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.

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