Emily C. Pearson

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.

“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’oeuvre 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.