The Lutheranism of that citizen was of old date. He was a great friend of John Lullin, who possessed, it will be remembered, the hostelry of the Bear, at that time much frequented by German traders, who were, for the most part, Lutherans. Some Nuremburg merchants of the name of Toquer arrived there during the Lent of 1526.[[388]] De la Maisonneuve, who had much business with Germany, went often to see them, ‘eating and drinking with them.’ Their conversation was very animated, and usually turned upon religion. As early as 1523 the traders of Nuremburg had heard the Gospel from the mouth of Osiander, and they endeavored to propagate it wherever they went. Their words struck De la Maisonneuve all the more ‘because at that time there was no mention of Lutheranism in Geneva, or next to none, at least.’[[389]] There was at that time in Lullin’s service a young man of Lyons, named Jean Demai, about twenty-five years of age, and very attached to the Roman Church. While waiting at table, he listened attentively to the conversation between Baudichon and the Germans, and kept it in his memory. The daring Genevese did not restrain himself, and said, sometimes at dinner, sometimes at supper,[[390]] ‘God did not ordain Lent. It is mere folly to confess to the priests, for they cannot absolve you. It is an abuse to go to mass. All the religious orders, mendicants, and others, are nonsense.’ ‘What, then, will you do with the monks?’ asked one of the party. ‘Set them all to till the earth,’ he replied. ‘If you say such things,’ observed a catholic, ‘the Church will refuse you burial.’ ‘When I die,’ he answered, ‘I will have no preaching at my funeral, and no bells tolled; I will be buried wherever I please.’[[391]] Baudichon’s remarks were not kept within the walls of the hostelry of the Bear. Before long they were repeated throughout the city and neighborhood. ‘That man,’ said many, ‘is one of the principal Lutherans and in the front rank of those who set them going.’[[392]] That is what he was about to do.
Baudichon Recovers The Prisoners.
On the 12th of July, 1533, Baudichon had passed the day in the country, making preparations for the harvest. Returning from the fields at night, he was surprised to see an extraordinary guard at the city gate, and on asking what it meant, he was told that the episcopalians were going to convey the prisoners to some place of strength. Immediately he determined to compel the bishop—but solely through fear—to follow the course prescribed by the laws. He desired fifty of the most resolute of his friends to take each an iron-tipped staff and to place five matches at the end. He then concealed them all in a house not far from the palace. Ere long darkness covered the city; there was nobody in the streets except a few patrols. De la Maisonneuve bade the men of his troop light their matches, and put himself at their head. In their left hands they held the staff, and the sword in their right. Entering the palace, and making their way to the prince’s apartment, they appeared before him, surrounded him with their two hundred and fifty lights; and Baudichon, acting as spokesman, called upon him to surrender his prisoners to their lawful judges. The bishop stared with amazement at this band of men with their swords and flaming torches; the night season added to his terror, and he thought that if he did not give way he would be put to death. Baudichon had no such idea; but Pierre de la Baume, imagining his last hour had come,[[393]] gave the required order. Upon which the troop defiled before him with their port-fires, and quitted the episcopal palace. The huguenot prisoners having been transferred to the syndics, the latter intrusted them to the gaoler of the same prison ‘to keep them securely under pain of death.’ They had passed from the arbitrary power of the bishop to the lawful authority of the councils. Constitutional order was restored.[[394]]
The bishop passed a very agitated night. The huguenots and the torches and the swords with which he had been surrounded would not let him sleep; and, when daylight came, he, as well as his courtiers, was quite unmanned. The 13th of July fell on Sunday, and what a Sunday! ‘I shall leave the city,’ the prelate said to his servants. A rumor of his approaching departure having got abroad, some of the canons hurried to the palace to dissuade him. ‘I will go,’ he repeated. To no effect did his followers represent to him that, if he left, the catholic faith, the episcopate, the authority of the prince, his revenues, would all be lost; nothing could shake him. He was determined to go. A Thomas à Becket would have died on the spot; but Pierre de la Baume, says a contemporary document, ‘was very warm about his own safety, but more than cold for the church.’[[395]]
One thought, however, disturbed the timid bishop; and the proceedings of the syndics, Du Crest and Coquet, who came to beg him not to desert the city and his flock, served but to increase his distress. If the huguenots knew of his departure, he thought they might possibly stop him and bring him back to the palace. He dreamt of nothing but persecution; he saw nothing but prisons, swords, and corpses. He made up his mind to deceive the syndics, and assured them he would return in six weeks without fail; but he promised himself that Geneva should never see him again. He then asked the magistrates for six score of arquebusiers to protect his departure the next morning.
The syndics having determined to convene the council, the ushers went round the city and roused the councillors from their beds. Geneva desired to keep her bishop, while the bishop wished to desert her. The council ordered that next morning at daybreak, for fear the prelate should leave early, the syndics should go and point out the necessity for his remaining.[[396]]
The Bishop Anxious To Leave.
The syndics had scarcely left him when he fell into fresh terrors. He thought that the mustering of six-score arquebusiers would spread abroad the news of his departure, that the huguenots would rush to arms, that he would find himself between two parties armed with spears and arquebuses.... He must make haste and depart alone, by night or at peep of day, without any parade, before the syndics could have time to assemble the council, which, he fancied, could not meet before the morrow. No one slept in the palace that night; all were busy preparing for the departure, and they took care that nothing should betray to the outside the agitation that reigned within. That was a terrible night. Two spectres appeared to the bishop and dismayed him—the Gospel and liberty. He saw no means of escaping them but flight. But what would the duke and the pope say? To quiet his conscience, he wrote, at the last moment, a letter to the council, in which he enjoined them to oppose the evangelical meetings, and to maintain the Romish religion ‘mordicus, tooth and nail.’
Daylight would soon appear; they were dejected in the palace, but everything was ready for flight. At that moment there was a knocking at the gate.... It was the four syndics; the bishop was a few minutes too late.... The syndics entered, and conjured Pierre de la Baume in the name of peace, country, and religion. They pointed out to him the consequences of his departure; the monarchical power crumbling away, the republic rising upon its ruins, the Church of Rome disappearing, and that of the innovators taking shape....
But nothing could move the bishop; he remained insensible as a statue. They next entreated him to leave the state affairs in order; to appoint, during his absence, a vicar, an official, a judge of appeal. Pierre de la Baume refused everything. One only thought filled his mind—he wanted to get away. ‘Alas!’ said the moderate catholics, ‘he does not set the state in order, and as for the church over which he is pastor ... he abandons his flock.’[[397]] When the syndics had withdrawn, he gave the signal for departure. There was not a moment to lose, he thought; it will soon be broad daylight, and who knows but the magistrates, who set so much upon his presence, may give orders to stop him. Let every man do his duty! Let there not be a minute’s delay! The bishop took care not to leave the palace either by the principal entrance or by the ordinary gates of the city. In the vaults of the building was a passage which led to an unfrequented street—the Rue du Boule, now the Rue de la Fontaine. By following this street, the bishop could reach a secret postern in the wall of the city, which Froment calls la fausse porte du sel. Then Pierre de la Baume would be outside of Geneva; then he would be safe. Accordingly the bishop quitted his apartments, descended to the basement of the palace, and made his escape from that edifice (which is now a prison) like a malefactor escaping from his dungeon. His officers were downcast; they would have wished to crush those insolent huguenots, but were obliged to leave them a clear field. The bishop himself, forced to quit his palace and his power, felt great vexation.[[398]] He looked about him with uneasiness, and trembled lest he should see the huguenots appear at the corner of the street. The encroachments he had made on the liberties of the citizens were not of a nature to tranquillize him, and in his distress he quickened his steps.