第一个印刷家（3）（2/2）
《泰西故事30篇》作者：李汉昭 2017-04-10 17:32
o write one. He calls it printing, I think.”
“Who is this man? Tell me where I can find him,” cried Gutenberg, now much excited.
“His name is Laurence—Laurence Jaonssen,” answered the landlord.“He has been the coster, or sexton, of our church for these forty years, and for that reason everybody calls him Laurence Coster.”
“Where does he live? Can I see him?”
“Why, the big house that you see just across the market place is his. You can find him at home at any time; for, since he got into this queer business of making books, he never goes out.”
Ⅱ
The young traveler lost no time in making the acquaintance of Laurence Coster. The old man was delighted to meet with one who was interested in his work. He showed him the books he had printed. He showed him the types and the rude little press that he used. The types were made of pieces of wood that Coster had whittled out with his penknife.
“It took a long time to make them,” he said, “but see how quickly I can print a page with them.”
He placed a small sheet of paper upon some types which had been properly arranged. With great care he adjusted them all in his press. Then he threw the weight of his body upon a long lever that operated the crude machine.
“See now the printed page,” he cried, as he carefully drew the sheet out.“It would have taken hours to write it with a pen. I have printed it in as many minutes.”
“Who is this man? Tell me where I can find him,” cried Gutenberg, now much excited.
“His name is Laurence—Laurence Jaonssen,” answered the landlord.“He has been the coster, or sexton, of our church for these forty years, and for that reason everybody calls him Laurence Coster.”
“Where does he live? Can I see him?”
“Why, the big house that you see just across the market place is his. You can find him at home at any time; for, since he got into this queer business of making books, he never goes out.”
Ⅱ
The young traveler lost no time in making the acquaintance of Laurence Coster. The old man was delighted to meet with one who was interested in his work. He showed him the books he had printed. He showed him the types and the rude little press that he used. The types were made of pieces of wood that Coster had whittled out with his penknife.
“It took a long time to make them,” he said, “but see how quickly I can print a page with them.”
He placed a small sheet of paper upon some types which had been properly arranged. With great care he adjusted them all in his press. Then he threw the weight of his body upon a long lever that operated the crude machine.
“See now the printed page,” he cried, as he carefully drew the sheet out.“It would have taken hours to write it with a pen. I have printed it in as many minutes.”