“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.
[Picture: 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 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. {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 was
accustomed 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 castle
surrendered 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 those excellent 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
out of 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 in knowledge,” Bernard “took courage to discourse” of
various matters concerning which he had attained a surprising degree of
knowledge.
The science taught by the self-educated potter was such as has entitled
him, in the present day, to the admiration of men like Buffon, Haller,
and Cuvier.