Part 7

Benighted.--Minstrel of the Hearth.--The Black Art.--A Barefoot Friar.--Popular Prejudice.--Hopes and Fears.--Gutenberg returns to his Trade.--Dissolution of the Copartnership.

The country of the Rhine was visited by a wintry tempest from the North Sea. Benighted, Gutenberg, wrapped in his monk’s cloak, little heeded the roaring winds and cutting blasts, as, after destroying the work of years, he bade adieu to Dritzhn’s shop, and hurried homeward. The storm of life, the contest with his fellow-men, was more pitiless to him than the fierce raging of the elements.

It was quite dark when Anna, placing a light in the window, stirred the fire, and sat down to await his coming. The supper table was invitingly spread, and the covered dish of food placed by the fire to keep warm.

“Why does he not come? May God preserve him from unreasonable men;” and she caught up her work to while away the time. An hour passed, seeming to Anna much longer, when a cricket, warmed into consciousness by the genial heat, hopped out of his covert, coated with dust, and blithely sang.

“A good omen!” mused Anna; and shortly after, true enough, there was a stamping on the step, and a shaking of garments; and, springing to the door, she welcomed her husband.

“O, it is yourself! come at last. But you look like a huge white bear!” And she gayly laughed as she drew him in, and brushed off the snow. “I was in fear lest some evil had overtaken you, until our dear little cricket piped on the hearth, as if to assure me that you were almost here.”

“Yes,” replied Gutenberg, throwing off his cloak, and hanging it on its peg in the corner, “and my Anna and my home welcome me as cheerily as ever.”

“We at least ought to comfort thee when the world without weareth such dark frowns.”

“Ave, aye, there is need of comfort. But I divine that some one has been here in my absence, and given thee cause of anxiety.”

“O, nothing worth minding,” returned the little wife. “Let us sup, and speak of the bright side of life.”

“I am puzzled to find it; but thou canst point it out doubtless.”

“Shall we forget,” said Anna, “the mercy and the blessing that we are spared to each other, and that no lawless mob has invaded our peace?”

“Aye, we do well to remember that it might be worse with us,” was the reply; and having reverently said grace, for a time supper was discussed in silence, for Anna’s last question had awakened grave thoughts. Suddenly the cricket broke out anew with his shrill note.

“What does the creature mean?” asked Gutenberg. “Does he dream that it is summer?”

“Bethink thee; he is the insect prophet of hope. He is saying, ‘Bright days are coming, never fear!’”

“I trust the hearth minstrel is right; he will at least be useful in making me sleep well; his song sounds like a lullaby! But now that supper is over, what of thy visitor?”

“It was John Schultheiss’ wife,” replied Anna.

“That dark-browed woman! Why came she?”

“To comfort me with evil tidings; to tell me that it had been clearly proved in court that thy hidden art was no better than witchcraft, but that such was the inefficiency of the magistrates that they gave decision in thy favor. Some believe that thou art in league with the devil, and can enchant them or spoil their goods.”

“What superstition!” exclaimed Gutenberg; “this comes of ignorance, and the scarcity of books!”

“I did not reason with her, or make reply, and she soon left; and soon after, Simon, the Barefoot Friar, appeared. His religion, as you know, consists in clothing himself in rags, begging from house to house, and paying for his welcome in prayers and benedictions. As I opened the door in answer to his loud knocking, he cried out, ‘God save the house!’ then, as he came in, added, ‘God save the house, and all that’s in it! God save it to the north!’ and he made the sign of the cross in every direction towards which he turned. ‘God save it to the south! + to the east! + and to the west! + Save it upwards!’ turning his eyes heavenward, and crossing himself, ‘and save it downwards! + Save it backwards! + and save it forwards! + Save it right! + and save it left! + Save it by night! + and save it by day! + Save it here! + and save it there! + Save it this way! + and save it that way! + Save it eating! + + + and save it drinking! + + + + + + + + Oxis Doxis Glorioxis, Amen.’”

Gutenberg joined Anna in a merry laugh at this farce, as she went on rehearsing the idle priest’s performance.

“‘And how are you, gracious lady, now that I have blessed the place in the name of Saint Peter and all the Apostles and the nine patriarchs? Isn’t a merry Christmas coming to you? And isn’t there plenty of good cheer in the house?’ So I made him welcome, giving him a seat by the fire, and a dish of the best food the house afforded.

“‘You don’t say that you’re prospering,’ said he, as I helped him to the second supply; for he ate like some great animal.

“‘We are in trouble!’ I answered.

“‘I know it!’ he exclaimed, with a laugh, munching a mouthful and clapping his hands. ‘I had it revealed to me! I know all about it; and I know the prayer for it. Oxis Doxis! + + + If you’d only sent to me in the first of it, I could have kept your trouble back, and I can now be a hindering cause to it, and get you safely through, for I know the prayer for it; Oxis Doxis! + and I’ll go at it directly when I get refreshed.’”

“His own comfort first!” said Gutenberg, laughing.

“Yes,” replied Anna, “and isn’t he a good specimen of that class of priests, who are really only beggars? All so wise in their own opinion, and so ready to instruct every one they meet. How different from the devout and learned priests who minister the services of our holy church!”

“But how didst thou get rid of him?”

“After he had eaten like a glutton, he was ready to give me religious instruction. ‘Do you know, gracious lady,’ said he, devoutly crossing himself, ‘that you are the very likeness of the Blessed Virgin? I know it, for she communicates with me from heaven.’

“‘Does she speak to you, Simon?’ I asked.

“‘The Blessed Virgin herself does so, and no one else,’ he answered. ‘And now let me tell thee, daughter, what she said to me only last night. I was just composing myself to sleep, after opening my window a little ways to let her in,--for she is in the habit of appearing to me,--when a silvery cloud came floating through the air, and the Blessed Lady alighted, came in, and took her seat upon my bed. I made haste to say my “Ave Maria,” she the while sweetly smiling; and after I had said _Ora pro nobis_ exactly nine hundred and ninety-nine times, our holy Queen of Heaven and Mother of God opened her ruby lips, showed me her pearly teeth, and revealed to me that the Barefoot Friars are the dearest to her of all the orders of monks; and she showed me an easy way to get to heaven, making me a solemn promise that whoever dies with a Barefoot Friar’s cloak on, shall assuredly go to heaven.’”

“The impostor!” exclaimed Gutenberg. “Does he teach such doctrines as these? Of what avail could his cloak be in such a matter? I do not wonder that John Wickliffe was stirred up to denounce such men almost a century ago!”

“When I remember,” said Anna, “that Henry II. found out one hundred murders committed by priests, I am afraid to refuse the beggar friars when they ask for food. I know not what they might do when angry. They would at least curse me, and call down the judgments of Heaven.”

“Which would harm thee as little as it did Wickliffe,” said Gutenberg. “It is related of him that when he was very sick, the friars burst into his room with abusive language and curses, prophesying his death and torment, which so roused him that he sprang from his bed and drove them out, saying, ‘I shall not die, but live to declare the evil deeds of you friars.’”

“Would there were more like him!” said Anna.

“We have some pious priests,” replied Gutenberg, “but others are corrupt and time-serving. Occasionally one studies the Bible, and is guided by its precepts; but there are so few copies of the sacred Word, that all cannot have it if they would. If its laws were more generally known, there would be a reformation in the lives of many of these men. I had my heart on multiplying copies of this Book of books, but alas! my plans have been frustrated!” and the tears dimmed his eyes.

“Never fear, thou wilt yet be prospered,” returned Anna, soothingly. “Wickliffe did not fail in what he attempted, neither wilt thou fail of accomplishing something worthy of thy aims and efforts.”

“But my work is done in Strasbourg. I cannot stem this tide of prejudice and jealousy.”

“Strasbourg is not all the world,” rejoined Anna. “We can remove where people and priests are not against thee.”

“But unless God interposes,” said Gutenberg, “I have no hope that I shall ever return to my art.”

At the close of the lawsuit, Gutenberg found himself overwhelmed with debt. His presses, type, and all his printing materials were destroyed. He was a poor man, and must start anew in the world. And such was the popular prejudice against his beloved art, that he saw it was useless to attempt it again. Besides, Riffe and Hielman were now wholly averse to the business; they urged that it had never been profitable, and that defeat and disaster had attended its prosecution. It only remained for them to resume the lapidary trade in the little shop of Gutenberg’s cottage. This served a good purpose in allaying the excitement which had been stirred up by the revelations of the lawsuit. And the inventor was thankful that he had something positive to fall back upon in the hour of his extremity, and often contrasted his condition with what it would have been otherwise.

With the weight of a bitter disappointment resting upon him, he wrought successfully at his trade, despite the efforts of certain evil disposed persons, who sought to crush him in the hour of his defeat. Now he had little intercourse with his fellow-citizens and the monks of the Cathedral, save in the way of business. It was the time of his reverses, and he had fewer friends than formerly.

By constant application he managed to get a comfortable support and pay his most pressing liabilities; for the rest he suppressed his noble tastes. It was vain to stem the tide of poverty, ill-will, and evil surmisings which would infallibly meet him, had he the means even to attempt the prosecution of his favorite aims. Yet in his dreams he was often cutting type and working his press as of old. How he sighed to find them only dreams!

Thus, with alternations of hopes and fears, the latter predominating, passed the period till the close of 1441, at which time he was glad to be released from all connection with Riffe and Hielman. There was little congeniality to make their daily intercourse agreeable, and no one of the firm proposed another term of contract.

XII.

Congenial Quiet.--Making Type again.--Gutenberg issues “Absies.” --Peter Schoeffer.--Decides to remove to Mentz.--Emotions of Gutenberg.--Fraternal Sympathy.--The Meeting with Faust.--Table Talk.--Removal.

The dissolution of the firm was in some respects a benefit to the lapidary. He had time for quiet thought, and, as in years gone by, his shop was his sanctum. Feeling at ease, his work progressed rapidly, and his day’s task was often accomplished ere the sun declined, when instinctively his hand followed the bent of his mind, and engaged in cutting _stucke_. He said nothing of this to Anna, until, by accumulations of spare hours’ work, he had made a fount of type. He then surprised her by showing his treasures.

“That is so much like thee, John!” she exclaimed. “I do believe thou wilt yet even receive the reward of thy perseverance; but thou canst not attempt great things now, not having the means of making a press, and with no one to assist thee.”

“I have made this type in the leisure after my daily work,” was the reply; “I can, moreover, devote a portion of my energies to preparing apparatus for imprinting; it will, however, avail me little in this place. Nevertheless, I shall work on, hoping that it will at some time turn to account.”

Gutenberg’s evenings were henceforth occupied in constructing a frame to inclose the type, and a printing-press; but it was some two years from the time of the disbanding of the firm before he was ready to print. He then issued an alphabetical table, called the “Absies.” This was a one page book, and had besides the alphabet, an Address to the Virgin Mary, and the Lord’s Prayer. He had designed it for the use of the pupils in the Cathedral school, but it was some time before he had courage to attempt introducing it.

A little incident decided him. It happened one morning that Peter Schoeffer, a scholar who had assisted in selling the block books, and now famed for his skill in penmanship, came into the shop. He had at one period called often, and a friendship had sprung up between himself and the inventor. The latter, sure of his sympathy, showed him a copy of the “Absies.” Schoeffer was highly pleased, and said,--

“According to my thinking, this is what we need in our school. The letters are regular and plain, and it would save great labor in copying.” He then volunteered to bring the work to the notice of his teacher; and after inquiry and examination the school was furnished with the “Absies.”

Time passed, Gutenberg leading much the same life,--mostly engaged in the lapidary business, and printing a small page occasionally; in this last work having little patronage. It was, indeed, useless to attempt printing at Strasbourg; the old prejudice reviving as soon as it was known that he had made any new issues. He resolved, therefore, to abandon the place forever. But where should he go? As was natural, he decided to return to Mentz, the home of his childhood and youth. In this decision Anna fully concurred, sensible that her husband could never succeed in the place of his defeat.

Gutenberg was deeply moved on approaching his native city, Mentz. He had left it in the buoyancy of youth, a chevalier; less than a score of earnest, struggling, eventful years pass, and he returns an artisan. Humiliation, indigence, and glory had wrestled in his destiny. The lawsuit had spread his fame through Germany; but poor, ruined, condemned, he comes back with aching heart and disappointed hopes to reconstruct, if possible, his fallen fortunes. His parents were no more; and hesitatingly he drew near the old home, a stately ancestral dwelling. How would his brother receive him and his in the day of his adversity? Would he find him estranged by the cruel slanders of the Strasbourg busybodies? He well knew that he should miss the loving ministrations of his sister Hebele, as, soon after his departure, she had joined the St. Claire Convent; and now he realized as never before, her living burial. Alas! she seemed dead to her friends. Forebodingly he crossed the threshold of his fathers; but Friele, true brother that he was, met him joyfully, bidding him welcome again and again. This sympathy was most grateful to the wanderer in his reverses; still he was only half-satisfied, he so much longed for help in his beloved art; but how could he speak of it, and perchance break the spell of their happy meeting? Friele had, however, learned many passages of his late history from Gutenberg’s occasional letters to his mother, and eagerly questioned him for farther particulars. This led the inventor to dwell on his struggles to bring out an art which would multiply books, and lessen the labor of making them. Friele listened intently, yet was doubtful of new things. He promised, however, to aid him in some feasible way. This might be the work of time, and meanwhile he begged him to be hopeful and happy, expressing his conviction that all would yet turn out for the best. This loving reception was balm to the wounded spirit of the inventor; and feeling that he could safely confide in his brother, he showed him some of the works he had printed, and the printing materials which he had brought with him, at the same time acknowledging more fully his strong wish of commencing the business in Mentz.

Friele was increasingly interested, and hoped to be able to assist him; meanwhile Gutenberg decided to rent a small cottage, and pursue his business of the lapidary; occupying himself as he might be able, in fitting up his printing apparatus.

One day, some time after, as he was passing the Church of St. Christopher, he met his brother Friele in earnest discourse with a stranger, whom he introduced as John Faust, saying to Gutenberg, smilingly,--

“We were just speaking of thee, brother John!”

“I am most happy to meet thee!” said Faust, cordially. “I should know you from your resemblance to your father. I am well-acquainted with your cousins and all your kindred; I esteem them highly, and heartily welcome back a former townsman,--a member of one of our patrician families.”

Friele pleasantly bowed and passed on, as Faust continued:--

“Your brother has given me some account of your efforts in the arts; and I am desirous of learning more respecting them.”

The heart of Gutenberg was touched by the genuine interest in himself and his endeavors, manifested by the rich goldsmith; and the two new friends were soon walking the streets absorbed in conversation.

“I have devised a most important invention,” said Gutenberg, “and it remains hidden like a buried seed till the rain and sunshine bring it up to light and fruitage. Would that I had my hoarded patrimony, that I might render my discovery available! But such is the necessity of keeping the details of my processes, that I have not ventured to apply for money to prosecute the art.”

“If I had a full understanding of what it is, I might perhaps assist thee,” returned the banker.

“It concerns book-making,” explained Gutenberg, for Faust was fast winning his confidence. “You are aware that the great work of the monasteries in Germany, as elsewhere, is copying books, and that they receive vast sums for their works. My new process doth entirely supercede their toil, and fashioneth books without the labor of copying.”

“Impossible!” ejaculated Faust.

“But I can demonstrate it!”

“Good, if thou canst prove it beyond all question. But what money is needed to carry out thy wonderful discovery?”

“Some two or three thousand florins,” answered Gutenberg.

“If I were convinced,” returned the other, “that it would pay better than goldsmithing,--but I must see specimens of thy work, before committing myself to the enterprise.”

“And I will with pleasure show them you, provided you will pledge yourself that, if convinced, you will invest in the undertaking. Meanwhile rest assured that it will yet pay richly. Why, consider what moneys the monks receive; and my books will be more in demand, since they are better executed.”

“As to books,” remarked the goldsmith, “according to my thinking there are enough in the world already. They serve little purpose save to turn active men into mopers. Nevertheless, as people will have them, there can be no harm that we should make a profit by furnishing them. They may as well have books as jewelry and mirrors, which gratify their vanity.”

“I think so,” replied the inventor, smiling; “and when you come to know my art, you cannot fail to admire it.”

“Art!” exclaimed Faust jocosely, “hath it aught to do with the black art? I could not abide that. Much as I value money, I would not league myself with the Evil One.”

“By no means,” said Gutenberg, a mirthful expression breaking over his care-worn face, “and you have no greater abhorrence of such wickedness than myself.” Then seriously, “I believe in using the wisdom that God giveth. As saith St. James, ‘If any man lack wisdom, let him ask of God, who giveth unto all men liberally, and upbraideth not.’”

“But what if thou art deceived in thy business calculations? What then will become of my money?” asked Faust.

“There can be no mistake,” was the answer. “I have put the discovery to practical use; I have made books by it, and there can be no illusion. This I will demonstrate before we sign a contract. If it were not a great discovery, and most beneficent and far-reaching in its results, I would not be thus earnest to bring it out. But to delay is risking too much; in case of my death, it would perish with me.”

“If I can be convinced that it is a certainty,” returned Faust, “I will furnish capital; but I cannot abide a doubt. As I said, if I am satisfied, we will draw up and sign an agreement; you, on your part, to teach me the secrets of the art; I, on my part, to provide money; and the profits to be shared equally.”

He then agreed to come and spend the ensuing day at Gutenberg’s house, examining specimens of his work and investigating the practicability of his invention.

It was noon the next day when Gutenberg took Faust home with him, to the dismay of Anna, who, since her preoccupied husband had forgotten the marketing, had only the prospect of a dinner of herbs for her guest. At length, in her anxiety, she heard the sound of a fisherman’s horn; and, sallying out into the street, she purchased a great treasure,--a fish. In due time the simple repast was ready; and when they were seated at the table, Faust, reverting to the subject of their previous conference, said,--

“Your invention has something to do with engraving on wood. How can that be less laborious than copying?”

“It is precisely to draw your attention to that point that I spoke of it,” replied Gutenberg. “With that alone we could not even imprint a large work in a life-time. But if, instead of engraving a whole page on a solid block, we use a small movable block for engraving each letter, you see that we can then use the same letters any number of times, and so lessen our labors beyond all calculation. This is the first great step of my invention. Does it not seem simple? Why did no one think of it before?”

He then described the process by which he reached his various improvements, dwelling especially on his invention of the press.

“You must have a world of perseverance!” observed Faust, admiringly.

“When one gets on the track of a great idea,” said Gutenberg, a handsome glow tinging his cheeks, “it is hard to give it up.”

“But you are an artist in gems,” interrupted Faust. “Who executed the work in wood for you?”

“Conrad Sachspach, at Strasbourg, made the frame, following my directions. But I must show you some of my books;” and, rising, he produced a number, and among them the “Speculum,” which was made partly from blocks and partly from movable type.

“Are these really specimens of books, Master Gutenberg?” asked Faust with surprise. “Wonderful! wonderful! thou hast wisely devised a most useful art, that will shortly bring thee both riches and renown!”

“And thou hast the faculty to quickly comprehend my art,” replied Gutenberg with a beaming face.

“That is true,” added Anna, “and it is so blessed to be appreciated. But while you warm over your theme, dinner gets cold!” and a laugh went round the table.

“This is a worthy deed of thine, madam,” replied Faust, “preparing a good dinner, and making us laugh. Physicians would commend thee.”

“What would they say to my husband? wouldn’t they counsel him to descend from the clouds and eat like other people?”

“No doubt of it, madam, since ideas, however original, have not the nourishing elements of food. You have been tried by your husband’s application to his one idea?”

“At times,” replied Anna, “I have failed to see the service of it.” Faust laughed heartily, adding,--

“Time enough for the utility, madam. The invention must go through a process to become available; it must creep before it can walk. Have patience, madam!”