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CHAPTER 19

Peter, It's Up To You

      "WHERE WILL you go, sir? What will you do now," Peter asked, his voice betraying the anxiety he felt for the old man.

      It was almost evening, and they were standing together in the great workroom of the print shop. Mentelin, Zell, and Gutenberg's two closest friends were with them. The workmen had already been sent away, (some of the youngest had almost been in tears) and now they were saying their goodbyes . . . to each other, and to the shop that had become a home to them all.

      "I will stay with my good friend, Konrad, for a while," Gutenberg answered sadly, indicating Doctor Homery with a gesture. "And what about you? Will you go home to Frankfurt?"

      Peter shook his head. "I don't know. I haven't thought about it yet."

      Gutenberg nodded and turned to Mentelin. "And you, John? Will you give up printing, now that our great experiment has ended?"

      "No, sir. I'm not giving up — and it hasn't ended. I'll use the gift of knowledge you have given me and open a printing shop of my own. I want to print books in German, rather than in Latin. I think most people would rather read something that's written in their own language."

      Peter looked up. "That's a really interesting idea! Will you stay here in Mainz?"

      For once, the calm Mentelin looked slightly flustered. "No — actually, I'm planning to move to Strassbourg. You see there's a young lady there, who . . ."

      Seeing his blush, Ulrich Zell began to laugh. "Sober Mentelin — are you finally in love? What a sly fellow you are. You never let us guess it!"

      "Congratulations," Peter said warmly.

      "And mine," Gutenberg added. "Ah, John, I'm glad to think that the art of printing will not die with me!"

      "Oh, Boss, we won't let that happen," Ulrich Zell cried earnestly. "I going to open a print shop, too. I've an uncle in Cologne, who's a goldsmith, just as you were. I can go to work for him — and when I've saved enough money, I'll start casting my own type. Then I'll build a press and follow in your footsteps. We're not all traitors, you know!"

      As he said those last words, he gave Peter a black look, and Peter, cut to the quick, answered him at last. "Zell, you're wrong! I never betrayed him!" Then he turned to Gutenberg. "Sir, if I injured you by what I said in court, please forgive me. Because, even though I had to tell the truth — I can hardly forgive myself!"

      The old man laid a kind hand on Peter's shoulder. "Don't distress yourself, of course you couldn't lie to the judge. If there was a fault, it was mine in the first place, for not working faster — or better."

      Then he sighed. "But . . . my heart grieves to think that all our work has been wasted, after all. Our magnificent Bible will never be completed!"

      Unexpectedly, a woman's voice answered him. "But Mr. Gutenberg, perhaps it can be finished."

      Gutenberg turned with a start, completely taken aback. "What's that? Who's there!"

      The speaker was standing quietly in the doorway, and although she was closely wrapped in a heavy cloak, Peter knew her in an instant. It was Christina! Standing behind her was the old clerk, Conrad Henkis, and little Helga was at her side.

      "I believe there may be a way that your Great Bible can be produced after all, Mr. Gutenberg, if you will permit it," Christina repeated, coming forward into the room.

      "If I permit . . ." Gutenberg began. Then he, too, recognized her. "Miss Fust, what are you doing here!" The question sounded indignant, as if he thought she had come to gloat over his troubles.

      Christina ignored his hostile tone. "I'm trying to preserve your work, Sir! Do you think you're the only one who understands it? And cares for it!"

      She had come close to the old man, and now, so intense was her feeling, that she caught his arm and almost shook it. "I've been struggling with this problem all day, and I think I've found the solution at last — if you will allow it. Will you let your assistants stay here and finish your Great Bible without you . . . supposing I can persuade my father to agree to it."

      Gutenberg actually flinched away from her as she was dangerous animal. "My Bible? Give it away to someone else? Never!"

      "Oh! How can you say that," she cried, almost stamping her foot with impatience. "Don't you realize that your printed books are the great hope of mankind! Yes, I know it was your idea, and that you've struggled all your life to bring it into being — we all know that! But the work itself is more important than any one man, and it must not go to waste! I beg you, Mr. Gutenberg, let this work go on!"

      When Gutenberg first recognized Christina, he had seen her only as the daughter of his enemy, and he had hardly listened to her words. But now, a little at a time, he began to realize what she was saying. And to think about it.

      "How could I bear to give up my beautiful Bible — and then to hear other men praised for creating it!" he demanded, turning away from her.

      Nevertheless, he began to pace about the room, head down, thinking. Peter heard him murmuring to himself, "But if I refuse, then it must die. Like a child that was stillborn. My young assistants are good men . . . they want to continue my work in other towns. Could they succeed where I have failed? It's been so hard for me all these years — no money. Nobody who believed that the process would work out. But if they stayed here and finished the Bible . . . then they would carry the glory of that success with them. Not only would the Bible be completed — their doing it would help them to succeed . . ."

      At this point, Gutenberg stopped pacing, and for several minutes he stood lost in thought, absently rubbing his cheek with one forefinger. Christina and the others, Peter, Mentelin, and Zell — and Martin Mair and Doctor Homery all waited respectfully for his decision.

      When at last the old printer looked up, he seemed surprised to see them all standing there so quietly. Deep in his thoughts, he had completely forgotten them.

      He strode over to Christina and said kindly, "Miss Fust, I believe you have hit on a good idea. It's true that I'd dreamed of completing my Bible with my own hands. But you're right that the work must continue — if not with me, then without me. So go to your father and persuade him if you can."

      Christina's eyes were shining. "Johann Gutenberg, you are one of the greatest men of all time — the greatest and the most generous!"

      Martin Mair put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "She's right, Johann. And you deserve all the blessings that God and His church can bestow on you."

      Gutenberg bowed his head for a moment, then he looked up, almost his old cheerful self. "But I expect I should ask my young men if they are willing: John Mentelin, Schoeffer, and young Zell — will you carry on my work for me, now that I cannot do it myself?"

      Mentelin nodded. "I always intended to stay until the Great Bible was completed, and I won't leave until it's finished. But after that . . . someone I love is waiting for me in Strassbourg."

      Ulrich Zell, however, hesitated and then shook his head. "No, Boss. I'd do anything to serve you — except this. I can't work for Fust, the man who has thrown you out of your own workplace and taken the Great Bible away from you. I'm going to Cologne tonight. And when I get there, and wherever I am for the rest of my life — I'll make certain the whole world knows the name of the father of printing!" He took Gutenberg's hand and kissed it. Then, with a cold bow to the others, he turned on his heel and left the building.

      Gutenberg watched Zell go. Then he turned to Peter. "Well, Schoeffer, it's up to you, then. Will you stay here and see to it that the work goes on?"

      Peter met the old man's hand with his own. "Yes, Sir, I'll see that the work goes on," he said. "And I promise you, I'll give my life to it!"

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