And thus the fearful work began, and tumult, massacre, battle, and siege prevailed. Every town in France was filled with the riot of contending factions. “It was a grand and frightful struggleof province against province, city with city, quarter with quarter, house with house, man with man,” says a recent historian. “Fanaticism had reduced France to a land of cannibals; and the gloomiest imagination would fail to conceive of all the varieties of horrors which were then practised.”
We have to do with the town of Saintes. There were few places in which the Huguenots were so numerous, and had multiplied so rapidly, as in Saintonge. Passions were nowhere stronger; no place was more trampled by combatants; it was the scene of many of the maddest contests during the days of the religious warfare. At the invitation of the Duke de La Rochefoucault, all the Protestant leaders of the district gathered themselves together at Angoulême, and betook themselves, under his guidance, to Orleans, in order to join the Prince of Condé, who was his brother-in-law. After the departure of these forces, the various towns in that neighbourhood, Angoulême, Saintes, Pons, and others, remained indeed in the possession of the Huguenots, but without defence, nearly all the Reformers of the district, capable of bearing arms, having followed the march of De La Rochefoucault, “especially” we are told, “those of Saintes.” Consequently, the town, deprived of its soldiers, presented an easy prey to the enemy, and in a short time, fell into the hands of a hostile leader, named Nogeret, who treated with harsh severity all that remained in the place, in execution of a decreefrom Bordeaux, by which the Reformers were abandoned, without appeal, to the mercy of any royal judge.
Among those thus given over to the power of these miscreants, was Palissy. In few but emphatic words he has recorded the terrors of that fearful time. “Deeds so wretched were then done,” he said afterward, “that I have horror in the mere remembrance. To avoid those dreadful and execrable sights, I withdrew into the secret recesses of my house, and there, by the space of two months, I had warning that hell was broke loose, and that all the spirits of the devils had come into this town of Saintes. For where, a short time before, I had heard psalms, and holy songs, and all good words of edification, now mine ears were assailed only with blasphemies, blows, menaces, and tumults, all miserable words, and lewd and detestable songs. Those of the Reformed religion had all disappeared, and our enemies went from house to house, to siege, sack, gluttonize, and laugh; jesting and making merry with all dissolute deeds and blasphemous words against God and man.”
Very terrible is this truth-breathing description of the miseries of a city given over to the license of an unbridled soldiery; but the most affecting picture is that which he draws when closing his short narrative of those “evil days.” “I had nothing at that time but reports of those frightful crimes that, from day to day, were committed; and of all thosethings, that which grieved me most within myself was, that certain little children of the town, who came daily to assemble in an open space near the spot where I was hidden (always exerting myself to produce some work of my art), dividing themselves into two parties, fought and cast stones one side against another, while they swore and blasphemed in the most execrable language that ever man could utter, so that I have, as it were, horror in recalling it. Now, that lasted a long time, while neither fathers nor mothers exercised any rule over them. Often I was seized with a desire to risk my life by going out to punish them; but I said in my heart the 79th Psalm, which begins, ‘O God, the heathen are come into thine inheritance.’”
“A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.”—Proverbsxvii. 17.
“A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.”—Proverbsxvii. 17.
TheSeigneur de Burie had not spoken without sufficient cause when he warned Palissy that he had made himself enemies of certain high church dignitaries in Saintes. Those admonitions he had uttered were not forgotten by the Romish ecclesiastics, who bestirred themselves so zealously, that after the city had been in the power of the Roman Catholic party for a few weeks, violent hands were laid upon the unsuspecting potter. He had believed himself secure from actual assault within his own premises, and not without cause, since he was under the protection of a safeguard, given him by the Duke de Montmorency, which expressly forbade the authorities undertaking anything against him or his house. It was also well known by both parties that the building in which he worked for the constable had been partly erected at the expense of that nobleman, and that, on occasion of an outbreak in the city which had occurred some time before, the leaders of the Roman Catholic party had expresslyforbidden any interference with Palissy or his work, through respect to his employer.
But matters had now reached a strange height, and there seemed to be a favourable season for malice and bigotry to work their will. Palissy was arrested and imprisoned; and, as soon as he was taken into custody, his workshop was broken into, and part of it laid open to the intrusion of the public. The magistrates, at their town meeting, actually came to a resolution to pull down the building, and would infallibly have carried their purpose into effect, had not the Seigneur de Pons and his lady immediately interfered. These tried friends of Bernard lost no time in personally remonstrating with the magistrates, from whom they, with some difficulty, obtained the promise to defer carrying out their design. To deliver him from the clutches of his enemies was not so easy a matter. His prosecutors were, in fact, no other than the dean and chapter, who, he says, were his cruel foes, and would have delivered him to death for no other cause than his free speech in the matter of their neglect of duty.
The Sire de Pons, as king’s lieutenant in Saintonge, had power to control the justices of Saintes; and, consequently, the hands of his judges were tied. They were all, indeed, “one body, one soul, and one single will” with the reverend prosecutors of their prisoner, and without a shadow of doubt, had they been able to work their pleasure, he wouldhave been put to death before appeal could have been made to the constable.
“An awkward business is this,” said the dean to one of his brethren, as they discussed the matter of the interposition of the Sire de Pons. “Plainly, we cannot carry out our intentions here; but once at Bordeaux this obstinate heretic would be given up into the hands of the parliament there, and then the interference of the king alone could save him.” “There will be no satisfaction till he is silenced,” was the reply; “and, without doubt, he has done ample mischief. Only think of the labourers on our farms beginning to murmur at paying tithes to those who they, forsooth, say do not deserve them. This comes of his unbridled tongue. And shall we thus be defied and brow-beaten by an insolent mechanic?” “Nay, there is no need to urge me on. If he were but in our power; . . . but the question is, how to manage the affair, and get him safely out of the jurisdiction of these people, who will certainly never be brought to consent to his condemnation. There are so many wealthy men in this neighbourhood by whom the knave is employed in decorative works, besides the buildings at Écouen, and his skill in pottery-ware has made him so much thought of, that he is safe as long as he remains within this district.” “To Bordeaux, then, let him go, and that without delay. Why not this very night? In the daytime the matter would get bruited abroad, and his friends might contrive to send tothe rescue; but by night, and across by-roads, he can be carried off silently and safely; and once at Bordeaux—” . . . “You say well. Measures shall be taken immediately.”
Little did our captive imagine what were the devices of those that hated him. He might easily have contrived to escape beyond their reach, had he not reckoned himself so safe that his arrest came upon him wholly unawares. It had fared ill with him at this juncture but for the watchful and affectionate care of his old friend, Victor. Through the interposition of those from whom he had learned the particulars of Hamelin’s last hours, he obtained admission into the prison where Palissy was confined, and ministered to him with the solicitude of a brother. By his means, communication was carried on between the prisoner and his patrons, the Seigneurs de Burie and de Jarnac, as well as the king’s lieutenant. All these gentlemen took much trouble, and made interposition with the dean and chapter, to whom they repeatedly urged that no man but Palissy could complete M. de Montmorency’s work, and that the displeasure of his highness would be incurred if a person under his especial patronage were injured. We have seen that their interference did but hasten on the catastrophe, and make his doom more certain.
Victor obtained admission into the prison
Victor’s heart misgave him that evil was designed against his friend. He had seen the fearful end of the two pastors of Allevert and Gimosac, and themore recent fate of Hamelin; and the most cruel forebodings oppressed him. He was incessantly on the watch, and when obliged to leave the prison, and compelled to abandon Palissy to solitude, he could not go to his own home and rest there, but remained, pacing to and fro, in the neighbourhood of the jail; and, while thus restless and agitated, he poured out his soul in earnest entreaties for help from on high. Oh, the blessing of a true friend in the hour of adversity! How sweet a thing is heavenly charity—the brotherhood of love in Christ Jesus! It was a true word, spoken by the great lawyer, Gerbellius—“There is nothing the devil hates so cordially as sincere friendship;” and what marvel, since, as an old divine says, “it makes men so unlike his ill-natured self.” But, as long as we enjoy prosperous days, and sail before a favouring wind, there is no test by which we can prove the strength and value of this principle. The time to know who truly loves us is the season when troubles assail us. All sorts of affliction and misery test this, and show what friendship is genuine and hearty. This is one of “the uses of adversity,” as friendship is one of its sweetest alleviations.
On the afternoon of the day when Palissy’s abstraction from Saintes was plotted, Victor was at his customary post beside his friend, who remained quite composed and free from anxiety on his own account. “Be not so anxious,” he said, endeavouring to soothe the fears he did not share; “I am, atall events, secure from further harm, since the power is not in the hands of these judges. No thanks, indeed, to them; they fear to lose some morsel of benefice which they possess, and consequently go hand in hand with my sanguinary enemies. It is certain I can but take the blame of what has befallen me to my own account. Jesus Christ has left us a counsel, written in the 7th chapter of St. Matthew, by which he forbids us to scatter pearls before the swine, lest, turning upon us, they rend us. If I had obeyed this injunction, I should not now have been suffering, and at the mercy of those who, though they want the power, have undoubtedly the will to bring me to destruction as a malefactor.”
Just at that moment the jailer entered, desiring a man who followed him to bring in a box, which they placed in a corner of the room. “You must be going soon,” said he, addressing Victor; “I have some business in hand, and must lock up doors early to-night. Your friend can stay, however,” he added, casting a glance at Palissy, which seemed to the ever observant Victor to have a shade of compassion in it, “for half an hour longer if you wish it.” So saying he retired, turning the key, which grated heavily and with a harsh sound in the lock. Victor would have spoken of his suspicion that something was wrong, and that mischief was designed; but Bernard interrupted him with a gesture of impatience, and presently began talking on a theme which appears to have formed the solace ofhis prison-house, and by which he whiled away the hours, which else had seemed so tedious to his free and active nature. He had for some time had it in his intention to publish a little book containing his observations and opinions on various matters—in short, the experience of his past years. He now recurred to this subject. “I have resolved,” said he, “that my book shall treat on four subjects; to wit, agriculture, natural history, the plan of a delectable garden (to which I will append a history of the troubles in Saintonge), and lastly, the plan of a fortified town, which might serve as a city of refuge in these perilous times. Of the two former I have sketched the plan in my imagination, and the matter of the garden now fills my thought. You know well the delight I have in so great a recreation, and how I have been minded to make me such a pleasant retreat, as a place of refuge, whither I might flee from the iniquity and malice of the world to serve God with pure freedom.” “Would to heaven, my beloved friend, you were safe sheltered there,” said Victor, “but oh! methinks, this is but a pleasant dream.” “Often, in my sleep, I have seemed to be occupied about it,” said Bernard, “and it happened to me only last night, that, as I lay slumbering on my bed, my garden seemed to be already made, and I already began to eat its fruits and recreate myself therein; and it came to pass, in my night vision, that, while considering the marvellous deeds which our Sovereign Lord hascommanded nature to perform, I fell upon my face, to worship and adore the Living of the living, who has made such things for man’s service and use. That also gave me occasion to consider our miserable ingratitude and perverse wickedness; and the more I entered into the contemplation of these things, the more was I disposed to value the art of agriculture, and I said in myself, that men were very foolish so to despise rural places and the labours of the field, which is a thing just before God, and which our ancient fathers, men of might and prophets, were content themselves to exercise, and even to watch the flocks; and being in such ravishment of spirit—”
The sentence was broken short by the return of the jailer, who announced that the time he had allowed was now expired. Victor reluctantly took his leave of Palissy, and, with a heavy heart, turned to go from him. No sooner had he reached the open street than, again recurring, in his own thoughts, to what had transpired, he felt convinced that something was wrong. That compassionate glance of the stern jailer intimated, as it seemed to him, the cause of the favour he had granted, in allowing the two friends a longer interval before they were parted. “Parted!” cried Victor, his heart filled with dismay as his lips unconsciously uttered the ominous word—“parted! can it be that we are parted for ever? Lord!” he exclaimed, in a burst of feeling, “be thou his guard and his defence,as a wall of fire to keep thy servant; and in this hour of trial show that thine arm is not shortened, that it cannot save.” After a short interval, he repeated, in a low tone, this verse of a hymn composed by the Protestant Gondinel, and often sung by the little persecuted church of Saintes:—
“The time is dark, we faint with woe,Our foes are mightier far than we;They say, ‘Their God forsakes them now,And who shall their deliverer be?’Lord, show thy presence—prove thy power,And save us at the latest hour.”
“The time is dark, we faint with woe,Our foes are mightier far than we;They say, ‘Their God forsakes them now,And who shall their deliverer be?’Lord, show thy presence—prove thy power,And save us at the latest hour.”
Continuing to pace to and fro, he remained within sight of the prison until the darkness gathered around, and the bright stars, one by one, came shining in brilliant beauty overhead. The sight of them, as he raised his prayerful eyes upwards, calmed his spirit, and he whispered gently, “He calleth them all by their names.” It was a thought calculated to inspire confidence in Him who has promised to his children that they shall be graven on the palms of his hands, and who has said, “Call upon me in the day of trouble: I will deliver thee,” and the spirit of Victor was cheered as he pleaded the exceeding great and precious promises of divine love.
At length the hour of midnight approached, and still all around remained hushed in repose. There was nothing to justify his prognostications, nor to awaken alarm, and he had just resolved to retire,when the sound of horses tramping at a distance, caught his ear. Presently, from a side street emerged a small troop of horsemen, who moved cautiously along, and kept, as much as possible, within the deep shadows of the walls. They proceeded down the street, and drew up before the gate of the prison-house. Victor, who had hastily retired beneath an archway, watched their movements with strained eyes, and dimly saw, by the starlight, the outline of their figures as they filed along. The gate was unbarred to them without summons, and the next instant a muffled form was led out between two men, and hastily lifted on to the crupper of one of the horses behind the stalwart form of a trooper. There was not a moment to lose, for the party were evidently about to resume their march, and Victor, with ready wit, emerging from his hiding-place, reeled forward, in the manner of a drunken man, and began to sing a carol. Just as the horse with its double freight passed him, he shouted the words, “Save us at the latest hour.” His stratagem succeeded, for a shrill whistle was instantly heard mingling with the ringing sound of the horses’ hoofs on the stones, as they passed along the street. “It is he!” cried Victor, and, with the speed of a greyhound he darted down the nearest passage.
Victor . . . watched their movements
He knew that his errand admitted not of delay. There was but one chance that Palissy might besaved. It was an intercession with the king; and possibly the Sire de Pons, on receiving immediate information of the secret Victor had thus learned, might take timely measures to frustrate the deadly designs of Barnard’s enemies.
“A good man shall be satisfied from himself.”—Proverbsxiv. 14.
“A good man shall be satisfied from himself.”—Proverbsxiv. 14.
Palissywas now immured within the walls of the Bordeaux prison. While he lies there, bereft of the consolation he had hitherto enjoyed in the society of Victor, we must betake ourselves to a very different scene.
In consequence of the information he received from the Sire de Pons, the constable Montmorency determined, as the only means of averting the fate which threatened his ingenious workman, to apply himself, in person, to the queen mother, through whose influence the court might be induced to protect him. In fact, Catherine was herself virtually monarch, and a word from her would suffice. The sole redeeming quality of this woman of evil renown was, an enlightened taste for literature and the fine arts, a taste which seems to have been hereditary in her family. She enriched the royal library with many precious manuscripts of Greece and Italy, and presented to it half the volumes which her great ancestor Lorenzo de Medici had purchased of the Turks, after the taking of Constantinople.Especially she excelled in her love of the fine arts, and her taste and genius were displayed in the erection of many châteaux in various provinces, remarkable for the exactness of their proportions and their style, at a period when the French had scarcely a notion of the principles of architecture. At the present time she had just conceived the purpose of constructing a new residence for herself; and Montmorency found her, in one of the apartments assigned to her use, in the palace of the Louvre, busily engaged in looking over some manuscript plans. As the constable was announced, she raised her eyes from the table on which these designs were placed, and after receiving his salutations, begged him to be seated beside her, and pointing with her hand (the most beautiful one ever beheld, according to a contemporary historian), she smilingly requested his assistance in her choice. “Allow me, monsieur,” she said, “to appeal to your judgment, for in the matter now under consideration, I could not have an adviser whose opinion I should more highly value. You are aware that the château des Tournelles has been destined to demolition, and I have, therefore, determined to build me a new palace, the site of which I am anxious to fix upon. The plan now before his majesty”—and she glanced at her son, the poor young boy king, who sat opposite her—“appears to me to present no small advantages.” The paper to which the queen referred was the plan of a plot of ground close tothe trenches of the Louvre, situated, at that time, out of Paris, and which had been purchased, some half century before, by king Francis I., as a present to his mother, Marie Louise, of Savoy. It had been originally occupied by tuileries (i.e., tile-kilns), and in the old drawings which Catherine was inspecting, the spots where formerly stood the wood-yards and baking-houses used in making the bricks and tiles, were marked out. “Its situation by the river, and the large space suitable for garden ground attached to it, seem much in its favour, madame,” said the constable. “And its neighbourhood to the royal dwelling also,” said the queen, at the same time she unrolled another map, which she proceeded to examine, with the assistance of Montmorency.
Whilst they are thus engaged we will take the opportunity to say something of the two royal personages present. Charles IX. was not yet fourteen years old, tall in stature, strongly but not gracefully built, and with a countenance of energetic expression, but fierce and unrefined. The poor lad, invested at so early an age with unbounded authority, appears to have been naturally of a violent temper, with high animal spirits. His great passion was the chase, and he also showed considerable taste for letters. But, kept in subjection to the will of his mother, and tutored by her to suspect and dissimulate, his natural character was vitiated, and he suffered himself to continue, to the time of his death,the passive instrument of her ambition and cruelty. A remarkable anecdote is told of him, which seems to prove that better things might have been expected of him, had his education been in different hands. When but a youth, having perceived that after drinking wine he was no longer master of himself, he swore never to use it again; and he kept his oath. What might not have been expected from a prince gifted with such powers of self-control, had he been judiciously trained?
At the time of which we are speaking, the queen mother was in the decline of her beauty, though she still retained some remnants of those charms which adorned her in youth. She was clad in the black robes of her widowhood, which it was her fancy to persist in wearing long after the usual period; her hair was completely hidden beneath the angular white cap we see in the pictures of that day, and her strongly marked features were softened by the shade of a grey gauze veil. Her eyebrows were dark, and her eyes, large and brilliant, had a restless severity in their expression which inspired fear and distrust. Her complexion was olive, and her figure tall and large, her movements full of grace and majesty, while an air of command was visible in every gesture.
As she spoke now, the tones of her voice were soft and musical, for it was her wish to please; but, when angry passions agitated her bosom, they became dissonant, harsh, and startling.
“I think,” she said, in answer to an observation made by Montmorency, “the balance of advantages lies much in the favour of the first design, to which I shall, therefore, give the preference, and will immediately give directions for digging the foundations of the new palace, and it shall be named, from the site on which it is built, the Palace of the Tuileries.” “Well, madam,” said the constable, “your majesty has admirably chosen, and skilfully selected, an appropriate name for the intended royal abode.” “It occurred to my recollection,” said Catherine, “that one of the finest quarters of ancient Athens was called the Ceramic, because it occupied ground once held by extra-mural potteries.” “Speaking of potteries reminds me, madam,” said Montmorency, “of the principal object I had in seeking an interview with your majesty. Among the workmen I have employed at Écouen, there is a mechanic who evinces a surprising genius in the art of painting on glass, and who has invented an enamelled earthenware of great beauty. I know of none equal to him in skill, and, in fact, I cannot supply his place should he be sacrificed.” “You should not allow so great a treasure to slip through your hands. What danger threatens him?” “He is a Huguenot, madam,” was the reply. “No matter,” said the queen, laughing, “his heresy won’t alter the hues of his glass or pottery-ware.” “Nay; but he has fallen into the hands of Nogeret, one of the royalist leaders in Saintonge, and willinfallibly be hanged or burned, and serve him right, as I should say, for a heretic knave, but that my work is incomplete, and that Master Palissy is a rare workman. Such skill, too, as he shows in designing, and in the adorning of gardens! In short, he is precisely the man whom your majesty would find invaluable in the works you have now in prospect.”
Queen Catherine was by no means unwilling, in so trifling a matter, to oblige the great constable; besides that, she had a taste for the patronage of clever artists, and knew too well the difficulty of procuring such a one as had been described, to turn a deaf ear to the hint thrown out by Montmorency. “Let an edict be issued, in the king’s name,” she said, “appointing this Palissy ‘workman in earth to his majesty.’ He will then, as a servant of the king, be removed from the jurisdiction of Bordeaux, and his cause can come under no other cognizance than that of the grand council.” Montmorency expressed his gratitude, and rose to depart, when the Queen carelessly remarked, “That was a blundering affair of M. de Guise at Vassy; it drove the Protestants to such extreme measures that the game of moderation was at an end.” The constable made no reply, save to shrug his shoulders; but the young king tittered the following impromptu, which history has preserved:
“François premier, prédit ce point,Que ceux de la maison de GuiseMettraient ses enfants en pourpointEt son pauvre peuple en chemise.”[126]
“François premier, prédit ce point,Que ceux de la maison de GuiseMettraient ses enfants en pourpointEt son pauvre peuple en chemise.”[126]
Catherine looked disconcerted at this unexpectedjeu-de-motof her son, and rising somewhat hastily, stepped across the room, and taking the arm of Charles, bowed gracefully to the constable and withdrew.
The result of this colloquy was that, in as short a time as the royal post could convey the letter of M. de Montmorency to Bordeaux, Palissy was released from the power of his enemies, and being thoroughly protected from the hostilities of the belligerents on either side, returned to Saintes, and resumed his place in the dilapidated workshop, whose broken doors bore sorrowful witness to the ravages of civil strife. Alas! it was now a very different home, for the town was half depopulated; the best of the inhabitants had fled or been slaughtered in the streets, churches had been battered, and rude hands had wrought destruction everywhere. But nothing seems to have shaken the equilibrium of his spirit, and he could say, with St. Paul, “I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.” It is evident that he had attained to that fortitude and equanimity, that happy confidence of spirit, which so substantially realizes the truth ofthe divine promise—“Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee, because he trusteth in thee;” the solid reality, this, of what the ancient sages did but dream about, and of which they sweetly sang, as in the famous ode of Horace—
“The man of strong resolve and just designWhen, for bad ends, infuriate mobs combine,Or gleams the terror of the monarch’s frownFirm in his rock-based worth, on both looks down.”[127]
“The man of strong resolve and just designWhen, for bad ends, infuriate mobs combine,Or gleams the terror of the monarch’s frownFirm in his rock-based worth, on both looks down.”[127]
Bernard was now at leisure to renew the past, and he availed himself of the opportunity to complete his little book, which we have seen so busily absorbing his thoughts when he was captive within the walls of his prison. He bethought him again of the beautiful garden, and he tells how, one day (when peace was for a season restored), as he was walking through the meadows of the town, near to the river Charente, contemplating the horrible dangers from which God had delivered him in the past time of tumult and trouble, he heard once more the sounds which had so delighted him before those evil days. “It was the voice of certain maidens, who were seated under the shade of the trees, and sang together the 104th Psalm; and, because their voice was soft, and exceedingly harmonious, it caused me to forget my first thought, and having stopped tolisten, I passed through the pleasure of the voices, and entered into consideration of the sense of the said psalm; and having noted the points thereof, I was filled with admiration of the wisdom of the royal prophet, and said, ‘Oh divine and admirable bounty of God! I would that we all held the works of God’s hands in such reverence as he teaches us in this psalm;’ and then I thought I would figure in some large picture the beautiful landscapes which are therein described; but, by-and-by, considering that pictures are of short duration, I turned my thoughts to the building of a garden, according to the design, ornament, and excellent beauty, or part thereof, which the Psalmist has depicted; and having already figured in my mind the said garden, I found that I could, in accordance with my plan, build, near thereto, a palace, or amphitheatre of refuge, that might be a holy delectation and an honourable occupation for mind and body.”
“A man’s heart deviseth his way: but the Lord directeth his steps.”—Proverbsxvi. 9.
“A man’s heart deviseth his way: but the Lord directeth his steps.”—Proverbsxvi. 9.
Victorand Bernard were now more closely united to each other in bonds of loving fellowship than ever. With thankful joy they embraced the opportunity once more given them of taking sweet counsel together, without fear of those rude alarms they had so recently experienced. They could, indeed, no longer meet with their brethren in church communion, for, alas! the members of that once flourishing flock were scattered, and the voice of their honoured pastor was hushed in death; but they two met, as of old, to unite in the sacred exercises of devotion. But few evenings passed without some words of loving intercourse, generally closed with prayer and thanksgiving.
On one of these occasions, Victor, coming in, found his friend engaged in studying the formation of a shell, which he was turning round and diligently examining. “I thought better not interrupt your cogitations the other day,” said he; “you were walking like a man absent in mind, having your head bowed down, and noticing nothing around you.I passed so near in the road, I could have touched the lappets of your coat, but you saw me not.”
Palissy studying a shell on the sea-shore
“Nay, I saw you not, my friend, for my spirit was engrossed because of my interest regarding the matter of some town or fortress which might serve as a place of refuge for exiled Christians. Having vainly sought among the plans and figures of architects and designers for what might assist me, I have been fain to wander among the woods and mountains, to see whether I could find some industrious animal which might give me a hint for my design; and, indeed, I saw a vast number of them, which caused me astonishment at the great industry God has given them; and I have had frequent occasion to glorify him in all his marvels; and from one and another have gained some little aid to my affairs; at the least, I have been encouraged to hope I might eventually succeed. Having employed many weeks thus, during my hours of leisure, I at length bethought me of visiting the shore and rocks of the ocean, where I perceived so many diverse kinds of dwellings and fortresses, which sundry little fish had made with their own liquor or saliva, that I began to think I might discover here what I was searching for. So I contemplated all the different sorts of fish, beginning from the least to the greatest, and I found things which made me all abashed because of the amazing goodness of divine Providence, which had bestowed such care upon these creatures. I perceived, also, that the battlesand stratagems of the sea, were, without comparison, greater in the said animals than in those of the earth, and saw that the luxury of the sea was greater than that of the earth, and that, without comparison, it produced more fruit.”
“You surprise me,” said Victor, “that you still retain this desire; for I would gladly hope and believe that there will be no need of such a thing. Consider that we have now peace, and also we hope there will shortly be liberty of preaching through all France; and not only in our own land, but throughout all the world; for it is written so in St. Matthew, chapter xxiv., where the Lord God says, that ‘the gospel of the kingdom shall be preached in all the world for a witness unto all nations.’ That is what causes me to say there is no longer need to seek out cities of refuge for the Christians.”
“You have not duly considered other sayings of the New Testament,” replied Palissy, “for it is written that the children and elect of God shall be persecuted to the end, hunted, mocked, banished, and exiled. It is true St. Matthew says that the gospel of the kingdom shall be preached unto all the world; but not that it shall be received of all; only, it shall be a witness unto all; that is, to justify those who believe, and to condemn righteously the unbelieving. In consequence, it is to be concluded that the perverse and iniquitous, the avaricious and all kinds of wicked people will be at all times ready to persecute those who by straight roadsshall follow the statutes and ordinances of our Lord.”
The amiable Victor, yielding to his friend’s superior judgment, did not contest his opinion; but contented himself with asking whether he had succeeded at length in the object of his search. “I seem to myself to have done so. Look at this shell; it was given me the other day when I was at Rochelle, by a citizen there, named L’Hermite. It is that of a purple murex; and yonder larger one on the desk is a conch. They were brought from Guinea; and are both made in the manner of a snail, with spiral lines; but that of the conch is stronger and larger than the other. Now, the result of my observation of these things is, that God has bestowed more industry upon the weak creatures than on the strong; and has given them skill to know how to make each for himself a house, constructed on such a system of geometry and architecture that never Solomon, in all his wisdom, could have made the like. Considering, therefore, this proposition, I stayed to contemplate more closely the shell of the purple murex, because I assured myself that God had given to it something more, to make compensation for its weakness; and so, having dwelt long upon these thoughts, I noticed that, in the shell of the murex, there were a number of tolerably large projections, by which it is surrounded.” “I see what you mean; they add greatly to its beauty and ornament.” “Do you think thatis all? No, no, there is something more. These are so many bulwarks and defences for the fortress and refuge of the inhabitant of the shell. Now, seeing this, I resolved to take example from it, for the building of my fortified town, and I took straightway a compass, rule, and the other tools, necessary for the making of my picture.”
Bernard then produced the plan he had drawn, which he described at length in his little book. As a curiosity and specimen of ingenuity, this idea of his is exceedingly interesting, and it shows another of the numerous subjects on which his busy wits were exercised, and shows too, how thoroughly his love of nature governed all his other thoughts. Who, but an enthusiast in that delightful study, would have had recourse to the nests of birds, and the shells of the sea, when he wished to plan a fortress that would resist the utmost fury of a siege?
At length his book was completed and printed at Rochelle, in the year 1563, the one succeeding that of his imprisonment. He prefixed to it three letters, written after his release, addressed to the constable, to his son the marshal Montmorency, and to the queen mother. Having rendered his grateful acknowledgments to these illustrious patrons, he proceeded to relate the particulars of the ill-usage he had received, desiring that it might be understood that he was “not imprisoned as a thief or a murderer.” He then went on to explain thesubjects of which his work treated, and showed that they were, in themselves, worthy of attention, although not couched in learned language, “seeing,” he said, “I am not Greek nor Hebrew, poet nor rhetorician, but a simple artisan, poorly enough trained in letters. Notwithstanding, these things are no less valuable than if uttered by one more eloquent. I had rather speak truth in my rustic tongue than lie in rhetoric; therefore I hope you will receive this small work with as ready a will as I have desire that it shall give you pleasure.” In his address to queen Catherine, he hinted at his readiness to be employed in her service, and at his ability to assist much in her building work and gardens. Nor was it long before he had an opportunity to exercise his skill. Through the medium of his excellent friends, the Sire de Pons and his lady, he received the tidings that he had been chosen, in company with Jean Bullant, his co-worker at the château d’Écouen, to assist in the new works commenced by the queen mother. His removal to Paris would follow, as a matter of course. “Indeed,” said the Sire de Pons, “it is time, Master Bernard, that you left Saintes, for many reasons. Your position here is cramped and inconvenient. Your enemies are but muzzled—not removed out of the way. Your principal patrons are great men, necessarily much in attendance upon the court; and in a remote province you can neither receive, not execute, their commands. In Paris your advantageswill be great. You will live in constant intercourse with men of genius, and your taste will be perfected by the study of the choicest works of art collected in the capital.” “Your sons, too, Nicole and Mathurin, are now young men, for whom employment and patronage will be thus secured,” said Madame; “and though we shall be sorry to lose you, we cannot be selfish enough to regret an event so fortunate for yourself and your family.” “I had not thought,” said Bernard, “to be thus distinguished. It is doubtless the good word of my lord, the constable, which has gained me this appointment. I am resolved, according to the ability I possess, to do credit to his patronage. And this I may say, that the work which I have wrought for him gives witness enough of the gift which God has been pleased to bestow on me as an artist in earth. I am, therefore, not without hope that my work may prove acceptable in that place to which his providence now calleth me.” “It is our purpose to journey before long to Paris,” said the Sire, “and you can, if you think fit, accompany us. The time is but short, ten days or a fortnight, at the utmost; but, I doubt not, you will be in readiness.”
This friendly proposal was gratefully accepted, and, at the time appointed, Palissy bade farewell to Saintes, and, accompanied by his two sons, set off for the French capital, which was thenceforward to be his place of residence. It was with a full heart that he left the city which had been, for so manyyears, his home; where his children had been born, and where he had served his long apprenticeship of sorrow and trial, and eventually triumphed over all the obstacles that threatened to overwhelm him, and to blight his fond expectations. As he returned, the evening before his departure, from visiting the graves of his wife and their six little ones, while meditating, and slowly and pensively moving onward, he was overtaken by Victor, who had gone in search of him, anxious to spend the last few hours in his company. They returned together, and Victor announced to his friend a most unexpected piece of tidings. “I shall not remain here long after you have gone,” he exclaimed, with unwonted energy, his pale face flushed and eager. “A kinsman of mine has this very afternoon brought me a communication which will lead to my removal hence, probably within a few months. Had you not been leaving I should have felt it a grief indeed, but now, it is well; for I could scarcely have borne your loss.” “What has befallen, and where will you go?” asked Bernard, in his quick manner. “My eldest brother was killed (as you know) last year, in one of the murderous assaults upon those of our religion. He has left a young family, and his poor wife, who has never recovered the shock of his death, is now sinking rapidly. She entreats me, through the kinsman she has sent, to go back to my native place, and to undertake the care of my brother’s children. They will inheritthe small property which was our father’s, and which would, in all probability, be soon dissipated in the hands of strangers. I have myself no family; and my wife, loving soul, will be a true mother to these poor orphans. It seems the voice of our heavenly Father, which is saying to us, ‘Arise and go hence.’” “I have never heard you speak of your early days, Victor.” “True; I was thinking, as I came hither, of my boyhood. Happy time, and happy household ours, where comfort and content reigned! The property on which we all subsisted was very small; but order, domestic arrangement, labour, and frugality, kept us above want. Our little garden produced nearly as many vegetables as we required, and the orchard yielded us fruits. Our quinces, apples, and pears, preserved, with the honey of our bees, were, in winter, most excellent breakfasts for us children, and the good old women, our grandmother and aunts. We were all clothed by the small flock that pastured on the neighbouring hills; my aunts spun the wool; and the hemp of the field furnished us with linen. In the evenings, by the light of our lamp, which was fed with oil from our walnut trees, the young people of the neighbourhood came to help us to dress our flax, and we, in our turn, did the same for them. The harvest of the little farm sufficed for our subsistence. Our buckwheat cakes, moistened, smoking hot, with the good butter of Mont d’Or, were a delicious treat to us. I know not what dish we should have relished betterthan our turnips and chestnuts. When we sat, on a winter evening, round the fire, and saw these fine turnips roasting, and heard the water boiling in the vase where our chestnuts were cooking so sweet and nice, our mouths watered; and the grandmother, delighted with our childish pleasure, added, now and then, to the feast, a quince, whose delicious perfume, while roasting under the ashes, I still remember. Dear, kind old dame! She, with all her frugality and moderation, nevertheless made little gluttons of us boys. Ah! my friend, it is the women who begin it from our cradle, and go on fondling and humouring us to the grave. So, you see we had enough to satisfy all our wants, for, in our household, if there were little to expend, there was nothing lost, and trifling things united, made plenty. In the neighbouring forest, too, there was abundance of dead wood, of small value, and there my father was permitted to take his annual provision. Dear and honoured father! He ruled us all, in the fear of the Lord; and the crowning bliss of my life it has ever been to come before God and plead, ‘Thou wast my father’s God; be thou also my God.’”
How much longer Victor would have indulged in these fond memories, cannot be told. He was interrupted by the entrance of some neighbours who came to take leave of Palissy and his sons, and when they had departed, the hour was late. The two friends bent the knee together in prayer at the throne of heavenly grace, and commended eachother to the divine protection and favour. Victor then arose and departed; but, on the threshold, he paused, and looking fixedly on his friend, his eyes filled with tears, as he grasped his hand, and said, “Yes, God is a sweet consolation.” And, with these words, he turned away and was gone.
How often, in after years, did this farewell recur to the mind of Bernard, with sweet and consolatory power!
“And I saw the woman drunken with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus; and when I saw her I wondered with great admiration.”—Rev. xvii. 6.
“And I saw the woman drunken with the blood of the saints, and with the blood of the martyrs of Jesus; and when I saw her I wondered with great admiration.”—Rev. xvii. 6.
Thepresent chapter will embrace the history of ten years in the life of Palissy—years full of terrible interest to France, during which there were two more bursts of civil war, with intervals of peace between, and followed by that event of world-wide renown in the annals of crime and blood, the massacre of St. Bartholomew. During those years Bernard was quietly and laboriously engaged, protected from harm by the patronage of the court, and probably also, having learned from experience the necessity of a prudent restraint in the utterance of his opinions.
Palissy dishes
Arrived at Paris, he established his workshop in a place allotted to him in the precincts of the Tuileries, and the gardens that partly occupied the site of the new palace, and surrounded by the debris of buildings that had to be removed, and the scaffolding of workmen who were engaged about the new erections. At no great distance was the Louvre itself, then a new structure and the royal residence; and queen Catherine, attended by her courtiers, frequently went towatch the progress of the buildings, and to direct, with her admirable taste, the works of Palissy, familiarly known as “Master Bernard, of the Tuileries.” There is still in existence, in the royal library at Paris, a MS., containing an account of the queen’s expenditures, dated 1570, among which is a note of payment “to Bernard, Nicole, and Mathurin Palissy, sculptors in earth, for the sum of 2,600 livres, for all the works in earth, baked and enamelled, which have yet to be made to complete thequatre pans au pourtour, (the four parts of the circumference) of the grotto commenced by the queen, in her palace, near the Louvre at Paris, according to the agreement made with them.”
We are told that his taste being improved by the study of the great works of Italian art, he became a more consummate artist, and produced masterpieces, far surpassing his former efforts. He found, also, much employment in garden architecture, then greatly in vogue, and for which his larger pieces, rocks, trees, animals, and even human figures, were designed. A few only of these have withstood the accidents of time, but it is known they adorned some of the sumptuous residences of the French nobles in that day, especially the château of Chaulnes, that of Nesles, in Picardy, and of Reux, in Normandy. His smaller productions, designed to ornament rooms, and to find a place in the buffets and cabinets of the wealthy, were very numerous; and such as have been preserved are highly valued,as works of art, at the present time. Statuettes, elegant groups, ewers, vases, with grotesque ornaments, plates, rustic basins, cups, tiles for the walls and floors of mansions, as well as for the stoves used on the continent; all these, and many similar articles, were made in great perfection by our skilful artist.[142]Working thus, with busy hands and inventive skill, Palissy saw the years pass by, and beheld strange scenes, far exceeding in fearful interest all he had formerly witnessed.
A Palissy pitcher and Dish
He spoke from experience when he said, “If you had seen the horrible excesses of men that I haveseen, during these troubles, not a hair of your head but would have trembled at the fear of falling to the mercy of men’s malice; and he who has not beheld such things, could never think how great and fearful a persecution is.” He had scarcely become settled in his new occupation when the “Second Troubles” broke out; and one of the first victims of the war was his great patron, the constable Montmorency. Upon the tenth of November, 1567, the battle of St. Denys was fought outside the walls of Paris, when the aged constable, at the head of his army, in fine array, with colours flying and drums beating, marched out to meet the foe. The heights of Montmartre presented, on that occasion, a strange spectacle. They were crowded with eager spectators, in the highest excitement; all the busy, restless population of the great city flocking there, to gaze upon the scene of warfare. Priests chanting litanies and distributing chaplets to the warriors, foreign ambassadors, fair ladies dressed as Amazons, some even carrying lances, which they vibrated in the air, and magistrates and doctors, wearing cuirasses beneath their robes; a motley crowd of every rank and condition huddled together, with mingled curiosity and terror, waiting the result of the fight.
The short winter’s day was closing fast when the battle commenced, and an hour of bloody strife followed. The result was fatal to the gallant old veteran, whose resolution and bravery led him topush forward into the midst of the Huguenot ranks. Five times was he wounded, yet still fought on, and then received the mortal stroke, and was left, stretched, amid the dead and dying, on the field. Still living, though suffering deadly agony, he was borne back within those walls he had left in so different a manner but a few hours before. The night was dark and rainy, his pains were grievous, and he desired to breathe his last where he lay; but those around intreated that he would suffer himself to be carried to Paris, where he died on the following day, preserving to the last a surprising fortitude and endurance.
The court ordered a magnificent funeral for the grim old warrior, whose rugged and austere manners had rendered him so obnoxious to many, and whose religious bigotry was but too much in accordance with the spirit of his times. At his own request he was buried at his favourite estate at Écouen, where Palissy had so long wrought in his service. To Bernard he had proved a generous patron and a steady friend, and his hand had been outstretched to save him from the gallows.
Would that this had been done from a higher motive than the love of art! Then he might one day have been among the number of those to whom shall be addressed the joyful words, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”
Happily, it is not necessary for this narrative todwell upon the well-known story of the massacre. Its fearful horrors are but too familiar to every reader of history. Bernard escaped being an eyewitness of them, as he happened to be at the time occupied about one of those commissions to which we have alluded, and which had carried him to Chaulnes, where he laid out the park according to a plan resembling that he described in his “Delectable Garden.”
There was one among the numerous men of science with whom Palissy associated who narrowly escaped destruction. This was Ambroise Paré, first surgeon to the king, who seems to have been a truly pious and excellent man. Having embraced the Reformed tenets, he steadily adhered to them, and despite the dangers of his situation, persisted in openly avowing his principles. As he had drawn upon himself the odium of heresy, and in addition to that, the rancorous jealousy of a host of practitioners in his art, he was a marked character; and Charles IX., who owed his life to the skill of Paré, and is said to have “loved him infinitely,” took measures to secure his safety. “I will tell you, my friend,” said he, describing that eventful night to Bernard, “how it fared with me, and what I saw and heard. I was in attendance upon the admiral[145]till late into the night, and was on the point of leaving him, when one of the royal hussars came, bringing a summonsto me to repair immediately to the king. I obeyed, and found him in evident trepidation. As soon as he saw me, he exclaimed, ‘It is well that you have come, my dear Ambroise; you must remain with me this night, and in my chamber.’ So saying, he put me into his dressing room, adding, ‘Be sure you don’t stir from hence. It will never do to have you who can save our lives, massacred after this fashion.’ My hiding place adjoined a saloon where the king remained, and to which, after midnight, the queen came, evidently for the purpose of watching over her son. Four of the principal agitators were present, all urging him to preserve his courage, while his mother endeavoured, by every means in her power, to irritate his fiercer passions, and to silence his remorse. Though I could not hear all that passed, a few words occasionally reached my ears, and the appearance of Charles, and the words he had spoken to me, sufficed to convince me that a terrible crisis was at hand. At length a single pistol-shot rang through the silence. It was dark, the morning had not yet dawned, when at that signal, through the deep silence of the night, the tocsin of St. Germain’s was heard uttering its dreadful alarum. The queen and her two sons came, with stealthy tread, to the windows of the small closet through the king’s chamber, which overlooked the gate of the Louvre: and there those three miserable and guilty beings, opening the window, looked out, to watch the first outbreak ofthe dreadful tragedy. Presently shouts were heard of ‘Vive Dieu et le Roi,’ and armed men, issuing from the gates, trampled along the causeway, hastening to perform their bloody work.
“About five in the morning, I ventured to quit the dressing room, and, eager to see what was passing, gazed from one of the windows which looked in the direction of the Fauxbourg St. Germain’s, where Montgomery, Rohan, Pardaillan, and many of the Calvinist gentlemen lodged. As you know, it lies upon the opposite bank of the river from the Louvre; all had hitherto been quiet in that direction, but the sound of the tocsin, and the cries and screams which were heard across the river, had roused the Huguenots, who, suspecting some mischief, hastily prepared to cross the water and join their friends; but as they were about to embark, they saw several boats filled with Swiss and French guards, approaching, who began to fire upon them. It is said the king himself, from his closet window, was seen pointing and apparently directing their movements. They took the hint in time to save their lives by flight. They mounted their horses, and rode off at full speed.” “Thanks be to God, they escaped, as a bird from the hand of the fowler. May they live to avenge the blood of the saints.” “I shall never forget,” continued Paré, “the scene, when the broad light of an August day displayed, in all their extent, the horrors which had been committed. The bright, glowing sun, and theunclouded sky, and magnificent beauty over-head; and at our feet, the blood-stained waters of the Seine, and the streets bestrewn with mangled corpses. It was too terrible. To crown the whole, it was the holy sabbath.
“Towards the evening of the second day, the king called again for me. Sickened with horror and remorse, his mind and spirits were giving way. ‘Ambroise,’ said he, taking me into his cabinet, ‘I don’t know what ails me, but these last two or three days, I find both mind and body in great disorder. I see nothing around me but hideous faces, covered with blood. I wish the weak and innocent had been spared.’ I seized the moment of relenting in the unhappy monarch, and urged him to put an immediate stop to the massacre, and he did, in effect, issue orders by sound of trumpet, forbidding any further violence to be committed, upon pain of death.” “Alas!” said Palissy, “no hand was outstretched to save our French Phidias, Jean Goujon, the master of my comrade and co-worker, Bullant. He was struck down on his platform, while working on the Caryatides of the Louvre; with his chisel yet in his hand, he fell a corpse at the foot of the marble his genius was moulding into life.” “No power could restrain the violence of the rabble. In vain were the royal commands, and useless every effort of the bourgeoisie, and the higher orders. Day after day the barbarous slaughtercontinued. Ah! my friend,” concluded Paré, “that fatal night will form a black page in our history, which Frenchmen will vainly desire to erase, or to tear from its records.”—(“Feuillet de notre histoire à arracher, à brûler.”)
“He spake also of beasts, and of fowl, and of creeping things, and of fishes.”—1Kingsiv. 33.
“He spake also of beasts, and of fowl, and of creeping things, and of fishes.”—1Kingsiv. 33.
Welearn from his own words that king Solomon, amid all his magnificence and glory, found nothing truly satisfying to his spirit. He discovered that silver and gold, and costly apparel, and singing men and singing women, with all the luxuries of the East, sufficed not to give him happiness. They did not even keep him amused: he wanted something better. And a purer, more refined, and enduring delight was tasted by him when he turned the powers of his active and inquiring mind to the investigation of nature, the works of God’s hands, in the diversified and beautiful productions of the fields, woods, and lakes of Judea. He sought them out diligently, and then he “spake of” them—spake of the richly-varied productions of the animal kingdom, and “spake also of beasts, and of fowl, and of creeping things, and of fishes.” Very interesting it must have been to hear the great Solomon speaking of these works of God’s hands, and no wonder the sacred writers have recorded the fact. Most edifying of all to the thoughtful part of his audience itwould be to reflect on the moral phenomenon he himself presented—taking his refreshment, his recreation, his pleasure, after the toils and disappointments of riches and of worldly honours, in considering the lilies, how they grew, and the fowls of the air, how God cared for them.
But if Solomon found, in this pursuit, a relief from ennui and satiety, how many, in all succeeding times, have found therein support and consolation amidst inevitable anxieties and painful trials. There have been persons who declared that it was the study of nature alone which made their condition tolerable, by diverting their minds from painful and oppressive thoughts. It must have been the same experience which caused Palissy, amid the terrible scenes of his day, to retire into his cabinet, or to wander in the roadside, among the fields and caves, searching after “things note-worthy and monstrous,” which he “took from the womb of the earth,” and placed among his other treasures, the accumulated hoard of long years. We find him the same Bernard still—unaltered by time and change of fortune; as simple-minded, as diligent in research, and as enthusiastic in utterance as at Saintes, in the days of his youth. He had found, too, some congenial associates and friends. Among them, we have seen, was Ambroise Paré, who had a great taste for natural history, and himself possessed a collection of valuable and curious specimens, especially of foreign birds, for which he was principallyindebted to Charles IX., who used to send him many of the rarest and most valuable he obtained, to preserve.
Palissy exploring a quarry
There was, too, one “Maistre François Choisnyn,” physician to the queen of Navarre, a special favourite with Bernard, of whom he says—“His company and visits were a source of great consolation to me.” These two went a little geological exploration together, in the year 1575. “He had heard me often speak,” said Palissy, “of these matters, and knowing that he was a lover of the same, I begged him to accompany me to the quarries, near St. Marceau, that I might give him ocular proof of what I had said concerning petrifactions; and he, full of zeal in the affair, immediately caused waxen flambeaux to be brought, and taking with him his medical pupil, named Milon,[152]we went to a place in the said quarries, conducted by two quarrymen; and there we saw what I had long before known, from the form of stones shaped like icicles, having seen a number of such stones, which had been brought, by command of the queen mother, from Marseilles; also among the rocks on the shores of the river Loire. Now, in those quarries we saw the distilled water congeal in our presence, which set the matter at rest.” Another day, walking with his friend, he found himself, while wandering over the fields, very thirsty, and passing by some village, asked where he could meet with a good spring, in order to refreshhimself; but he was told there was no spring in that place, all their wells being exhausted on account of the drought, and that there was nothing but a little muddy water left in them. This caused him “much vexation,” and expressing his surprise at the distress suffered by the inhabitants of that village through want of water, he proceeded to explain to his companion his theory on springs, in which he propounded a doctrine which the science of the present day has pronounced absolutely correct.[153]
This subject led Bernard to recur to the home of his early manhood, and he added, “At Saintes, which is a very ancient town, there are still found the remains of an aqueduct, by which, formerly, they caused the water to come from a distance of two great leagues. There are now no ancient fountains; by which I do not mean to say we have lost the water-courses, for it is well known that the ancient spring of the town of Saintes is still on the spot where it formerly existed; to see which, the chancellor De l’Hôpital, travelling from Bayonne, turned out of his way to admire the excellence of the said spring. Now, in the neighbourhood of Saintes, is a small town called Brouage, situated on the coast amongst the marshes of Saintonge. Its name points out its nature, the word ‘brou,’meaning, marshy soil. That said town has undergone two sieges during the civil wars; the last in the year 1570. When besieged, it suffered much from want of water, and I am, at the present time, preparing an advertisement to the governor and inhabitants thereof, to explain to them that the situation of the place is very commodious for making a fountain there, at small expense.”
“Your mention of this reminds me,” said his companion, “of the remarkable manner in which the city of Nismes fell into the hands of the Huguenots, some four or five winters ago.”
Palissy expressed a wish to hear the particulars, with which he was but imperfectly acquainted; and as the story affords a striking instance of the spirit which animated even obscure individuals in the cause of religion and freedom, it shall be told here.
The governor of Nismes, a ferocious old man, had treated the Huguenots with the utmost barbarity, and had plundered and banished great numbers of them, who had retired to a neighbouring town. Among those left in Nismes was a carpenter, named Maderon, who resolved to deliver the town into the hands of his exiled brethren, and for that purpose took advantage of the famous fountain, the abundant waters of which flowed between the gate of Carmes and the castle, through a channel which was closed by a grate. Just above, and close by the castle, a sentinel was placed, who was relieved every hour. When he was about to leave he wasaccustomed to ring a bell, in order to advertise the soldier who was to relieve him, to come and take his place. A short interval always elapsed between the departure of one soldier and the arrival of the other, and Maderon having observed this, undertook, in those moments, to file asunder the bars of the grate.
He executed his purpose thus. In the evening he went down into the ditch, with a cord fastened round his body, the end of which was pulled by a friend when the soldier quitted his post, and again, when the other arrived. Maderon worked during these few moments, and then ceasing, waited in patience till another hour elapsed. In the morning he covered his work with mud and wax. In this manner did this indefatigable man work for fifteen nights, the noise he made being drowned by the rushing of the waters. It was not till his work was nearly completed that he informed the exiles of his success, and invited them to take possession of the town. They appear to have wanted courage for the undertaking; and while irresolute, a flash of lightning, though the weather was otherwise serene, terrified and put them to flight; but their minister, pulling them by their sleeves, exhorted them to come back, saying, “Courage! this lightning shows that God is with us.”
Twenty of them entered the town, and being joined by others who were exasperated at the cruelty of the governor, it was taken, and the castlesurrendered a few days after. “That was truly an admirable occurrence,” said Bernard. “And the results were very important, since the town, by the large supplies it afforded, was of great service to the army of the princes during the ensuing spring.” “There will doubtless be many historians who will employ themselves upon these matters,” said Palissy; “and the better to describe the truth, I should think it wise that in each town there should be persons deputed to write faithfully the things that have been done during these troubles. I have myself already given a short narrative of what befell when I was resident in Saintonge, and I have left others to write of those things which themselves have witnessed. At present I am engaged in preparing a volume of Discourses on Natural Objects, of practical use to agriculturists and others, and I purpose, in the Lectures I have just commenced, to discuss various positions with reference to these matters, to which end, as you know, I have invited interruption, contradiction, and discussion, from those who may attend them.”
Palissy referred, in these words, to an undertaking which we find he commenced in the Lent of the year 1575, and which he carried on, for several seasons, annually. “Considering,” he says, “that I had employed much time in the study of earths, stones, waters, and metals, and that old age pressed me to multiply the talents which God had given me, I thought good to bring forward to light thoseexcellent secrets, in order to bequeath them to posterity.”
But, like a true philosopher, he was anxious, first, to subject his theories to the test of keen criticism. Free discussion was, he knew, the best friend to the true interests of science, and he resolved, therefore to invite about him the most learned persons then resident in the capital, and to meet them in his lecture room to state to them his opinions, and to hear their arguments in reply. He set about doing this in a peculiar manner, which he describes. “Thus debating in my mind, I decided to cause notices to be affixed to the street corners in Paris, in order to assemble the most learned doctors, and others, to whom I would promise to demonstrate, in three lessons, all I have learned concerning fountains, stones, metals, and other natures. And, in order that none might come but the most learned and curious, I put in my placards that none should have admission without payment of a dollar. I did this partly to see whether I could extract from my hearers some contradiction which might have more assurance of truth than the arguments I should propound; knowing well that, if I spoke falsely, there would be Greeks and Latins who would resist me to my face, and who would not spare me, as well on account of the dollar I should have taken from each, as on account of the time I should have caused them to misspend. For there were very few of my hearers who could not elsewhere have extracted profit outof something during the time spent by them at my lessons. Also, I put in my placards that if the things therein promised did not prove trustworthy, I would restore the quadruple.”
The result of this experimental course was most successful. “Thanks be to God,” says the triumphant lecturer, “never man contradicted me a single word.”
Of the character of the audience whom Palissy attracted around him in his museum (as he called his cabinet of natural history), on this occasion, we are fully informed. He has given a list of more than thirty of them, including many skilful physicians, celebrated surgeons, grand seigneurs, gentlemen, and titled ecclesiastics, also some of the legal profession, and others, who were drawn together by a common love of scientific research. These were no idlers, but an assemblage of the choicest students—a sort of Royal Society, instituted for the occasion—who sat listening to the self-taught philosopher, the wise and vigorous old man, who, illustrating his cases as he went on, by specimens of the things about which he spoke, turned his cabinet into a lecture-room, where he delivered the first course of lectures upon natural history ever given in the French metropolis, held in the first natural history museum ever thrown open to the public there. Supported by the favourable opinion of such judges—than whom he could not have “more faithful witnesses, nor men more assured inknowledge,” Bernard “took courage to discourse” of various matters concerning which he had attained a surprising degree of knowledge.