“Then I went down to the potter’s house, and, behold, he wrought a work on the wheels. And the vessel that he made of clay was marred in the hand of the potter.”—Jer. xviii. 3, 4.

Shortly before the events recorded in the preceding chapter, there had been no small excitement among Palissy’s poor neighbours and acquaintance, with reference to his proceedings. Day after day little knots of gossips might be seen, lounging about the neighbourhood of his garden and work-shed, expressing in various ways, their surprise and indignation at his conduct, and exclaiming, in no measured terms, against his obstinate and mad folly. This indignation reached its height when, one day, the report spread, far and wide, that the poor man was actually insane, and had torn up the palings of his garden, and the planks of his dwelling-house, and that his unhappy wife, half-crazed with his conduct, had herself rushed out of the house accompanied by her children, and taken refuge with a neighbour.

In order to account for all this, it is necessary to retrace our steps, and relate in what manner our artist has been spending the two years that have intervened since his marsh-surveying.Undaunted by the failure of his early efforts, and relieved, for a time, from anxiety on the score of domestic wants, Palissy, giving the money he had received for the execution of his task into the hands of his wife, resumed his “affection for pursuing in the track of the enamels.”

Two years of unremitting and zealous labour followed, productive of no practical results, although there had once been a partial melting of some of his compounds, which gave him sufficient encouragement to persist. During those two long years, he tells us, he did nothing but come and go between his dwelling and the adjacent glass-houses, where the furnaces being much hotter than those of the potteries, were more likely to be successful in melting his materials.

Was it any marvel if poverty and sorrow invaded his household; if his wife grew moody and sad, and if the neighbours, pitying the hapless woman and innocent children, pronounced hard judgment upon a man who consumed his time in buying pots and breaking them, in grinding drugs and burning them, and in going to and fro upon his bootless errand? Death, too, had once and again entered his doors, bearing away the two sickly infants we saw clinging to their mother, while in their place, two others had been born, inheriting, alas! their malady. Of late, Lisette, full of gloomy thoughts, had taken to complaining, and remonstrating with her husband. Her temper had been soured by disappointment and trouble; and hope, so long deferred, ceased to buoy up her spirit. She could not understand the course Bernard was pursuing. She did not partake in his glowing visions of future fame and prosperity, and the instinct of power and the energy of will that nerved and inspired him were all unknown to and unshared by her. Poor suffering woman! She felt as any other common-sense wife and mother would have felt in her circumstances; and bewailing his obstinate persistence in such profitless labour, she embittered his home by her lamentations and reproaches.

In this strait Palissy began to give way: he faltered, and at length made a compromise with his anxious helpmate. One more last trial he pleaded for; and then—if it failed, he would abandon the search for ever! He must have felt that the happiness as well as the fortune of his life, depended on the cast. Rather, we learn from his own touching account of what ensued, that he looked for counsel and help from above. In all his ways did this good man acknowledge his heavenly Father’s hand, and seek his blessing. What befell, in this crisis, he thus tells us: “God willed that, when I had begun to lose my courage, and was gone for the last time to a glass furnace, having a man with me carrying more than 300 kinds of trial pieces, there was one among them which was melted within four hours after it had been placed in the furnace, which turned out white and polished, in a way that caused me to feel such joy as made me think I was become a new creature.”

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.

. . he exclaimed, “I have found it!”

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.