Part 6

“We are sure of both,” replied he, “Let me tell thee, wife, nothing yet invented by man, ever made such inroads on ignorance as this will effect. Almost everything we know, we have acquired through the medium of either spoken or written language. The mass of the people are only acquainted with the former. Everybody will, by and by, learn to read and understand written language, and the knowledge locked up in cloisters will be freely poured out to the thirsty multitudes. It is through language that we become wiser and better; and if my discovery succeeds, as it must, the knowledge of the arts, sciences, and religion will be sooner or later spread abroad. Then, no more hoarding of libraries that kings, prelates, and priests alone may read; but the common people, too, will have their books.” Anna listened with pleased interest, and he went on: “God has bestowed great honor on books, as some of the devout authors say, in communicating with us through them; and if holy men of old who spoke as they were moved by the Holy Ghost had not written down what God taught them, where to-day would be our knowledge of our sacred things? And if it was important for God to record his will, may we not suppose that He will give wisdom so that a way may be devised to publish his Word with facility?”

“I must think so, my Anna,” he added, “and I cannot doubt that He has given me skill in what I have undertaken. It grieves me to think what you must have suffered through it, but I trust our days of mourning are ended;” and his happy smile lightened her heart like a sunbeam.

It was still quite early in the day when Gutenberg repaired to Dritzhn’s shop, to exhibit to his associates his invention of separate types. As he entered, he was struck with the settled gloom that rested on Dritzhn’s face. “My improvement has occurred in good time,” thought the inventor; “my partners are getting discouraged.”

“I have something new to show you,” said he to Dritzhn, who was busy engraving the first verses of the third chapter of Matthew.

“New things have nearly ruined us!” retorted Dritzhn, looking up moodily from his work.

“But this is a new method of imprinting, which will save much of our labor,” said Gutenberg, showing the specimens of _bonus homo_ and the “Lord’s Prayer.”

“How does this mode differ from ours?” asked Dritzhn. “You impress with the block, do you not?”

“Nay; I first make letters on bits of wood, tie them together to impress with, and, after using them, take them apart, and set them up for new words.”

“And this tying together and taking apart would consume time,” objected Dritzhn. “I see no advantage in this mode; in my opinion, it would involve us more deeply.”

“But let us try it,” interposed Hielman; “if it will save labor, it is a good thing.”

“Leave well enough alone! I think we shall do better to keep on as we have begun,” said Riffe, with the air of one who had settled the matter.

“Block-printing is by no means to be despised,” answered Gutenberg, “in books of a few pages; but in a large book of many pages, we waste time in cutting letters, as they are only of use for that book, and cannot be taken apart and used for another.”

“I am opposed to any change,” Dritzhn reiterated; “we are sufficiently involved without any new experiments. We cannot do better than keep on with the block books.”

Gutenberg had failed in convincing these men, but he was confident that the practical working of his separate types would yet be an argument they could not resist. He persevered in his experiments, and, in place of engraving on the block, busied himself in adjusting and readjusting his type for the “Lord’s Prayer,” as he found a difficulty in keeping them in place, when he took a second impression.

Dritzhn and Riffe, having little fellowship for this new way of “spending time,” were ready to criticise when the types slipped out of place, as Gutenberg tied them with thread or twine. But before the day was over, he had managed to take several good impressions of the “Lord’s Prayer.” This was well enough, Dritzhn said, but still insisted that he did not see how it was better than if taken with an engraved block, and was in no mood to investigate the matter with candor.

The partners had previously decided to publish the “Speculum Humanæ Salutis,” and they now commenced upon it. The “Speculum” suited both parties, as there were plenty of subjects requiring wood-engravings, and the movable type could also be used in the written portion of the book.

As Gutenberg wrought at his types, he had still to combat the difficulty of making them hold together with sufficient firmness. At first he used strings, then wires. These were easily displaced, and cost him many a hard job of repairing damages, which confirmed Dritzhn and Riffe in the opinion that it was useless to attempt to make them work. It was not reasonable, the former said, that such bits of wood could be made serviceable in book-making. There was some sense in a solid block, and his advice was to keep on in the old way, with which, however, he was often finding fault, for he had enlisted in the enterprise not so much for the love of the art as the love of money. Months of toil and large expenditures had brought comparatively small returns. Some of the firm even began to talk of returning to the old occupation of polishing stones. Riffe continued to echo Dritzhn’s criticisms and complaints.

“Why not keep on with block-printing?” asked the latter, as Gutenberg was busy cutting out his type, or _stucke_ as it was called. “I’ve just got my hand in, and do not wish to give up the trade for whittling sticks, of which I do not see the use.”

“Let me try once more to explain the use,” pleasantly replied Gutenberg. “Suppose the letters of the alphabet were tied together so that you could not separate them, how could you spell words? The letters on a block cannot be taken apart to form other words; but with the separate types it is very different;” and to illustrate his meaning he set up a word in type, printed with it, took the letters apart, or “distributed” them, and framed another word.

Although slow to be convinced, his associates finally acknowledged the necessity of movable type and began to acquire some degree of skill in making them.

An advance on the method by cords and wire, was Gutenberg’s invention of a frame with wedges to keep the types in place. This had the approbation of his partners. It was a great gain, and there was much congratulation when he succeeded in firmly adjusting the _stucke_ so that they had all the advantage of the solid block, with none of its disadvantages.

Taking impressions of the type on paper by friction was slow and unsatisfactory; and Gutenberg, after many experiments, contrived a press to imprint with, and employed a skillful mechanic to make it. This saved, besides other labor, the trouble of pasting the blank backs of the leaves together, as both sides of the paper were imprinted.

A distinguished writer, who assures us that he has had access to the archives of Strasbourg, thus vividly describes this discovery; “Months and years had been consumed--his fortune also and the funds of the association--in patient experiments, in successes, and in reverses. At length, having made a small model of a _press_ which appeared to him to combine all the conditions of printing as he then understood it, he hid the precious miniature under his cloak, and, entering the city, went to a skillful turner in wood and in metal, named Conrad Sachspach, who dwelt at Merchants’ Cross-roads, to ask him to make one of a large size. He left the secret in the machine, only telling him that it was a contrivance by which he proposed to accomplish some _chefs d’œuvre_ of art and mechanics of which a slower process was known. The artisan, taking, turning, and re-turning the model in his hands, with a smile of disdain at the rough sketch completed by Gutenberg, said to him, with a bantering air:--

“‘This is only a simple wine-press that you ask me to make, Master John!’

“‘Yes,’ replied Gutenberg in a serious and dignified tone, ‘it is a wine-press in effect, but it is a press from which shortly shall sprout forth floods of the most abundant and the most marvelous liquor that has ever flowed to quench the thirst of man. By it God shall spread his Word; from it shall flow a fountain-head of pure truth. As a new star, it shall dissipate the darkness of ignorance, and cause to shine on men a light hitherto unknown!’ He withdrew. The mechanic, who understood nothing of these words, executed the machine, and returned it to Gutenberg at the monastery of Arbogast. This was the first press.

“In giving it into the hands of Gutenberg, the workman began to suspect some mystery. ‘I see clearly, Master John,’ said he to Gutenberg, ‘that you are indeed in communication with celestial spirits; so hereafter I shall obey you as one of them--as a spirit!’”

This first press, contrived in the gloomy recesses of the old monastery, was set up in the printing rooms of Dritzhn’s dwelling, but was not at first fully appreciated.

Two years passed, the company cutting a supply of movable type. Some sales were effected, but financial affairs were not flattering.

Meanwhile a new cause of disturbance occurred to impede progress, and waken in Gutenberg’s partners doubts of his uniform infallibility in invention.

It was discovered that ink softened the type, and injured the shape of the letters.

Riffe, one of the first to notice it, became alarmed.

“It is my mind,” said he, “that the bubble has burst. We may as well give up, and engage in our old trade. These uncertainties will never bring grist to the mill.”

“The type does not print as well after it becomes softened by the ink?” said Dritzhn inquiringly to Gutenberg.

“We must expect difficulties,” was the reply, “and seek to overcome them. We must make more fresh type until we can contrive a way of hardening the wood.”

At this the firm murmured against him afresh; nor were they better satisfied as time went on, and “John Dunnius’ bill of one hundred florins was sent in for press-work.”

“Monstrous!” exclaimed Hielman; “we can never afford it.”

“It is all pay out in this business,” Dritzhn added, “and almost nothing coming in to balance the loss.”

“Wait a little,” was Gutenberg’s reply; “we are now sowing the seed; by and by we shall reap our harvests.” And he further appeased their agitation by calling attention to the satisfactory working of the press, and reminded them of the great service it was to them.

“Do you not see,” said he, “that our labor of making _stucke_ is nearly useless without the frame and press? We must either give up the art, and disband, or make the necessary improvements as they are called for.”

While feeling keenly the murmurings of his associates, most indomitable was the spirit that he cherished, having the indispensable attribute of the true inventor,--a passion for his calling, and confidence in ultimate success.

X.

A Partner at the Confessional.--His Death.--Consequences.--A Lawsuit.--Thieves.--Dangerous Curiosity.--Destruction of Gutenberg’s Type.--Curious Testimonies.--Value of the Legal Document.--Proof that Gutenberg was the Real Inventor.--The Magistrate’s Just Judgment.--Public Excitement.

Poor Dritzhn! he was sadly lacking in the spirit which upheld Gutenberg. He was a plain matter-of-fact man, with none of the originator,--content to plant in the spring and reap in the autumn, to work in time-worn paths; but dubious things that were years in maturing, were not suited to his nature. The possibility of failure poisoned his enjoyment, palsied his hand, and enfeebled his step. And this, in 1438, after the short space of two years of suspense in the firm.

Father Melchoir, his spiritual adviser, noticed the change.

“My son,” said he, “something troubles thee; confide the matter to me; perhaps I can help thee.”

“I am indeed in trouble,” replied he, glad of a confidant, for the secret and the doubt of success together wore on him. “I fear that I shall be ruined as to worldly prospects.”

“I trust not: how is it, my son? From what source is the danger?”

“Alas, Father, gladly would I tell thee, but I have bound myself with an oath not to reveal the secret.”

“But, my son, the Church does not recognize oaths in such a case. They are null and void for all purposes whatsoever, and thou art free to tell me all thy heart at the confessional: it is even thy solemn duty to do so.”

Dritzhn was only too easily persuaded, and, despite his sacred oath, told Father Melchoir of his connection with the firm.

“I have given hundreds of florins,” said he, “to bring out a hidden art of writing, with the hope long ere this of selling books and getting profits from my money. A few have been sold, but I have received no dividend. Besides, I have earned but little by my trade for these two long years; my time has been thrown away, and I am poorer than ever.”

“A very sad case!” said Father Melchoir, compassionately.

“This load is too heavy for me to bear,” lamented Dritzhn; “it will kill me! To think of throwing away hundreds of florins on a doubtful art, without in return getting back a single obolus![3] What can I do?”

[3] The very expression of Dritzhn at confessional.

“Get free from this secret league as soon as possible, and resume thy trade.”

“I wish it could be done, Father, but I fear it cannot. If I leave the firm, I shall lose all chance of getting back the money I have lent them. I am in doubt what to do.”

“Leave it by all means!” cried Father Melchoir; “be sure no good will come of their arts.”

“I will see what I can do,” said Dritzhn, and he rose to go. As he entered the shop, he found Gutenberg, Hielman, and Riffe busy setting new type for another work. It was a dictionary, called a “Catholicon.” They were all eager in their toil, and spoke warmly of the ready sale it would find, and the money it would bring in. Dritzhn, a little encouraged, resumed his work with them, nor did he breathe a word of his plan of leaving. It was too great a step to take hastily, although he wished himself safely out of the partnership.

There was so much repairing of type to do, and so many unlooked-for hinderances, that the book was delayed, and 1439 came round before it was finished, although Gutenberg was meanwhile steadily improving his art.

At this point of time, the autumn of 1439, just when they were about realizing their hopes in issuing the “Catholicon,” an event occurred which threw everything into confusion. This was the sudden death of Andreas Dritzhn. If ever the adversary hindered an enterprise, it was the art of printing; he had doubtless reasons of his own for multiplying obstacles.

Accordingly the death of Andreas was the pretext; and directly George and Nicholas, brothers of the deceased, two sturdy jogging Germans, who never harmed a fly, on arriving home from Andreas’s funeral, demanded of Gutenberg, Hielman, and Riffe to be admitted to the partnership!

“Very good,” said Gutenberg; “if we can find it in the contract, it shall be done.” Then, producing the document, he read:--

“ART. 2. If any one of the partners shall die during the copartnership, the survivors shall pay to his heirs the sum of one hundred florins, in consideration of which the effects shall become the property of the surviving partners.”

“Nay, gentlemen, you cannot become partners, but we will pay you what is due as the heirs of Andreas Dritzhn.” Then, looking over the accounts of the firm, he added, “Your brother is indebted to us in the sum of eighty-five florins; we will pay you the remaining fifteen, which will balance accounts.”

George and Nicholas rejected the offer with disdain, and, hastening away, conferred with each other as to what they should do. Two strong principles were at work in their hearts,--avarice and curiosity. From some few hints which Andreas had dropped while living, George and Nicholas were as much excited about the hidden arts of Gutenberg as we covetous moderns are with a chance at a rich vein in a gold mine; and they determined to try a suit at law, and if possible become members of the secret league.

This was in the autumn, and was peculiarly grievous to the inventor. The lawsuit consumed his time, thwarted his plans, and there was great danger that the secrets of his art would become public. The protection of the patent offices was then unknown. No inventor could put in a _caveat_ to hinder the encroachments of trespassers. The lawsuit had bruited abroad that Gutenberg & Co. had a secret art, which, like the philosopher’s stone, turned everything into gold; and curiosity, on tip-toe, used every device to get a peep at the wonder. Gutenberg’s work was at an end. It took all his time to attend the courts, and watch his shop, that no one might steal his art. It required double diligence to do the last, as the shop was in Andreas’s house. Despite his cautions to Hielman and Riffe, one day, in his absence, George and Nicholas managed to take from the shop a part of the printing apparatus. Gutenberg then gave orders to his servants to convey secretly to his house a printing-press and a quantity of letters cut in wood. The theft was a source of great anxiety to him, as he feared that the secret was out. The careful thieves, however, safely hid their booty, and lisped not a word.

At length it became evident to Gutenberg--such was the pitch to which curiosity had risen--that every vestige of the noble art must be destroyed. It was not safe even to hide it in his own house.

“Take the _stucke_ from the forms,” said he to his associates, “and break them up in my sight, that none of them may remain perfect.”

“What, all our labor?” cried Hielman; “here we’ve been at work these three years!”

“Never mind,” replied Gutenberg; “break them up, or some one will steal our art, and we shall be ruined!” and with that they set to work with their hammers and mallets, and the _stucke_ was soon demolished. His precious type lay in the dust, and still the lawsuit was lacerating his sensitive mind.

The following curious testimony was given during this trial:--

“Anna, the wife of John Schultheiss, an engraver on wood, deposed, that on one occasion Nicholas Beildeck came to her house to Nicholas Dritzhn, her relation, and said to him, ‘My Nicholas Dritzhn, Andreas Dritzhn, of happy memory, has placed four pages (_stucke_) in a press, which Gutenberg has desired that you will take away and separate, that no man may know what they are, for he is unwilling that any one should see them.’

“Also John Schultheiss says that Laurence Beildeck [Gutenberg’s servant] sometime came to his house to Nicholas Dritzhn, when Andreas Dritzhn his brother was dead, and that the said Laurence Beildeck thus spoke to said Nicholas Dritzhn: ‘Andreas Dritzhn, of happy memory, has placed four pages on a press, which John Gutenberg desires you to take therefrom, and break them from one another, so that no man may see what they are.’

“Also Conrad Sachspach deposed that sometime Andrew Hielman came to him upon the Street of Merchants, and said, ‘My Conrad, as Andreas Dritzhn is dead, and you made that press and know all about the matter, go hence and take the pieces from the press, and lay them separate from one another, so that no one may know what it is.’

“Laurence Beildeck says that he was sent by John Gutenberg to Nicholas Dritzhn, after the death of Andreas his brother, to say to him that he should show to no one the press that he had, and that he should see to it. He added that Gutenberg had moreover commanded him that he should go suddenly to the presses, and open that press [frame] which was furnished with two _screws_ or spindles (_cochleis_) that the pages should fall into pieces, and place those pieces within or upon the press, so that no one should see the matter, or understand what it was.

“The same witness also said that he knew well that Gutenberg, a little before the Feast of the Nativity [Christmas], had sent his servant to take away all forms, which were broken up in his sight, that none of them might be found perfect. Moreover, after the death of Andreas, the witness was not ignorant that many were desirous of seeing the presses, and that Gutenberg had commanded that some one should be sent who might hinder any one from seeing the presses, and that his servants were sent to break them up.

“Also John Dunnius, goldsmith, said that three years or thereabouts previous, he had received from Gutenberg about three hundred florins for materials relating to printing.”

All this affected the Strasbourgers, both priests and people, very differently from what it does ourselves. We prize it as a legal document, showing the existence of separate types, and also two presses, one of them made by Conrad Sachspach and the other by John Dunnius, to whom the firm paid three hundred florins for press-work done in December, 1436. These presses served very different purposes, as Gutenberg commanded his servant to “open that press which was furnished with two _screws_ or spindles.” Plainly one was the “chase” for type, and the other the upright frame with a screw, which moved down the platen to impress the paper placed upon the type. We learn also that the art was a secret at the time when Laurentius Costar lay at the point of death, and those mistake who give him the honor of inventing printing.

We can picture to ourselves the excitement which prevailed, when a man of Gutenberg’s firm character was led to make such utter destruction of his property after the disclosures of the lawsuit. He may have feared that a lawless mob would invade his shop, and scatter the proofs of his invention, and that some person of ingenuity would get a clew to the art, and rob him of his sacred rights. What hours, days and nights of solicitude he suffered! Those only, who in a good cause have met the scoffs and jeers of the rabble excited by unscrupulous leaders, can well imagine the inventor’s emotions.

Happily, Anna was equal to the emergency, and became a very heroine. She had no idea of being crushed, although for a little while she had given way to despondency, and her strong-hearted courage inspired her husband. His home was a little paradise of peace, the resort of flowers and birds and all beautiful things which she instinctively gathered around her. God’s gracious smile rested upon it, and in this sanctuary Gutenberg’s wounded spirit was soothed; here he gained strength, and girded on his armor anew for the battle of life. The fiercer the strife without, the more blessed the peace within this retreat.

The lawsuit dragged its slow length on until December 12th of that year, when the magistrates gave judgment relieving Gutenberg from “the unjust demand of George and Nicholas Dritzhn, upon the payment of the sum of fifteen florins, being the difference of the sum of one hundred florins due to Gutenberg by Andrew on the original contract.”

This was just what Gutenberg had proposed at first; and his adversaries had their trouble for their pains, without, perhaps, the consolation of knowing how much they had annoyed him. The lawsuit was over, but it had exposed the state of Gutenberg’s affairs, and people were curious to learn more. Rumor was busy with her thousand tongues. “He is not willing that any one should see!” “Something wrong!” and in the spirit of the superstition of the times, many cried out, “Mystery! Witchcraft!” The whole community was in a ferment. Time passed, and a little before the Feast of the Nativity, so faithfully had Gutenberg’s orders as to the destruction of the press and type been executed, that nothing remained of the wonderful art, which since the death of Dritzhn, had so much disturbed the good city of Strasbourg.

XI.