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CHAPTER IX

“The works of the Lord are great, sought out of all them that have pleasure therein.”

– Psalm cxi. 2.

Palissy had not exaggerated when he said that the influence of the Reformed church in Saintes was changing the whole aspect of the town. Though but of short duration, its period of prosperity was bright and happy, and he was prominent among its firm and peaceable supporters. The picture he has drawn of it is a lovely one. “You would have seen in those days,” he says, “fellow-tradesmen, on a Sunday, rambling through the fields, groves, and other places, singing in company psalms, canticles, and spiritual songs – reading and instructing one another. You would also have seen the daughters and maidens, seated by troops, in the gardens and other places, who, in like way, delighted themselves in singing of all holy things. The teachers had so well instructed the young, and affairs had so much prospered, that people had changed their old manners, even to their very countenances.”

Nor was this merely a question of psalm-singing and prayers, he assures us. The Reformation was practical and earnest. Quarrels, dissensions, and hatreds were reconciled; unseemly conduct and debauchery suppressed; and this had been carried so far that “even the magistrates had assumed the control of many evil things which depended on their authority.” Innkeepers were forbidden to have gaming in their houses, and to entertain the householders, whose duty it was to abide with their own families, not eating and drinking their substance elsewhere. Even the enemies of the church were constrained, to their very great regret, to speak well of the ministers, and especially of M. de la Boissière, who seems to have won general respect and esteem by his judicious and manly piety, as well as his pastoral instructions. Thus were the opponents of the gospel fairly silenced, and recourse was had to a system of counteraction, in the shape of a reformation on the part of the Roman Catholics. This went to such a point that Palissy says, “certain of the priests began to take part in the assemblies, and to study and take counsel about the church.” In fact, it was time they should be on the alert, for the monks and ecclesiastics were blamed in common talk; that is, by those who cared nothing for religion, but who were ready enough to throw a stone at these idle shepherds. “Why do you not exhort your people, and pray, as these ministers do?” they asked; “you are paid salaries for preaching.” These taunts reaching the ears of Monsieur, the theologian of the chapter, measures were taken accordingly, and the shrewdest and most subtle monks engaged for the service of the cathedral church. “Thus it happened that, in these days, there was prayer in the town of Saintes every day, from one side or the other.” But the thing which worried the priests more than any other, and which seemed to them very strange, was, that several poor villagers refused to pay tithes, unless they were supplied with ministers. It was certainly a strange thing to see, as Palissy says, when certain farmers, who were no friends to the religion, finding these things so, actually went to the ministers, praying them to exhort the people of the districts they farmed, in order that they might get paid their tithes; the labourers having refused to supply them with corn and fruits on any other conditions. In short, the efforts of the little church had so well prospered, that they had constrained the wicked to become good – at all events, to seem so.

How delightful to think of Bernard now! at his ease, rejoicing in the peace and happiness around him, and in the religious aspect of his town; frequently journeying abroad, to Écouen and elsewhere, to and fro, as his business required, and coming home again, to wander, thoughtfully and tranquilly, among the rocks and fields in which he took such delight. He was now so well supplied with patronage that he might have been growing rich, had he not, with his own ardent zeal and restless energy, been ever expending time, and toil, and money, on new efforts to improve his art. Now, too, he had leisure to pursue those inquiries which, in his character of a naturalist, so deeply interested him. With surprising and marvellous sagacity he penetrated some of the problems which have puzzled the most skilful investigators, and there was always mingled with his love of nature a spirit of glowing and unaffected piety. The bright gladness of his pious soul was as a beaming light that shone upon his path and made it ever radiant.

How skilfully he turned to use all the modes of acquiring knowledge, and what good account he made of his own sharp wits, we see in a little incident he has recorded. It chanced one day, he received a visit from the Dame de la Pons, for whom he was executing a commission, in which the lady felt, naturally, a woman’s interest. She had ordered a complete set of dishes, to be adorned with his favourite “rustic figulines;” the work was progressing favourably; there remained only a few pieces to be completed; and she had come to see and to criticise. “This dish is charming,” said the lady; “the bottom covered with sea weeds and corals, while the fish, with open fins, seem darting across the water. Really, one can fancy the slight tremor of the tail, so like the helm of the living ship. The cray-fish, too, the spider of the waters, stretches his long claws as if to grip the rock, and shrink into its crevices.” “And see this one, mamma,” said her daughter, who had accompanied her, “this is for the fresh water fish. Look at the edges, fringed with the dank mosses, and the sides covered with the broad leaves of the plants. It is the subaqueous world of waters, with all the leaves, stems, and flags of the marsh, and its aquatic animals, transferred to clay, as true in form, and as brilliant in colours, as if a housemaid had dipped one of her plates in the stream, and drawn it out, filled to the brim, with the plants, shells, and animals of the brook.” “It is admirable,” said her mother. Palissy’s eyes sparkled, for praise is sweet; and what son of Adam is there to whom it does not come doubly welcome from the lips of a woman?

“What a curious shell is this!” exclaimed Madame, taking up one, from which Palissy was modelling. “That comes from the shores of Oléron,” said the artist; “there are numbers more on yonder table,” and he pointed to one, covered with a multitude of similar ones. “I engaged a score of women and children to search for them on the rocks. And now, lady, I must tell you something curious about those shells. Only a day or two after they were brought to me, I chanced to call on M. Babaret, the advocate, who, you know, is a man famous for his love of letters and the arts. We fell into some discussion upon a point in natural history, and he showed me two shells exactly similar to these – urchin shells;⁶ but which were quite massive; and he maintained that the said shells had been carved by the hand of the workman, and was quite astonished when I maintained, against him, that they were natural. Since that time, I have collected a number of these shells converted into stones.” “You surprise me,” said his attentive hearer; “I was indeed greatly puzzled myself, some years since, when I chanced to find certain stones embedded in rock, made in the fashion of a ram’s horn, though not so long nor so crooked, but commonly arched, and about half a foot long. I could not imagine, nor have I ever known how they could have been formed.” “Your description, madame, much interests me; for, it so happens that I have also seen, nay, possess, a stone of the kind you describe, which was brought to me one day by Pierre Guoy, citizen and sheriff of the town of Saintes. He found, in his farm, one of these very stones, which was half-open, and had certain indentations, that fitted admirably, one into the other. Well knowing how curious I am about such things, he made me a present of it, which I was greatly rejoiced at; for I had seen, as I walked along the rocks in this neighbourhood, some similar stones, which had awakened my curiosity; and from that time I understand that these stones had formerly been the shells of a fish, which fish we see no more at the present day.” He then showed his visitors the picture of a rock, in the Ardennes, near the village of Sedan, in which were paintings of all the species of shells that it contained.

“The inhabitants of that place,” said he, “daily hew the stone from that mountain to build; and in doing so, the said shells are found at the lowest, as well as at the highest part; that is, inclosed in the densest stones. I am certain that I saw one kind which was sixteen inches in diameter. From this I infer that the rock, which is full of many kinds of shells, has formerly been a marine bed, producing fishes.” “You speak as if stones grew, or were made, in process of time,” said the lady; “while we know that from the beginning, God made heaven and earth. He made also the stones; and from that time there have been none made, for all things have been finished from the commencement of the world.”⁷

“It is indeed, madame, written in the book of Genesis that God created all things in six days, and that he rested on the seventh. But yet, for all that, God did not make these things to leave them idle. Therefore, each performs its duty according to the commandment it received from him. The stars and planets are not idle. The sea wanders from one place to another, and labours to bring forth profitable things. The earth likewise is never idle; that which decays naturally within her, she forms over again; if not in one shape she will reproduce it in another. It is certain that if, since the creation of the world, no stones had grown within the earth, it would be difficult to find any number of them, for they are constantly being dissolved and pulverized by the effects of frosts, and an infinite number of other accidents, which daily spoil, consume, and reduce stone to earth.” “You tell us startling things; very hard to be understood, Master Bernard,” said the Dame de la Pons, “yet full of deep interest to one who loves to note the wonderful works of creation, and would fain learn to see them with discernment as well as admiration.” Palissy paused from his work, (he had continued to sketch while he conversed,) and opening a cabinet with drawers which stood near him, he showed the ladies several specimens of fossils and minerals, which in his enthusiastic researches he had collected; for, with the acuteness of a philosophic observer, he had perceived the importance of a detailed study of fossil forms to the discovery of geological truths; and it may be truly said that the first who pursued this study (on which undoubtedly modern geology and all its grandest results are founded) was Palissy, the self-educated potter, who had taught himself in the school of nature. “I have been anxious,” said he, “to represent by pictures, the shells and fishes which I have found lapidified, to distinguish between them and the sorts now in common use; but because my time would not permit me to put my design in execution, I have, for some years, sought, according to my power, for petrifactions, until at length I have found more fishes and shells in that form petrified upon the earth than there are modern kinds inhabiting the ocean.” He then showed them a small specimen which he begged them carefully to observe. “What can it be?” they inquired; “it resembles wood more nearly than anything else.” “You will think it very strange when I assure you that it is indeed wood, converted into stone. It came into my possession through the kindness of the Seigneur de la Mothe, the secretary to the king of Navarre, a man very curious and a lover of virtú. He was once at court in company with the late king of Navarre, when there was brought to that prince a piece of wood changed into stone. It was thought so great a curiosity that the king commanded one of his attendants to lock it up, among his other treasures.

“Taking occasion to speak with the gentleman who had received this charge, Monsieur de la Mothe begged that he would give him a little morsel of it, which he did; and some time after, passing through Saintes, be brought the treasure to me, and seeing how much pleasure and interest I took in examining it, he gave it me. I have since made inquiry, and find that it was brought from the forest of Fayan, which is a swampy place. It appears to me, indeed I am persuaded, that in the same manner as the shells are converted into stone, so is the wood also transmuted, and being petrified it preserves the form and appearance of wood, precisely like the shells. By these things you see how nature no sooner suffers destruction by one principle, than she at once resumes working with another; and this is what I have already said – to wit, that the earth and the other elements are never idle.” “Where can you have learned all this?” asked the young lady, with girlish wonder; “I would fain know to what school you have been, where you have learned all that you are telling us.” “In truth, Mademoiselle,” said Palissy smiling, “I have had no other teacher than the heavens and the earth which are given to all, to be known and read. Having read therein, I have reflected on terrestrial matters, because I have had no opportunity in studying astrology to contemplate the stars.”

CHAPTER X

“The wicked walk on every side, when the vilest men are exalted.”

– Psalm xii. 8.

Thus happily occupied with the pursuits he loved, but taking no share in the turmoils of the time, Palissy prospered and cheerfully pursued his way. He could not, indeed, be an unconcerned observer of the events that were transpiring around. Having eyes, he doubtless saw the clouds that were gathering over his country, and from time to time, heard the thunders that threatened before long to burst in a terrific storm. For a season, however, the evil day was deferred, and the hymns of the rejoicing Huguenots continued to gladden his heart. We have already had sufficient evidence that he did not spare his remonstrances against those who, while they enjoyed the revenues of the church, neglected the performance of its duties. Nor did he stop there, and as his censures extended from the highest to the lowest matters, his shafts were often pointed against those who could ill endure the test of common sense, which he unceremoniously applied to them. His criticisms on the follies and vices of his neighbours had too much the character of home-thrusts not to be felt. In his lively way he relates that, on one occasion, he remonstrated with a certain high dame upon the absurdities and improprieties of feminine attire; but “after I had made her this remonstrance,” he quietly adds, “the silly woman, instead of thanking me, called me Huguenot, seeing which – I left her.” At another time, he relates that, being on a visit to the neighbouring town of Rochelle, he earnestly remonstrated with a tradesman, of whom he inquired what he had put into his pepper which enabled him, though buying it in that place at thirty-five sols the pound, to make a great profit by selling it again, at the fair of Niord, at seventeen sols, in consequence of the adulteration of the article. In reply to the man’s excuse of poverty, Bernard replied, that, by such criminal acts he was heaping up to himself fearful punishments, “and surely,” said he, “you can better afford to be poor than be damned.” Strong, though faithful language, which was wholly ineffectual upon this “poor insensate, who declared he would not be poor, follow what might.” Plain speaking of this sort was evidently very characteristic of Palissy, who uttered his remonstrances without reckoning on the consequences. The same originality and force of intellect which procured him patrons in his art, undoubtedly, when applied in a different direction, served to multiply enemies around him, and their time was not long in coming.

Happily and swiftly flew the years of prosperity, but (as we have already seen) the clouds were gathering in the horizon, and soon the cruel hounds of war were let slip, and most frightful were the results. Two great parties had involved in their disputes the passions of the whole French nation. One, which included all the Huguenots, was headed by the high old French nobility; while the leaders of the others, embracing all the Roman Catholics, were the Guises. These opposing factions, with their strong deep passions, rapidly precipitated themselves into a fierce and bloody contest. One of the young sons of Catherine de Medici had died, after a few months of nominal rule, and a child no more than ten years old, called Charles IX. had succeeded to the throne. The queen mother, who, as regent for her son, assumed the government of affairs, was anxious, as far as possible, to offend neither of the contending parties, but to hold them so well balanced, as to preserve the power in her own hands. For a short time, there was a cessation of disputes, and efforts at conciliation. The policy of Catherine was the maintenance of peace, and she spoke fair to the Huguenots, feigning so well and so successfully that she was even accused by those of the Roman Catholic party, of being in heart one with the new sect. The Reformers took courage, and were full of fervour and hope; the enthusiasm spreading throughout the provinces and awakening everywhere the hope that the triumph of the Reformed faith was at hand. It was but a passing gleam, presently followed by a darker gloom, which finally deepened into the thick night of the Black Bartholomew. In vain did the queen and the chancellor, De l’Hôpital, labour to secure peace by colloquies and edicts of toleration. The Guises fiercely stirred the fires of contention, and employed themselves in active preparations for a struggle. At length, the first signal for the outbreak of the civil war was given.

There was in Champagne, a small fortified town, called Vassy, containing about three thousand inhabitants, a third of whom, not reckoning the surrounding villages, professed the Reformed religion. It happened, on the 28th of February, 1562, that the Duke of Guise, journeying on his way to Paris, accompanied by his cousin, the cardinal of Lorraine, with an escort of gentlemen, followed by some two hundred horsemen, visited the château de Joinville, which was situated in the neighbourhood, on an estate belonging to the Lorraines.

The mistress of the castle was a very old lady, the dowager Duchess of Guise, whose bigoted attachment to the faith of her ancestors made the very name of Huguenot an offence to her. Sorely indignant was she at the audacity of the inhabitants of Vassy, who had no right, she declared, as vassals of her granddaughter, Mary Stuart, to adopt a new religion without her permission. Often had she threatened vengeance upon them, and the time was now come to inflict it. And the aged woman urged her son, the fierce Duke Francis, to make a striking example of these insolent peasants. As he listened to her angry words, he swore a deep oath, and bit his beard, which was his custom, when his wrath waxed strong.

The next morning, resuming his march, he arrived at a village not far from the obnoxious town; and the morning breeze, as it came sweeping up the hills, brought to his ears the sound of church bells. “What means that noise?” he asked of one of his attendants. “It is the morning service of the Huguenots,” was the reply. It was, in fact, the sabbath day, and the Reformers, assembled to the number of some hundreds, were performing their worship in a barn, under the protection of a recent edict of toleration. Unsuspicious of danger, there was not a man among them armed, with the exception of some ten strangers, probably gentlemen, who wore swords.

Suddenly, a band of the duke’s soldiers approached the place, and began shouting – “Heretic dogs! Huguenot rebels! Kill, kill!” The first person whom they laid hands on was a poor hawker of wine. “In whom do you believe?” they cried. “I believe in Jesus Christ,” was the answer; and with one thrust of the pike he was laid low. Two more were killed at the door, and instantly the tumult raged. The duke, hastening up at the sound of arms, was struck by a stone, which drew blood from his cheek. Instantly the rage of his followers redoubled, and his own fury knew no bounds. A horrible butchery followed; men, women, and children were attacked indiscriminately, and sixty were slain in the barn or in the street, while more than two hundred were grievously wounded.

The pastor, Leonard Morel, at the first sound of alarm, kneeled down in the pulpit and implored the divine aid. He was fired at; and then endeavoured to escape, but, as he approached the door, he stumbled over a dead body, and received two sabre cuts on the right shoulder and on his head. Believing himself to be mortally wounded, he exclaimed, “Into thy hands I commend my spirit, O Lord; for thou hast redeemed me.” He was captured, and carried, being unable to walk, into the presence of the duke. “Minister, come this way,” he said, “what emboldens thee to seduce this people?” “I am no seducer,” said Morel, “but I have faithfully preached the gospel of Jesus Christ.” “Does the gospel teach sedition, sirrah?” said M. de Guise, with his usual blasphemous oath; “thou hast caused the death of all these people; and thou shalt thyself be hanged immediately. Here, Provôt, make ready a gallows for him on the spot!” But even among that fierce crew none seemed willing to obey the savage mandate, and no one came forward to enact the part of hangman. This delay saved the life of the captive, who was removed under good guard, but eventually escaped.

The following year, as the blood-thirsty duke lay on his death-bed, mortally wounded by the hand of an assassin, he protested that he had neither premeditated nor commanded the massacre of Vassy. This may be true; but his consent at the moment of its perpetration is beyond question.

An extraordinary effect was produced throughout the whole kingdom, by the tidings of this cruel slaughter. Among the Reformed party it created a universal feeling of indignant horror and alarm. It was like the war-whoop of the Indians, which precedes the rush to battle. Each party flew to arms, after putting forth manifestoes, asserting the merits of their respective causes. The Prince of Condé hastened to Orleans, which he succeeded in occupying, and there the army of the Huguenots established their headquarters. In that town the Calvinist lords assembled, on the 11th of April, 1562, and after partaking the Lord’s supper together, bound themselves in an alliance, to maintain the Edicts, and to punish those who had broken them. They took a solemn oath to repress blasphemy, violence, and whatever was forbidden by the law of God, and to set up good and faithful ministers to instruct the people; and lastly, they promised, by their hope of heaven, to fulfil their duty in this cause.

And thus the fearful work began, and tumult, massacre, battle, and siege prevailed. Every town in France was filled with the riot of contending factions. “It was a grand and frightful struggle of province against province, city with city, quarter with quarter, house with house, man with man,” says a recent historian. “Fanaticism had reduced France to a land of cannibals; and the gloomiest imagination would fail to conceive of all the varieties of horrors which were then practised.”

We have to do with the town of Saintes. There were few places in which the Huguenots were so numerous, and had multiplied so rapidly, as in Saintonge. Passions were nowhere stronger; no place was more trampled by combatants; it was the scene of many of the maddest contests during the days of the religious warfare. At the invitation of the Duke de La Rochefoucault, all the Protestant leaders of the district gathered themselves together at Angoulême, and betook themselves, under his guidance, to Orleans, in order to join the Prince of Condé, who was his brother-in-law. After the departure of these forces, the various towns in that neighbourhood, Angoulême, Saintes, Pons, and others, remained indeed in the possession of the Huguenots, but without defence, nearly all the Reformers of the district, capable of bearing arms, having followed the march of De La Rochefoucault, “especially” we are told, “those of Saintes.” Consequently, the town, deprived of its soldiers, presented an easy prey to the enemy, and in a short time, fell into the hands of a hostile leader, named Nogeret, who treated with harsh severity all that remained in the place, in execution of a decree from Bordeaux, by which the Reformers were abandoned, without appeal, to the mercy of any royal judge.

Among those thus given over to the power of these miscreants, was Palissy. In few but emphatic words he has recorded the terrors of that fearful time. “Deeds so wretched were then done,” he said afterward, “that I have horror in the mere remembrance. To avoid those dreadful and execrable sights, I withdrew into the secret recesses of my house, and there, by the space of two months, I had warning that hell was broke loose, and that all the spirits of the devils had come into this town of Saintes. For where, a short time before, I had heard psalms, and holy songs, and all good words of edification, now mine ears were assailed only with blasphemies, blows, menaces, and tumults, all miserable words, and lewd and detestable songs. Those of the Reformed religion had all disappeared, and our enemies went from house to house, to siege, sack, gluttonize, and laugh; jesting and making merry with all dissolute deeds and blasphemous words against God and man.”

Very terrible is this truth-breathing description of the miseries of a city given over to the license of an unbridled soldiery; but the most affecting picture is that which he draws when closing his short narrative of those “evil days.” “I had nothing at that time but reports of those frightful crimes that, from day to day, were committed; and of all those things, that which grieved me most within myself was, that certain little children of the town, who came daily to assemble in an open space near the spot where I was hidden (always exerting myself to produce some work of my art), dividing themselves into two parties, fought and cast stones one side against another, while they swore and blasphemed in the most execrable language that ever man could utter, so that I have, as it were, horror in recalling it. Now, that lasted a long time, while neither fathers nor mothers exercised any rule over them. Often I was seized with a desire to risk my life by going out to punish them; but I said in my heart the 79th Psalm, which begins, ‘O God, the heathen are come into thine inheritance.’”