Part 2

“It is certain that none of us can compete with thy speed in writing,” went on Father Melchior. “Every few weeks thou dost bring in twelve or more books, written in half the time it takes our quickest scribe to make a single copy.”

“Moreover,” said another, “the letters are all so exact and regular. Thou hast brought two copies, and one has just as many letters and words on a page as the other, and all the letters are exactly alike.”

The Abbot had been studying the book closely. Now he asked the monks to withdraw. When Gutenberg and he were alone, he said, “Are these books really made with a copyist’s pen?” He cast a searching glance at the lapidary.

Gutenberg, much embarrassed, had no answer for him.

“It is as I guessed,” said the Abbot. “They are made from blocks, like the St. Christopher.”

The Abbot smiled at the look of dismay on Gutenberg’s face. “Have no fear,” he added. “It may be that I can supply thee with better work for thy skill. We need more copies of the ‘Biblia Pauperum’ for our use here, and I have no doubt thou couldst greatly improve on the best we have.”

“I should like to do it,” said Gutenberg, “if there were not too much expense.”

“The priests will need many copies,” the Abbot assured him. “And thou shalt be well paid for them.”

So the young printer agreed to undertake this new commission. It meant much to him to have secured the patronage of the Abbot, for this would set a seal upon the excellence of his work, and bring him to the notice of the wealthy and cultivated people of the day.

Gutenberg took the Abbot’s copy of the “Biblia” home, and he and the apprentices started work upon the wooden blocks. There were many cuts in the book which had to be copied, and so they engaged two wood engravers who lived in Strasburg to help them. Even so, it took them months to finish the book. But when it was printed and bound, and a copy shown to the Abbot, he was delighted with it. “Thou hast done nobly, my son,” said he, “and thy labors will serve the interests of our Mother Church. Thou shalt be well paid.”

Gutenberg returned home with the money, and showed it delightedly to his wife. “I knew thou wouldst triumph,” said she. “Only to think of a real ‘Biblia Pauperum’ made by my John Gutenberg. We shall see wonderful days!”

Now fortune grew more favorable. The “Biblia” sold better than the other books had done, and they next printed the Canticles, or Solomon’s Song. This was impressed, as the others had been, on only one side of the page, and from engraved wooden blocks. Then Gutenberg thought he would like to print the entire Bible. Anna favored this, and he started to figure out how long the work would take.

“There are seven hundred pages in the Bible,” said he. “I cannot engrave more than two pages a month working steadily, and at such a rate it would take me fully three hundred and fifty months, or nearly thirty years, to make blocks enough to print the Holy Book.”

“Why, thou wouldst be an old man before it was done!” cried his wife in dismay.

“Yes, and more than that, this process of engraving is dimming to the eyes. I should be blind before my work was half done.”

“But couldst thou not divide the work with the others?”

“Yes, if only I could persuade them to attempt so big a work. They want to try smaller books, for they say my new process is hardly better for making a large book than the old method of copying. It may be that I can get them to print the Gospels gradually, one book at a time.”

Though the workmen were now growing more weary and disheartened with each new volume they undertook, Gutenberg would not give up. He persuaded them to start cutting the blocks for the Gospel of St. Matthew. But as he worked with his knives the apprentices grumbled about him. At last he had the first block nearly done. Then his hand slipped, the tool twisted, and the block was split across.

The other men looked aghast. So much work had gone for nothing.

Gutenberg sat studying the broken block of wood. As he studied it a new idea came to him. Picking up his knife he split the wood, making separate pieces of every letter carved on it. Then he stared at the pile of little pieces that lay before him like a bundle of splinters. He realized that he was now on the trail of a greater discovery than any he had yet made, for these separate letters could be used over and over again, not only in printing one book but in printing hundreds.

Taking a fresh block he split it into little strips, and cutting these down to the right size, he carved a letter on the end of each strip. This was more difficult than cutting on the solid block, and he spoiled many strips of wood before he got a letter that satisfied him. But finally he had made one, and then another, and another, until he had all the letters of the alphabet. He was careful to cut the sticks of the proper width, so that the letters would not be too far apart when they should be used for printing. When they were done he showed them to the others and called them _stucke_, or type. They soon saw what a great step forward he had made.

The first words he printed with type were _Bonus homo_, “a good man.” He took the letters that spelled the first word, and putting them in their proper order tied them together with a string. He only had one letter o, so he had to stop and cut two more. Then he made a supply of each letter of the alphabet, and put type of each letter separately in little boxes, to keep them from getting mixed. So he made the first font of movable type known to history.

As he experimented with these first type he made another improvement. He found it was hard to keep the letters tight together, so that he could ink them and print from them. He cut little notches in the edges of the different type, and by fastening his linen thread about the notches in the outside letters of each word he found that he could hold a word as tightly together as if all the letters in it were cut on a single block.

The cutting of the type and the studying out of new and better ways of holding them together took a great deal of time, and meanwhile the sales of gems and mirrors had fallen off. The apprentices had not the master’s skill in holding the letters together, and they grew discouraged as time after time the type would separate as they were ready to print from it. They wanted to go back to the blocks, but Gutenberg insisted that his new way was the better. At last he hit upon another idea. He would make a press which would hold the type together better than a linen thread or a knot of wire.

After many patient experiments he finished a small model of a press which seemed to him to combine all the qualifications needed for his work. He took this to a skilful turner in wood and metal, who examined it carefully. “This is only a simple wine-press I am to make, Master John,” said he.

“Yes,” answered Gutenberg, “it is in effect a wine-press, but it shall shortly spout forth floods of the most abundant and marvelous liquor that has ever flowed to quench the thirst of man.”

The mechanic, paying no heed to Gutenberg’s excitement, made the press for him according to the model. It was set up in the printing-rooms of Dritzhn’s dwelling, and the firm went on with their work of cutting movable type. But the sale of books was small, and for two years more the apprentices grumbled, and protested that they should have stuck to the lapidary’s art.

New troubles soon arose. It was found that the ink softened the type and spoiled the form of the letters. “We must make more fresh type,” said Gutenberg, “until we can find a way to harden the wood.” Then a bill was sent in of one hundred florins for press-work. The partners were angry, and said they saw no real advantage in the press. “But without the frame and press all our labor of making _stucke_ will prove useless,” answered the inventor. “We must either give up the art, and disband, or make the necessary improvements as they are called for.”

Gutenberg was made of sterner stuff than his partner Dritzhn. Two years of small success and great doubt had told upon the latter, and so one day when Father Melchior of the Cathedral told him he noticed that he was worried, Dritzhn confessed to him the secret of the printing shop. “I have put money into the business,” said he, “and if I leave now I fear I shall lose it all.”

“Leave it by all means,” advised the Father, “for be sure that no good will come of these strange arts.”

But when he went back to the shop Dritzhn discovered the others setting type for a new work, a dictionary, that was called a “Catholicon.” They were all enthusiastic about this, believing it would have a readier sale than their other works, and so he decided to stay with them a little longer, in spite of the Father’s advice.

Just as the dictionary was ready to be issued, in the autumn of 1439, an event occurred which threw the firm into confusion. Dritzhn died suddenly, and his two brothers demanded that Gutenberg should let them take his place in the firm. He read over the contract which they had all signed, and then told them that they could not be admitted as partners, but should be paid the fifteen florins which the books showed were due to Dritzhn’s heirs. They rejected this with scorn, and at once started a lawsuit against Gutenberg and his partners.

There were no such protections for inventions as patents then; rumor soon spread abroad the news that Gutenberg had discovered a new art that would prove a gold-mine, and the poor inventor saw that the lawsuit would probably end in his ruin. The printing-press had stood in Dritzhn’s house, and before Gutenberg could prevent it the two brothers had stolen parts of it. Then he had what was left of it carried to his own house; but even here spies swarmed to try to learn something of his secret. Finally he realized that his invention was not safe even there, and decided that every vestige of his work must be destroyed. “Take the _stucke_ from the forms,” said he to his friends, “and break them up in my sight, that none of them may remain perfect.”

“What, all our labor for the last three years!” cried Hielman.

“Never mind,” answered Gutenberg. “Break them up, or some one will steal our art, and we shall be ruined.”

So, taking hammers and mallets, they broke the precious forms of type into thousands of fragments.

The lawsuit dragged along, and finally ended in Gutenberg’s favor. The firm was ordered to pay Dritzhn’s brothers the fifteen florins, and nothing more. But the type were destroyed, and the partners were afraid to make new ones, lest the suspicious public should spy upon them and learn their secret. When the term of the contract between the partners came to an end it was not renewed. Each of the firm went his own way, and John Gutenberg opened his lapidary’s shop again and tried to build up the trade he had lost.

His wife was still Gutenberg’s chief encouragement. She was certain that some day he would win success, and often in the evening she would urge him not to despair of his invention, but to wait till the time should be ripe for him to go on with it again. As a matter of fact it was impossible for him to give it up. Before long he was cutting _stucke_ again in his spare hours, and then trying his hand at printing single pages.

He felt however that it would be impossible for him to resume his presswork in Strasburg. There was too much prejudice against his invention there. So he decided to go back to his home town of Mainz, where many of his family were living. Anna agreed with this decision, and so they closed their shop, sold their goods, and journeyed to his brother’s home. There one day his brother introduced him to a rich goldsmith named Faust, and this man said he understood that Gutenberg had invented a new way of making books. John admitted this, and told him some details of his process.

The goldsmith was most enthusiastic, and suggested that he might be able to help the inventor with money. Gutenberg said he should need two or three thousand florins. “I will give it to thee,” answered Faust, “if thou canst convince me that it will pay better than goldsmithing.”

Then the printer confided all his secrets to Faust, and the latter considered them with great care. At last he was satisfied, and told Gutenberg that he would enter into partnership with him. “But where shall we start the work?” he added. “Secrecy is absolutely necessary. We must live in the house in which we work.”

“I had thought of the Zum Jungen,” answered Gutenberg, naming an old house that overlooked the Rhine.

“The very place,” agreed Faust. “It is almost a palace in size, and will give us ample room; it is in the city, and yet out of its bustle. It is vacant now, and I will rent it at once. When canst thou move there?”

“At once,” said Gutenberg, more pleased than he dared show.

So the printer and his good wife moved to the Zum Jungen, which was more like a castle than a tradesman’s dwelling-house. Its windows looked over the broad, beautiful river to the wooded shores beyond. Faust advanced Gutenberg the sum of 2,020 florins, taking a mortgage on his printing materials as security. Then Faust moved his family and servants to the old house, and the firm started work. Hanau, the valet of Gutenberg’s father, and a young scholar named Martin Duttlinger, joined them at the outset.

Two well-lighted rooms on the second floor, so placed as to be inaccessible to visitors, were chosen for the workshops. Here the four worked from early morning until nearly midnight, cutting out new sets of type and preparing them for the presswork. They began by printing a new manual of grammar, an “Absies,” or alphabetical table, and the “Doctrinale.” All three of these it was thought would be of use to all who could read.

Soon Faust discovered the same defect in the type that the workmen at Strasburg had discovered. The wooden letters would soften when used, and soon lose their shape. He spoke to Gutenberg about it, and the latter studied the problem. At length an idea occurred to him. He opened a drawer and took out a bit of metal. He cut a letter on the end of it. “There is the answer,” said he. “We will make our type of lead. We can cut it, and ink cannot soften it as it does wood.”

Faust was very much pleased. Now that he understood Gutenberg’s invention he realized how great a thing it was destined to become, and was anxious to help its progress in every way he could. One day Gutenberg told him that they needed a good man to cut the designs for the engravings. “Dost thou know of one?” asked Faust. “Of only one,” was the answer. “He is Peter Schœffer, a youth who helped me before. He is now a teacher of penmanship in Paris.”

“We must send for him,” said Faust.

So Gutenberg sent for Schœffer, and the printing staff was increased to five.

Schœffer had considerable reputation as a scholar, and soon after he had joined them Gutenberg asked him what he thought was the most important book in the world. Schœffer replied that he was not sufficiently learned to answer the question.

“But to the best of thy knowledge,” persisted Gutenberg.

“I remember that when I was in the Cathedral school,” said Schœffer, “Father Melchior showed us the Gothic Gospels, or Silver Book, and said that more art and expense had been spent on the Bible than on any other book he knew. I believe therefore that it is the most useful and important book in the world.”

“So I believe,” agreed Gutenberg, “and I intend to print it in the best style possible to my art.”

“But what a tremendous undertaking, to print the whole Bible!” exclaimed Schœffer.

“Yes, a stupendous work,” Gutenberg agreed. “And so I want to start upon it at once.”

Schœffer was amazed when Gutenberg showed him the new press he had built at the Zum Jungen. He watched the master dab the type with ink, slide them under the platen, and having pressed it down, take out the printed page.

“It is wonderful!” said he. “How many impressions canst thou take from the press in a day?”

“About three hundred, working steadily.”

“Then books will indeed multiply! What would the plodding copyists say to this!”

When they began printing with the lead type they soon found that the metal was too soft. The nicest skill had to be used in turning the screw of the press, and only Gutenberg seemed able to succeed with it. Schœffer suggested that they should try iron.

“We have,” said Gutenberg, “but it pierced the paper so that it could not be used.”

Schœffer was used to experimenting in metals, and the next day he brought to the workroom an alloy which he thought might serve. It was a mixture of regulus of antimony and lead. They tried it, and found it was precisely the right substance for their use. Gutenberg and Faust were both delighted, and very soon afterward made Peter Schœffer a partner in the firm.

They now started on the great work of printing the Bible. Duttlinger was commissioned to buy a Bible to serve for his own use. This was brought in secret to the workrooms, and the partners inspected it carefully. They realized what a huge undertaking it would be to print such a long book, but nevertheless they set out to do it. Each man was allotted his share in the labor, and the work began.

The press Gutenberg was using was a very simple affair. Two upright posts were fastened together by crosspieces at top and bottom. In this frame a big iron screw was worked by means of a handle. A board was fastened beneath the screw, and the type, when inked and set in a wooden frame, were placed on this board. The printing paper was laid over the type, and the screw forced the platen, which was the board fixed to it, down upon the paper. Then the screw was raised by the handle, the platen was lifted with it, and the printed paper was ready to be taken out. The screw was worked up and down in a box, called a hose, and the board on which the type were set for the printing was actually a sort of sliding table. The frame or chase of type was fixed on this table, and when inked and with the paper laid in place, was slid under the platen, which was a smooth planed board. The screw was turned down, the platen was pressed against the sheet of paper, and the printing was done.

Each of the workers at the Zum Jungen suggested valuable changes and additions. Schœffer proved wonderfully adept at cutting type, and later at illuminating the initial letters that were needed. The copies we have of the books published by this first Mainz press bear striking witness to the rare skill and taste Peter Schœffer showed in designing and coloring the large capital letters that were considered essential at that day.

The firm had by now prepared several hundred pounds’ weight of metal type for the Bible, had discovered that a mixture of linseed oil and lampblack made the best ink, and had invented ink-dabbers made of skin stuffed with wool. Then it occurred to Schœffer that there must be some easier way of making type than by cutting it out by hand. After some study he found it, and the firm began taking casts of type in plaster moulds. But the success of this method seemed very doubtful at first, for it was hard to get a good impression of such small things as type in the soft plaster. Again Schœffer showed his skill. He planned the cutting of punches which would stamp the outline of the type upon the matrix. He cut matrices for the whole alphabet, and then showed the letters cast from them to Gutenberg and Faust.

“Are these letters cast in moulds?” exclaimed the astonished Faust.

“Yes,” answered Schœffer.

“This is the greatest of all thy inventions then,” said Faust. “Thou art beyond all question a great genius!”

With type cast in this new way the firm printed the first page of their Bible in the spring of 1450. The press worked to perfection, and when they removed the vellum sheet the printed letters were clear, beautifully formed, and ranged in perfect lines. So began the printing of what was to become famous as the Mazarine Bible. But it was not until five years later, in 1455, that the book was finished.

The Bible was printed, but its cost had been great, and the returns from its sale were small. Faust was dissatisfied with Gutenberg, and took occasion to tell Schœffer one evening that he believed the firm would do better without the master. “Thou hast devised the ink, the forms for casting type, and the mixture of metals,” he said. “These are almost all that has been invented. Gutenberg spent 4,000 florins before the Bible was half done, and I do not see how he can ever repay me the sums I have advanced.”

Faust played upon young Schœffer’s vanity, he praised him continually and disparaged Gutenberg, and finally persuaded him they would be better off without the latter. Peter Schœffer was, moreover, in love with Faust’s daughter Christiane, and wished to marry her. This was another inducement for him to side with the rich goldsmith.

Then one day Faust asked Gutenberg blankly when he intended to repay him the money he had advanced. Gutenberg was surprised, and told him he had nothing but the small profits the firm was making.

“I will give thee thirty days to pay the debt,” said Faust, “and if thou dost fail to pay within that time I shall take steps to collect it.”

“But how am I to procure it? Wouldst thou ruin me?” cried Gutenberg.

“The money I must have, and if thou art honest thou wilt pay me,” came the hard answer.

The month ended, and Gutenberg had not found the money. He protested and pleaded with Faust, but the latter was obdurate. He started a lawsuit at once to recover the sums he had expended, and judgment was given against Gutenberg, commanding that he should pay what he had borrowed, together with interest. Gutenberg could not do this, and so Faust took possession of all the presses, the type, and the copies of the Bible that were already printed.

Gutenberg knew that he was ruined. His wife tried to console him. “I am worse than penniless,” said he. “My noble art is at an end. What I most feared has happened. They have stolen my invention, and I have nothing left.”

Meantime Schœffer had married Faust’s daughter, and the two men took up the printing business for themselves. Faust showed the Bibles to friends, and was advised to carry a supply of them to Paris. He went to that city, and at first met with great success. He sold the King a copy for seven hundred and fifty crowns, and private citizens copies at smaller prices. But soon word spread abroad that this stranger’s stock was inexhaustible. “The more he sells the more he has for sale,” said one priest. Then some one started the report that the stranger was in league with the devil, and soon a mob had broken into his lodgings and found his stock of Bibles. Faust was arrested on the charge of dealing in the black art, and was brought before the court. He now decided that he would have to tell of the printing press if he were to escape, and so he made a full confession. So great was the wonder and admiration at the announcement of this new invention that he was at once released, loaded with honors, and soon after returned to Mainz with large profits from his trip.