Sorrow and dismay filled men’s hearts. Geneva lay as it were under one of those funeral palls which are stretched over the dead. No one stirred out, no one spoke; all was motionless and silent; the air of despotism could be felt, as it hung over and benumbed the soul. Besançon Hugues, A. Lévrier, and the other patriots retired to their homes; but they had not lost hope; they waited in silence until God should make the cause of liberty to triumph again in their country.[278] Erelong, however, a few courageous spirits awoke and began to stir. The patriots felt the need of pouring out their sorrows together; and it was told the bishop ‘that several persons of the huguenot sect[279] were in the habit of meeting secretly in various places.’ Then the persecutions began afresh: ‘They spared the good as little as the bad,’ says Bonivard, ‘and accused them of false crimes to be revenged on them.’
A short time before the period we are describing, Amadeus de Joye, one of Berthelier’s friends, had committed an act of little importance in itself, but which was the first sign of opposition in Geneva to the Romish superstitions. Two years earlier Luther had written to Spenlein his beautiful letter on justification by faith; he had expounded the epistle to the Galatians, and probably posted up his theses. Zwingle, who had been appointed preacher at Einsiedeln, was declaiming against pilgrimages, offerings, images, and the invocation of the Virgin and the saints. Had the report of these sermons reached Geneva? It is possible, for, as we have seen, there was constant intercourse between this city and the German cantons. However that may be, many Genevans were already asking if the glory of God ‘was not defiled by so foolish and lifeless a thing as an image?’ Amadeus de Joye, whom we have met before at the Molard assembly, and whom his enemies accused of being the friend of Berthelier, Pécolat, ‘and many other villains,’ felt little respect for the bishop’s dolls. Now there was at Geneva a famous black image of wood, between two and three feet high, called St. Babolin. Certain catholics held it in great devotion, carrying it in long processions, and rendering it every sort of honour. One night when the worshippers of St. Babolin had assembled in the house of Ami Motey, one of their number, De Joye, indignant at their idolatry and thinking the ugly figure was more like a devil than a god, carried it off, and, with the intention of giving a lesson to the partisans of the idol, took it to Motey’s house. The window was open; he listened to the conversation of this devout little circle, and taking courage raised the image as high as the casement and flung it into the midst of its worshippers. It must be acknowledged that this was not controversy of the right sort; but it was the sixteenth century, and the Genevans were of a bold and scoffing humour. The startled followers of Babolin looked with astonishment at their saint, which appeared to have fallen from heaven. All of a sudden the door was opened and a loud voice called out: ‘It is the devil ... he will eat you all!’ At these words, Motey jumped up, caught hold of a javelin and prepared to hurl it at the intruder; but De Joye hastily retired. There were no blows given, and no blood was shed.[280]
This incident had been almost forgotten, when the bishop’s agents, who were resolved to be severe upon the friends of liberty, shut up De Joye in the Château de l’Ile, where Berthelier had been imprisoned, and asked the syndics’ permission to question and to torture him in order to get at the truth (7th September, 1519). Besides this affair of the image, he was charged with ‘having been present at illegal meetings where the citizens bound themselves by oath to resist any infringement of their liberties by word or by deed.’[281] The syndics ordered that De Joye should be examined in prison, pede ligato, with the feet bound. The proceedings commenced.
‘I was born of worthy, upright, and distinguished parents,’ said De Joye when he appeared before the syndics, ‘and by them trained up virtuously until the age of manhood. Since then I have associated with all the good men of the city, and in the profession which I follow I have always borne a good reputation. Far from picking quarrels, I have carefully avoided them, and have reconciled many. Finally, I have been all my life faithful and obedient to my lord the bishop.’[282] These words, which we transcribe from the documents in the trial, were of a nature to inspire the judges with a certain respect; but they did not. First Claude du Bois, the vidame’s lieutenant, and next the governor of the castle, proposed that De Joye should be put to the torture to force him to confess the crimes imputed to him;[283] but it was decided to begin by examining the witnesses, who told what they had heard say by persons whose names they could not remember. Fine evidence on which to put a man to the torture![284] The governor did not abandon his project; the vidame came in person to urge the syndics to do him this pleasure.[285] Could they be denied, when it concerned only a contemner of St. Babolin? Amadeus knew not the Gospel; his opposition to the black image proceeded merely from the disgust which superstition inspires in intelligent minds, and there was in his character more fire than firmness, more impetuosity than perseverance. The mild, weak, and infirm man, who was scared by the idea of torture, fancied his limbs already dislocated, and beginning to weep he offered to make oath of his innocence on the relics of St. Anthony. To all the questions put to him he replied only by groans and tears. The vidame, whose heart was hardened, again demanded that he should be put to the torture. ‘My right arm is crippled,’ exclaimed the poor wretch; ‘the sinews are contracted.’ Two surgeons declared, after examination, that he might be able to bear the strappado, but could not support the torture of the chatte without fainting.[286] There were in the executioner’s list punishments for all temperaments, for the sick and crippled as well as for the strong. De Joye, who, after he had sown his wild oats, had become a respectable citizen, was neither a hero nor a revolutionist. The embarrassed judges, not finding sufficient cause in the Babolin joke to put a man to death, helped him to escape during the night, and so saved appearances. The persecutions of the bishop were not limited to a single individual. John of Savoy took delight in power, and wished to show the cardinals that he was strong enough to put down revolt. ‘They imprisoned,’ says Bonivard, ‘they beat, they tortured, they beheaded and hanged, so that it was quite pitiful.’[287] Geneva was crushed.
As it was not enough to lay their hands upon men, the princes of Savoy laid their hands upon the constitution. War was made against principles still more than against persons. It was necessary to stifle those strange aspirations which carried men’s minds towards new ideas, and to put an end to imaginations which denied the lawfulness of absolute power. The duke, in accord with the bishop, published, although he was a foreign prince, an act restricting the liberties of Geneva, which banished from the general council all young men (for they were suspected of independence), and deprived the people of the direct election of syndics. On the 3rd of September, the general council, at which few but mamelukes were present, accepted these articles in silence. Thus did the Duke of Savoy, with the bishop’s help, triumph over principles, rights, and liberties, and think he had strangled in their nest the young eagles whom he had once feared to see soaring into the heavens. Geneva, humbled and silenced by a bad prince and a maimed constitution, was no longer to be feared.
The sorrow was general, and it might have been supposed that the community only possessed strength enough to yield its last breath. But as was seen formerly in Israel, in moments of crisis, how prophets and prophetesses arose, so voices were heard in Geneva—voices of the weakest creatures—proclaiming the ruin of the people and denouncing the awful judgments of God. A poor girl for three days walked up and down the city, neither eating nor drinking, but crying everywhere as she went: Le maz mugnier! le maz molin! le maz molu! ... tout est perdu. ‘Wicked miller! wicked mill! wicked meal!.... All is lost!’ The miller was the prince, the mill was the constitution, the meal was the people.... It seems that this monotonous and doleful voice affected everybody, even the mamelukes; the world readily believed in the marvellous in those days; and the vidame dared not arrest the prophetess. Syndic Balard, one of the most enlightened men in Geneva at that time, saw a deep meaning in the poor girl’s mission.[288]
CHAPTER XXI.
STRUGGLES OF LIBERTY. LUTHER. DEATH OF THE BISHOP. HIS SUCCESSOR.
(1520-1523.)
The prophetess was mistaken: the meal was good. On a sudden the sky hitherto so dark cleared up, and there was a gleam of sunshine. The duke, who was thinking of marriage, returned to Turin; the bishop, who was seriously ill and needed a warmer air, withdrew to his abbey of Pignerol, and the huguenots, freed from their two oppressors, raised their heads. Ramel, Hugues, Taccon, Baudichon de la Maison-Neuve, and two others, waited upon the episcopal vicar, prothonotary of the holy see, and demanded the revocation of the decrees contrary to the liberties of the city, and the liberation of all citizens imprisoned by the bishop. ‘In case of refusal,’ they said, ‘we shall appeal to the metropolitan see of Vienne.’[289] The vicar, remembering the excommunication incurred in the affair of Pécolat, was alarmed, and granted all they demanded. This concession raised the courage of the most timid, and the patriots immediately held meetings to provide for the safety of the city. Aimé Lévrier, the judge, was especially prominent. Berthelier had been the man of action, Lévrier was the man of right: he had seen with sorrow force substituted for law. In his opinion, every idea hostile to right ought to be combated; and the government of the bishop was not that of the laws, but of arbitrary power and terrorism. Lévrier had examples in his own family: the prelate had caused his brother-in-law (the procurator Chambet) to be thrown into prison because he was a huguenot, and to be tortured so severely that his limbs remained out of joint. ‘God made man free,’ said Lévrier, ‘ages have made Geneva free; no prince has the right to make us slaves.’ Despairing of ever seeing the bishop reign with justice, he proposed an effectual remedy: ‘Let us petition the pope for the prelate’s destitution.’ The daring motion was agreed to, and Lévrier was commissioned to go to Rome to see to its execution. The princes of Savoy succeeded in stopping him, and parried the blow, in part at least. Leo X., however, acknowledging how shameful the bishop’s conduct had been, ordered the bastard never to return to Geneva, and to select a coadjutor to replace him. This was a cruel disgrace to the prelate.
Nor was this all: the people reasserted their ancient rights. The time had come for electing the syndics for the year; the duke and the bishop, as it will be remembered, had deprived the citizens of the right to elect, and accordingly the Great Council nominated these magistrates; but immediately loud protests were heard. The aged John Favre[290] and his two sons, with De la Mare, Malbuisson, Vandel, Richardet, and others, protested vigorously against this illegal act, and declared that the election ought to take place according to the ancient franchises. The people were at that time assembled in general council. The mamelukes, unwilling to restore the liberties which their chiefs had taken away from the citizens, resisted stoutly; and there was an immense uproar in the assembly. The huguenots, ever prompt, immediately organised the bureau, not troubling themselves about the protests of their adversaries, and the popular elections began. At this news the ministers of the bishop and the duke hurried to the council, exclaiming: ‘Stop! it is a great scandal; the Great Council has already named the syndics!’ The huguenots resisted; they declared they would resume the ancient privileges of which a foreign prince had deprived them; and the ministers of the two cousins (Charles and John), finding their only resource was to gain time, demanded and obtained the adjournment of the election until the morrow. The huguenots felt themselves too strong not to wait. The next day, which was Monday, the citizens poured from every quarter towards St. Pierre’s, full of enthusiasm for the constitutions handed down by their ancestors. Violence could not annul right; the election was made by the people in conformity with the liberties of Geneva. But the huguenots, having recovered their liberties, gave a proof of a moderation still more surprising than their energy. They knew that by being patient they would be strong; they thought that the election of huguenot syndics might, under present circumstances, cause the storm to burst, and bring down incalculable disasters upon the city; they therefore returned the same syndics as the Great Council had done. After having conquered absolutism, they conquered themselves. To construct with haste a scaffolding that might afterwards be easily thrown down was not their object; they desired to lay a solid foundation for the temple of liberty.[291]
They did more: they attempted a reconciliation. Three of them, headed by Robert Vandel (who was syndic in 1529), called upon the mameluke syndic Danel, and said: ‘Let us forget our mutual offences and make peace; let us drop the names mameluke and huguenot, and let there be none but Genevans in Geneva. Bring the matter before the council.’ The huguenots, like true citizens, desired union in their country; not so the mamelukes, who were sold to the foreigner. They referred the proposition to the vicar and episcopal council, and then to the bishop and the duke—a sure means of insuring its failure.[292] Moderation, concord, respect for the rights of all, were on the side of liberty. The only thought of the priests and mamelukes was how to separate themselves from the public cause. Of this a striking proof was seen at that time.