THE EXPULSIONS OF THE NUNS
The Sisters had long been exposed to annoyance by Reformers of the
baser sort. One such Reformer, having occasion to call at the convent
on some municipal business, had insisted on washing his hands in the
holy water, and had boasted, when he got outside, that he had been
privileged to kiss the nuns all round--‘a foul lie,’ says Sister
Jeanne, ‘for he did not even attempt to kiss any one of us.’ Another
Reformer had preached against them, declaring that they ought to be
‘turned out and compelled to marry in accordance with the commandment
of God’; and the congregation had been so impressed by the discourse
that the younger men among the worshippers had climbed up on to the
convent wall, and sat there singing amorous songs for the edification
of the inmates.
No official action was taken, however, until after the conclusion of
the disputation above referred to, though then it followed quickly.
Fifteen Reformers, including Farel and Viret, called at the convent,
declined the invitation to say what they had to say through the
grating, but threatened to force the door if they were not admitted.
The door was opened to them, therefore, and all the Sisters being
summoned before them in the chapter-house, Farel ‘spoke in terms of
vituperation of the holy cloister, of religion, of chastity, and of
virginity, in a way that went to the hearts of the poor Sisters.’ The
others kept silence, but Mère Vicaire protested, interrupted, and
screamed. Our narrative proceeds:
‘She stationed herself between the Sisters and the young men, saying:
‘“Since your preacher is such a holy man, why don’t you treat him with
respect and obedience? You’re a pack of young rascals, but you won’t
make any progress here.”
‘Whereat they were all indignant, and exclaimed:
‘“What the devil is the matter with the woman? Are you mad? Go back to
your place.”
‘“I won’t,” she said, “until these young men leave the Sisters alone!”’
So Mère Vicaire was put out of the room; and the preacher resumed his
discourse on the institution of matrimony. We read that ‘when he
referred to the corruption of the flesh, the Sisters began to scream’;
and that when he spoke of the advantages of married life, the Mère
Vicaire, who was listening at the key-hole, began to batter at the
panels, exclaiming: ‘Don’t you listen to him, my sisters; don’t you
listen to him.’ So, after labouring at the conversion of the Sisters
from ten o’clock in the morning until five o’clock in the afternoon,
the Reformers retired discomfited. A crowd of three hundred persons was
waiting for them outside the gate, prepared to offer marriage to any
nun whom they might have persuaded to accompany them; but they came
forth alone, the last to leave being thumped on the back by a nun who
desired to hurry his departure.
It transpired, however, that one of the Sisters--‘the ill-advised
Sister Blasine’--had been converted by the Reformers’ arguments.
The other nuns tried to detain her, but the citizens broke into the
convent and fetched her out in triumph, and also insisted that the
convent should provide her with a dowry and pay her damages for the
disciplinary whippings inflicted upon her during her membership of
the Order. It was the culminating outrage. The nuns decided to leave
Geneva, and the Lady Superior applied to the Syndic for an armed
escort. The request was granted, and the ‘dolorous departure’ began.
Three hundred soldiers were turned out to see the Sisters safely across
the bridge over the Arve, where the territory of Geneva ended. It
was the first time since their taking of the veil that they had been
outside the convent walls, and some of them had spent all their lives
in the cloister and grown old there, so that they were in no fit state
to travel thus on foot. Let Sister Jeanne tell us what befell them:
[Illustration: GENEVA FROM THE ARVE]
‘Truly it was a pitiful thing to see this holy company in such
condition, so overcome by pain and toil that several of them broke down
and fainted by the way--and that on a rainy day and in a muddy road,
and with no means of getting out of their trouble, for they were all on
foot, except four invalids who were in a cart. There were six poor aged
Sisters, who had been for sixteen years members of the Order, and two
who for sixty-six years had never been outside the convent gate. The
fresh air was too much for them. They fainted away; and when they saw
the beasts of the fields, they were terrified, thinking that the cows
were bears, and that the sheep were ravening wolves. Those who met them
could not find words to express their compassion for them; and,
though the Mère Vicaire had given each Sister a stout pair of boots to
keep her feet dry, the greater number of them would not walk in boots,
but carried them tied to their girdles, and in this way it took them
from five o’clock in the morning until nearly nightfall to reach Saint
Julien, though the distance is less than a league.’