“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.
[Picture: 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 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. {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.
[Picture: A Palissy pitcher and Dish]
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 {145} 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.”)