Three of the syndics were devoted to the catholic party: Nicholas du Crest, Pierre de Malbuisson, and Claude Baud. Finding that they could not stop the riot, they determined if possible to direct it. Claude Baud, lord of Troches, in whose castle many a plot had been concocted against the independence of Geneva, would have desired to make an end of the Reform, but not by violent means. Seeing, however, that it was impossible to check the torrent, he put himself at the head of the émeute, but with the hope of restraining it, and afterwards of repressing the Reform by legal means. 'Shut the doors of the church,' said Baud. This had a surprising effect: the catholics on a sudden grew calmer. The syndic feared that if they came to blows, the two parties might become confused in the battle, and that friends would strike friends without recognising each other. He ordered a great bundle of laurel boughs to be brought in, and addressing the crowd around him, said: 'Formerly, citizens, they used to give garlands to the conquerors; I give you these laurels before the victory: they will distinguish you from the wicked.' The combatants each took a sprig and fastened it to their caps; and then the pious catholics who were in the crowd, wishing to give a religious character to the émeute, proposed that they should implore the blessing of heaven before they started. The ecclesiastics were silent immediately, and turning to the choir, prostrated themselves in fervent devotion before the high altar. All present knelt down 'with great abundance of tears,' and sang the famous hymn of the Roman breviary:
Vexilla regis prodeunt.[657]
As soon as the strain was ended, one of the priests said: 'Let us commend ourselves to the blessed Virgin, that she may intercede for us and for the holy faith!' And all, as with one voice, joined in the Salve Regina—a prayer which the people were accustomed to sing at the execution of a criminal. The echoes of this ominous chant having died away in the aisles of the vast cathedral, the priests rose from their knees: one of them took the cross, while some laid hold of other banners. 'Behold,' they said, 'behold the standards of the king advancing.' The excitement grew greater every minute. It was Friday, the one before Passion Week. 'Let us this day call to mind the day on which our Lord was willing to shed his blood for us, and therefore let us not spare ours. Let us take vengeance on his enemies who crucify him anew more cruelly than the Jews did.'[658] They uttered such cries that 'it was quite pitiful to hear them,' and 'there was no heart so hard as not to melt into tears.'[659]
=THE CORPS ARE FORMED.=
All this emotion was not without a cause. The religion of the middle ages was disappearing. We believe that it must disappear altogether; and yet we are touched by the enthusiasm displayed by its adherents, which was worthy of a better cause. Syndic Baud, who wished to give an appearance of legality to the clerical movement, called Percival de Pesmes, and ordered him to go with a body of men and fetch the banner of the city. At length the great bell, which had kept on ringing, was silent; the ringers came down from the tower and joined the rest of their party. The churchmen then formed into companies and elected their captains; all were full of courage and ardour, and St. Pierre's resembled a parade-ground rather than a church. The companies defiled in front of the high altar, and the syndic, ordering the doors to be thrown open, all the clerical army quitted the temple, descended with a firm step the steep street of the Perron, and proceeded towards the Molard, which was the general rendezvous for those who desired on that day to destroy both the reformed and the Reformation in Geneva.
As soon as the tocsin was heard, the city was agitated to its most retired quarters, and even the inhabitants of the surrounding districts had listened with alarm to its ill-omened sound. The startled and uneasy citizens caught up their arms, rushed hastily from their houses, and ran 'like poor wandering sheep without a shepherd,' some one way, some another, not knowing where to go, what was the matter, and whether the enemy was within the walls or without. The peasants of the vicinity, forewarned by the agents of the canons, entered the city in arms. The confusion continued to increase: some cried 'Fire,' others 'Fall on;' all shouted 'Alarm, alarm!' Some ran to the gates, others to the hôtel-de-ville, and others to the ramparts; but the priests who had contrived the affair, and who were marching 'in large bands' from different quarters towards the Molard, excited the ignorant people to follow them, and shouting so as to drown all other cries, 'Down with the Lutherans,' thus made it known who were the enemies to be attacked. 'To the Molard,' they added; 'Down with the dogs that want to destroy our holy mother Church.' No fervent catholic hesitated; all ran along the streets, isolated or in bands; they drew their swords, then arquebusses rattled.... It was like a flock of birds in search of their prey, opening their talons, and plunging swiftly upon the Molard.[660]
=THE MUSTERING OF THE HOSTS.=
Meanwhile the main clerical body, that which started from St. Pierre's, arrived. It numbered from six to seven hundred men—canons, priests, monks, sacristans, and devout laymen, all well armed, Syndic Baud marching at their head, and 'wearing his great hat and feathers.' When this body debouched on the square by the arcade of the Fort de l'Ecluse, the Molard and adjacent streets were filled with an agitated and confused crowd. But immediately, by the syndic's order, companies were formed in imitation of that of St. Pierre's, and all the people put themselves 'in order for fighting.' Baud having thus drawn out his corps, proceeded to count them: there were about 2,500 men,[661] not reckoning the old men, women, and children, who shouted and wept, and although unarmed, added to the tumult. The catholics were full of hope. To the majority of them, the struggle was a mere party matter; but others, better instructed and better theologians than the rest, felt that it was an effort to expel for ever from Geneva the doctrines of protestantism touching the pre-eminence of Holy Scripture, justification, works, the mass, the Church, and especially grace, to which alone the Reformation attributed salvation, while the Romish Church claimed a part in conversion for the natural powers of man, and looked upon this difference between the two Churches as the essential point. At the same time, however, it must be acknowledged that just then they troubled themselves very little about theology. Being ready to contend with the arms of men of war, the two bodies were especially animated by political passions. The catholics feared lest their enemies should succeed in escaping. 'Shut the gates of the city,' said the syndic, 'so that no one can take flight.' Again cries were heard: 'Forward, lead us to Baudichon's.' 'No,' answered Baud, 'let us wait for the other corps before we attack.'
There were still three bands to come: the first, commanded by the bishop's equerry, Percival de Pesmes, was to come straight from the hôtel-de-ville, bringing the banner, as we have said; the second, commanded by Canon de Veigy, descending from the west, was to make for the Molard by the Rue de la Cité; the third, coming from the suburb of St. Gervais, was to cross the Rhone bridge, and was commanded by Captain Bellessert. 'He was a stout fellow and like a madman,' says Froment. The band that he conducted was the most violent in the republic. These three corps united with the 2,500 men already at the Molard could not fail to give the death-blow to the reformed and the Reformation.
But as they did not appear, the catholics and mamelukes who were ready for fighting, zealous in the cause of the pope, and overflowing with hatred for the Reform, became impatient, and striking the ground with the butt-ends of their guns, desired to march forthwith. 'Forward!' they cried. 'Let us wait,' said the syndic, whether because he feared that 'their business would not take well,' as the chronicle says; or because he wished by an imposing force to constrain the reformed to surrender without fighting; or, lastly, because he hoped that if he procrastinated, some unforeseen circumstance might happen to disarm the combatants. 'We want artillery,' he said, 'to besiege Baudichon's house.' This quieted the most ardent, by giving them something to do; they hurried off to the arsenal, but it was doubtful whether it would be opened to them, as the captain-general was opposed to them. The artillery-keeper, named Bossu (hunchback), in consequence of his infirmity, a man of vulgar character and suspected morals, and a strong partisan of the priests, did not hesitate. He delivered up the artillery to the catholics, who dragged away the cannon with much uproar, planted them in the square, and loaded them.[662]