Emily C. Pearson

Faust’s Discontent.—Conspiracy against Gutenberg.—A Secret kept.—The Lawsuit.—Gutenberg supplanted.—A New Firm.—Gutenberg’s Sorrow.

It was now in the early part of October, 1455; and of late, Faust, to whom history gives the title of Doctor, had become dissatisfied with Gutenberg, on the ground that returns did not come in fast enough for the money invested. The Bible had been issued, it is true; but as it had been at great expense, and its sale was small, his enthusiasm in regard to it declined; and although once so warm a friend and patron of Gutenberg, he grew cold-hearted and scheming. He was, however, increasingly cordial to Peter Schoeffer, and one day invited him to supper. Flattered by the attention, Peter appeared promptly at the rooms of the Doctor, his toilet made with unusual care. It was in the early evening, and a fire was being kindled in the large room into which Peter was ushered. Madam Faust, an invalid, sat in her arm-chair wrapped in a shawl, to shield her from the chilliness, as a driving rain was pelting without. Christiane, the daughter, a young lady of twenty-five,—and Peter thought he never saw her look more beautiful,—cordially greeted him, and placed a seat for him.

“Good-evening, master!” said Faust urbanely, rising and shaking his hand. “Sit nearer the fire, master; the room will be warm soon.”

In the course of the conversation which followed, Faust said, “Gutenberg gaineth little in inventing. According to my thinking, he cannot be named the same day with yourself, Peter. You devised the ink, the forms for casting type, and the mixture of metals; and these are nearly all that has been invented. I regret to say it, but it would be a good thing for the firm if Gutenberg would even retire, so great is his extravagance. Why, he expended 4,000 florins before the Bible was half done! How he can ever pay me for the sums I let him have, I do not comprehend.”

“Economy is certainly useful,” observed Peter in a general way.

“A just and sensible remark,” replied Faust. “Your printer’s ink shows that you mean what you say; it is admirable, it is so cheap.”

“I am glad you think so, master,” replied Peter, glancing with a proud flush at Christiane.

“I often say to my wife and daughter,” continued Faust, “that if justice were done, you would be the acknowledged inventor, since you are continually making improvements, while he invents nothing, so to speak. Moreover, he is extravagant, and the business will be ridden to death with debt.”

Peter was more than gratified that his efforts were appreciated by the Doctor; but he revered Gutenberg, and was shocked at the proposal to eject him from the business, and he ventured to say,—

“I owe much to Master Gutenberg.”

“True,” replied Faust; “but if you were not dependent, you would acquire more in one week by your unfailing genius than he could impart in a year. The faculty to contrive and discover is in you; and if we were once rid of him, a great revenue would accrue. In due time you would be rich and renowned.”

The fire burned briskly, throwing out a genial warmth; the watch-dog basked on his mat, opening and shutting his eyes in calm content; Madam Faust’s delicate face became pink in the ruddy glow; Christiane’s cheeks were abloom; the kettle sang from its long hook on the crane; a servant glided softly around as she laid the table. Peter fell into a dreamy abstraction.

“If I could even do it honorably,” he murmured half unconsciously. “Honorably! certainly thou canst,” emphatically returned Faust. “Dost thou think I would counsel thee to do that which would be otherwise? Business is business, and one must look out first for one’s self. Thou mayest have qualms of diffidence in severing the old tie, having served so faithfully under him; but we will be answerable for the change: we will see that he retires from the firm, and thou shalt not be blamed. Agreeing to this, I will insure thee the use of my money to the extent of my means.”

“Wife, I hope you have something palatable for Master Schoeffer,” said Faust, as all were seated by the table, and he helped his guest. Then, returning to the subject of their conversation,—

“Aye, leave me alone in disposing of this matter. I’ve a little case in law, which, for my brother’s sake, I shall set afoot. Gutenberg is culpably careless of money. It is shocking to see one thus making shipwreck of conscience. Of the 2,020 florins which I lent him, he has not returned one obolus. He has not even paid the interest.”

“He has not!” exclaimed Peter. “What can he be thinking of?”

“Of himself,” replied Faust. “As long as he has money, what cares he who goes without? I can only do business in a business way; and I shall immediately call him to account; and, Master Schoeffer, our firm shall be established on a firm basis.”

Poor Peter was too well pleased with Faust’s flatteries, and, yielding to the stronger will of his host, had listened to adroit insinuations against Gutenberg until his heart grew hard. The Doctor was quick at reading character, and knew how to turn Peter’s interest in Christiane to account, and, when his guest rose to leave, said,—

“But, Master Schoeffer, you are by far too industrious. You are worn with work, and need relaxation. You ought at least to devote these magnificent moonlight evenings to recreation. My boat is always at your service, and here’s Christiane—if you cannot find better company—give her an airing on our beautiful river.”

Schoeffer had often raised his eyes from his work to glance at the lovely vision of Christiane, as she flitted by on her morning rambles; but, proud and retiring, had felt the pecuniary distance there was between her father and himself; and though he sometimes fancied she was not indifferent to his admiration, they had not until that evening spoken together. It seemed like a dream; for now in her presence her father had lavished attentions upon him, and predicted for him fame and fortune.

The next morning, Gutenberg, in order to urge on the work, early toiled at the press-work of the Bible; for so slow and laborious was the process that comparatively few copies were completed.

“Good-morning, Peter,” said he, unsuspicious of evil, as Schoeffer entered, and a workman took his place at the press. “You have not told me by what proportion of metals you have secured the requisite strength and softness of type.”

“Excuse me, Master,” replied Peter with half averted face, “let me keep that little secret. I may have to try again.” Gutenberg was grieved by the answer as only a noble and sensitive mind can be by the slights of one who has been nourished like a child. He resumed his work, while the foreboding of the approaching storm fell on his spirit like a dark shadow.

Peter felt ill at ease; and a consciousness of the despicable part he was playing, at times brought the mantling blush of shame to his cheek; but he hardened himself against conviction, by magnifying his own improvements and dreaming of future greatness. Besides, he had really been prejudiced by Faust against Gutenberg, and his mind was much occupied with the image of the amiable and charming Christiane; and he feared to offend the father lest he might not win the daughter.

“When do you propose to pay me?” abruptly asked John Faust of Gutenberg some days later.

“Pay you!” ejaculated the other in great surprise, “I am not aware that I owe you anything!” “Not aware of it!” angrily retorted the Doctor. “Not aware of the 2,020 florins and other large sums I lent you! I will give you thirty days in which to pay the debt; and if then you fail to do so, I shall take measures to collect it!”

“Hard conditions truly, even supposing I owed you! But the sums you mention were used for our common benefit, and we are in the midst of our first edition of the Bible. I have no way of raising money save from its sale, which it will take months to effect.”

“That is not to the point,” replied Faust. “I want the money, and the money I must have. My brother James advanced it.”

“But how am I to procure it? Would you ruin me?”

“Am I to devise means for you to pay your debts to me?” was the heartless rejoinder. “The money I must have; and if you are an honest man, you will pay it: understand me!” and Faust abruptly left. As he had entered, Peter was missing, and did not soon return. Gutenberg had only Martin and Hanau with him, and was too much overcome to speak. Was it for this that he had climbed almost to the pinnacle of his hopes? Martin was full of sympathy, and even Hanau’s vacillating heart was touched. Gutenberg saw that Faust and Schoeffer were leagued against him. The barbed iron had pierced his roul. Press-work and proof-reading were not to be thought of. He sought his room in the lethargy of despair. The prospect that the printing of the glorious Bible would be arrested, the fear that his beloved art would be torn from him, appalled him. Days passed, the darkness of affliction continued unbroken. Anna feared that he would sink under his load. True wife that she was, she intuitively understood, soothed, and offered him the comforts of faith and trust, and bore his burdens like a very heroine. She was his ministering angel, and at length he emerged from his gloom in a measure and returned to the printing rooms, still oppressed with the thought that he had been cruelly wounded in the house of his friends.

Punctual to the day the Doctor appeared, accompanied by his brother, James Faust; the former having of late partly resumed goldsmithing, although still a member of the firm.

“The month has expired, and I have come for the money!” said Faust.

“I have not been able to raise it,” replied Gutenberg.

“But it is high time that it was paid,” said John Faust. “It is nearly five years since it was borrowed. You promised that we should make our fortunes long before this.” “I did not name the time of paying any sum,” returned the inventor, “nor did I borrow the money, but it was put into the firm for our mutual advantage. You were, moreover, to pay me eight hundred florins for my personal use, in consideration of my teaching you the secrets of my art. This was not paid me, but was put into the funds of the association for our joint benefit.”

“It was borrowed money, every florin!” cried Faust, “and you are holden for it. If no time was specified for payment, on demand is of course understood.”

“As to the other sums,” continued Gutenberg, “I can give you an exact account of them; but I am not liable for the interest, since you had an equivalent for my use of the money, and indeed appropriated it equally with myself.”

“There is a way of settling that point,” significantly remarked James Faust, as the two took leave; and shortly he instituted a process of law, and procured from the notary public the following document:—

“To the glory of God, Amen. Be it known to all those who see or read this instrument, that in the year of our Lord 1455, third indiction, Thursday, 6th day of November, the first year of the Pontificate of our very Holy Father the Pope Calixtus III., approved here at Mayence, in the great parlor of the Barefooted Friars, between 11 o’clock and midday, before me, the notary, and the undersigned witnesses, the honorable and discreet person James Faust, citizen of Mayence, who in the name of his brother, John Faust, also present, has said and declared clearly that on this said day at the present hour, and in the same parlor of the Barefooted Friars, John Gutenberg should see and hear taken by John Faust an oath conformably to a sentence pronounced between them. And this sentence read in the presence of the Honorable Henry Gunter, CurÉ of St. Christopher’s of Mayence, of Henry Keffler, and De Becktoff de Hanau, servant and valet of the said Gutenberg: John Faust, placing his hand upon the Holy Evangelists, has sworn between the hands of me, the notary public, comformable to the sentence pronounced, and has taken the following oath, word for word: ‘I, John Faust, have borrowed 1,550 florins, which I have transmitted to John Gutenberg, which have been employed for our common labor, and of which I have paid the rent and annual interest, of which I still owe a part. Reckoning therefore for each hundred florins borrowed, six florins per annum, I demand of him the repayment, and the interest, conformably to the sentence pronounced, which I will prove in equity to be legal, in consequence of my claim upon the said John Gutenberg.’ In presence of the Honorable H. Gunter, of Henry Keffler, and of Becktoff de Hanau aforesaid, John Faust has demanded of me an authentic instrument to serve him as much and as often as he hath need, and in the faith of which I have signed this instrument, and have set thereto my seal.”

The law took its course. The inexorable judges made no allowance for the peculiar circumstances of the case, but gave judgment against Gutenberg, awarding that he should pay to Faust whatever he had borrowed, with interest. This decision was made November 1455. As Gutenberg had no means of paying the sums demanded, Faust took possession of his presses, type, printing materials, and the copies of the Bible, finished and unfinished.

Gutenberg had been sustained, during the sitting of the court in the parlor of the Barefoot Friars, by the suspense and excitement of the scene. He had hoped for justice, or at least for a more favorable decision; but instead of that, everything was taken from him. Reaching home, he knew not how, after long wandering in unfrequented places, he threw himself upon his couch, and made no reply to the affectionate inquiries of Anna. She knew that the cause had gone against him, and that he was in the extremity of trouble. As he gave way to his trial, although herself in deep grief, her heart somehow grew stronger. There had been a marked change in her since residing at the Zum Jungen. As she realized that good would result from her husband’s inventions, she strove to encourage him in his devotion to his art. In his despair, she was buoyed up by hope. For long hours he seemed scarcely to notice her gentle presence. She did not disturb him with words; but as the hours stole by, and his grief was heavy on him, she drew the curtains till the room was in the hush of twilight, hoping that balmy sleep would overtake him; then, sitting by his side, she prayed earnestly, silently, for him. When he awoke after a refreshing sleep, he was more like himself.

“Dost thou know, my Anna,” he calmly said, “that Faust has laid claim to everything, including my presses, stucke, and the printed pages of the Holy Bible now ready to be bound?”

“Can it be possible?” ejaculated Anna in dismay.

“And I am worse than penniless,” he added. “My noble art is at an end. That which I most feared has come upon me. Others have stolen my invention and I have nothing left.”

“But we are taught by our holy religion,” she quickly responded, brushing away her tears, “that it is good to trust in the Lord in times of trouble, and if we have faith in him, he will deliver us.”

Yet sorely was the inventor tried; and month after month, the weary time crept on, Gutenberg and Anna in poverty and affliction.

Meanwhile Faust, having taken possession of everything that could be called Gutenberg’s, organized a new company by associating Schoeffer and others with himself, and finished binding the remaining copies of the Bible as rapidly as possible. As Faust and Schoeffer examined it anew, they were filled with admiration.

“This book will bring handsome returns, Peter,” said the former, “if we manage wisely. My brother is of opinion that I can sell fifty copies in Paris alone!”

“A happy suggestion!” was the reply.

“And I must go at once,” said Faust; and, with characteristic energy, he commenced making preparations for the journey. As a sufficient number of Bibles were ready for the present demand, Schoeffer and the journeymen were to employ themselves in issuing “LitterariÆ IndulgentiÆ,” a one page work much prized by the monks.

Schoeffer had now been married to Faust’s daughter for some months, and was an honored member of the firm. But although his worldly prospects were fair, yet he was less happy than he had imagined, and the memory of his old master’s kindness often brought penitent tears to his eyes. He longed to see him, as formerly, the ruling spirit in the printing rooms, but had not moral courage and decision of purpose enough to say this in the presence of Faust. Besides, he still wished to appropriate riches and fame to himself. So he persisted in the wrong, salving his conscience with the promise that he would at some time do right by Gutenberg.