Kitobni o'qish: «Triumphs of Invention and Discovery in Art and Science»
Preface
"Peace hath her victories, no less renowned than war." – Milton.
It is not difficult to account for the pre-eminence, generally assigned to the victories of war over the victories of peace in popular history. The noise and ostentation which attend the former, the air of romance which surrounds them, – lay firm hold of the imagination, while the directness and rapidity with which, in such transactions, the effect follows the cause, invest them with a peculiar charm for simple and superficial observers. As Schiller says, —
"Straight forward goes
The lightning's path, and straight the fearful path
Of the cannon ball. Direct it flies, and rapid,
Shattering that it may reach, and shattering what it reaches.
My son! the road the human being travels,
That on which blessing comes and goes, doth follow
The river's course, the valley's playful windings:
Curves round the corn-field and the hill of vines,
Honouring the holy bounds of property!
And thus secure, though late, leads to its end."
The path of peace is long and devious, now dwindling into a mere foot-track, now lost to sight in some dense thicket; and the heroes who pursue it are often mocked at by the crowd as poor, half-witted souls, wandering either aimlessly or in foolish chase of some Jack o' lantern that ever recedes before them. The goal they aim at seems to the common eye so visionary, and their progress towards it so imperceptible, – and even when reached, it takes so long before the benefits of their achievement are generally recognised, – that it is perhaps no wonder we should be more attracted by the stirring narratives of war, than by the sad, simple histories of the great pioneers of industry and science.
Picturesque and imposing as deeds of arms appear, the victories of peace – the development of great discoveries and inventions, the performance of serene acts of beneficence, the achievements of social reform – possess a deeper interest and a truer romance for the seeing eye and the understanding heart. Wounds and death have to be encountered in the struggles of peace as well as in the contests of war; and peace has her martyrs as well as her heroes. The story of the cotton-spinning invention is at once as tragic and romantic as the story of the Peninsular war. There were "forlorn hopes" of brave men in both; but in the one case they were cheered by sympathy and association, in the other the desperate pioneers had to face a world of foes, "alone, unfriended, solitary, slow."
The following pages contain sketches of some of the more momentous victories of peace, and the heroes who took part in them. The reader need hardly be reminded that this brief list does not exhaust the catalogue either of such events or persons, and that only a few of a representative character are here selected.
In the present edition the different sections have been carefully revised, and the details brought down to the latest possible date.
J. H. F.
The Art of Printing
"A creature he called to wait on his will,
Half iron, half vapour – a dread to behold —
Which evermore panted, and evermore rolled,
And uttered his words a millionfold.
Forth sprung they in air, down raining in dew,
And men fed upon them, and mighty they grew."Leigh Hunt, Sword and Pen.
I. – JOHN GUTENBERG
Some Dutch writers, inspired by a not unnatural feeling of patriotism, have endeavoured to claim the honour of inventing the Art of Printing for a countryman of their own, Laurence Coster of Haarlem. Their sole reliance, however, is upon the statements of one Hadrian Junius, who was born at Horn, in North Holland, in 1511. About 1575 he wrote a work, entitled "Batavia," in which the account of Coster first appeared. And, as an unimpeachable authority has remarked, almost every succeeding advocate of Coster's pretensions has taken the liberty of altering, amplifying, or contradicting the account of Junius, according as it might suit his own line of argument; but not one of them has succeeded in producing a solitary fact in confirmation of it. The accounts which are given of Coster's discovery by Junius and his successors present many contradictory features. Thus Junius says: "Walking in a neighbouring wood, as citizens are accustomed to do after dinner and on holidays, he began to cut letters of beech-bark, with which, for amusement – the letters being inverted as on a seal – he impressed short sentences on paper for the children of his son-in-law." A later writer, Scriverius, is more imaginative: "Coster," he says, "walking in the wood, picked up a small bough of a beech, or rather of an oak-tree, blown off by the wind; and after amusing himself with cutting some letters on it, wrapped it up in paper, and afterwards laid himself down to sleep. When he awoke, he perceived that the paper, by a shower of rain or some accident having got moist, had received an impression from these letters; which induced him to pursue the accidental discovery."
Not only are these accounts evidently deficient in authenticity, but it should be remarked that the earliest of them was not put before the world until Laurence Coster had been nearly a hundred and fifty years in his grave. The presumed writer of the narrative which first did justice to his memory had been also twelve years dead when his book was published. His information, or rather the information brought forward under cover of his name, was derived from an old man who, when a boy, had heard it from another old man who lived with Coster at the time of the robbery, and who had heard the account of the invention from his master. For, to explain the fact of the early appearance of typography in Germany, the Dutch writers are forced to the hypothesis that an apprentice of Coster's stole all his master's types and utensils, fleeing with them first to Amsterdam, second to Cologne, and lastly to Mentz! The whole story is too improbable to be accepted by any impartial inquirer; and the best authorities are agreed in dismissing the Dutch fiction with the contempt it deserves, and in ascribing to John Gutenberg, of Mentz, the honour to which he is justly entitled.
Of the career of Gutenberg we shall speak presently, but let us first point out that the invention of typography, like all great inventions, was no sudden conception of genius – not the birth of some singularly felicitous moment of inspiration – but the result of what may be called a gradual series of causes. Printing with movable types was the natural outcome of printing with blocks. We must go back, therefore, a few years, to examine into the origin of "block books."
Mr. Jackson observes that there cannot be a doubt that the principle on which wood engraving is founded – that of taking impressions on paper or parchment, with ink, from prominent lines – was known and practised in attesting documents in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. Towards the end of the fourteenth, or about the beginning of the fifteenth century, he says, there seems reason to believe that this principle was adopted by the German card-makers for the purpose of marking the outlines of the figures on their cards, which they afterwards coloured by the practice called stencilling.
It was the Germans who first practised card-making as a trade, and as early as 1418 the name of a kartenmacher, or card-maker, occurs in the burgess-books of Augsburg. In the town-books of Nuremburg, the designation formschneider, or figure-cutter, is found in 1449; and we may presume that block books – that is, books each page of which was cut on a single block – were introduced about this time. These books were on religious subjects, and were intended, perhaps, by the monks as a kind of counterbalance against the playing-cards; "thus endeavouring to supply a remedy for the evil, and extracting from the serpent a cure for his bite."
The earliest woodcut known – one of St. Christopher – bears the date of 1432, and was found in a convent situated within about fifty miles of the city of Augsburg – the convent of Buxheim, near Memmingen. It was pasted on the inside of the right hand cover of a manuscript entitled Laus Virginis, and measures eleven and a quarter inches in height, by eight and one-eighth inches in width.
The following description of it by Jackson is interesting: —
"To the left of the engraving the artist has introduced, with a noble disregard of perspective, what Bewick would have called a 'bit of nature.' In the foreground a figure is seen driving an ass loaded with a sack towards a water-mill; while by a steep path a figure, perhaps intended for the miller, is seen carrying a full sack from the back-door of the mill towards a cottage. To the right is seen a hermit – known by the bell over the entrance to his dwelling – holding a large lantern to direct St. Christopher as he crosses the stream. The couplet at the foot of the cut, —
'Cristofori faciem die quacunque tueris,
Illa nempe die morte mala non morieris,'
may be translated as follows, —
Each day that thou the image of St. Christopher shall see,
That day no frightful form of death shall chance to fall on thee.
These lines allude to a superstition, once popular in all Catholic countries, that on the day they saw a figure or image of St. Christopher, they would be safe from a violent death, or from death unabsolved and unconfessed."
Passing over some other woodcuts of great antiquity, in all of which the figures are accompanied by engraved letters, we come to the block books proper. Of these, the most famous are called, the Apocalypsis, seu Historia Sancti Johannis (the "Apocalypse, or History of St. John"); the Historia Virginis ex Cantico Canticorum ("Story of the Virgin, from the Song of Songs"); and the Biblia Pauperum ("Bible of the Poor"). The first is a history, pictorial and literal, of the life and revelations of St. John the Evangelist, partly derived from the book of Revelation, and partly from ecclesiastical tradition. The second is a similar biography of the Virgin Mary, as it is supposed to be typified in the Song of Solomon; and the third consists of subjects representing many of the most important passages in the Old and New Testaments, with texts to illustrate the subject, or clinch the lesson of duty it may shadow forth.
With respect to the engraving, we are told that the cuts are executed in the simplest manner, as there is not the least attempt at shading, by means of cross lines or hatchings, to be detected in any one of the designs. The most difficult part of the engraver's task, says Jackson, supposing the drawing to have been made by another person, would be the cutting of the letters, which, in several of the subjects, must have occupied a considerable portion of time, and have demanded no small degree of perseverance, care, and skill.
These block books were followed by others in which no illustrations appeared, but in which the entire page was occupied with text. The Grammatical Primer, called the "Donatus," from the name of its supposed compiler, was thus printed, or engraved, enabling copies of it to be multiplied at a much cheaper rate than they could be produced in manuscript.
And thus we see that the art of printing – or, more correctly speaking, engraving on wood – has advanced from the production of a single figure, with merely a few words beneath it, to the impression of whole pages of text. Next, for the engraved page were to be substituted movable letters of metal, wedged together within an iron frame; and impressions, instead of being obtained by the slow and tedious process of friction, were to be secured by the swift and powerful action of the press.
About the year 1400, John Gænsfleisch, or Gutenberg, was born at Mentz. He sprung from an honourable family, and it is said that he himself was by birth a knight. He seems to have been a person of some property.
About 1434 we find him living in Strasburg, and, in partnership with a certain Andrew Drytzcher, endeavouring to perfect the art of typography. How he was induced to direct his attention towards this object, and under what circumstances he began his experiments, it is impossible to say; but there can be no doubt that he was the first person who conceived the idea of movable types– an idea which is the very foundation of the art of printing.
An old German chronicler furnishes the following account of the early stages of the great printer's discovery: —
"At this time (about 1438), in the city of Mentz, on the Rhine, in Germany, and not in Italy as some persons have erroneously written, that wonderful and then unheard-of art of printing and characterizing books was invented and devised by John Gutenberger, citizen of Mentz, who, having expended most of his property in the invention of this art, on account of the difficulties which he experienced on all sides, was about to abandon it altogether; when, by the advice and through the means of John Fust, likewise a citizen of Mentz, he succeeded in bringing it to perfection. At first they formed or engraved the characters or letters in written order on blocks of wood, and in this manner they printed the vocabulary called a 'Catholicon.' But with these forms or blocks they could print nothing else, because the characters could not be transposed in these tablets, but were engraved thereon, as we have said. To this invention succeeded a more subtle one, for they found out the means of cutting the forms of all the letters of the alphabet, which they called matrices, from which again they cast characters of copper or tin of sufficient hardness to resist the necessary pressure, which they had before engraved by hand."
This is a very brief and summary account of a great invention. By comparison of other authorities we are enabled to bring together a far greater number of details, though we must acknowledge that many of these have little foundation but in tradition or romance.
Let us, therefore, take a peep at the first printer, working in seclusion and solitude in the old historic city of Strasburg, and endeavouring to elaborate in practice the grand idea which has been conceived and matured by his energetic brain. Doubtlessly he knew not the full importance of this idea, or of how great a social and religious revolution it was to be the seed, and yet we cannot believe that he was altogether unconscious of its value to future generations.
Shutting himself up in his own room, seeing no one, rarely crossing the threshold, allowing himself hardly any repose, he set himself to work out the plan he had formed. With a knife and some pieces of wood he constructed a set of movable types, on one face of each of which a letter of the alphabet was carved in relief, and which were strung together, in the order of words and sentences, upon a piece of wire. By means of these he succeeded in producing upon parchment a very satisfactory impression.
To be out of the way of prying eyes, he took up his quarters in the ruins of the old monastery of St. Arbogaste, outside the town, which had long been abandoned by the monks to the rats and beggars of the neighbourhood; and the better to mask his designs, as well as to procure the funds necessary for his experiments, he set up as a sort of artificer in jewellery and metal-work, setting and polishing precious stones, and preparing Venetian glass for mirrors, which he afterwards mounted in frames of metal and carved wood. These avowed labours he openly practised, along with a couple of assistants, in a public part of the monastery; but in the depths of the cloisters, in a dark secluded spot, he fitted up a little cell as the atelier of his secret operations; and there, secured by bolts and bars, and a thick oaken door, against the intrusion of any one who might penetrate so far into the interior of the ruins, he applied himself to his great work. He quickly perceived, as a man of his inventiveness was sure to perceive, the superiority of letters of metal over those of wood. He invented various coloured inks, at once oily and dry, for printing with; brushes and rollers for transferring the ink to the face of the types; "forms," or cases, for keeping together the types arranged in pages; and a press for bringing the inked types and the paper in contact.
Day and night, whenever he could spare an instant from his professed occupations, he devoted himself to the development of his great design. At night he could hardly sleep for thinking of it, and his hasty snatches of slumber were disturbed by agitating dreams. Tradition has preserved the story of one of these for us as he afterwards told it to his friends. He dreamt that, as he sat feasting his eyes upon the impression of his first page of type, he heard two voices whispering at his ear – the one soft and musical, the other harsh, dull, and bitter in its tones. The one bade him rejoice at the great work he had achieved; unveiled the future, and showed the men of different generations, the peoples of distant lands, holding high converse by means of his invention; and cheered him with the hope of an immortal fame. "Ay," put in the other voice, "immortal he might be, but at what a price! Man, more often perverse and wicked than wise and good, would profane the new faculty this art created, and the ages, instead of blessing, would have cause to curse the man who gave it to the world. Therefore let him regard his invention as a seductive but fatal dream, which, if fulfilled, would place in the hands of man, sinful and erring as he was, only another instrument of evil." Gutenberg, whom the first voice had thrown into an ecstasy of delight, now shuddered at the thought of the fearful power to corrupt and to debase his art would give to wicked men, and awoke in an agony of doubt. He seized his mallet, and had almost broken up his types and press, when he paused to reflect that, after all, God's gifts, although sometimes perilous and capable of abuse, were never evil in themselves, and that to give another means of utterance to the piety and reason of mankind was to promote the spread of virtue and intelligence, which were both divine. So he closed his ears to the suggestions of the tempter, and persisted in his work.
Gutenberg had scarcely completed his printing machine, and got it into working order, when the jealousy and distrust of his associates in the nominal business he carried on, brought him into trouble with the authorities of Strasburg. He could have saved himself by the disclosure of all the secrets of his invention; but this he refused to do. His goods were confiscated; and he returned penniless, with a heavy heart, to his native town Mentz. There, in partnership with a wealthy goldsmith named John Fust, and his son-in-law Schoeffer, he started a printing office; from which he sent out many works, mostly of a religious character. The enterprise throve; but misfortune was ever dogging Gutenberg's steps, and he had but a brief taste of prosperity. The priests looked with suspicion upon the new art, which enabled people to read for themselves what before they had to take on trust from them. The transcribers of books, – a large and influential guild, – were also hostile to the invention, which threatened to deprive them of their livelihood. These two bodies formed a league against the printers; and upon the head of poor Gutenberg were emptied all the vials of their wrath. Fust and Schoeffer, with crafty adroitness, managed to conciliate their opponents, and to offer up their partner as a sacrifice for themselves. By the zeal of his enemies, and the treachery of his friends, Gutenberg was driven out of Mentz. After wandering about for some time in poverty and neglect, Adolphus, the Elector of Nassau, became his patron; and at his court Gutenberg set up a press, and printed a number of works with his own hands. Though poor, his last years were spent in peace; and when he died, he had only a few copies of the productions of his press to leave to his sister.
Meanwhile, at Strasburg, some of his former associates pieced together the revelations that had fallen from him, while at the old monastery, as to his invention; and not only worked it with success, but claimed all the credit of its origin. In the same way, Fust and Schoeffer, at Mentz, grew rich through the invention of the man they had betrayed, and tried to rob of his fame.
There is a curious, but not very well authenticated story about a visit Fust made to Paris to push the sale of his Bibles. "The tradition of the Devil and Dr. Faustus," writes D'Israeli in the "Curiosities of Literature," "was said to have been derived from the odd circumstances in which the Bibles of the first printer, Fust, appeared to the world. When Fust had discovered this new art, and printed off a considerable number of copies of the Bible to imitate those which were commonly sold as MSS., he undertook the sale of them at Paris. It was his interest to conceal this discovery and to pass off his printed copies for MSS. But, enabled to sell his Bibles at sixty crowns, while the other scribes demanded five hundred, this raised universal astonishment; and still more when he produced copies as fast as they were wanted, and even lowered his price. The uniformity of the copies increased the wonder. Informations were given in to the magistrates against him as a magician; and on searching his lodgings, a great number of copies were found. The red ink, and Fust's red ink is peculiarly brilliant, which embellished his copies, was said to be his blood; and it was solemnly adjudged that he was in league with the Infernal. Fust at length was obliged, to save himself from a bonfire, to reveal his art to the Parliament of Paris, who discharged him from all prosecution in consideration of the wonderful invention."
The edition of the Bible, which was one of the very first productions of Gutenberg and Fust's press, is called the Mazarin, in consequence of the first known copy having been discovered in the famous library formed by Cardinal Mazarin. It seems to have been printed as early as August 1456, and is a truly admirable specimen of typography; the characters being very clear and distinct, and the uniformity of the printing perfectly remarkable. A copy in the Royal Library at Paris is bound in two volumes, and every complete page consists of two columns, each containing forty-two lines. The reader will recognize the appropriateness of the fact that from the first printing press the first important work produced should be a copy of God's Word. It sanctified the new art which was to be so fruitful of good and evil results – the good superabounding, and clearly visible – the evil little, and destined, perhaps, to be directed eventually to good – for successive generations of mankind. It was a fitting forerunner of the long generation of books which have since issued so ceaselessly from the printing press; books, of the majority of which we may say, with Milton, that "they contain a potency of life in them to be as active as those souls were whose progeny they are; to preserve, as in a vial, the purest efficacy and extraction of the living intellects that feed them."
Gutenberg's career was dashed with many lights and shadows, but it closed in peace. In 1465, the Archbishop-elector of Mentz appointed him one of his courtiers, with the same allowance of clothing as the remainder of the nobles attending his court, and all other privileges and exemptions. It is probable that from this time he abandoned the practice of his new invention. The date of his death is uncertain; but there is documentary evidence extant which proves that it occurred before February 24, 1468. He was interred in the church of the Recollets at Mentz, and the following epitaph was composed by his kinsman Adam Gelthaus: —
"Joanni Gesnyfleisch, artis impressoriae repertori, de omni natione et lingua optime merito, in nominis sui memoriam immortalem Adam Gelthaus posuit. Ossa ejus in ecclesia D. Francisci Moguntina feliciter cubant."
