About the time that every prince in Europe was sending a special
embassy to London, to congratulate James I. on his book against
witchcraft, which none of them ever professed to have read, a strange
occurrence happened in an ancient house, situated in the Amen-Corner
of Paternoster Row. Like most of the houses of old London, its lower
half was brick, and its upper, English oak. It had been built in the
time of the first Tudor, but, being still a substantial tenement, was
purchased some ten years before the period of this narrative, by two
brothers named Christopher and Hubert, who carried on their business
there. They were of English blood, but had been born in Germany, their
grandfather having fled thither in Queen Mary's day under strong
suspicion of owning a Coverdale Bible; and in the good city of
Augsburg his son and grandsons had been brought up to his own craft,
then known as the singular art and mystery of printing. A separate and
a thinly-scattered guild was that of the printer in those days. Their
craft had nothing in common with the world's older arts, excepting
those of the scribe and the scholar. The entire book-trade, now
divided into so many branches, was in their hands--binder, engraver,
printer and publisher, being generally the same person; and this,
together with the laborious precision required in working the
primitive press, made them throughout Christendom a sort of caste who
acquired their trade by inheritance, and kept it as such. Two
generations of their family had transmitted the types to Christopher
and Hubert; but not to them alone. There had been an elder brother,
Gottleib, who printed with them at Augsburg. Their mother had died
early: the plague summoned their father when they were little more
than boys, and the man grieved sore to leave his sons so young, and an
edition of the Latin Fathers, which he had calculated on finishing in
five years with great praise and profit, just begun; but Gottleib
promised him that he would finish the work in his name, and take care
of his young brothers till they were old enough to be expert and
prudent printers; so the old man died in peace.
Gottleib was the glory of his craft, and the praise of all Augsburg.
Throughout Germany there was not a more skilful printer, nor in the
city a more wise and virtuous youth. Old men asked his help in their
difficulties, the young chose him as umpire in their disputes. He was
charitable to the poor, a peacemaker among his neighbours, and a
faithful and kindly guardian to his young brothers. Carefully he
instructed them in all the mysteries of their art, though it
lengthened his own labour by many a toilsome hour. Patiently he bore
with the waywardness and inexperience of their youth. At hearth, and
board, and labour, Gottleib was their blithe companion; in hard work,
their help; in times of trouble, their comforter; and when disputes
came between them, he was the ready arbitrator, on whose justice both
could rely. At the church, they sat one on either side of him; on
festival and holiday, they walked out with each an arm of Gottleib,
and the burgomaster's son was not more confident in his father. Thus
they lived and laboured cheerfully together, in the old house their
father left them, for five years. The complete edition of the Latin
Fathers went forward, and the boys grew to man's estate, till Gottleib
was no longer the tallest of the three. Neighbours remarked, too, that
he looked no longer the strongest. His once ruddy cheek at times grew
pale and wan; still, there was no complaint of sickness in the house,
and the edition was completed. All men praised, and some printers
envied the work, though it was finished in the name of their dead
father.
One evening, Gottleib rejoiced over it greatly, saying his promise was
fulfilled, and Christopher and Hubert were now as good printers as
himself: he bade them a kindly and glad good-night, and the young
brothers talked long together, for Gottleib slept alone; but in the
morning he did not come as usual to call them, and when they went to
wake him, their brother was kneeling at his bedside, with his hands
clasped as if in prayer--an earlier summons had reached him, and the
great soul was gone!
Honour and profit followed the work they had printed with him. Their
craft grew proud of them, and friends began to say they might be
burgomasters in time; but the light of their days had gone down with
Gottleib. The old house had grown so dreary without him, that they
could not live in it. Every street and corner of the city brought
their loss to mind; and hearing that there was peace and room for
printers in their father's country, the young men sold their German
dwelling to a wealthy burgher, collected their money, chattels, and
types, and came with them to London. Paternoster Row was even in those
days the resort of traders in books; and happening to see the
antiquated house in Amen-Corner, the strangers thought it had a
pleasant likeness to their old home; so they purchased it at the
expense of nearly all they possessed, except their printing-press,
with which they established themselves there, determined never to
part, but live together in the country of their fathers.
Hard by there lived a widow of German parentage, whose husband had
been a printer; but he and his seven children were all dead. Gunhilde,
for such was her name, was old, poor, and lonely, and she became their
housekeeper. Years of resolute toil and prudent frugality passed over
the brothers, till they were no longer strangers in old London, nor
inconsiderable among the inhabitants of the Row. Their press had done
its part in the work of the times. They had printed the 'Book of
Sports' and the 'Westminster Confession;' broadside ballads concerning
Robin Hood and Maid Marian; and heavy folios on Free-will and
Predestination. Christopher and Hubert had increased in substance also
to a degree never dreamed of in their German home. The dealers in
books began to talk of them as somewhat notable men; but cares and
causes of division had come with property and importance. In some
respects, the brothers were of the same temper: both were earnest,
brave, and high-spirited--strong to will, and steady to work. They had
been faithful friends and loving brethren through many a change and
trial; but there was a grievous fault in both. Each was given to exact
from the other's friendship, though in a different fashion; for
Christopher expected too much of inward affection, and Hubert had too
much respect to outward observances. Alike, on the ground of
resemblance and of difference, sprang up the roots of bitterness which
troubled their days. At first, their strangership, their strivings to
live and thrive in the English land, and, above all, the memory and
loving counsels of their lost Gottleib, had bound them heart and hand
together; but as the years of manhood hardened heart and mind, as
increasing gains brought leisure and anxious looks on life,
differences of opinion, of tastes, and of inclinations, gradually
crept in between them, and their elder brother waned away from their
remembrance, far off among the scenes and familiars of youth.
Time brought further occasion of discord: the house of an English
bookseller at the foot of the Row had grown more attractive than his
own to Hubert, because of a certain Mistress Margaret who lived there
with her father. The bookseller was old, narrow-minded, and stiff for
presbytery; he approved of no people but Englishmen, and had a special
prejudice against German Lutherans. His daughter believed firmly in
his wisdom, and had been from infancy the old man's darling. She was
fair, good, and clever; but the girl had a wayward pride, and a wit
that was too ready for her judgment. Nevertheless, Hubert had found
favour in her eyes as well as in those of her father, perhaps because
he endeavoured earnestly to win it; while Christopher was composing
tender verses, addressed to a young and very pious Catholic widow in
the neighbourhood, who held fast her then persecuted faith.
The bookseller hesitated on giving his daughter to a Lutheran, and the
widow remained undecided; but under their influence, Christopher and
Hubert learned to contemn each other's choice, and dispute over creeds
which neither acknowledged. Thus the controversies of the age, with
all their bigotry and uncharitableness, found entrance to their home.
Christopher lost no opportunity of throwing scorn on the Puritans, on
account of the bookseller; and Hubert never spared to testify against
Popish errors, by way of reflection on the widow. The loving
brotherhood, which had been to them a rampart against the world's sins
and follies, was broken down, and all manner of petty jealousies,
vanities, and mistakes, flowed in to swell the flood of strife. There
had been fierce debates and bitter words between them, wrath that
overcame the friendship of years, hard misjudging of each other's
motives, and mighty magnifying of small offences. One evening they sat
in sullen pride and anger by the fire. It was the same hearth at which
for ten years they had met when the work of the day was done. Their
early difficulties in the great, strange city had been debated there.
The gains of their prosperous days had been reckoned, their risks and
speculations discussed, but now their seats were pushed to the most
distant corners, and between them stood a table covered with papers
and account-books; for they had at last determined to divide their
possessions to the uttermost farthing, and part company for ever. With
merchant-like exactness, every tittle was reckoned up and shared. The
old house was to be sold to a Jew for a sum already agreed on, and one
item only remained which they could not divide, an heirloom's value
being fixed upon it. That was the Coverdale Bible with which their
grandfather had fled to Germany.
Neither would consent to take the book, or receive anything in its
stead, for a savage pride was in their hearts; and there lay the large
worn folio, with its brazen clasps, between them. The day's work had
been hard, for though comparatively rich, Christopher and Hubert were
laborious men from habit, and the elder at length leaned his head on
the table to rest a moment, and think what could be done. Hubert also
leaned his brow on his hand, and it might be the sight of that old
volume, in spite of themselves, brought faraway memories crowding back
on both. They thought of the German city where they had been born; of
their long-dead father; and, last of all, of Gottleib. They knew the
grass was long upon his German grave; but suddenly, as wild and vague
regrets for all that had come and gone began to rise upon them, the
door of their room was opened, and there entered a stranger of most
noble presence and aspect, who, without a word, drew back the table
and seated himself between them.
The brothers were astonished; but when he said in their own German
tongue: 'Friends, why do you muse so silently?' his voice sounded in
their ears like the church-bells of Augsburg.
'We have cause for silence and musing, friend,' said Christopher.
'And what is your business with us?' demanded the fiery Hubert.
'I have come,' said the stranger, 'to shew you a rare and curious
sight which lies in your very neighbourhood, though you never saw it,
not having yet reached the ground from which it is rightly seen.'
'We have no time for sights at this late hour,' cried Hubert.
'Our accounts and goods occupy us now, but we will go to-morrow,' said
Christopher.
'Nay, friends,' said the stranger, taking a hand of each, 'it were
well that you should see it soon. All who earnestly look upon that
sight, are somewhat instructed to their private benefit; and it may be
that you also will learn something touching the use of these,' he
added, pointing to the open account-books and the clasped Bible.
Christopher and Hubert felt persuaded to accompany him: he led them,
it seemed but a few steps from their own door, through a dark and
narrow lane, in which the busy men had never been; but there streets
and houses abruptly terminated, and they stood by the side of a broad
and thronged highway. A road like that the brothers had never seen in
all their journeys. It ran due east and west, from the rising to the
setting sun; but far to the eastward, a mist, like the smoke of
congregated houses, shut out the view; and on the west, a fog more
dense than that of autumn or mid-winter closed the prospect. The space
between was thronged with travellers, who emerged from the eastern
mist, and were manifestly going to the other.
A light shone on them, but it was gray and uncertain, like that of
twilight. Sometimes the sun, sometimes the stars shone through, and
strange clouds and meteors passed across the sky.
'What way is this,' thought the brothers, 'which lies so near our own
dwelling, and yet has neither night nor day?' But as their eyes grew
accustomed to the light, they perceived that the travellers on that
road were of all ages--man, woman, and child. Yet each journeyed in a
track cut for himself in the soil, from which it appeared none could
stray. Some of these tracks were wide, and others narrow; some had
numerous windings, and some were but slightly curved; many were rough
and stony, others of the bare earth, with brambles growing thick at
their edges; and some were half covered with grass and wild-flowers.
Christopher and Hubert, however, observed that none of them were
perfectly smooth or straight; that dust and rubbish were plentiful in
them all; and that every track on that highway crossed some other. The
travellers, too, differed wonderfully in their manner of journeying.
Some moved like mourners at a funeral; some like runners to a goal.
There were those who went steadily forward, with the pace of soldiers
on a march; others, who seemed in great fear, looking perpetually
behind or before them; and very few who walked at their ease.
As the brothers marvelled at this diversity, they discovered that
there was none of all the travellers without a burden, and in that
matter there appeared no less variety. Bundles of every shape and size
were on their shoulders: some looked huge, and were tied up in
sackcloth; others were covered with rich cloth, and bound with silken
cords. Some bore theirs concealed under long mantles; but Christopher
thought it was mostly weights of iron or lead they carried. Further
particulars astonished the brothers still more. The greater part
appeared to have a strange propensity for increasing the difficulties
of their way, by walking in whatever manner was least practicable.
Many augmented the burdens, under which they already staggered, with
dust and rubbish, which they collected from all sides; and far more
were endeavouring to pile up the scattered stones and thorns on their
equally burdened neighbours. All this time, the air was filled with a
clamour of complaints, generally referring to their tracks and
burdens; and Christopher and Hubert remarked with amazement, that it
was by no means those who had the roughest track, or the heaviest bale
to carry, that travelled most laboriously, or seemed least content
with the journey.
No traveller, indeed, appeared satisfied, and whenever their tracks
crossed, the unruly creatures were sure to jostle each other; but let
the accident happen as it would, every man laid the blame loudly on
his neighbour. They had also innumerable disputes concerning the
clouds and meteors of the sky; regarding the dust under their feet;
and more especially touching some glimpses of an azure heaven, which
they caught at times through the western mist. On that subject, the
fierceness of their debates was marvellous, and the clamour
occasionally became deafening; but the brothers observed that the
noisiest traveller generally came quietly out of the one mist, and
disappeared with as little tumult in the other.
'What think ye of these people?' said the stranger, when Christopher
and Hubert had gazed and wondered long.
'They are mad!' said Christopher, 'to give and take such trouble for
no end.'
'What grievous disturbance they make about so short a journey!' cried
Hubert. 'Good stranger, tell us of what Bedlam are they?'
'They belong to all the madhouses of the world,' said the stranger.
'But why are they here?--where are they going?--and what lies beyond
these mists?' cried the brothers in a breath.
'Dear brothers, who were so true and loving of old,' said the
stranger, 'concerning this matter, believe that you will learn
hereafter; for the present, know that this which ye have seen is the
great and busy road of life; but strive to become more wise and
prudent travellers, and see that ye fall not out by the way.'
As he ceased, a gleam of sunshine broke through the twilight, and fell
full upon him. In its brightness, the noble aspect did not alter, but
grew more familiar to their eyes; and Christopher and Hubert knew at
the same moment that he was none other than their brother Gottleib.
Both sprang to embrace him, but the way, the travellers, and Gottleib,
vanished from them. They looked into each other's faces by the early
sunlight which streamed through the closed shutters of their room, and
gleamed on the brazen clasps of the Coverdale Bible, still lying
between them on the table where they had fallen asleep.
Such is the account of the affair given by themselves; although more,
it is believed, to suit the taste and belief of the time they lived
in than their own. The two brothers had passed many hours silent and
in the dark; and it is not unreasonable to suppose that the visionary
world, into which they had unconsciously slipped, presented to both
such phenomena--founded on the meditations and recollections in which
both had been immersed--as were easily rendered in the exoteric types
of romance. The brothers talked long over the vision, and could
scarcely satisfy even themselves that it was indeed a dream; but they
agreed on its use of wisdom and warning, and disputed no more. The old
house was not sold, nor the types divided. It is even affirmed that
the bookseller's daughter and the Catholic widow lived there as right
friendly sisters-in-law; and after many a broadside and folio page,
the press they had worked for so many years at length struck off the
tale we have just related--the German brothers supposing that some
honest men in England might profit, as they had done, by a look upon
Life's Highway.