There is often a long period, during which a man of genius is occupied in gathering together materials, unconscious what use they shall eventually serve; but the turning-point of his history comes, and suddenly, perhaps through a passing and merely accidental circumstance, he receives an impetus which directs him on to the fulfilment of his career. It was thus in the case of Palissy. Some two years after the events related in the preceding chapter, Bernard had received a little commission from one of the great seigneurs who lived in the neighbourhood of Saintes. He was a man of much taste in the fine arts, and had in his possession some choice specimens of ancient Moorish pottery. After showing these to Palissy (who had come to the château for directions), the nobleman, going to the cabinet from which they had been taken, drew out an earthen cup, turned and enamelled with so much beauty, that, at the sight of it, our artist was struck dumb with admiration. He knew nothing of pottery, he had no knowledge of clays, and he was aware of the fact that there was no man in all France who could make enamels. This last thought acted, perchance, as a stimulus to his ambition. However that might be, the idea instantly took possession of his mind that he would make enamels. They could be made, for here was a specimen. To be the only man in the land who could produce these beautiful vases would be not only to secure an abundant supply for the wants of his family, but it would be a triumph of art—a riddle of deep interest to solve, and an occupation after his heart.