Benighted.--Minstrel of the Hearth.--The Black Art.--A Barefoot
Friar.--Popular Prejudice.--Hopes and Fears.--Gutenberg returns
to his Trade.--Dissolution of the Copartnership.
The country of the Rhine was visited by a wintry tempest from the North
Sea. Benighted, Gutenberg, wrapped in his monk’s cloak, little heeded
the roaring winds and cutting blasts, as, after destroying the work of
years, he bade adieu to Dritzhn’s shop, and hurried homeward. The storm
of life, the contest with his fellow-men, was more pitiless to him than
the fierce raging of the elements.
It was quite dark when Anna, placing a light in the window, stirred the
fire, and sat down to await his coming. The supper table was invitingly
spread, and the covered dish of food placed by the fire to keep warm.
“Why does he not come? May God preserve him from unreasonable men;” and
she caught up her work to while away the time. An hour passed, seeming
to Anna much longer, when a cricket, warmed into consciousness by the
genial heat, hopped out of his covert, coated with dust, and blithely
sang.
“A good omen!” mused Anna; and shortly after, true enough, there was a
stamping on the step, and a shaking of garments; and, springing to the
door, she welcomed her husband.
“O, it is yourself! come at last. But you look like a huge white bear!”
And she gayly laughed as she drew him in, and brushed off the snow. “I
was in fear lest some evil had overtaken you, until our dear little
cricket piped on the hearth, as if to assure me that you were almost
here.”
“Yes,” replied Gutenberg, throwing off his cloak, and hanging it on its
peg in the corner, “and my Anna and my home welcome me as cheerily as
ever.”
“We at least ought to comfort thee when the world without weareth such
dark frowns.”
“Ave, aye, there is need of comfort. But I divine that some one has
been here in my absence, and given thee cause of anxiety.”
“O, nothing worth minding,” returned the little wife. “Let us sup, and
speak of the bright side of life.”
“I am puzzled to find it; but thou canst point it out doubtless.”
“Shall we forget,” said Anna, “the mercy and the blessing that we are
spared to each other, and that no lawless mob has invaded our peace?”
“Aye, we do well to remember that it might be worse with us,” was
the reply; and having reverently said grace, for a time supper was
discussed in silence, for Anna’s last question had awakened grave
thoughts. Suddenly the cricket broke out anew with his shrill note.
“What does the creature mean?” asked Gutenberg. “Does he dream that it
is summer?”
“Bethink thee; he is the insect prophet of hope. He is saying, ‘Bright
days are coming, never fear!’”
“I trust the hearth minstrel is right; he will at least be useful in
making me sleep well; his song sounds like a lullaby! But now that
supper is over, what of thy visitor?”
“It was John Schultheiss’ wife,” replied Anna.
“That dark-browed woman! Why came she?”
“To comfort me with evil tidings; to tell me that it had been clearly
proved in court that thy hidden art was no better than witchcraft,
but that such was the inefficiency of the magistrates that they gave
decision in thy favor. Some believe that thou art in league with the
devil, and can enchant them or spoil their goods.”
“What superstition!” exclaimed Gutenberg; “this comes of ignorance, and
the scarcity of books!”
“I did not reason with her, or make reply, and she soon left; and soon
after, Simon, the Barefoot Friar, appeared. His religion, as you know,
consists in clothing himself in rags, begging from house to house,
and paying for his welcome in prayers and benedictions. As I opened
the door in answer to his loud knocking, he cried out, ‘God save the
house!’ then, as he came in, added, ‘God save the house, and all that’s
in it! God save it to the north!’ and he made the sign of the cross in
every direction towards which he turned. ‘God save it to the south! +
to the east! + and to the west! + Save it upwards!’ turning his eyes
heavenward, and crossing himself, ‘and save it downwards! + Save it
backwards! + and save it forwards! + Save it right! + and save it left!
+ Save it by night! + and save it by day! + Save it here! + and save it
there! + Save it this way! + and save it that way! + Save it eating! +
+ + and save it drinking! + + + + + + + + Oxis Doxis Glorioxis, Amen.’”
Gutenberg joined Anna in a merry laugh at this farce, as she went on
rehearsing the idle priest’s performance.
“‘And how are you, gracious lady, now that I have blessed the place in
the name of Saint Peter and all the Apostles and the nine patriarchs?
Isn’t a merry Christmas coming to you? And isn’t there plenty of good
cheer in the house?’ So I made him welcome, giving him a seat by the
fire, and a dish of the best food the house afforded.
“‘You don’t say that you’re prospering,’ said he, as I helped him to
the second supply; for he ate like some great animal.
“‘We are in trouble!’ I answered.
“‘I know it!’ he exclaimed, with a laugh, munching a mouthful and
clapping his hands. ‘I had it revealed to me! I know all about it;
and I know the prayer for it. Oxis Doxis! + + + If you’d only sent to
me in the first of it, I could have kept your trouble back, and I can
now be a hindering cause to it, and get you safely through, for I know
the prayer for it; Oxis Doxis! + and I’ll go at it directly when I get
refreshed.’”
“His own comfort first!” said Gutenberg, laughing.
“Yes,” replied Anna, “and isn’t he a good specimen of that class of
priests, who are really only beggars? All so wise in their own opinion,
and so ready to instruct every one they meet. How different from the
devout and learned priests who minister the services of our holy
church!”
“But how didst thou get rid of him?”
“After he had eaten like a glutton, he was ready to give me religious
instruction. ‘Do you know, gracious lady,’ said he, devoutly crossing
himself, ‘that you are the very likeness of the Blessed Virgin? I know
it, for she communicates with me from heaven.’
“‘Does she speak to you, Simon?’ I asked.
“‘The Blessed Virgin herself does so, and no one else,’ he answered.
‘And now let me tell thee, daughter, what she said to me only last
night. I was just composing myself to sleep, after opening my window
a little ways to let her in,--for she is in the habit of appearing
to me,--when a silvery cloud came floating through the air, and the
Blessed Lady alighted, came in, and took her seat upon my bed. I made
haste to say my “Ave Maria,” she the while sweetly smiling; and after
I had said _Ora pro nobis_ exactly nine hundred and ninety-nine times,
our holy Queen of Heaven and Mother of God opened her ruby lips, showed
me her pearly teeth, and revealed to me that the Barefoot Friars are
the dearest to her of all the orders of monks; and she showed me an
easy way to get to heaven, making me a solemn promise that whoever dies
with a Barefoot Friar’s cloak on, shall assuredly go to heaven.’”
“The impostor!” exclaimed Gutenberg. “Does he teach such doctrines as
these? Of what avail could his cloak be in such a matter? I do not
wonder that John Wickliffe was stirred up to denounce such men almost a
century ago!”
“When I remember,” said Anna, “that Henry II. found out one hundred
murders committed by priests, I am afraid to refuse the beggar friars
when they ask for food. I know not what they might do when angry. They
would at least curse me, and call down the judgments of Heaven.”
“Which would harm thee as little as it did Wickliffe,” said Gutenberg.
“It is related of him that when he was very sick, the friars burst into
his room with abusive language and curses, prophesying his death and
torment, which so roused him that he sprang from his bed and drove them
out, saying, ‘I shall not die, but live to declare the evil deeds of
you friars.’”
“Would there were more like him!” said Anna.
“We have some pious priests,” replied Gutenberg, “but others are
corrupt and time-serving. Occasionally one studies the Bible, and is
guided by its precepts; but there are so few copies of the sacred Word,
that all cannot have it if they would. If its laws were more generally
known, there would be a reformation in the lives of many of these men.
I had my heart on multiplying copies of this Book of books, but alas!
my plans have been frustrated!” and the tears dimmed his eyes.
“Never fear, thou wilt yet be prospered,” returned Anna, soothingly.
“Wickliffe did not fail in what he attempted, neither wilt thou fail of
accomplishing something worthy of thy aims and efforts.”
“But my work is done in Strasbourg. I cannot stem this tide of
prejudice and jealousy.”
“Strasbourg is not all the world,” rejoined Anna. “We can remove where
people and priests are not against thee.”
“But unless God interposes,” said Gutenberg, “I have no hope that I
shall ever return to my art.”
At the close of the lawsuit, Gutenberg found himself overwhelmed with
debt. His presses, type, and all his printing materials were destroyed.
He was a poor man, and must start anew in the world. And such was the
popular prejudice against his beloved art, that he saw it was useless
to attempt it again. Besides, Riffe and Hielman were now wholly averse
to the business; they urged that it had never been profitable, and that
defeat and disaster had attended its prosecution. It only remained for
them to resume the lapidary trade in the little shop of Gutenberg’s
cottage. This served a good purpose in allaying the excitement which
had been stirred up by the revelations of the lawsuit. And the inventor
was thankful that he had something positive to fall back upon in the
hour of his extremity, and often contrasted his condition with what it
would have been otherwise.
With the weight of a bitter disappointment resting upon him, he wrought
successfully at his trade, despite the efforts of certain evil
disposed persons, who sought to crush him in the hour of his defeat.
Now he had little intercourse with his fellow-citizens and the monks
of the Cathedral, save in the way of business. It was the time of his
reverses, and he had fewer friends than formerly.
By constant application he managed to get a comfortable support and pay
his most pressing liabilities; for the rest he suppressed his noble
tastes. It was vain to stem the tide of poverty, ill-will, and evil
surmisings which would infallibly meet him, had he the means even to
attempt the prosecution of his favorite aims. Yet in his dreams he was
often cutting type and working his press as of old. How he sighed to
find them only dreams!
Thus, with alternations of hopes and fears, the latter predominating,
passed the period till the close of 1441, at which time he was glad
to be released from all connection with Riffe and Hielman. There was
little congeniality to make their daily intercourse agreeable, and no
one of the firm proposed another term of contract.
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