the experiment of cutting type out of wood, you will more readily perceive the difficulties attending it. It was the work of months to accomplish this, which we have noted in two or three pages.

As Gutenberg went on setting up _bonus_ in type, he found an obstacle in keeping the letters together, so that he could rub ink on them and print. Evening came, and he took them home to remedy the difficulty, and notched the edges of the two outside letters, the _b_, and the _s_, that he might tie them firmly with the linen thread he had provided. This fastening them together, that they might bear the impression of the solid block, was also a study; but he was not to be turned aside by obstacles. He had energy, courage, perseverance, and ingenuity; for Providence was inspiring him for his work.

IX.

Anna’s Disappointment.--Dritzhn’s Regrets.--Comfort for Anna.-- Gutenberg’s Progress described.--The Great Enlightener.-- Advantages of Movable Type.--Another Book.--Obstacles.-- Criticisms.--Invention.--A Press contrived.--New Cause of Disquiet.

As for Anna, usually so hopeful, she was much disquieted when her husband told her that block-printing was only suited to small books, and that some other method must be sought out, or he could not issue large works. She had her heart on retrieving their affairs by the sale of books, and was bitterly disappointed that the new art could not at once, if ever, bring the hoped for prosperity.

Dritzhn’s life was embittered with vain regrets; each hour of the day was vocal with his murmurs and forebodings. Under these circumstances, Gutenberg did not feel free to take his rightful share of the small profits, and, in consequence, the allowance for family expenses was not sufficient to furnish his home with comforts and keep Want, the gaunt wolf, away. And so it came about that one day Anna sat sewing in her dwelling, the picture of grief, and bitterly reproaching herself for the advice she had given her husband to turn aside from the sure returns of the artisan to the uncertainties of invention. The garment she was making fell from her hands, and she exclaimed,--

“Alas! I am the foolish woman that plucketh her house down with her hands! I had not the wisdom to give my husband good counsel!” Thus she bewailed herself with bitter tears and reproaches till evening, when, hearing Gutenberg’s step as he returned from St. Arbogast, she quickly wiped away her tears, and strove to meet him with composure.

“Why, Anna!” he cried, as he beheld her woe-begone face, “art thou ill? Are our friends dead? Speak, and tell me!” And as she revealed the source of her disquiet, he said cheerily,--

“My Anna, thou must take a juster view of things. Brighter days are in store for us. Thou dost not know what I have discovered!”

“But I know too well what _I_ have discovered,” she rejoined; “it is that we are beggars. There is no food in the house, and I can go no more to the provision merchants until they are paid. It is dreadful to think how we have spent our money!” To such an extremity of speech was poor Anna brought in her trial.

“O Anna! Anna!” exclaimed Gutenberg, distressed for her, “dost thou see these bits of wood? I have cut a letter on the end of each. I fasten them together thus;” and he held up the type of the word _bonus_. “I ink them, and press them on paper thus. See how beautifully they print;” and he showed the word impressed in clear characters.

“But is it not presumption to trust longer to uncertainties?” cried Anna; “they cannot bring food into the house. We are poor.”

“My Anna,” soothingly said the kind husband, “dost thou forget that I have conceived a great invention, and that thou art really as rich as a queen?”

“O, the wild dream!” returned Anna, smiling through her tears, comforted by his sympathy, “I shall trust it when it pays our debts, and feeds and clothes us. We are verily poor, and I see not how vain imaginings can help us.”

“But, dear, my patrimony is not all gone. I have land still unsold at Mentz; and as I cannot realize money from these immediately, I promise thee that if this invention does not help our affairs in a month, I will relinquish it for the present, and return to polishing gems for a livelihood.”

It was a rough and thorny way that the inventor trod, reaching after that great gift which God held out to man, and no wonder that Anna, in this time of trial, pleaded with him to turn back, watering his path with her tears.

Gutenberg slept little the night of the revelation of movable type. He deemed the invention most important; and before his mind, stimulated to unusual action, some of the great changes which would ensue from his discovery, were dimly portrayed. Like the prophets who understood not the full import of their own utterances, but inquired diligently to know what the spirit which was in them did signify, so the discoverer of the wonderful art could only hope that it was the introduction of something glorious; and that hope was thenceforth his guiding star amid the darkness of his earthly lot. With the first ray of morning he was at his work, to test more fully the new types. Setting them up, he fastened them together, and printed the same words as before. _Bonus homo_ shone with the halo of _eureka_ to Gutenberg’s eye. “I have found it!” he exclaimed, and, starting off to market, brought home food for the day.

Gustav Nieritz, a German writer, thus describes Gutenberg’s progress:--

“He set to work with the utmost eagerness. Out of a piece of hard wood he sawed some thousand tiny blocks, a few inches long, and very narrow. At one end he cut a letter in relief, and bored a hole through the other. After having thus furnished himself with a considerable number of the letters of the alphabet, he placed whole words together, and arranged them in lines on a string, until they formed a page, when he bound them together with wire, and so prevented their falling asunder. He then blackened his wooden type with ink, and taking up the whole together, pressed upon it a sheet of paper. And now let us place ourselves in his position, and enter into his feelings as he beheld the first fruits of his long, unwearied labors.

“With a trembling hand he caught up the printed paper. It had succeeded beyond his expectation. Tears ran down his cheeks as he gazed on it with ecstacy. It was the Lord’s Prayer, with which he had made almost his first attempt at printing with types.

“Often had his lips uttered the words of prayer, whilst he was thinking only of his invention; now, however, their meaning came clearly upon his mind, and his grateful soul turned fervently to the Father of all light, from whom this light also had come, which would enlighten men as no other human invention could do. He fell upon his knees, holding the sheet of paper in both hands, and repeated the prayer it contained with his whole heart. O! it was not for the sake of worldly gain that he rejoiced in his discovery. It was that it freed him from the debt that he had long ago incurred. He might be called a dreamer and an idler: he neither heard nor regarded.

“‘Anna!’ he cried, throwing his arms round her, ‘here is the gold brocade cap, and all the rest besides which I promised you. I have succeeded, and our fortune is made.’ His wife shook her head incredulously, and said with a sigh:--

“‘I wish you would give up these fancies, and return to your work.’ Gutenberg smiled, but persevered.”

“My Anna!” said the inventor, some little time later, as he showed her other specimens of his work, “I trust that our poverty will soon be over. You shall yet ride in a coach, and dine like a queen. My invention is a certainty.”

“I only wish comforts and a competence,” returned Anna tearfully.