Kitabı oku: «Palissy the Huguenot Potter», sayfa 6

CHAPTER XI

“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.

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.

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.

CHAPTER XII

“A good man shall be satisfied from himself.”

– Proverbs xiv. 14.

Palissy was now immured within the walls of the Bordeaux prison. While he lies there, bereft of the consolation he had hitherto enjoyed in the society of Victor, we must betake ourselves to a very different scene.

In consequence of the information he received from the Sire de Pons, the constable Montmorency determined, as the only means of averting the fate which threatened his ingenious workman, to apply himself, in person, to the queen mother, through whose influence the court might be induced to protect him. In fact, Catherine was herself virtually monarch, and a word from her would suffice. The sole redeeming quality of this woman of evil renown was, an enlightened taste for literature and the fine arts, a taste which seems to have been hereditary in her family. She enriched the royal library with many precious manuscripts of Greece and Italy, and presented to it half the volumes which her great ancestor Lorenzo de Medici had purchased of the Turks, after the taking of Constantinople. Especially she excelled in her love of the fine arts, and her taste and genius were displayed in the erection of many châteaux in various provinces, remarkable for the exactness of their proportions and their style, at a period when the French had scarcely a notion of the principles of architecture. At the present time she had just conceived the purpose of constructing a new residence for herself; and Montmorency found her, in one of the apartments assigned to her use, in the palace of the Louvre, busily engaged in looking over some manuscript plans. As the constable was announced, she raised her eyes from the table on which these designs were placed, and after receiving his salutations, begged him to be seated beside her, and pointing with her hand (the most beautiful one ever beheld, according to a contemporary historian), she smilingly requested his assistance in her choice. “Allow me, monsieur,” she said, “to appeal to your judgment, for in the matter now under consideration, I could not have an adviser whose opinion I should more highly value. You are aware that the château des Tournelles has been destined to demolition, and I have, therefore, determined to build me a new palace, the site of which I am anxious to fix upon. The plan now before his majesty” – and she glanced at her son, the poor young boy king, who sat opposite her – “appears to me to present no small advantages.” The paper to which the queen referred was the plan of a plot of ground close to the trenches of the Louvre, situated, at that time, out of Paris, and which had been purchased, some half century before, by king Francis I., as a present to his mother, Marie Louise, of Savoy. It had been originally occupied by tuileries (i. e., tile-kilns), and in the old drawings which Catherine was inspecting, the spots where formerly stood the wood-yards and baking-houses used in making the bricks and tiles, were marked out. “Its situation by the river, and the large space suitable for garden ground attached to it, seem much in its favour, madame,” said the constable. “And its neighbourhood to the royal dwelling also,” said the queen, at the same time she unrolled another map, which she proceeded to examine, with the assistance of Montmorency.

Whilst they are thus engaged we will take the opportunity to say something of the two royal personages present. Charles IX. was not yet fourteen years old, tall in stature, strongly but not gracefully built, and with a countenance of energetic expression, but fierce and unrefined. The poor lad, invested at so early an age with unbounded authority, appears to have been naturally of a violent temper, with high animal spirits. His great passion was the chase, and he also showed considerable taste for letters. But, kept in subjection to the will of his mother, and tutored by her to suspect and dissimulate, his natural character was vitiated, and he suffered himself to continue, to the time of his death, the passive instrument of her ambition and cruelty. A remarkable anecdote is told of him, which seems to prove that better things might have been expected of him, had his education been in different hands. When but a youth, having perceived that after drinking wine he was no longer master of himself, he swore never to use it again; and he kept his oath. What might not have been expected from a prince gifted with such powers of self-control, had he been judiciously trained?

At the time of which we are speaking, the queen mother was in the decline of her beauty, though she still retained some remnants of those charms which adorned her in youth. She was clad in the black robes of her widowhood, which it was her fancy to persist in wearing long after the usual period; her hair was completely hidden beneath the angular white cap we see in the pictures of that day, and her strongly marked features were softened by the shade of a grey gauze veil. Her eyebrows were dark, and her eyes, large and brilliant, had a restless severity in their expression which inspired fear and distrust. Her complexion was olive, and her figure tall and large, her movements full of grace and majesty, while an air of command was visible in every gesture.

As she spoke now, the tones of her voice were soft and musical, for it was her wish to please; but, when angry passions agitated her bosom, they became dissonant, harsh, and startling.

“I think,” she said, in answer to an observation made by Montmorency, “the balance of advantages lies much in the favour of the first design, to which I shall, therefore, give the preference, and will immediately give directions for digging the foundations of the new palace, and it shall be named, from the site on which it is built, the Palace of the Tuileries.” “Well, madam,” said the constable, “your majesty has admirably chosen, and skilfully selected, an appropriate name for the intended royal abode.” “It occurred to my recollection,” said Catherine, “that one of the finest quarters of ancient Athens was called the Ceramic, because it occupied ground once held by extra-mural potteries.” “Speaking of potteries reminds me, madam,” said Montmorency, “of the principal object I had in seeking an interview with your majesty. Among the workmen I have employed at Écouen, there is a mechanic who evinces a surprising genius in the art of painting on glass, and who has invented an enamelled earthenware of great beauty. I know of none equal to him in skill, and, in fact, I cannot supply his place should he be sacrificed.” “You should not allow so great a treasure to slip through your hands. What danger threatens him?” “He is a Huguenot, madam,” was the reply. “No matter,” said the queen, laughing, “his heresy won’t alter the hues of his glass or pottery-ware.” “Nay; but he has fallen into the hands of Nogeret, one of the royalist leaders in Saintonge, and will infallibly be hanged or burned, and serve him right, as I should say, for a heretic knave, but that my work is incomplete, and that Master Palissy is a rare workman. Such skill, too, as he shows in designing, and in the adorning of gardens! In short, he is precisely the man whom your majesty would find invaluable in the works you have now in prospect.”

Queen Catherine was by no means unwilling, in so trifling a matter, to oblige the great constable; besides that, she had a taste for the patronage of clever artists, and knew too well the difficulty of procuring such a one as had been described, to turn a deaf ear to the hint thrown out by Montmorency. “Let an edict be issued, in the king’s name,” she said, “appointing this Palissy ‘workman in earth to his majesty.’ He will then, as a servant of the king, be removed from the jurisdiction of Bordeaux, and his cause can come under no other cognizance than that of the grand council.” Montmorency expressed his gratitude, and rose to depart, when the Queen carelessly remarked, “That was a blundering affair of M. de Guise at Vassy; it drove the Protestants to such extreme measures that the game of moderation was at an end.” The constable made no reply, save to shrug his shoulders; but the young king tittered the following impromptu, which history has preserved:

 
“François premier, prédit ce point,
Que ceux de la maison de Guise
Mettraient ses enfants en pourpoint
Et son pauvre peuple en chemise.”⁸
 

Catherine looked disconcerted at this unexpected jeu-de-mot of her son, and rising somewhat hastily, stepped across the room, and taking the arm of Charles, bowed gracefully to the constable and withdrew.

The result of this colloquy was that, in as short a time as the royal post could convey the letter of M. de Montmorency to Bordeaux, Palissy was released from the power of his enemies, and being thoroughly protected from the hostilities of the belligerents on either side, returned to Saintes, and resumed his place in the dilapidated workshop, whose broken doors bore sorrowful witness to the ravages of civil strife. Alas! it was now a very different home, for the town was half depopulated; the best of the inhabitants had fled or been slaughtered in the streets, churches had been battered, and rude hands had wrought destruction everywhere. But nothing seems to have shaken the equilibrium of his spirit, and he could say, with St. Paul, “I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.” It is evident that he had attained to that fortitude and equanimity, that happy confidence of spirit, which so substantially realizes the truth of the divine promise – “Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee, because he trusteth in thee;” the solid reality, this, of what the ancient sages did but dream about, and of which they sweetly sang, as in the famous ode of Horace —

 
“The man of strong resolve and just design
When, for bad ends, infuriate mobs combine,
Or gleams the terror of the monarch’s frown
Firm in his rock-based worth, on both looks down.”⁹
 

Bernard was now at leisure to renew the past, and he availed himself of the opportunity to complete his little book, which we have seen so busily absorbing his thoughts when he was captive within the walls of his prison. He bethought him again of the beautiful garden, and he tells how, one day (when peace was for a season restored), as he was walking through the meadows of the town, near to the river Charente, contemplating the horrible dangers from which God had delivered him in the past time of tumult and trouble, he heard once more the sounds which had so delighted him before those evil days. “It was the voice of certain maidens, who were seated under the shade of the trees, and sang together the 104th Psalm; and, because their voice was soft, and exceedingly harmonious, it caused me to forget my first thought, and having stopped to listen, I passed through the pleasure of the voices, and entered into consideration of the sense of the said psalm; and having noted the points thereof, I was filled with admiration of the wisdom of the royal prophet, and said, ‘Oh divine and admirable bounty of God! I would that we all held the works of God’s hands in such reverence as he teaches us in this psalm;’ and then I thought I would figure in some large picture the beautiful landscapes which are therein described; but, by-and-by, considering that pictures are of short duration, I turned my thoughts to the building of a garden, according to the design, ornament, and excellent beauty, or part thereof, which the Psalmist has depicted; and having already figured in my mind the said garden, I found that I could, in accordance with my plan, build, near thereto, a palace, or amphitheatre of refuge, that might be a holy delectation and an honourable occupation for mind and body.”