The Bishop of Geneva watched attentively from his silent priory all that was passing in his diocese, at that time so strangely agitated. He desired to reascend his double throne, and still hoped to reëstablish the authority of the prince and the pope in the city. Many catholics, especially at the courts of the bishop and the duke, could really see nothing in this reformation of doctrine but ‘a popular tumult, which would be of short duration.’ ‘The aspect of affairs will soon change,’ they said.[[464]] Perhaps if Calvin had not come, this prophecy might have been fulfilled; but others saw things in darker colors. The tempest of Luther would, in their opinion, upset everything; the same wave that now threatened the power of the pontiff would ere long sweep away the power of kings. Men did not know how to act that they might prevent such a misfortune; and the most decided said plainly, that the only means of saving Geneva was to set up one supreme magistrate. Did not the Romans create dictators in the hour of extreme peril? All these councils of Twenty-five, of Sixty, of Two Hundred, and, above all, the General Council of the people were (the Episcopals thought) both useless and pernicious. The administration ought to be placed in the hands of one man, and be given preferably to one of the lords of Friburg. The fervent catholicism of that canton and its resentment at Wernli’s death guaranteed the fidelity with which the mission would be fulfilled. It does not appear that anything was decided about the selection; but the bishop made up his mind to attempt a bold stroke of policy. Having come to an understanding with the Duke of Savoy,[[465]] he signed at Arbois the instruments which set up in Geneva a Lieutenant of the prince in temporal matters with full powers of punishing criminals. The document was immediately forwarded to Portier, the episcopal secretary, the bishop’s confidential man, who was to determine, in accordance with the heads of the party, the favorable moment and the best means of carrying it into execution. On his side the duke did not keep them waiting for assistance. Portier received blank warrants, sealed with the ducal arms, with authority to use them as he pleased, so as to bring the matter to a happy issue. The plot was skilfully devised. The court of Turin, the lords of Friburg, and the mamelukes were all to assist the bishop; but, according to the received formula, ‘God was there and the republic of Berne.’[[466]]
Indeed, it seemed at first that the instrument was destined to remain mere waste paper. The episcopal plot existed; the deed had been signed by the prince-bishop on the 12th of January, but on the first of February it was still a dead letter. Portier, aware of the spirit with which the citizens were animated, feared to make the episcopal ordinance known, either to magistrates or people. Privately, however, he discussed with some of his confidants the means of putting it into execution; among them were two brothers named Pennet, one of whom was the episcopal jailer. The bishop’s partisans at Geneva, as well as at Arbois and Turin, thought that logical discussions only did harm: that they should have recourse to more vigorous measures; that force only would constrain the Genevese to bend their necks to the yoke; and, finally, that a riot which disturbed the public peace would be, even if it failed, the best means of justifying the nomination of a lieutenant invested with absolute power. Some hot-headed episcopals, and particularly the two Pennets, the séides of the party, resolved to act immediately: ‘They undertook, with several others, to spill much blood,’ says a document written a few days after the affair.[[467]]
Two Huguenots Assassinated.
On Tuesday, 3d February, the most excitable of the episcopal party met at the palace: Pennet, the jailer, his brother Claude, Jacques Desel, and several others. It was after dinner. Inflamed by the desire of saving the authority of the prince and the pope, excited by the ordinance which they had hitherto kept by them, and irritated at seeing Furbity, the Dominican, contradicted by Farel and prosecuted by the Bernese, perhaps also (as some have believed) acting under positive orders emanating from the bishop, these men armed themselves and issued from the palace, ‘proposing to strike and kill the others,’ says the document which we have just quoted. These fanatics—we believe them to have been sincere, but unhappily of opinion that to stab a heretic was one of the most meritorious works to win heaven—these fanatics entered the court of St. Pierre’s. Just as they came in front of the steps, and the large platform on which the white marble portal of the cathedral opens, they met two huguenots, Nicholas Porral, the notary, and Stephen d’Adda.[[468]] Their blood boiled at the sight of the two heretics: Pennet the jailer drew his sword, sprung at Porral, struck him; and, seeing him fall, impudently continued his way, with his band, by the Rue du Perron to the Molard, the rallying ground of all rioters. D’Adda, and some other huguenots who had come up, surrounded the wounded Porral, lifted him up, and, wishing to stop the commencing riot as soon as possible, carried him to the hotel-de-ville, and laid him, all pale and bleeding, before the syndics and the council.
The magistrates were moved at the sight as of old—if we may compare the great things of antiquity with the little things that inaugurated modern times—as of old the corpse of Cæsar, gashed with wounds and carried through the Forum, excited the indignation and cries of the startled people. D’Adda informed the syndics of Pennet’s violent attack, and called for the punishment of the assassin. But he had scarcely ceased speaking when a great noise was heard from without: the court-yard of the hotel-de-ville was filled with agitated citizens; tumultuous shouts were raised, the gates of the hall were dashed open and ‘incontinent (says the Register) many people rushed in furiously crying out: Justice! justice!’ An estimable man, a worthy tradesman and zealous huguenot, Nicholas Berger by name, who lived in the Rue du Perron, happened to be in his shop just as the band, which had wounded Porral, was passing by. Attracted by the noise, he had probably moved towards the door: Claude Pennet observing him, stopped, and, as if jealous of his brother’s exploit, sprung at the unarmed citizen, and with one blow of his dagger, laid him dead at his feet. ‘All good men,’ added the citizens, ‘are filled with horror, and demand that the criminal be punished according to law.’
This event was not without importance. It was a new act in that obstinate struggle which, at the beginning of the sixteenth century, took place in a permanent manner in a little city on the shore of the Leman lake, and was repeated in other shapes in other countries. Combatants do not cross a frontier without marking their path by their blood. Those who were then fighting the last battles of what may be called the iron age, believed they were serving the cause of justice. Impartial history shrinks from tracing too hideous a picture of these insolent champions of Rome and feudalism. Even at Geneva, where they were perhaps more violent than elsewhere, they were not all devoid of generous sentiments. Undoubtedly many were animated by party-spirit; but there were some also who desired the good of their country. In their eyes, both religion and order were compromised by the alliance between Switzerland and the Reformation, and that sacred cause could only be upheld, they thought, by the energetic intervention of the episcopal party. They were mistaken; but their error did not lie essentially in that. The great evil consisted in the corruption of their moral sense by the principles of a fanatical bigotry, so that all means appeared good to attain their end; all—even the dagger.
While the people were demanding justice for a double murder, there was a great uproar in the city: the drums beat, and everybody ran to arms. The citizens, who wanted independence and reform, exclaimed that the bishop’s followers, unable to vanquish them by words, desired to triumph over them by the mandosse (a sort of Spanish sword). ‘It is the fifth riot the priests have got up to save the mass,’ they said, as they took up their arms, not to attack but to support the established authorities.
The council was astounded at the news of Berger’s death. All its members were opposed to such crimes; but three of the four syndics were catholics: Du Crest, Claude Baud, and Malbuisson, and the councillors were usually divided in the same proportion as the syndics. Besides which, Portier, who headed the band, was the accredited agent of the prince-bishop, whose authority the council desired to maintain. The syndics were discussing what was to be done, when the ambassadors of Berne demanded to speak with the council. The noble lords, who usually maintained such a cold attitude, were much excited: ‘As we were coming up to the hotel-de-ville,’ they said, ‘all the persons we met were running to arms. It is to be feared that there will be a great butchery (tuerie); we conjure you to look to it, and offer our services to appease the disturbance.’ The premier syndic prayed them to do so; and, when the Bernese had left, the council continued its deliberations.
Meanwhile, the principle huguenots had met in consultation. Two of their friends had just fallen beneath the blows of their adversaries: one of them was dead; their party had taken up arms; Portier and the Pennets had fled in alarm; the catholic faction was discouraged. In this state of things it would have been easy for them to fall upon their adversaries and gain a decisive victory; but sentiments of order and legality prevailed among them. They had no desire to infringe the law but to appeal to it; there were judges in Geneva. Blood must be avenged, not by violence but by justice. ‘No disorder,’ said the huguenot chiefs, ‘no revenge, no attack, no fighting! ... but let us help the magistrates that they may be able to do their duty.’ Five hundred armed citizens, the most valiant men in Geneva, arrived in good order and drew up in front of the hotel-de-ville, while their chiefs—Maisonneuve, Salomon, Perrin, and Aimé Levet—went into the council-room. ‘Honored lords,’ they said, ‘we have assembled for no other reason than to preserve order. We fear lest the priests have prepared a fourth or fifth émeute; and hence we are here in a body to avoid their fury and lend assistance to the syndics. We pray that the murderers and those who counselled the riot may be punished.’[[469]] There was not a moment’s hesitation: all, catholics and protestants alike, desired the guilty to be punished, and search was made for them.
The Bishop’s Palace Searched.