After the murder of Blanchet and Navis, the passion of independence became dominant. ‘From that time,’ said a magistrate of the seventeenth century, ‘the duke and bishop were looked upon in Geneva as two tyrants who sought only the desolation of the city.’[175]
CHAPTER XIII.
THE HUGUENOTS PROPOSE AN ALLIANCE WITH THE SWISS, AND THE MAMELUKES AMUSE THEMSELVES AT TURIN.
(October to December 1518.)
The moment had come when men of decision were about to apply themselves to the work. The patriots learnt that the encroaching designs of Savoy were irrevocable, and that it was consequently necessary to oppose them with an energetic and unbending resistance. Berthelier, ‘the great despiser of death,’ smiled coldly at the bishop’s threats; magnanimous, firm, and resolute, he fancied he saw the happy moment approaching when his fondest dream would be realised—the giving his life to save Geneva. If he wished to escape from the cruelties of the princes which threatened him on every side, he must sink himself, retire, give up his noblest plans: he shrank with horror from the thought. To resist the conspiracy directed against the liberties of Geneva was his duty; if he neglected to discharge it, he would degrade himself in his own eyes, he would expose himself to remorse; while if he accomplished this task, he would feel himself in his proper place; it seemed to him that he would become better and more acceptable to God. But it was not only imperious, invincible duty which impelled him: it was passion, the noblest of passions; nothing could calm the tempests struggling in his bosom. He therefore threw himself energetically into the midst of dangers. In vain did Bonivard show symptoms of discouragement, and say to his generous friend in their meetings at St. Victor: ‘You see the pensions and threats of the prince are inducing many reputed sensible men to draw in their horns.’ Bonivard could not check Berthelier’s decision. Caring for nothing, not even for his life, provided he saved the liberties of Geneva, the intrepid citizen went through the city, visiting from house to house, remonstrating with the citizens ‘one by one;’ exhorting them in private.[176]
His exhortations were not unavailing: a strong fermentation began to stir men’s minds. They called to remembrance how these Swiss, from whom they expected deliverance, had conquered their liberty. A hat set up in Altorf on the top of a pole; an apple placed by a cruel order on the head of a child: were, according to the old traditions of that people, the signal of their independence. Was the bastard less tyrannous than Gessler? Those two heads, those two arms,—were they not a still more frightful signal? The remains of Navis and of Blanchet were long left exposed: in vain did the unhappy father, judge Navis, address frequent and earnest appeals to the bishop to have them removed; the prelate took delight in this demonstration of his power.[177] It was a strange blindness on his part. Those dead limbs, those closed eyes, those blood-stained lips preached to the citizens that it was time to defend their ancient liberties.... The great agitator took advantage of the bastard’s cruelty, and employing the energetic language of the times, he said: ‘The same pin hangs on the cloak of every one of us. We must resist. Let us unite, let us give our hand to the League, and fear nothing, for nobody dares touch their allies ... any more than St. Anthony’s fire.[178] ... Let us help ourselves, and God will help us.’
The young, the poor, all generous hearts listened to Berthelier’s words; ‘but the great and the rich,’ says Bonivard, ‘were afraid on account of their riches which they preferred to their life.’[179] These great and rich folk, Montyon and the ducal faction, seeing the dangers that threatened the princes of Savoy in Geneva, resolved to send a second embassy with orders to go this time even to Turin and Pignerol. The same three mamelukes were intrusted with the mission. The patriots were indignant: ‘What!’ they said, ‘you want to save the sheep, and yet select wolves to do it?’—‘Do you not understand,’ replied Montyon, ‘that if you wish to tame princes, you must take care not to send men who are disagreeable to them?’ The deputation arrived at Turin, where the duke then was. They demanded an audience to present their homage to his Highness, and as their sentiments were known, their prayer was easily granted. They timidly stated their grievances. ‘It was not I who did it,’ said Charles; ‘it was my lord of Geneva; go to the bishop at Pignerol.’ The deputation proceeded to this town, situated in the neighbourhood of the schismatic Waldenses, whom the prelate hated as much at least as he did the Genevans. Having obtained an audience, they repeated the lesson they had been taught: ‘The city is much astonished that you have put two of our citizens to death and sent their quarters to the frontiers of Geneva. If any private individuals had offended against you, say our citizens, you had only to accuse them, they would have been punished at Geneva.’[180]—‘It was not I who did that,’ said the bishop, ‘it was my lord the duke.’ The mameluke deputies were strongly inclined to admit one half of the assertion of the two princes, and to believe that probably the murder came neither from John nor Charles. The official mission being ended, the prelate, who knew well with whom he had to deal, gave directions for the ambassadors to be entertained. The latter desired nothing better. The bishop ‘accordingly entertained them,’ say the chronicles, ‘treated, feasted, and made merry with them.’ Pleasure parties followed each other rapidly, and the three mamelukes, forgetting their diplomatic business, found the wines of Italy excellent, and the bastard and his court quite captivating.[181]
All good cheer however comes to an end: the politicians of the court of Turin wished to profit by the embassy, and, although it had been directed against the usurpations of the princes of Savoy, to turn it skilfully against the liberties of the people of Geneva. This was not difficult, for their representatives were betraying them. The three ambassadors, the bishop, his officers, and the ducal councillors deliberated on the answer to be sent to the council of Geneva. The princes, trusting in their pensioners, despised the liberal party; but the three envoys, the vidame, Nergaz, and Déléamont, who had seen the danger closely, far from doing the same, were alarmed at this carelessness. ‘There are loyal subjects in Geneva,’ they said; ‘but there are also rascals, rebels and plotters who, in order to escape the punishment of their misdeeds, urge the people to contract an alliance with Friburg. The evil is greater than you imagine; the Helvetic republics will establish their accursed popular government in Geneva. You must therefore punish very sharply the advisers of such matters, and crush the rebels.’[182] The two cousins desired nothing better. Charles had no wish to see liberal principles come nearer to Savoy and perhaps to Turin; but he preferred making only a verbal answer to the council. The deputies, alarmed at the responsibility thus laid upon them, insisted on a written answer, and a letter was accordingly drawn up. In it the duke and the bishop informed the council ‘that they would hold them loyal subjects if they would assist in unhesitatingly putting to death Berthelier and ten or twelve others,’ whom they named. ‘We hand you this letter,’ said the duke and the bishop to the deputies; ‘but you will not deliver it to the syndics and council of Geneva unless they promise on their oaths (before reading it) to execute without delay the orders it contains.’ Never had monarch put forward such enormous pretensions. God first disorders in mind those whom He intends to ruin. The servile ambassadors took care to make no objections, and delighted with the success of their embassy and particularly with the brilliant fêtes of the court of Turin, they departed with the strange instructions which the two princes had given them.[183]
While the mamelukes and Savoyards were conspiring at Turin and Pignerol against the liberties of the city, Berthelier and his friends were thinking how to preserve them. The iniquity of the duke and the bishop showed them more and more every day the necessity of independence. They resolved to take a decisive step. Berthelier, Bernard, Bonivard, Lévrier, Vandel, De la Mare, Besançon Hugues, and some others met in consultation. ‘Hitherto,’ said Berthelier, ‘it is only in parlours and closets that we have advised an alliance with the Swiss; we must now proclaim it on the house-tops; simple conversations are no longer enough: it is time to come to a common decision. But alas! where, when, and how?... The princes of Savoy have accustomed us to assemble only for our pleasures. Who ever thinks in our meetings of the safety of the city?’ Bonivard then began to speak: ‘The house of M. de Gingins and mine at St. Victor have often seen us assembled in small numbers for familiar conversation. We now require larger rooms and more numerous meetings. This is my proposition. Let us employ to do good the same means as we have hitherto used to do evil. Let us take advantage of the meetings where until now nothing was thought of but pleasure, to deliberate henceforth on the maintenance of our liberties.’ This proposition met with a favourable reception.
Since the murder of Blanchet and Navis, it had become more difficult to hold these huguenot meetings. The threats of Savoy were such that men were afraid of everything that might give an excuse for violent measures. ‘There was in former times at Geneva,’ observed one of the company, ‘a brotherhood of St. George which is now degenerated but not destroyed; let us revive it and make use of it; let us employ it to save the franchises threatened by the Savoy princes.’[184]
Berthelier set to work as soon as the meeting broke up. When he desired to assemble his friends, he used to pass whistling under their windows. He began to saunter through the streets with a look of unconcern, but with his eyes on the watch, and gave a whistle whenever he passed the house of a devoted citizen. The huguenots listened, recognised the signal of their chief, came out, and went up to him: a meeting was appointed for a certain day and hour.
The day arrived. ‘We were about sixty,’ said Bonivard. It was not a large number, but they were all men of spirit and enterprise. It was no meeting of conspirators: the worthiest members of the republic had assembled, who had no intention to go beyond the rights which the constitution gave them. In fact Berthelier and Besançon Hugues proposed simply an alliance with the Swiss. ‘This thought is not a fancy sprung from an empty brain,’ they said; ‘the princes of Savoy force us to it. By taking away our fairs, by trampling the laws under foot, by breaking off our relations with other countries, they compel us to unite with the Swiss.’ When they found Savoy violently breaking the branches of the tree, and even trying to uproot it, these patriots were determined to graft it on the old and more vigorous stock of Helvetic liberty.[185]