“Curious book!” exclaimed Father Melchoir, a middle-aged monk, who had himself just finished a copy of the same work, by the slow process of the pen, with incredible pains and much time. “How came you to make so many books all alike? How did you do it? You have a great company of scribes, eh?” Gutenberg did not explain. Meanwhile the monks continued to gather; for having seen some of the former issues of the lapidary, they were the more eager to examine the new one. “Very good! wonderful!” said one, as he turned over the pages of a book. “It is not like the work of our hands,” added another. “But you have not answered my questions!” persisted Father Melchoir, piqued that Gutenberg made such a show of industry and careful penmanship. “I can even tell thee that I have accomplished it by patience,” was the inventor’s reply. “Why, we claim not to be wanting in that virtue,” said Father Melchoir, “but none of us can compete with your speed in writing. Every few weeks you bring us in twelve or more books, all carefully written out in half the time it takes our readiest scribe to make one copy!” “Moreover,” added another, as he compared two copies, “the letters are so exact and regular; why, these two copies have just as many letters and words on a page, made precisely alike!” “But, the books are unadorned!” broke in Father Melchoir. “And very plain and poverty-stricken they look to me after gazing on our illuminated books, with their beautiful pictures, rich bindings, silk embroidered with gold and silver thread, and their backs of ivory exquisitely carved, or embellished with filigree-work and pearls and precious stones. One would suppose that a lapidary might at least use ornaments that are in his line!” “I am not ambitious of adornment,” answered Gutenberg. “I would greatly prefer to circulate twelve books in a neat plain dress than one in rich pictures and binding. My twelve books are made to be read; while an embellished copy is only fit to be locked up with clasps, and kept in a chest or cage, to be taken out on great occasions.” The Superior meanwhile had been absorbed in the copy Gutenberg had presented him, and appeared not to notice the conversation. He now motioned the monks to withdraw; then, turning to Gutenberg, said,-- “I have a word to thee, my son!” “I am ready to hear, holy Father!” “Are these books made with the pen of the copyist?” and his keen eye fell on the lapidary with a searching glance. Gutenberg was embarrassed for an answer. “It is as I supposed,” continued the Superior. “They are made by engraved blocks, like the ‘St. Christopher’ and the ‘Biblia Pauperum.’”