“A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for
adversity.”—PROVERBS xvii. 17.
THE Seigneur 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
expressly forbidden 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 would have 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 to the 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.
[Picture: 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
the more 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, at all 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 of his 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 has
commanded 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.”
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.
[Picture: Victor . . . watched their movements]
He knew that his errand admitted not of delay. There was but one chance
that Palissy might be saved. 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.