A loud crash served as an accompaniment to this terrible wish. The yard, and the street in which it stood were buried under the fragments, the dust, the cinders, and the burning timber. One workman disappeared under the avalanche, the others ran away with loud cries. Schoeffer carried his weeping wife far from this scene of desolation; the old Fust and Gutenberg remained alone in the midst of the ruin. The former with both hands over his eyes had fallen almost to the ground on his trembling knees. Gutenberg, on the contrary, as if renewed with the vigour of youth, stood erect, and laying his hand on the shoulder of his antagonist, he addressed the following words to him, in a tone of inspired prophecy. “O you of little faith, who think because the temple is in flames that the Divinity must also burn! That which happens now happens justly, for your labour has been far less for the sake of your art, and its progress, than for your own personal interest. I tell you, Master Fust, this art, of which you despair, shall be eternal as the word which created it is great in the sight of men; and it is as little likely to perish in the flames of your dwelling, as the heavens are likely to perish which you see stretched out so far above you, in their blue stillness and beauty! Behold, Master Fust, your workshop is empty, your workmen are dispersed--reflect on what I say! Fate, sitting above your head bowed down with grief, scatters the ashes of your books to the four winds of heaven; well, by the very fact of the suspension of our work, and banishment from our hearths and homes, our art will extend itself to the farthest corners of the world. Let then all burn that can burn, O Fust! The art of printing is a Phœnix which will rise from its ashes and cover the whole world with its wings!” CHAPTER V. _The Lord Archbishop Adolfe of Nassau having bethought him of John Gutenberg, the printer, causes a search to be made for him by one of his horsemen, who finds him in a fisherman’s hut._