The poor Genevese women with hearts full of bitterness began their journey. Women did not travel much at the beginning of the sixteenth century; and these, who had hardly been out of Geneva, thought, as they went to Friburg and Berne, that they were going almost to the end of the world. What a sad journey was theirs! Frightened at the real or supposed dangers of the road, surprised at the strange language whose unintelligible sounds began to echo in their ears, bathed in tears, and broken-hearted, they folded the poor children in their arms; for they were terrified at the strange scenes and new faces, and clung with their weak hands round their mothers’ necks. At length this troop of afflicted women entered Friburg; but their arrival at first only increased the distress, and when these loving wives embraced their husbands, their tears of joy were mingled abundantly with tears of sorrow. The ‘foreigners,’ as they were called, although of respectable families, were at that time destitute of everything, and were almost like beggars at the doors of their friends. At the first moment they were compelled to leave their families in the street, not knowing where to shelter them. It was a heart-rending time. What! not a room, not even a stable where these exhausted women and children could lie upon the straw! The afflicted mothers pressed the little creatures to their bosom—kissed their pale lips ... and then regretted Geneva.
At length the foreigners took courage and went before the council. ‘We sent for our families,’ they said, ‘but we can neither lodge them nor feed them.... Permit them to enter the hospital.’ The prayer was granted, and these well-born women who not long ago were robed in silk and dancing with Beatrice of Portugal, were seen exchanging the palace for a hospital. ‘The people were moved to pity,’ says Bonivard. It must be remembered, however, that in those times staying in a hospital was not degrading: travellers often lodged in such places.[381]
The arrival of the women and children at first increased the distress of the citizens; they were discouraged and seemed to have reached the depths of misery. The sight of these beloved beings reminded them of Geneva and softened their hearts. But on a sudden they roused themselves; they went from Friburg to Berne; they spoke in private houses, in the halls of the tribes, in the public places, and appealed to the sympathy of the Swiss. They represented that the duke had put their leaders to death; that he had forced them to forsake their homes and their business, and to fly to a foreign land; that, being reduced to the greatest poverty, they had been compelled to place their wives in a position which they would once have rejected with contempt, and that, to put a climax to this misery, the city which they loved, and for whose independence they were ready to sacrifice everything, was invaded and enslaved.... These great souls were troubled; these proud citizens, so resolute before the face of a cruel prince, were depressed in the presence of their afflicted families, of their exile, of the ruin of Geneva, and tears betrayed their weakness. The Bernese looked with admiration on these noble citizens, whose tattered garments bore witness to their wretched condition. Many of the tribes of the city of Berne and the majority of the Council of Two Hundred declared for the vanquished cause, and the conclusion of an alliance with Geneva seemed near at hand.
The bishop, already alarmed by Charles’s intrigues, was startled when he heard of this. If Berne accepted the reformed doctrine like Zurich, if Geneva should follow the example of Berne, the prelate seated in the chair of the bishops and on the throne of princes, would see them both taken from under him. Pierre de la Baume, like many ecclesiastical sovereigns, cared nothing for the welfare of those whom he called his subjects; but he cared a great deal for the title of prince, and would not suffer either the duke or the Swiss to deprive him of it. In order to preserve it, he would have convoked the whole world, had that been possible. Accordingly, even when at table, he felt uneasy and would pause frequently, musing with himself and saying: ‘The duke is at Geneva; the fox in the poultry-yard.... Let the fowls look out!... And then, on the other hand, they are playing tricks in the cantons.... The bears look as if they wished to descend from the mountains.... Unhappy shepherd!... I will do anything,’ he said, ‘to preserve the jurisdiction of the Church.’ He began at once, and endeavoured first to coax his flock:[382] ‘We are very glad to hear of your good disposition,’ he wrote to them; ‘and you will do us great pleasure by informing us of all that is necessary for the welfare of our dear city.... Do you, on your part, so conduct yourselves that God and the world may have cause to be satisfied.’[383] In 1525, as in 1523, the prelate’s device was still God and the world.
These efforts came to nothing. The government of bishops and princes, established in different parts of christendom, was at first mild and paternal, compared with the government of certain lay lords; but long ago, the bishops had lost the superiority which could legitimatise their authority, and the lay power had, on the contrary, gained great influence in the world. In France, especially since the thirteenth century, royalty, by displaying a character of kindness, had favoured the progress of the people in things material, intellectual, and even moral; and if Francis I., notwithstanding a personal character by no means estimable, holds a brilliant place in history, it must be ascribed to this quality in French royalty. But almost all the bishop-princes of Geneva who preceded the Reformation, cared little for the development of the nation, except it were to thwart it. John of Savoy and Pierre de la Baume were nothing but selfish dissolute priests. No halo was seen on their brows; and thus they found one day that there was no firm ground under their feet. Ecclesiastical authorities, even when honest, are apt to despise the temporal interests of their subjects; and as unhappily spiritual interests do not much affect ambitious prelates, the immortal souls and the earthly liberties of their flocks are equally oppressed by them.
The duke, who knew better than anybody the weakness of the episcopal power (which he had mainly caused), felt his ambition increase, and resolved to put an end to it. With this intent he would take a step which, by giving him what Savoy had coveted for centuries, would fortify him with a title calculated to impose silence on the complaints of the prelate, the accusations of the fugitives, and the demands of the Swiss. He determined to convene a general council, composed almost exclusively of his creatures, from which he would obtain, either by persuasion or by a great display of force, the homage due to a sovereign. To attain his object he began by toning down his insolent conduct and his unjust pretensions. Treasurer Boulet, first cause of all these disturbances, being obliged to furnish his accounts at the hôtel-de-ville, was condemned. The citizens imprisoned or fined received the promise of an early amnesty; and imagining he had thus gained every heart, Charles desired the people to be called together, that all the community might know of the good-will he entertained towards them. The syndics and the bishop’s vicar, perceiving that the fatal hour had arrived, refused his demand. They were not strong, but fear came upon them in that solemn moment when they saw Geneva suspended over the abyss. Gruet, the vicar, stammered out some excuses: ‘Nobody would come to the council,’ he said, ‘but rabble and ruffians.’ It was precisely what the duke wanted. Being already master of Geneva and claiming to make everything bend under his absolute will, he would not allow Gruet to finish his speech: ‘It is my council’s advice,’ he said, ‘that the people should assemble to-morrow, Sunday, at eight in the forenoon, in the cloister of St. Pierre. Have this published by sound of trumpet, and let the heads of families be informed by sending from door to door.’ Then turning to the vicar, he added: ‘You will be present with all the episcopal council.’ He informed them that he would visit the assembly on his way to mass, and would then tell them his pleasure; so that the council might prepare their answer during service-time, and he would receive it on his way back. The ducal partisans ran from street to street and from house to house in order to muster all their forces at an assembly called in the name of a prince whose subjects lived at Chambéry and Turin.[384] The liberals, who were still numerous in Geneva, pretty generally kept away: they did not consider a council assembled by the duke to be legitimate.
The next day, Sunday, December 10, the great bell of the cathedral having summoned the citizens, men whose names are for the most part unknown appeared to form a council. The most important portion in this popular assembly was not the people, but the duke, who appeared between nine and ten o’clock, accompanied by the Bishop of Maurienne, the episcopal council, the chancellor of Savoy, and his chamberlains, esquires, officers, and many gentlemen from his states; before and behind came the archers of Savoy. Carrying their halberds with a threatening air, and impatient to reduce this herd of shopkeepers under their prince, these mercenaries gave the meeting the appearance of a battle-field rather than of a council. Nothing like it had ever been witnessed in the city. Resolved that day to make the conquest of Geneva, Charles proudly mounted to the place reserved for the sovereign; his courtiers drew up to the right and left, and his soldiers formed in a circle round the assembly, while above their heads flashed the broad-pointed bills at the end of the long staves, as if to frighten the citizens. The duke reclining upon the throne, which was covered with rich tapestry, ordered his chancellor to explain his sovereign intentions. The latter, making a low bow, read: ‘About three months ago, as the duke was preparing to cross the mountains on Italian business, he learnt that certain seditious people, who have fled to the country of the League, were sowing dissension between him and the bishop, between Geneva and the Swiss.... Whereupon his Highness, who has always been a mild and gentle prince to this city, seeing it threatened by a frightful calamity, neglected his own interests, hastened to you, and has spared neither money nor pains to restore peace among you. In return for so many benefits, this magnanimous prince asks but one thing ... that you should recognise him as your sovereign protector.’ The protection was evidently a mere veil to hide dominion and despotism; accordingly the few honest citizens there present were dispirited and silent. It was necessary to make haste, for the duke wished to avert all opposition. Having read the paper, the chancellor stepped forward, and cried as loud as he could, for his voice was weak: ‘Are you willing to live in obedience to your bishop and prince, and under the protection of my lord duke?’ ... The question should now have been put to the vote; but the impatient mamelukes carried it by acclamation, shouting out with all their might: ‘Yes, yes!’ The chancellor resumed: ‘My lord, seeing the great love this city feels towards him, cancels all the penalties it has incurred, takes off all sequestrations, remits all fines, which amount to twenty-two thousand crowns, and pardons all rebels—those excepted who have fled to Switzerland.’ Such are usually the amnesties of tyrants; those are excepted who ought to be included, and those included who do not need it. ‘Thanks, thanks!’ replied the mamelukes. ‘As my chancellor may not have been distinctly heard,’ said Charles to Syndic Montyon, ‘have the goodness to repeat what he has said in my name.’ After this, his Highness, with his chancellor, courtiers, gentlemen, and halberdiers, left the assembly and went to mass. It looked like a triumphal procession. As for those left behind, if there were venal citizens who dared to raise their heads, there were others whose uneasy consciences bowed them down.[385]
As soon as the Genevese were left to themselves, Montyon, a fanatical partisan of Savoy, got on a bench and repeated, not without embarrassment, the chancellor’s address. The halberdiers being away, the assent was no longer unanimous. There were still many honest men in Geneva who clung to the ancient institutions of the State and held a Savoyard usurpation in horror. Some, at the very moment when the liberty of their country was about to be thrown into the abyss, were smitten with a last love for her. ‘The address is full of guile,’ they said. Many, however, acceded to the ‘protection,’ but added, ‘saving the authority of the prince-bishop and the liberties of the city,’ which nullified the vote.[386]
Such was the Council of Halberds. It had given Geneva the Duke of Savoy for her protector, and had imposed on the citizens obedience towards that prince. An encroaching, powerful, able court, like that of Turin, could easily make an hereditary sovereignty out of such a concession. But a course of violence and stratagem provokes the resistance of noble minds. After the action of despotism, the reaction of liberty was to begin; the bow too violently bent by the duke was to break in his hand.
The next day, in fact, Charles, who fancied himself already prince of the city, wishing to enter upon his new career, requested the city to hand over to him the jurisdiction in criminal matters, which was refused. Nor was this the only check; the procurator-fiscal having, by his Highness’s orders, sent from house to house to collect votes against the alliance with the Swiss, many flatly refused to give them. At this moment the duke appeared as if he were stunned. He had matters on his mind which troubled and disturbed him; they made him mistrustful and anxious. The assembled people had just taken the oath of obedience to him ... and to his first two requests (such legitimate requests as he thought them) they had replied by a No! After having given an example of his extreme violence, Charles gave another of his extreme weakness. He thought Geneva crushed; but Geneva, even when crushed, alarmed him. He pressed his foot upon her neck, but he felt the corpse moving under him. Even the mamelukes he began to consider as obstinate republicans, secretly defending their independence. His head began to reel, his heart to fail him. The essential trait of his character, it will be remembered, was to begin everything and finish nothing. This union of violence and folly, of which several Roman emperors have furnished examples, was found also in Charles. At the moment he had gained an important victory, and just as it was necessary for him to remain on the field of battle to profit by it, he turned his back and fled precipitately into Piedmont. It was asserted that Beatrice had recalled him. ‘Venus overcame Pallas,’ says Bonivard. The prior of St. Victor is always inclined to be sarcastic. But if (as is possible) it was the desire to join the duchess which induced Charles III. to let that city of Geneva slip from his hands, which the house of Savoy had coveted for ages, it is a proof that if he was violent enough to take it, he was too weak to keep it. However that may be, on the 12th of December, 1525, the duke quitted the city, and from that day neither he nor his successors entered it again. If Charles had remained, and followed the advice of his ministers, he would probably have established his authority, and bound Geneva to Rome. The triumph of the power of Savoy at the extremity of Lake Leman would have had serious consequences. But the victory he was about to win—which he had even gained ... was lost by his cowardly desertion, and lost for ever.[387]