“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.”
[Picture: 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 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!