But while he was engaged in his studies, a terrible catastrophe fell upon him without warning, and caused him to forget his new projects for some time. His daughter Agnes, of whom he had conceived the most brilliant hopes, was taken from him on August 25, 1522, at the age of nine years eleven months and thirty days, that is to say, ten years less one day. Entirely absorbed by his grief, Tory wrote a short Latin poem upon the sad event. This poem, dedicated, like most of his other books, to Philibert Babou, was not published until February 15, 1523 (1524, new style). In this little work, consisting of two quarto sheets, are contained some most interesting details of Tory's life. We learn here, for example, that he had grounded his daughter Agnes, young as she was, in Latin and the fine arts.
'Desiring to instruct me in the Ausonian tongue, and also to render me accomplished in the polite arts, he, like a most affectionate father, teaching me night and day, himself laid the foundations, sweet and ample, for my life.'[49]
Farther on, he makes his daughter speak thus, from the depths of the urn in which she is supposed to repose:—
MONITOR
Who made for you this urn set with brilliant gems?
AGNES
Who? My father, famed in this art.
MONITOR
Your father is certainly an excellent potter.
AGNES
He practises industriously every day the liberal arts.
MONITOR
Does he also write melodies and poems?
AGNES
He does. He also blesses with sweet words this lot of mine.
MONITOR
Yes, the skill of the man is wonderful.
AGNES
Hardly has any land produced so famous a man.[50]
We learn from this that Tory was not only a scholar, which we already knew, but an artist of great merit. Who knows? it may be that we had in him the making of a Benvenuto Cellini. What more was necessary that he should reveal himself as such? Very little—perhaps the falling in with a wealthy Mæcenas. In fact, we find these lines in another piece of verse in the same collection:—
WAYFARER
He is certainly well deserving of some Mæcenas.
GENIUS
Few are the Mæcenases who live in the French world. No one to-day either encourages the liberal arts by appropriate gifts or undertakes to encourage them in any way. Uprightness and fair virtue are in no esteem. So powerful is the sway of unhappy Avarice. Treachery, deceit, and vice are in the ascendant. Virtues are put in the background, and every form of wretched evil creeps abroad.
WAYFARER
What, therefore, does he who is trained by the charming Muses?
GENIUS
He takes pleasure in being able to live in his own house.
WAYFARER
He ought to go with hurried step to the courts of kings.
GENIUS
He does not care to, because he has a free heart. Your potentates sometimes take pleasure in looking at songs, but what then? They requite them with nods. Golden songs, drawn from the high heavens, they should reward with jewels and with pure gold. But, frivolous as they are, they instead foolishly give their grand gifts to fools, spendthrifts, and rogues.[51]
Alas! this depiction of the vices of society is not peculiar to the sixteenth century. The world is very old, and it changes little. If Tory were living in our day, it may be that he would use even darker colours; for, after all, he was appreciated in his own time, and perhaps he would die of hunger to-day. As we see, he was not fond of cooling his heels in the antechambers of the great, and lived peacefully in his own house; but honour came there to seek him. Unluckily it was a little late, as will appear hereafter.
At the end of the poem is the design reproduced on the next page, wherein we see for the first time the famous 'Pot Cassé' [broken jar] which Tory adopted thenceforth as the mark of his bookshop; together with the device 'non plus,' which he used thereafter instead of the word 'civis.'