Emily C. Pearson

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!”

“I try to have a great store,” she playfully said, “but he is so taken up with his projects that I can scarcely ever get a word from him. When he leaves his work-shop for the day, and draws his chair to the fire, one would think he might have the grace to be sociable; but there he sits and pokes the fire, reads the fire, studies the fire, half the night, and I would like to know what is the necessity of so much meditation?”

“Ah, madam,” returned Faust, “it is the common experience of inventors to meet many adversities in the outset. You have reason to be proud of your husband. As I understand it, he has made a great discovery,—the beginning of something of vast importance.”

Then, turning to Gutenberg, he added, “I am ready to advance thy invention. But how shall we move? Secrecy is indispensable. We must live in the same house in which we work,—we must consult much together. Where is there a suitable building?”

“I had thought of the Zum Jungen,” said Gutenberg.

“The very place. It is almost a palace in size, and will afford ample room; is in the city, and yet retired from its bustle. It is now vacant, and I will go and engage it at once. This evening let us draw up a written contract, or articles of agreement, and I will advance the needed funds. When can you remove?”

“To-morrow, can we not, Anna?”

“Why,” exclaimed she, “can we get ready so soon? We are scarcely settled yet.”

“The easier to remove,” replied Gutenberg; adding, “moreover, the Zum Jungen is a very beautiful place, and reminds me of the old castle ThÜr, where I first met my Anna!”

“Let us go at once,” immediately returned the wife; “it must be delightful. Why cannot De Becktoff de Hanau come and help us remove?” alluding to an old servant and valet of the Gutenberg family, who, like others of their servants, had been allowed to hire himself out, since he could not be maintained.

“A good thought, wife; he shall take charge of our goods, and we shall avoid some of the fatigue of a second removal. I will bring him hither;” and Faust having taken leave, Gutenberg hastened to find the old valet.