Emily C. Pearson

Peculiarities of the First Printed Books.—Early Printers.—Piety and Chess.—Education in the Olden Time.—A Great Enterprise.—Unveiling Gutenberg’s Statue.

On inquiring more closely respecting the peculiarities of the first printed books and the modes of producing them, we find that they were generally large or small folios or quartos; lesser sizes than these not being in use. In some cases they had no title, number of pages, or paragraph divisions. The character employed was designed to imitate the hand-writing of the time, a rude old Gothic or German, from which the old English was formed, now known as German text. The words were printed so closely together as to make reading difficult even by those accustomed to it, while one unpracticed got on slowly and with many blunders.

The orthography used in the first books was of almost every variety, defying method. Abbreviations were fashionable, and at length became so numerous and so difficult to be understood that a book or key was published, explaining them. Instead of a comma an oblique stroke was employed. Capital letters were not used to begin a sentence, or for proper names. Blanks were left for the places of titles, initial letters, and other ornaments, in order to have them supplied by illuminators, whose curious art, however, soon gave place to the improvements of the printers. The ornaments made by the old artists to fill the blanks were formed with singular taste; birds, beasts, flowers, and foliage often curiously interwoven with the most desirable colors, and even with gold and silver. Saints were sometimes made to figure in the border of illuminated letters, whether the subject treated required it or not. The artist had no regard to the theme of the author in his adornments. These embellishments were sometimes costly and elaborate; but a cheaper kind could be had. Bibles and Breviaries were most elegantly ornamented.

The name of the printer and his place of residence were either omitted, or placed at the end of the book with some pious ejaculation or doxology. There was no date, or it appeared in some odd place, printed in words perhaps, or by numerical letters, and sometimes partly one and partly the other, thus: “One thousand CCCC. and LXXIII.,” but in all cases at the end of a book. The Roman and Italic letters not being invented, the pages were uniformly Gothic through the book. Only a few copies were issued at once; two hundred was a large impression.

The early printer was of necessity also a bookbinder, placing his leaves literally between boards, and making some works so heavy as to provoke the criticism, “No man can carry them about, much less get them into his head.” About 1469–70, alphabetical tables of the first words of each chapter were introduced as a guide to the binder.

After the great secret of printing was spread abroad, the early printers, in their own quaint style, took pains to inform the public that the book they issued was printed.

Caxton said of his first book, “It is not written with pen and ink as other books be, to the end that every man may have them at once; for all the books of this story, thus imprinted as ye here see, were begun in one day, and also finished in one day;” that is, the edition.

The Mentz printers, at the end of each of their first works, made it known that instead of being drawn or written with a pen, they were made by a new art and invention of printing or stamping them by characters or types of metal set in forms.

King Henry VI. was moved by the Archbishop of Canterbury to use all possible means for procuring a printing mould, as it was then called, to be brought into England. It is supposed that Caxton, after the custom in other monasteries, set up his press near one of the aisles of Westminster Abbey. The first book printed there was “The Game of Chess,” a work then much used by all classes of people, and “doubtless desired by the Abbot, and the rest of his friends and masters.” Caxton translated it from the Latin of a Dominican friar, who wrote it in the year 1200. It was in the main a good book, else Caxton, with his decided religious principle, would not have published it; he recommends it as “full of wholesome wisdom, and requisite unto every state and degree.” But to us it seems a curious mingling of amusement and advice. There were instructions for playing the game, side by side with counsels which, according to Caxton, would enable the people to understand wisdom and virtue.

The course of study then comprised in what was thought a good education, was very limited. Teacher and pupil in most cases attempted little, and accomplished little. The trivium and the quadrivium were the two branches of what was then understood as the liberal arts. The former included grammar, rhetoric, and dialectics; the latter, music, arithmetic, geometry, and astronomy. It was thought that he who became master of these studies needed no longer a preceptor or assistance in solving any questions within the compass of human reason. But thorough students in these branches were seldom found, until the dissemination of books by the art of printing gave a new impetus to the intellect of that age.

Interesting it has been to trace step by step the passing on of this art to perfection. Long were genius and industry engaged in its study, and never was there so rich and glorious a harvest from human efforts. The nurse and preserver of the arts and sciences, of religion and civilization, was not the work of one brain solely, neither did the gift bring peace at once, but rather strife and opposition. Ignorance fled before it as darkness from light; the priests and copyists were disturbed; and the way was made ready for the bringing in of the Reformation, commencing in 1517 under Martin Luther. For doubtless the invention of this art did more to unmask the superstitions of the Papal church than all other causes combined.

Gutenberg’s conception and execution of printing the Bible was a magnificent enterprise; through unparalleled difficulties, he produced an eloquent and superb book, which is even now the admiration of the learned. We scarcely know which most to admire, the great art, or the noble purpose to which its incalculable power was lent. His praise is in every land, but most of all do his countrymen love and revere his memory. Statues of Gutenberg have been erected in several cities of Germany, and festival occasions celebrating his achievements are frequent. A picture of one of these days of grateful rejoicing is the following account of a

CELEBRATION AT MENTZ.

“The modes in which a large population displays its enthusiasm are pretty much the same throughout the world. If the sentiment which collects men together be very heart-stirring, it will be seen in the outward manifestations. Thus processions, orations, public dinners, and pageantries, which in themselves are vain and empty, are important when the persons whom they collect together are moved by one common feeling, which sways them for the time.

“We never saw such a popular fervor as prevailed at Mentz, at the festival of August 1857. The statue was to be uncovered on Monday the 14th; but on Sunday evening the name of Gutenberg was rife through the streets. In the morning, all Mentz was in motion by six o’clock; and at eight, a procession was formed to the Cathedral, which, if it was not much more imposing than some of the processions of trades in London and other cities, was conducted with a quiet precision which evinced that the people felt that they were engaged in a solemn act. The fine old Cathedral was crowded; the Bishop of Mentz performed High Mass; the first Bible printed by Gutenberg was displayed. What a field for reflection was here opened! The first Bible in connection with the imposing pageantries of Roman Catholicism,—the Bible in great part a sealed book to the body of the people; the service of God in a tongue unknown to the larger number of worshippers; but that first Bible the germ of millions of Bibles that have spread the light of Christ throughout the veritable globe!

“The mass ended, the procession again advanced to an adjacent square, where the statue was to be opened. Here was erected a vast amphitheatre, where, seated under their respective banners, were deputations from all the great cities of Europe. Amidst salvos of artillery the veil was removed from the statue, and a hymn sung by a thousand voices. Then came orations, then dinners, balls, orations, boat-races, processions by torch light. For three days the population of Mentz was kept in a state of high excitement, the echo of which went through Germany, and “Gutenberg! Gutenberg!” was toasted in many a bumper of Rhenish wine amidst this cordial and enthusiastic people.

“And, indeed, even in one who could not boast of belonging to the land in which printing was invented, the universal and mighty effects of this art, when rightly considered, would produce almost a corresponding enthusiasm. It is difficult to look upon the great changes that have been effected during the last four centuries, and which are still in progress everywhere around us, and not connect them with printing and its inventor. The castles on the Rhine, under whose ruins we travelled back from Mentz, perished before the powerful combinations of the people of the towns. The petty feudal despots fell when the burghers had acquired wealth and knowledge. But the progress of despotism on a larger scale could not have been arrested, had the art of Gutenberg not been discovered. The strongholds of military power still frown over the same majestic river. The Rhine has seen its petty fortresses crumble into decay. Ehrenbreitstein is stronger than ever. But even Ehrenbreitstein will fall before the powers of the mind. Seeing, then, what, under God, intellect has done and is doing, we may well venerate the memory of Gutenberg of Mentz.”