Palissy the Huguenot Potter

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 will infallibly 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 Guise
Mettraient ses enfants en pourpoint
Et son pauvre peuple en chemise.”[8 - “Francis the First has plainly foretold,That they of the household of GuiseWould clothe their children in purple and gold,But the poor folk only in frieze.”]

Catherine looked disconcerted at this unexpected jeu-de-mot of 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 of the 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 design
When, for bad ends, infuriate mobs combine,
Or gleams the terror of the monarch’s frown
Firm in his rock-based worth, on both looks down.”[9 - “Justum et tenacem propositi virumNon civium ardor prava jubentium,Non vultus instantis tyranniMente quatit solidâ… ”]

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 to listen, 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.”

CHAPTER XIII

“A man’s heart deviseth his way: but the Lord directeth his steps.”

    – Proverbs xvi. 9.

Victor and 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.”

“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 battles and 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 roads shall 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 that is 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 the subjects 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 advantages will 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 many years, 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 inherit the 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 better than 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 each other 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!

CHAPTER XIV

“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.

The present 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.

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 to watch 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 the quatre 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.[10 - The master-pieces of Palissy adorn the private collections of the wealthy and noble continental amateurs. Mr. Marryat, in his history of pottery, says, the most extensive and complete collection of his Fayence crockery exists in the Musée Royale, in the Louvre, and in the Hôtel de Cluny; purchased since the death of its late proprietor, M. de Sommerard, by the French government. “These magnificent specimens,” he says, “have been eagerly bought up, from a just appreciation of the merits of their talented and much persecuted countryman.” Mr. M. gives the following description of the Fayence of Palissy. “It is characterized by a peculiar style and many singular qualities. The forms of his figures are generally chaste. The ornaments, the historical, mythological, and allegorical subjects, are in relief and coloured. The colours are generally bright, but not much varied, being usually confined to yellows, blues, and grays, though sometimes extending to green, violet, and brown. The enamel is hard, but the glaze is not so good as that of Delft, and he never succeeded in attaining the purity of the white enamel of Luca della Robbia.” “At a sale at Phillip’s, of Palissy ware, belonging to M. Roussel, of Paris,” it is added, “an extraordinary large vase, enriched with boys in relief, supporting flowers and fruit in festoons, with masked heads, on a fine blue ground, and snake handles, sold for £57 15s. A very curious candlestick, with perforated work and heads in relief sold for £20; equal to $100.”] 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.

He spoke from experience when he said, “If you had seen the horrible excesses of men that I have seen, 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 to push 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 to dwell 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[11 - Coligny, who had been wounded by the dagger of an assassin only two days before.] till late into the night, and was on the point of leaving him, when one of the royal hussars came, bringing a summons to 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 of the 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 the unclouded 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 slaughter continued. 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.”)

CHAPTER XV

“He spake also of beasts, and of fowl, and of creeping things, and of fishes.”

    – 1 Kings iv. 33.

We learn 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 it would 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 principally indebted to Charles IX., who used to send him many of the rarest and most valuable he obtained, to preserve.

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,[12 - Afterwards first physician to Henry IV.] 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 refresh himself; 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.[13 - It is worthy of note, that a work of great pretensions, published by French naturalists, (“The New Dictionary of Natural History, 1816–1830,”) two hundred and fifty years after Palissy’s demonstrations, gives an incorrect theory on this subject.]

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.