Emily C. Pearson

The Story of Faust’s Visit to Paris.—Was it Witchcraft?—Popular Excitement.—Scene in a Court Room.—Issue of the Psalter.

One balmy morning in the spring of 1456, Faust, with a stock of beautifully bound Bibles, started for Paris, some four hundred miles distant. Sailing down the Rhine to Strasbourg, he then travelled by the public road over mountains and across the country nearly west to the French metropolis, then a long and toilsome journey.

On his arrival, he engaged a shop on the Rue St. George, where he could safely store his treasures.

Hastening to call upon the King, he made known his errand and offered him a copy of the Bible for seven hundred and fifty crowns!

As the King examined it, he was delighted with the regular and beautiful writing.

“It is true,” said he, “that the scribes ask only five and six hundred crowns for a copy of their Bible, but I have never seen anything equal to this! I will gladly pay thee thy price, and consider it a rare bargain.”

Faust next sought out the Archbishop.

“My lord,” he said, taking the large package from the porter who accompanied him, and unrolling it from its folds of vellum, “I have brought thee a Bible executed with great care and finish. Permit me to call thy attention to it.”

“It is very finely executed,” observed the Archbishop as he turned its leaves. “What is your price?”

“Only three hundred crowns!” answered Faust.

“I will willingly pay that,” replied the Archbishop. “It is seldom that we can obtain a work made in this style, and so cheap. I am familiar with the copyists of monasteries, but have never met the monk that carried so even a hand!”

Making no explanations, Faust took the money, and returned to his lodgings on St. George’s Street, where in a few days he privately sold some half-dozen more copies. Citizens now began to gather to admire the wonderful book.

At first he only exhibited one at a time, and the impression went abroad that the books were very scarce; hence people were more anxious to buy, and readily paid the fifty crowns which he asked lay purchasers. For a time each one who bought a Bible thought himself especially favored, supposing that his was the only copy of the kind to be found. As a writer has said, “The beauty of the work, the elegance of the flower-pieces, and the variety of the finest colors which were intermixed with gold and silver, led many persons to show their purchases to their friends, each one thinking, as he produced his, that the whole world could not contain such another.”

As for the Archbishop, he was so elated with his copy, that he could not rest until he had carried it to the King, who, greatly surprised, in return showed his own. On comparing them, they noticed that the ornaments were not exactly the same. They were not gilded precisely alike, and the initial letters were painted differently. But in other respects, the part which they supposed written, the number of pages, lines, and letters were the same; and they began to surmise that those Bibles were made in some new way. No man could have copied them both, and made them so entirely similar. Besides, to write out two such Bibles would have exceeded the work of a man’s life; and the materials on which he wrote would wax old with age meanwhile, but these were new and fresh. The King and the Archbishop were sorely puzzled; and rumor was not long in bringing to their ears that Faust had sold quite a number, some at fifty crowns, some at twelve, and others still as low as six pounds, while the supply continued equal to the demand. All Paris was agitated.

“What can this mean?” said the King.

“What can this mean?” echoed the Archbishop.

“These books were made by no earthly power!” exclaimed an ecclesiastic.

“The Evil One had a hand in it!” cried the ever-at-hand courtiers.

And although the Bibles were beautiful, costly, and desirable, these good people deemed it necessary to put an immediate stop to their further sale. Much as they prized them, they could not encourage collusion with the powers of darkness. In the midst of this excitement two professors of the University of Paris, as Neiritz informs us, came in and purchased a Bible. A servant bore it after them as they left the shop.

“Antoine,” exclaimed one of them to the other, “it is a wonder to me how the German Doctor can afford to sell this Bible for six pounds! Who ever saw such beautiful writing? It is so uniform, I cannot cease admiring the book. Andre, bring it hither!” and as the servant brought it forward, and it was again opened, a circle gathered to examine it.

“How very beautiful!” exclaimed Professor Antoine, “it scarcely could be done by mortal hands.”

“The thing is not possible!” said the brother professor.

“It is done by the famous black art!” affirmed a voice in the crowd.

“Yes, look at those black pot-hooks and hangers!” exclaimed another.

“Father Clement says it is the work of magic and witchcraft!” said a third.

“The German Doctor has made a bargain with the Evil One, being taught the black art as an offset for going to perdition.”

“Well, Antoine,” remarked the first professor, mirthfully, “if magic and witchcraft can make Bibles in this style, keep them at it early and late, and get out of them all the good you can. Besides, a house divided against itself cannot stand.”

But people generally took the matter more to heart than did the genial professor, and, as they chatted about it and thought it over, were more and more satisfied that other than mortal hands had fabricated the Bibles.

“Only to think of it, so many copies just alike, and made so rapidly! And the more you take away from the shop, the more there are for sale! Parisians are as quick-fingered as any other nation, but not one of our fleetest scribes can write in this way; neither can any man do it!” So the mob searched Faust’s lodgings, or the shop on Rue St. George, and seized a great number of Bibles. “Behold,” said they when they saw the red ink with which they were embellished, “this is his blood!”

The city authorities were at once apprised that he was a magician! And accordingly orders were given to apprehend Dr. Faust for being in league with Satan, and for dealing in the black art.

“What have I done?” asked Dr. Faust, as the police officers appeared in his shop to take him.

“Only a small thing truly!” ironically replied one of them; “this indictment says that you turn off books by witchcraft.”

“Never!” exclaimed Faust; “I have made them in an honest way!”

But the officers shrugged their shoulders, and took him along.

Faust was in trouble. If he confessed the truth, others would seize his art and profits; and if he did not, his life might be sacrificed. While he was revolving the matter, he was thrust into prison.

For once he was at his wit’s end, and almost paralyzed by the turn affairs had taken. What! he, the man of wealth and the patron of printing, in prison, classed with felons! It seemed to him like a horrible nightmare, only the chilliness of the cell and the damp straw brought on his old rheumatism, reminding him too well that it was all reality.

“I shall die here!” he groaned, as he sleeplessly tossed on the straw; “I must reveal the secret, and save my life!” Never was a more restless prisoner. Sleep! he would as soon think of it on a plank in the open sea. In the morning the court set, and Faust was brought to the bar.

Bibles were produced and compared, witnesses were not wanting, and the case was strong against him, when he was called on for his defense. Perfectly calm, and self-possessed he thus addressed the judge:—

“May it please your Honor: It is not the black art that I practice, but the art of printing. This newly discovered art was first devised by John Gutenberg of Mayence, and afterwards more fully improved by his journeyman, Peter Schoeffer, and myself. I can in a short time so describe the process to you that you may yourself set type and print. We employ young men to help in the work, and there is no more black art in it than there is in planting a garden. Think you the Evil One would lend his aid to the work of multiplying copies of a book that describes him and his wiles, warning men against him and predicting his doom! Nay, your Honor, the thing is absurd. We Germans lead the way in this matter of printing books,—begging your Honor’s pardon, while I say it,—but it will not be long before printing machines will be common in Paris.”

Such was Faust’s defence, which so wrought upon the lively crowd that they were enthusiastic in their cries of “Vive le Docteur! vive le Docteur!” The magistrates eagerly withdrew the charges against him; and the sequel was that some of the nobility of Paris made him a magnificent pecuniary reward.

When Faust returned from Paris, he prosecuted the business of printing with renewed energy. He could well do this, as his enterprise had been very remunerative. Besides issuing the “LitterariÆ IndulgentiÆ,” he urged on the completion of the Psalter, an elaborate work which had been in press two years and a half, before the lawsuit overtook the firm. As it was not published until August, 1457, it was four years in being brought to perfection. It bore the colophon of Faust and Schoeffer, and was the first book that had the name of the place where it was printed, the name of its printers, and the year when it was printed.

That this elegant book was partly the work of Gutenberg, is evident from the fact that it was four years in being published, and was issued only eighteen months after the partnership was dissolved. It was printed in large cut type, with illuminated initials; and as it is impossible that Gutenberg’s works could have been undone, a new fount prepared, and so splendid a book printed, in so short a time, it is plain that this was the identical Psalter on which the labor of two years and a half had been expended, before Faust sued Gutenberg. It was the latter who proposed to bring it out, and who superintended the construction of the type and ornaments. The superb initial letters, of which the initial B in this volume is a specimen, were projected and criticised by Gutenberg. It is true that Schoeffer’s practiced hand executed them, but the original idea was suggested by the leading spirit of the company.

Yet this Psalter appeared in 1457 with the colophon or monogram of Faust and Schoeffer.