Book Cover  •  Table of Contents  •  < PREV Chapter  •  NEXT Chapter >

CHAPTER 8

Peter And Christina

      GOOD DAY, Helga," Peter said, "May I see Johann Fust?

      The little maid's face had brightened when she first saw him. Now she grew sober again. "I think he was going out today, Mr. Peter. But if you'll step into the great room for a moment, I can find out if he's still here."

      She took Peter's cloak and hat and led him into the luxurious drawing room. "I know he usually makes you wait in the counting house," she said with a smile, "But it's bitter cold there, and in this room the stove is always kept hot. The heat goes to waste unless it makes somebody comfortable."

      Helga was right. The beautiful stove that warmed the room was radiating a delicious heat, and Peter held out his chilled hands toward it. It must have been made in Nuremberg, he thought, because its creamy porcelain surface was decorated with deep blue pictures of birds and trees.

      A soft voice spoke from the doorway. "Perhaps I can help you?" A thrill went down Peter's spine, and he turned quickly. Yes, it was Christina!

      During the months that he had been coming to meet with Mr. Fust, Peter had seen Christina only rarely. Sometimes they passed each other in the hallways, or as he was entering or leaving her father's office. Several times, he'd seen her working at one of the heavy books in the counting house. Whenever they met, he'd always bowed and greeted her, and she had responded with a pleasant word, but they'd never talked together, and he always felt a little awkward when she was near.

      Trying to look composed, he made her a sweeping bow. "Good afternoon, Miss Fust. It's an unexpected pleasure to see you!"

      She was wearing a blue dress today, exactly the same shade as her eyes, and the full skirt moved gracefully as she entered the room. "Helga said you wanted to see my father, but — what a pity — he's gone to Wiesbaden on business."

      "When will he be back?"

      "In three days, perhaps four."

      Peter felt disappointed. Although he dreaded this meeting with Mr. Fust, it would have been better to get it over with. "Then I suppose I'll have to wait till he comes back," he said, and turned to go.

      "Oh — if you could stay for a few minutes," Christina has seated herself on one of the cushioned chairs near the stove, and she gestured Peter to another. "I'd really like to know more about the work you and Mr. Gutenberg are doing for my father. You see, I often help with his accounts, and lately I've been overseeing the expenses of your business. Won't you tell me a little about it?"

      "I'd be delighted," Peter answered quickly. "What would you like to know?"

      She gave him a lovely smile. "To begin with, why do you buy so much metal?"

      He sat down beside her. "The metal is for making type, Miss Fust. Every letter in every word is cast separately — and since there are many thousands of words, even in a very small book, we have to keep on making more." He went on to describe how the lead was melted in the forge, telling her how important it was to mix in exactly the right amounts of tin and antimony. Then he explained how molten metal was poured into each tiny mold, how long it took to cool, and how each piece was finished by hand, to make certain the letter would print clearly.

      "Gutenberg is always working and experimenting to create better and finer type," he added.

      Christina immediately asked how the molds were formed, and Peter launched into further description. She seemed interested in everything he said, and, to his surprise, she understood it all.

      "How intelligent she is," he thought. "And she follows everything so quickly!" On the heels of that thought came another. "She's really lovely. Her braids are like cream-colored silk, and her eyes . . ."

      As Christina continued to ply him with questions, Peter's unusual shyness vanished completely. He described exactly how the type was set in place, and how necessary it was to read each page carefully to be sure there were no mistakes anywhere. Somehow, that led him to tell her about the work he'd done in Paris, and the proper way to apply the gold inks when illuminating manuscripts.

      She was such an interested listener, that before he realized it, the afternoon was gone. "It's getting late, and I should go," he said, guiltily. "I've certainly told you far more than you wanted to know about the printing press!"

      "On the contrary, it's all fascinating," Christina answered warmly. "And — please don't leave yet — tell me about this matter you wanted to discuss with my father. Is it something urgent? A bill that needs paying? Perhaps I can take care of it for you."

      He sighed. "I'm afraid we have a problem that only Mr. Fust can solve."

      "Why not tell me anyway," she urged.

      Peter hesitated. She was so sympathetic and understanding — did he dare to share this with her, too? "You see . . . Gutenberg has just designed an entirely new font of type," he answered slowly. "And it's so much smaller and finer, that he wants to use it for the Great Bible."

      She nodded. "Of course. I can understand that."

      "But if he does, then we'll have to throw away all the work we've done so far and start again."

      Christina's blue eyes flew open wide. "Oh, but there'd be so much waste! And the cost . . ." Then she stopped and thought a moment. Her eyes sought his face and she asked, "What do you think should be done?"

      "I don't know," Peter answered miserably. "There's no question that the new type is much finer — and it's so small that we can print an extra line or two in each column. Think of that — 42 lines to a page! But . . . it would be a real pity to waste the good work we've already done."

      "Is the new type very beautiful?"

      "Oh, yes! Let me show it to you; I brought a few pieces with me." Peter took out several pieces of type, carefully wrapped in soft cloth. He unwrapped them and offered them to her. "Look, here's a great 't' and a small 't' — this is an 'm,' and here's an 'r.' See how delicate they are?"

      As Christina took the type from him, their fingers touched, and Peter had a sensation as if a spark had jumped between them. She, however, seemed to notice nothing. Looking closely at the 'm,' she said, "The shape of this letter is a little different from your previous ones. Why is that?"

      "You have a quick eye! We reshaped them so the pieces of type will fit together more closely. When the letters aren't so far separated, the words are easier to read."

      "Hmmm. That's a real advantage. And with more lines to a page, the Bible itself will have fewer pages, so it won't be as cumbersome to handle. Isn't that so, Mr. Schoeffer?"

      "Exactly!" Again he marveled at how quickly she understood.

      "How much have you already printed?"

      "Almost two hundred pages so far."

      "Ah — so much! And how long before the new type is ready?"

      "It'll be several weeks. Perhaps even months," Peter answered. He had just noticed a faint scattering of golden freckles across her nose. They were lovely, he thought, like pollen dust on a perfect flower.

      "Why don't you go on printing with the old type until the new is ready," Christina said thoughtfully. "Then when you come to the next section — at the end of the Book of Joshua, at the beginning of the Book of Ruth, or wherever you are when the new type is ready — then begin using the new font."

      "But Gutenberg will never . . ." Peter began.

      "Then you'd better convince him," she interrupted in her gentle voice.

      Peter shook his head doubtfully. "Gutenberg is pretty easy-going about a lot of things, Christina, but I don't think he'll yield when it comes to his work."

      "But Peter, he has to! The shop can't run without money. And nobody but Father is ever going to finance him — Gutenberg has never repaid a debt in his life! If he throws away the work he's already done — good work that's been approved and paid for — Father will close you down!"

      "Mr. Fust wouldn't do that!"

      "You're mistaken; he certainly would! Money is tight now, taxes are going up, and he has plenty of other bills to pay. As a matter of fact, he'd have cut off the printing shop long ago . . . only I make him continue."

      "You do?" he asked, astonished. "But why?"

      "Because this printing experiment must succeed!" She leaned toward him, her blue eyes intent. "Knowledge is so hard to come by, and it spreads so slowly that most people must pass their lives in helpless ignorance. They never get to learn anything about history or mathematics . . . and even the simple practical things, like improvements in building, and how to weave better cloth, and better ways of taking care of babies are (at best) passed on by word-of-mouth, which is generally one part truth to five parts of mistakes and lies!"

      He nodded eagerly, "You're right — exactly right! But if there were plenty of books about such things . . ."

      "Precisely! All kinds of knowledge would be there for the taking! And your printing press is the key to it all. Everyone should have the chance to learn, Peter — not just the well-to-do, fortunate people, like you and me, but ordinary people, too! Even my little maid, Helga — she's as intelligent as I am, why shouldn't she have the same chance to learn that I did!"

      He took her hands. "Christina, when I first saw you, I thought you were as beautiful as an angel. Now I see that you're as wise and good as an angel, too!"

      Christina answered him steadily. "I'm far from being an angel, Peter. But you can be sure I'll do everything in my power to help you succeed. I believe that your printing press is one of those rare, great inventions that will change the lives of all those who follow us! It must succeed. And you're going to make it happen!"

      Peter's heart leaped to meet her words. "Me? I will?"

      She gave him a smile that dazzled him. "Yes! Because you'll help Gutenberg to understand that finishing this work is more important than getting his own way. You'll see to it that the Great Bible gets printed, and then you'll go on printing more books — and still more, until — oh, Peter, until the knowledge in their pages shines like light into the darkness of our lives!"

Cover  •  Contents  •  < PREV Chapter  •  NEXT Chapter >  •  Page Top