“In all labour there is profit.”—Prov. xiv. 23

Probably, the happiest time of Palissy’s life is that at which we are now arrived. He may be accounted to have reached the end of his great period of struggle as a potter. He was labouring prosperously in his vocation; he was yet in the vigour of his age, and he had, above all, the enjoyment of feeling that he had solved the problem and effected the object for which he had endured a long struggle with privation and contumely. We will not dwell on the remaining disappointments he had been doomed to suffer before he attained this point. They were numerous and painful in the extreme. We get a passing glimpse of them in the following incident. One day he encountered a friend whom he had not seen for many a long year. He had first met with him in the days of his youth at Tarbes, where they had worked together, and listened in company to the teachings of Hamelin. His companion had, in consequence, embraced the Reformed doctrine, and afterwards became one of the colporteurs employed in the circulation of religious books. In the course of his wanderings he had occasionally visited Saintes, but it was long since he had been there. As on former occasions, he now eagerly sought out Palissy, to whom he related much of deep interest with reference to the progress of religious truth throughout the provinces of France, while, at the same time, he drew a distressing picture of the fearful sufferings of all classes; for it has been said, and probably with little exaggeration, that in France during the sixteenth century, there scarcely lived a poor rustic, the current of whose life was not distressed and troubled by the course of state affairs; and who had not been, or was not destined at some time of his life to be, heavily bruised by a hard-fisted government. Having finished his narrative, the worthy man asked of Bernard some particulars concerning his own history, and that which had transpired in the good town of Saintes during the last few years.

“For myself,” replied Palissy, “I may say matters are now, comparatively speaking, prosperous with me. Much have I suffered, however, since I last saw you. During the space of fifteen or sixteen years in all, I have blundered on at my business. When I had learned to guard against one danger, there came another on which I had not reckoned. I made several furnaces, which caused me great losses, before I understood how to heat them equally. At last I found means to make various vessels of different enamels, intermixed, in the manner of jasper. That fed me several years; and, when at length, I had discovered how to make my rustic pieces, [82] I was in greater trouble and vexation than before, for having made a certain number of them, and put them to bake, my enamels turned out, some beautiful and well melted, and others quite the reverse; because they were composed of different materials, which were fusible in different degrees. Thus, the green of the lizards was burnt long before the colour of the serpents was melted; and the colour of the serpents, lobsters, tortoises, and crabs, was melted before the white had attained any beauty. All these defects caused me such labour and heaviness of spirit, that, before I could render my enamels fusible at the same degree of heat, I verily thought I should be at the door of my sepulchre.” “Nay, my friend, you look tolerably stout, at present, and carry your fifty years as well as most men.” “It may be so,” was the reply, “but you would have thought otherwise, had you seen me some time since, for, from incessant labour and anxiety, in the space of more than ten years, I had so fallen away in my person, that there was no longer any form in my legs or roundness in my arms; insomuch that my limbs were all one thickness, and as soon as I began to walk, the strings with which I fastened the bottom of my hose dropped about my heels, together with my stockings. I frequently used to walk in the meadows of Saintes, considering my vexation and affliction, and above all, that I could meet with no comfort or approval even in my own house. But, indeed, I was despised and scorned by all. Nevertheless, I always contrived to make some ware of divers colours, which afforded me some sort of a living. The hope which supported me, meantime, gave me such manly courage for my work, that oftentimes, to entertain persons who came to see me, I would endeavour to laugh, although within me I felt very sad.” . . . “Who would believe Master Bernard was ever very sad?” said a lively voice, and at the same moment a cavalier entered the workshop, and passing through it, peeped in at the door of the studio where Palissy was seated with his friend. “You are too prosperous a man to speak after that fashion; and your coffers must be filling apace, to judge by the value set on your beautiful designs in pottery.” “The Seigneur de Burie speaks too favourably of my work,” replied Bernard, while his visitor, rapidly glancing round, noticed admiringly some charming things which were in progress of completion, and gave orders for several pieces of enamelled earthenware—specimens of that beautiful sculpture in clay, which was destined, before long, to adorn the mansions and palaces of the nobles of the land.

“M. the Count de la Rochefoucault is eager to visit your studio, Master Bernard,” said the seigneur, as he took his leave; “and his patronage will be valuable to you for more reasons than one. Not only will he give you commissions for your works, but his influence can protect you from the dangers you incur as one of the new religionists. It is true, indeed, that the support of Monseigneur de Montmorency is so powerful as to stand you in sufficient stead; and a man who is intrusted with an important share in his famous building-works at Écouen, will be sure to have a large circle of friends, or, at all events, admirers and employers. Nevertheless, I would say a word of advice in your ear. It is but the other day I met his reverence, the dean of this town, in a courtly circle, where the gentry were discussing the progress of heretical doings, and I heard, with concern, that you had made yourself obnoxious to that dignitary, as well as to the chapter of this place, by your unguarded language. Indeed, excuse me, if I say, it were well to be more circumspect. Is there not a word in the Holy Book which bids us be ‘wise as serpents?’”

“I thank you heartily, monsieur, for the good will you are pleased to show towards me,” said Bernard; “but I do assure you these gentry have none occasion against me, except in that I have urged upon them many times certain passages of Scripture in which it is written that he is unhappy and accursed who drinks the milk and wears the wool of the sheep without providing for their pasture. Assuredly this ought to have incited them to love me, rather than to take umbrage at the words of truth and uprightness. In the mouth of an honest man the language of remonstrance is friendly, and gives none occasion for displeasure.” “By my faith, though,” said the seigneur, laughing heartily, “such reproof must have stung sharply. I trow, the cap fitted too closely. It is notorious that similar language has been spoken in the ears of Majesty itself. The Advocate-General, SÉguier, in the name of the parliament of Paris, recently made the king’s ears tingle with his bold utterance. ‘If heresy is to be suppressed,’ said he, ‘let pastors be compelled to labour among their flocks. Commence, sire, by giving an edict to the nation, which will not cover your kingdom with scaffolds, nor be moistened with the blood or tears of your faithful subjects. Distant from your presence—bent beneath the toil of labour in the fields, or absorbed in the exercise of arts and trades, they cannot plead for themselves. It is in their name that parliament addresses to you its humble remonstrance, and its ardent supplication.’”

“Methinks such counsel was wise and timely. How did the king reply?” “The king? oh, he listened, smiled assent, and went on as before. However, the speech was to good purpose, for the opposition of parliament prevented a most oppressive enactment, against which the appeal was made.”

As the young nobleman turned to leave the apartment, his eye was caught by a carved group, which stood somewhat apart. “Ah! what have we there? How lovely that infant form; it reminds me of my own sweet little AmÉlie;” and he approached it more nearly. It was a young girl who had caught up a litter of puppies, and was taking them up in the lap of her pinafore to exhibit, their little heads peeping out helplessly over the sides of the cloth, while the mother, fondly and anxiously following its young, had seized the skirt of the child’s dress while she was turning with a smile to quiet its solicitude. “So simple and so natural!” said the young man, who was himself a father. “One sees, at a glance, it is modelled from the life.”

Palissy sighed. “It is from a sketch of my eldest little daughter,” he said, “as she came one day into my garden-house, carrying her new pets, to show me. Alas! it was almost the last time her frolicsome glee delighted my heart, for she fell sick soon after.” “I almost envy you, good Master Bernard, the power thus to perpetuate your reminiscences of past joys. I had rather be a successful artist than a victorious warrior.” And with these words the Seigneur de Burie at length departed.

The two friends, being left to themselves, continued their discourse; and Palissy related at considerable length, the history of his beloved church, now a flourishing community. “The little one has become a thousand,” said he. “Within comparatively a short period we have made rapid strides. When our first minister, De la Place, was with us, it was a pitiable state of affairs, for we had the goodwill, but the power to support the pastors we had not. So that, during the time we had him, he was maintained partly at the expense of the gentry, who frequently invited him. When he removed to Allevert, he was succeeded by M. de la BoissiÈre, whom we have at the present time. For a long time there were very few rich people who joined our congregation, and hence we were often without the means of his support; frequently, therefore, did he content himself with a diet of fruit and vegetables, and water as his drink. Yet, were we not forsaken, nor without manifest tokens of God’s favour and protection. Insomuch that, notwithstanding the enmity of those who sought to destroy the cause, there was no evil suffered to overcome us; but God bridled them, and preserved his church. He fulfilled in our town an admirable work, for there were sent to Toulouse two of the principal opponents, who would not have suffered our assemblies to be public, and it pleased God to detain them at that place for two years or thereabout, in order that they might not hurt his church during the time that he would have it manifested publicly.” “You are then, now so prosperous, as to venture openly to avow your principles?” “Yes; the absence of these two opponents encouraged us, so that we had the hardihood to take the Market Hall in which to hold our meetings; and now that they have returned, though, indeed, their will is to molest and persecute us, as before, yet are matters so much changed that their evil designs are frustrated, and they dare not venture openly to malign a work which has so well prospered that it is changing the whole aspect of the town.”