February, 1919 
An oval dish with fig¬ 
ures and decorations in 
relief, by Palissy 
“The Family of Henry IV,” an oval 
plate by Palissy. From the collec¬ 
tion of Prince Ladislas Czartoryski 
Early view of 
Saintes. Palissy’s 
kilns were in 
quarter marked A 
“La Madaline au Desert,” an oval 
plate by Bernard Palissy, in the 
Louvre Museum, Paris 
It was not long before I discovered in the 
background of the picture the figure of a 
woman in a Breton cap—inexcusable an¬ 
achronism, though I did not know it then. 
Who was she? The furniture-breaker’s 
governess, perhaps; no, that could not be, 
for he was older than she. From the comer 
of my eye I took a swift visual dart at Miss 
Solander. The lady in the picture appeared 
timid and weeping. No, it would not be a gov¬ 
erness. 
Just then a voice interrupted, “What are you 
looking at, child?” 
“I do not know,” I replied. 
“You do not know!” exclaimed Miss Solan¬ 
der in expected disapproval, “Pray why do you 
not know?” She moved near, to be serviceable. 
“I was only looking at the picture.” 
Now Miss Solander never cared for pictures, 
at least only for painted ones of forget-me- 
nots and buttercups in water-color and sheep 
by Mauve in oil, so I hurried on to spell out 
the title-page. I gave it up. 
“P-a-l-i-s-s-y,—Palissy. Master Bernard 
Palissy the Potter,” coached Miss Solander. 
“What is a potter?” I asked. And then it 
began. 
Meeting Palissy 
In these after 
years I have always 
been glad that Miss 
Solander’s em¬ 
broidery chenaille 
gave out at the first 
question, and that 
a gentle rain kept 
us indoors. Un¬ 
doubtedly, too, this 
little book had 
been known to her 
childhood, for she 
extended it a 
more approving 
greeting than it 
was her wont to 
hegmdge many of 
my other early lit¬ 
erary discoveries. 
At any rate, I have 
forgiven her much, 
for that afternoon 
she read me the 
story of Master 
Bernard from be¬ 
ginning to end. 
How it all came back to me yesterday 
when my friend Cleon, at whose house I was 
dining, took me into his library and showed 
me, not a book about the old potter, but an 
actual bit of his craft, a sauce-boat in the 
enameled faience which Palissy struggled 
through so many years of vicissitude to pro¬ 
duce. Tenderly I took it in my hands and 
gazed intimately upon its lovely soft blues, 
grays, browns, wonderful greens and the soft 
and well-fused marbled colors on the back of 
the piece, all of which, together with the sharp 
modeling of the relief and “neatness” of its 
workmanship gave unmistakable evidence of 
its authenticity. It had not the crude greens, 
the glaring yellows or the bright purples that 
disclose imitations of Palissy’s ware. 
Palissy Collections 
I have seen the fine collections of Master 
Bernard’s handiwork in the Louvre, the Hotel 
Cluny, the Sevres Museum, the Victoria and 
Albert Museum and the Wallace Collection in 
London, the Metropolitan Museum of Art in 
New York and the other collections of note, 
public and private at home and abroad, but 
the little sauciere which 
my friend Cleon per¬ 
mitted me to gaze 
upon, — nay, dear 
reader, to hold in 
my hands!—there 
was not a finer bit 
anywhere. Master 
Bernard must have 
given a chuckle of 
contentment when 
he drew it from the 
kiln! 
One might, with 
a princely purse, 
collect a few exam¬ 
ples of Palissy 
ware in the course 
of a lifetime keenly 
devoted to the pas¬ 
time! But so rare 
is Palissy ware that 
even in Cleon’s 
house I had not ex- 
(Continued on 
page 68) 
