101 YEARS OLD AND STILL INVESTIGATING BOOKS...
WILLIAM Caxton was having a bad day. In the wake of allegations about misuse of data concerning his so-called “Printing Press”, he had been called to appear before the Star Chamber. It was just around the corner from his work premises in Westminster but he had had to lug with him many parchments, which he had been up all night, quill in hand, filling with information with which to defend himself.
The proceedings began with one of the judges questioning the very idea of Caxton’s Printing Press. Was it not, he asked, a “hideous modern invention” threatening to undermine the memory skills on which our civilisation had been founded and thrived for so long. “No,” Caxton replied. “Why not?” the same judge asked, but his questioning time was up and the interrogation was taken up by one of his colleagues.
“Continuing on the same theme,” the second judge said, “does not the printing of books make it all too easy for people to read something, forget it and put it away, knowing where they can find it if they need it again.”
“That’s the whole point,” Caxton replied, “and it has made me rich.”
“To come to the main issue in this case,” a third judge said, “can you explain why all the people who have purchased your book The Canterbury Tales have received details of coach fares to Canterbury, hotel stays in Canterbury, indulgences purchased in the vicinity of Canterbury Cathedral and cut-price books in German sent directly from Herr Gutenberg’s press.”
“It’s nothing to do with me,” Caxton said. “It’s those wicked people from Analyticus Cantabrigiensis to whom I sold the rights to rummage through my waste bins and get details of who had bought what.”
“And why did you sell them those rights?”
“Well I’ve a business to run,” Caxton explained. “A man can’t make a decent living just selling books. Too few people are literate enough to read them.”
“Would you not accept that the homes of literate people are now being deluged with pamphlets they do not require including, as well as adverts for Canterbury-related merchandise as outlined above, include catalogues from bookbinders, bookshelf-makers and second-hand bookshops?”
“My Printing Press has been solely responsible for such fine British businesses flourishing,” Caxton said. “I do not deserve your opprobrium.”
“Have you even read the stuff you are producing?” a prim Privy Councillor asked. “I have just read the Wife of Bath’s tale and it is totally immoral.”
“How immoral?” a Bishop interjected. “Does the book include an illustration of this wife in the bath?”
“The title relates to the city of Bath not a bathtub,” the Privy Councillor explained. “There is no picture of a wife in a bath as far as I know, but there is one of a woman riding a horse sidesaddle.” [Gasps from the room.]
“That’s outrageous,” a judge said. “She might fall off. Think of Health and Safety.” So they all thought of Health and Safety, and how rich Caxton was, and decided to let him off.