The heroic Queen Margaret (SS295, 303), however, would not give up the contest in behalf of her son's claim to the crown. But fate was against her. A few weeks after the battle of Barnet her army was utterly defeated at Tewkesbury (1471), her son Edward slain, and the Queen herself taken prisoner. (See map facing p. 172.)
She was eventually released on the payment of a large ransom, and returned to France, where she died broken-hearted in her native Anjou, prophesying that the contest would go on until the Red Rose, representing her party, should get a still deeper dye from the blood of her enemies.
306. The Introduction of Printing, 1477.
But an event was at hand of greater importance than any question of crowns or parties, though then none was wise enough to see its real significance. William Caxton, a London merchant, had learned the new art of printing with movable type[1] at Bruges in Flanders (now Belgium). When he returned to his native country, he set up a small press within the grounds of Westminster Abbey.
[1] The first printing in Europe was done in the early part of the fifteenth century from wooden blocks on which the words were cut. Movable types were invented about 1450.
There, at the sign of a shield bearing a red "pale," or band, he advertised his wares as "good chepe." He was not only printer, but translator and editor. King Edward gave him some royal patronage. His Majesty was willing to pay liberally for work which was not long before the clergy in France had condemned as a black art emanating from the devil. Many, too, of the English clergy regarded it with no very friendly eye, since it threatened to destroy the copying trade, of which the monks had well-nigh a monopoly (S154).
The first printed book which Caxton is known to have published in England was a small volume entitled "The Sayings of the Philosophers," 1477.[1] This venture was followed in due time by Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales" (S253), and whatever other poetry, history, or classics seemed worthy of preservation; making in all nearly a hundred distinct works comprising more than eighteen thousand volumes.
[1] "The dictes or sayengis of the philosophres, enprynted by me william Caxton at westmestre, the year of our lord MCCCCLxxvii."
Up to this time a book of any kind was a luxury, laboriously "written by the few for the few"; but from this date literature of all sorts was destined to multiply and fill the earth with many leaves and some good fruit.
Caxton's patrons, though few, were choice, and when one of them, the Earl of Worcester, was beheaded in the wars, Caxton said, "The ax did then cut off more learning than was left in all the heads of the surviving lords." Towards the close of the nineteenth century a memorial window was placed in St. Margaret's Church within the abbey grounds, as a tribute to the man who, while England was red with slaughter, introduced "the art preservative of all arts," and preservative of liberty no less[1] (S322).