Полная версияPalissy the Huguenot Potter
With winged feet he flew home, bearing his treasure, which he pronounced “exceedingly beautiful,” and, almost beside himself with delight, he rushed into the chamber, where his poor wife lay in her sick bed, and holding up the shining white fragment exclaimed, “I have found it!” Lisette caught the infection of his gladness, and hailed the first ray of returning prosperity. Poor woman, she little knew how long she must wait before she could warm herself in its sunshine.
But Palissy was convinced that he had now discovered the full perfection of the white enamel; and his delight was in proportion to all the toil and struggle the discovery had cost him. No more any idea, now, of giving over, and returning to his old calling. Illustrious results must soon follow, he was sure, and from henceforth it was necessary he should work privately, and construct for his own use a furnace like that of the glass-workers. Already in imagination stretching out his hand to grasp the prize, he eagerly betook himself to moulding vessels of clay, shaped after his own designs, which, covered with the exquisite white enamel he had discovered, he purposed to adorn with lovely paintings. He saw them doubtless, in his mind’s eye, beautiful, as those he actually produced in after years – those perfect master-pieces of porcelain in relief, and dishes ornamented with figures, beasts, reptiles, insects, beetles, and flowers: treasures of art, full of grace, beauty, and simplicity, which were eagerly purchased by the rich seigneurs of that day, to adorn their cabinets and beautify their châteaux, and which now sell for their weight in gold.
But though his fancy saw them, as his taste, so exquisite and refined, had already designed them, still it was with the rough clay his hands were actually at work, and he had, unfortunately for his present need, “never understood earths.”
Some seven or eight months more were expended in making these vessels, and then he began to erect the furnace. With incredible difficulty and labour – for he had none to assist him in the work, not even so much as to draw water, and fetch bricks from the kiln – the indefatigable man wrought till he had completed the furnace, and the preliminary baking of his vessels. And then, instead of reposing after all this toil, by the space of more than a month, he worked, night and day, grinding and compounding the materials of which he had made the white enamel. At length his task was completed, and the vessels, coated with the mixture, were arranged within the furnace.
Look at him now! – he has kindled his furnace fire, and is feeding it through its two mouths. He does not spare the fuel; he diligently throws it in, all day; he suffers it not to slacken all night. Yet the enamel does not melt. The sun rises, bright and glowing, and Nicole, now a sturdy boy of eleven or twelve years old, brings his father a basin of pottage for breakfast; a poor and scanty meal, ill-fitted to recruit his over-taxed powers, but eagerly devoured by the hungry artisan, who pauses for a few moments in order to swallow it. How pale and thin and haggard he looks! What a strained expression does his countenance wear; but all indomitable and calmly hopeful ’mid his toil!
“God bless thee, my child,” he says, as he returns the empty basin to the boy; “learn well thy lesson to-day, and to-morrow, I hope, we may make holiday, and ramble together through the fields as we once used to do.” “Nay, father, and who will mind the furnace?” “I trust it will have done its work. The enamel will surely melt soon.”
But the hours of that day passed on; and the dark night succeeded, and still, amid the blaze and crackle of the furnace, Palissy worked on. Another day dawns; and still he feeds his fire. Worn and weary, he occasionally drops asleep for some minutes, but his ever wakeful spirit rouses him almost instantly, and he throws in more wood, again. In vain. Six days and six nights has he spent about the glowing furnace, each day more anxious and laborious than the preceding – but the enamel has not melted. At length, convinced that something is amiss, he ceases from his task. He sits, with drooping head and lack-lustre eye, gazing on the smouldering fires, which begin slowly to slacken ready to die away. What will he do next? In few and heart-stirring words he tells us what: “Seeing it was not possible to make the said enamel melt, I was like a man in desperation; and although quite stupefied with labour, I counselled to myself that in my mixture there might be some fault. Therefore I began once more to pound and grind more materials, all the time without letting my furnace cool; in this way I had double labour, to pound, grind, and maintain the fire. I was also forced to go again, and purchase pots, in order to prove the said compound, seeing that I had lost all the vessels which I had made myself. And having covered the new pieces with the said enamel, I put them into the furnace, keeping the fire still at its height. But now occurred a new misfortune, which caused me great mortification – namely, that the wood having failed me, I was forced to burn the palings which maintained the boundaries of my garden, which being burnt also, I was forced to burn the tables and the flooring of my house, to cause the melting of the second composition. I suffered an anguish that I cannot speak, for I was quite exhausted and dried up by the heat of the furnace; it was more than a month since my shirt had been dry upon me. Further to console me, I was the object of mockery; even those from whom solace was due ran crying through the town that I was burning my floors. In this way my credit was taken from me, and I was regarded as a madman.”
How grievous those plaintive words – scarcely condemnatory – yet keenly sensitive to desertion on the part of those who should have comforted him in the time of his calamity! It was a scandal under which he pined away, and with bowed head, slipped through the streets like a man put to shame. No one gave him consolation in this extremity; on the contrary, men jested at him, saying it was right and just that he who had left off following his trade should die of hunger. Will he succumb to this new trial? Hear the brave heart’s resolve – “All these things assailed my ears when I passed through the street; but for all that there remained still some hope which encouraged and sustained me. So, when I had dwelt with my regrets a little, because there was no one who had pity upon me, I said to my soul; ‘Wherefore art thou saddened, since thou hast found the object of thy search? Labour now, and the defamers will live to be ashamed.’”
For a few sad days only, Palissy “dwelt with his regrets.” But “a little while” did he indulge his sorrow. Scarcely had his physical powers, exhausted by long tension, regained their spring, than he was again in pursuit of his darling object. Could he but find some friendly hand to aid him a little, all would go well; but where was the good Samaritan to be sought? Alas! he knew of none. Pondering sorrowfully over this matter, he one evening chanced to pass by a small inn on the outskirts of the town, and saw sitting on the bench, beside the door, two or three labouring men who had just come from the fields. One of these was a potter, whom Palissy knew to be a good workman. The thought immediately came into his mind, could he but engage the services of this man for a few months, it would be the very thing he wanted. At that instant the host stepped out into the porch, and, seeing Bernard, addressed a few friendly words to him. They sounded sweet to the thirsty soul that craved for sympathy, and he gladly accepted the landlord’s offer of a refreshing draught, and presently entered into chat with him. As they conversed, it chanced that mention was made of the religious troubles then so thickly gathering around their father-land. A chord of sympathy was thus struck, to which their hearts responded with deep feeling. It soon appeared that Hamelin was not unknown to the worthy innkeeper; he had, indeed, found shelter of old, beneath his roof, when closely pressed by the spies of Collardeau. In short, Palissy had found one like-minded with himself; and mutual good will toward the new religion formed a bond between himself and Victor. This man was the same whom we have already seen in company with Bernard, on the eve of St. John, when they beheld that cruel sight which made their hearts burn with righteous zeal. Victor, the little deformed innkeeper, was a man of sterling worth and rare courage, and he proved a steady friend and ally to Palissy. Learning from him his present difficulties, he at once offered to give the potter all his meals, and to lodge him for six months, putting the cost down to the account of Bernard.
And thus was he started afresh, with new hope. He had made drawings of the vessels he wanted to produce, and these he gave to the potter, as models to work by, while he occupied himself about some medallions, which he was commissioned to execute, and in this manner he gained a little ready money on which to support himself and his family. As for the debts he owed, the payment of them must be postponed till the completion of his new batch, from which he confidently reckoned to reap nearly four hundred livres.
The six months passed slowly by, and were followed by some two or three more; during which Palissy wrought alone, at building an improved furnace, and preparing fresh chemicals for the enamel. Of this latter business, he says, “It was a labour so great as threatened to baffle all my wits, had not the desire I felt to succeed in my enterprise made me do things which I should have esteemed impossible.” Some idea of the difficulties he encountered may be obtained when we learn that, after having wearied himself several days in pounding and calcining his drugs, he had to grind them in a hand-mill, which it usually required two strong men to turn, and all this while his hand was bruised and cut in many places with the labour of the furnace.
Those were eventful months during which Palissy thus toiled in the depths of poverty and neglect. The fiery blaze that consumed the good brother of Gimosac had awakened alarm in the hearts of not a few who inhabited the ancient town of Saintes, and other and more fearful sights and sounds were swift to follow. But these must be reserved for another chapter.
CHAPTER V
“Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money.”
– Isa. lv. 1.In the year 1547, Henry II. ascended the throne of France. With the intrigues of the court it is not our province to intermeddle; but from the fierce contests waged during that stormy period, our story cannot be dissevered. There were four principal factions, each pledged to the interests of a distinct chief, of whom the most influential were the celebrated constable, Anne de Montmorency, and his great rivals of the house of Guise. The constable was a personage of supreme importance, possessing enormous wealth, and raised to the pinnacle of power. As he became, in course of time, one of the chief patrons of that skill which Palissy was acquiring at the cost of so much toil and suffering, a slight sketch of this famous man, who stands out as one of the giants of the ancient monarchy, will not be misplaced here.
In early life he had gained a powerful influence over the mind of Francis I., which he long retained, and on the death of that monarch he stood high in favour with his successor, Henry II. Faithful to the interests of the throne and of his country, valiant in arms, possessed of intrepid courage, and resolute in the maintenance of what he believed right, he was, nevertheless, full of terrible blemishes and errors. He was an austere man, hard and rugged, rough and ungracious in manner, stern in his resolves, and fearful in the severity of the punishments he inflicted.
One of the first acts of the new king was to issue an edict confirmatory of religious penalties. A blasphemer was to have his tongue pierced with a hot iron, but all heretics were to be burned alive. The spirit of this sanguinary enactment was completely in harmony with the fierce bigotry which formed one of the distinguishing traits of Montmorency’s character. So great was his zeal against the heretics that he received on one occasion the nickname of “Captain Bench-burner,” because he made bonfires of the pulpits and benches taken from the churches of the Calvinists. Such was the man who now undertook the suppression of a revolt which broke out among the inhabitants of Saintonge and the surrounding districts. The occasion of this disturbance was the oppressive character of the new salt tax, which heavily burdened the poor country-people, who were consequently the first to take up arms and drive out the officers of the gabelle. In a short time the excitement spread. Pillage, fire, and massacre abounded, and the insurrection extended to Bordeaux, which became the head-quarters of the disaffected. Montmorency marched in person against the inhabitants of the disturbed districts, and wherever he went he erected gibbets and inflicted horrible punishments.
The inhabitants of Saintes had now something to divert their thoughts from the doings of Palissy. They trembled as they heard of the tremendous scenes enacted at Bordeaux, where the stern marshal, disdaining to accept the keys of the town, marched his troops into it as a triumphant enemy, and presently put to death one hundred citizens in its great square; at the same time compelling the magnates of the town to dig up with their nails the body of the royal governor, who had been slain in one of the recent tumults. Having inflicted this summary vengeance at Bordeaux, Montmorency advanced through Saintonge, resting, on his route, at Pons, a town not far from Saintes, where resided the king’s lieutenant for that department, who was also the Count of Marennes, the famous salt district. This nobleman, Sire Antoine de Pons, and his lady, Anne de Parthenay, were among the earliest and staunchest friends and patrons of Palissy. It was at their château he saw the cup of “marvellous beauty,” which had acted as a talisman to elicit his genius; and from them he had frequently received commissions for various works of art. The “Dame Pons” was, especially, a lover of gardens, and delighted in floriculture. Scarcely could she have found another so admirably suited to give her assistance in her favourite pursuit as Palissy, whose congeniality of taste in this matter caused him in after days to say, “I have found in the world no greater pleasure than to have a beautiful garden.”
It chanced at the time when Montmorency came to Pons, that Bernard was engaged at the château of the Sire Antoine, in designing some panels and decorations, as well as in laying out the pleasure grounds. He had suffered another disappointment in his darling object, even more overwhelming than all previous ones, and had been again driven to a temporary renunciation of its pursuit. The narrative of his toils and struggles had been drawn from him by the gentle-hearted lady, who, as she marked with discerning eye the exquisite skill and taste of Palissy, became interested to learn somewhat of his history. He told her, in his own strong and simple language, all that had befallen him from the day when her lord had shown him the Italian cup. Alas! his latest trial, like all the others had proved a failure, and (as he declared) “his sorrows and distresses had been so abundantly augmented,” that he lost all countenance.
“And yet,” said the lady Anne, as she listened to his tale, “you assure me, that on this last occasion you had been right in every one of your calculations, and that the enamel was so correctly mixed, and the furnace so well ordered, that one single day was sufficient for the melting. How, then, did you fail?”
“From this unforeseen accident,” said Palissy; “the mortar of which I had erected the furnace, had been full of flints, which burst with the vehement heat, at the same time that the enamels began to liquefy; and the splinters, striking against the pottery, which was covered with the glutinous matter, became fixed there. Thus, all the vessels, which otherwise would have been beautiful, were bestrewn with little morsels of flint, so firmly attached to them that they could not possibly be removed. The distress and embarrassment I felt from this new and unforeseen disaster exceeded all I had before experienced. The more so that several of my creditors, whom I had held in hope to be paid out of the produce of these pieces, had hastened to be present at the drawing of my work, and now seeing themselves disappointed of their long delayed expectations, departed in blank dismay, finding their hopes frustrated.” “Were there none of your pieces that had escaped injury?” “None, madame; it is true, though they were all more or less blemished, they would hold water, and there were some who would have bought them of me at a mean price, but because that would have been a decrying and abasing of my honour, I broke in pieces the entire batch from the said furnace, and lay down in melancholy – not without cause, for I had no longer any means to feed my family. After a while, however, reflecting that if a man should fall into a pit, it would be his duty to endeavour to get out again, I, Palissy, being in like case, resolved to exert myself in making paintings, and in various ways taking pains to recover a little money.” “A wise resolve,” replied the lady; “and one in which it will be in my power to assist you. But hark! there sounds a horn, which I know to be that of my lord, and it announces his approach, accompanied by Monseigneur, the duke de Montmorency. An idea strikes me; his highness has great taste for ornamental art; his patronage would secure the fortune of one who possesses your skill in designing. Bring hither to-morrow your paintings and sketches of animals, foliage, and groups, not forgetting the designs of your vases, and I will take occasion to present them to the notice of Monseigneur.”
The lady was as good as her word; and, as she had foreseen, Montmorency was struck with the marks of genius perceptible even in these early and imperfect productions of the great artist, and he immediately decided to afford Palissy an opportunity of exercising his talents in his service.
In this manner did the great constable first become acquainted with Palissy. A few years later he was intrusted with important charges in the pot decoration of the celebrated château d’Écouen, one of the most famous architectural works of France in that day.
The building of this château, distant about four leagues from Paris, had been one of the principal amusements of the wealthy marshal, during his seasons of forced leisure, when the sunshine of royal favour had deserted him. The architect employed upon it was Jean Bullant, who afterwards enjoyed the patronage of Cathurine de Medici, and assisted in the building of the Tuilleries. Of the work contributed by Palissy towards the decoration of the château, nothing remains in the present day but the beautiful pavement in the chapel and galleries. Much time was employed by him in the painting and enamelling of the decorated tiles which compose this pavement. The designs were all his own, of subjects taken by him from the Scriptures, very highly finished, and so admirably arranged and contrived as to give to the whole a surprisingly rich effect of beautiful colouring, surpassing, it is said, that of the finest turkey carpeting.
In one part of the sacristy the passion of our Lord was represented upon pottery, in sixteen pictures, in a single frame, copied from the designs of Albert Durer, by the hand of Palissy. Of this piece, and of another painted by him on glass, representing the history of Psyche, after the designs of Raffaelle, there remain only representations upon paper.2 Of all the windows of Écouen, Palissy is also said to have been the painter; nor must we omit to mention that in a grove of the garden there was formerly a fountain, called “Fontaine Madame,” to which was attached a rustic grotto, of which Palissy always spoke with pride, as one of the chief triumphs of his handiwork. His skill and ingenuity were exerted in the adornment of the grotto; and the rock from whence the cascade fell was a grand specimen of his painted pottery. Figures of frogs and fishes were placed in and about the water, lizards were upon the rock, and serpents were coiled upon the grass. And, that devout thoughts might be awakened in the breasts of those who came to enjoy the sweets of this pleasant retreat, its pious artificer had contrived that on a rustic frieze, should be inscribed in a mosaic, formed with various coloured stones, the text we have chosen as the motto of this chapter.
“HO, EVERY ONE THAT THIRSTETH, COME YE TO THE WATERS.”Probably the formation of the fountain, and the arrangements made for its supply, were suggested by Palissy, whose acute observation in the study of nature had, by that time, led him to the discovery of the true theory of springs. “I have had no other book than heaven and earth, which are open to all,” he was wont to say, and upon all subjects connected with the study of that marvellous volume, Palissy was assuredly far in advance of the men of his time. He delighted in grottoes and fountains of waters, and his inquiry into the sources of natural fountains conducted him to the true solution of an enigma which baffled all the skill of Descartes.3
We are, however, antedating the course of this narrative. At the time of Palissy’s introduction to the constable, he was about forty years old, and his labour to discover the enamel ware had been spread over a period of some eight years. It cost him eight years more during which he endured great toil and numerous mishaps, before he attained full perfection in the moulding and enamelling of ornamental pottery. But from this time he did not lack patronage, and business was always to be obtained sufficient for the supply of household necessities. We shall presently have occasion to return with him again to the detail of his trials and struggles, and to hear of privation and distress yet to be endured in the prosecution of the object of his ambition. But first we are about to see him in a new aspect, and it will be necessary to interrupt the story of his toil in the pursuit of art, while we dwell upon some other facts in his history, by which his mind was exercised, and his character, as a man and a Christian, formed and illustrated.
CHAPTER VI
“The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”
– Job i. 21,Some six or seven years have passed away since we last saw Palissy; and it is now the month of February, 1557…
The short day is just drawing to a close, and our old friend, who is sitting with a book open before him, has given over the effort to continue reading, and is pensively resting, with his hand supporting his head, which now begins to show a few silvery threads among the long dark brown hair that overshadows the brow. His lips are moving, and he utters the words he has just perused on the page of that holy book with which he has formed so close and reverent an acquaintance. “Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth.” “Even so, Father; for so it seemed good in thy sight.” And he sighed deeply, and rising, went slowly toward a corner of the chamber, where was placed a baby’s cot. Bending down, he raised the covering that shrouded the infant form which rested there. It was that of a girl some few months old, who looked so like a marble statue, that, at first sight, you would have said, “It is the work of the sculptor.” But no; the eyes were slightly open, and the lashes drooped over the violet orbs, that even in death seemed beautiful.
The father stooped to kiss the fair delicate face, and then kneeled down beside the cot, to read more closely the innocent features by the fading twilight that still lingered.
He had remained several minutes thus absorbed in thought, and prayerfully abstracted in spirit, when suddenly a low and peculiar noise was heard close to the window. It roused him from his reverie, and he quickly lifted his eyes. Again the sound met his ear, and immediately he rose, and going to the door, looked abroad, and uttered a signal cry, responsive to the one he had heard. “It is Philebert Hamelin,” he exclaimed, and the next instant his friend stood beside him. Most heartily did Palissy receive his unexpected visitor, and bade him welcome to his lowly roof, where he might be in safety, seeing its owner was then under the patronage of Sire Antoine, who had commanded that the premises of the potter should be held inviolate from all intrusion.