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CHAPTER 15
The Red Letters
THE SPRING of 1455
was a desperate, joyless season in Mainz and the surrounding towns. Half the small nobles in western Germany were at war
with each other, and every traveler brought fresh news of more fighting.
Peasant farmers were kidnaped by roving bands of hired soldiers and
forced to take part in nameless battles, on behalf of causes they never
understood. Laborers and wood-cutters were found murdered beside the
roads, and whole villages were burned to the ground. And nobody seemed
to know who was responsible.
Then came rumors of other strange events: in a distant part of the
country, a mob of starving peasants had marched on a nearby castle,
killed all the duke's men at arms, stolen everything they could carry
and set fire to the rest! (And how and why were so many people starving
in a countryside filled with rich farms.)
Although no fighting took place near the city of Mainz, its citizens
were deeply uneasy. Travel decreased, and by late spring, shipments of
metal and cloth became less frequent, and the materials themselves went
up in cost. Milk and fruit grew scarce, and before hot weather arrived,
the price of grain had doubled.
The mayor sent petitions for help to the noble dukes and lords in the
surrounding countryside, but no help was forthcoming. And when Peter's
best typesetter left to spend the Easter season with his mother in
Bingen only twenty miles away he never returned. Letters of
complaint to King Frederick went unanswered, and at last the citizens of
Mainz began to talk of hiring soldiers to protect the city, in case of
attack.
In addition to the trouble caused by undelivered supplies, Peter had
more personal causes for concern. The printing work went forward in
fits and starts . . . and he was waiting despondently for word of
Christina's marriage.
As for Gutenberg, he showed no surprise when he heard that Peter had
managed the impossible and wrung an extension of time from Johann Fust.
He was too busy developing new type to print the big capital letters.
They had all been warmly enthusiastic over the idea.
"We can use woodcuts," Zell had cried at once. "We'll strike in each
one by hand, and the artists can touch up the type when they illuminate
the rest of the page!"
"I was thinking that we might use an engraving process," Peter
suggested. "Artists have been using the technique for some years. An
engraving has a beautiful, delicate line, and it would let us include
much more detail."
"No, we should cast the type just as we do for the regular letters,"
Gutenberg said quickly. "We'll set the letters in forms of the same
size and run each page through the press a second time."
Mentelin nodded. "The great capitals will be much larger and more
complex than the letters we're already using. The red ink will have to
be of a different consistency, so it will spread properly and leave a
smooth impression."
"We'll keep trying until we get what we need. It will have to be mixed
separately anyway it's red, not black."
The old man was exhilarated by the new ideas and eager to them into
action. He began designing the type at once. Mentelin and Zell were
set to work making the molds and punches they would cast from, while
Peter continued supervising the rest of the work.
As soon as the first red capitals were finished, more printing
materials were ordered, and experiments began, using the new type.
Unfortunately, instead of speeding up production, work on the Great
Bible was moving more slowly than ever. Sheet after sheet of paper was
wasted as they tested out inks and adjusted the position of the new
initials on the page. What's more, while the press was being used to
print the tall, red letters, the printing of the black body type had to
wait its turn.
By this time, it was full summer, and Peter was almost desperate.
He went to Gutenberg. "Sir, there are only a few months left, and
hundreds of pages are waiting to be printed. We need to build a second
press."
Gutenberg frowned. "Still worried about your friend, the banker?"
Peter ignored this sarcasm. "We have to finish the Great Bible before
harvest time," he answered steadily.
"Of course we do," Gutenberg agreed. "I want to finish it too. But you
must be patient, my boy. I've been working on this process all my life,
and it takes time."
Patience? More than a dozen men had been at work on this for three
years, Peter thought. We've been working day and night! In that amount
of time, they could have produced almost forty Bibles by writing them by
hand with quill and ink!
Aloud, he said, "Sir, I understand that some delays can't be avoided,
but right now, we're actually producing fewer pages each day that we
used to. While you're using the press for the new color work (and yes,
I know that I was the one who suggested the change), the black-type work
must wait, and the workmen are doing nothing. What's more, every time
we switch from red ink to black or black to red the press has to
be cleaned meticulously, and that takes still more time. A second press
would solve the whole problem."
Gutenberg shrugged. "Then by all means, build a new press, if you wish.
But I doubt that old Fust will approve the expense."
"He'll have to," Peter said grimly. "We must finish the Bible before
the harvest comes in this autumn! We've given our lives to this work,
and we must have something to show for it! Not only for Mr. Fust."
(He thought briefly of Christina.) ". . . But for you, Sir. And for
me, and for Mentelin and Zell and for the whole world! Sir, the
world needs our printing, and it can't wait much longer!"
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