A BISHOP SENT BY THE POPE TO ROB GENEVA OF ITS INDEPENDENCE.
(APRIL TO OCTOBER 1513.)
On the 13th of April, 1513, there was great excitement in Geneva. Men
were dragging cannon through the streets, and placing them on the
walls. The gates were shut and sentries posted everywhere.[42] Charles
de Seyssel, bishop and prince of Geneva, had just died on his return
from a pilgrimage. He was a man of a mild and frank disposition, ‘a
right good person,’ says the chronicler, ‘and for a wonder a great
champion of both ecclesiastical and secular liberty.’ Duke Charles of
Savoy, who was less attached to liberty than this good prelate, had
recently had several sharp altercations with him. ‘It was I who made
you bishop,’ haughtily said the angry duke, ‘but I will unmake you,
and you shall be the poorest priest in the diocese.’[43] The bishop’s
crime was having wished to protect the liberties of the city against
Charles’s usurpations. The prince kept his word, and, if we may believe
the old annals, got rid of him by poison.[44]
When the news of this tragical and unexpected death reached Geneva, the
citizens were alarmed: they argued that no doubt the secret intention
of the duke was to place a member of his family on the episcopal
throne, in order thus to obtain the seigniory of the city. The excited
citizens gathered in groups in the streets, and impassioned orators,
among whom was Philibert Berthelier, addressed the people. The house
from which this great citizen sprang appears to have been of high
position, as early as the twelfth century; but he was one of those
noble natures who court glory by placing themselves at the service of
the weak. No man seemed better fitted to save Geneva. Just, generous,
proud, decided, he was above all firm, true, and attached to what was
right. His glorious ambition was not revolutionary: he wished to uphold
the right and not to combat it. The end he set before himself was not,
properly speaking, the emancipation of his country, but the restoration
of its franchises and liberties. He affected no great airs, used no
big words, was fond of pleasure and the noisy talk of his companions;
but there were always observable in him a seriousness of thought,
great energy, a strong will, and above all a supreme contempt of life.
Enamoured of the ancient liberties of his city, he was always prepared
to sacrifice himself for them.
‘The duke,’ said Berthelier and his friends in their animated meetings,
‘received immediate news of the death of the bishop, as did the pope
also. The messengers are galloping with the news, each wants to have
his share of the skin of the dead beast.’ The patriots argued that if
the pope had long since laid hands on the Church, the Duke of Savoy
now desired to lay his upon the State. Geneva would not be the first
place that had witnessed such usurpations. Other cities of Burgundy,
Grenoble, Gap, Valence, Die, and Lyons, had fallen one after the other
beneath a foreign power. ‘We ourselves,’ said the citizens in the
energetic and somewhat homely language of the day, ‘have had our wings
cut so short already, that we can hardly spit from our walls without
bespattering the duke. Having begun his conquest, he now wishes to
complete it. He has put his _snout_ into the city and is trying to get
in all his body. Let us resist him. Is there a people whose franchises
are older than ours? We have always been free, and there is no memory
of man to the contrary.’[45] The citizens were resolved accordingly to
close their gates against the influence of Savoy, and to elect a bishop
themselves. They called to mind that when Ardutius, descending from
his eyrie in the rocks of the Mole, was named bishop of Geneva, it was
by the accord of clergy and people.[46] ‘Come, you canons,’ said they,
‘choose us a bishop that will not let the duke put his nose into his
soup.’[47] This rather vulgar expression meant simply this: ‘Elect a
bishop who will defend our liberties.’ They had not far to seek.
There was among the canons of Geneva one Aimé de Gingins, abbot of
Bonmont and dean of the chapter, a man of noble house, and well
connected in the Swiss cantons. His father Jacques, seignior of
Gingins, Divonne, and other places, had been councillor, chamberlain,
and high steward to the Duke of Savoy, and even ambassador from him to
Pope Paul II. Aimé, who had been appointed canon of St. Pierre’s in
Geneva when very young, was forty-eight years old at this time. He was
‘the best boon-companion in the world, keeping open house and feasting
joyously the friends of pleasure,’ fond of hearing his companions laugh
and sing, and of rather free manners, after the custom of the Church;
but he excused himself with a smile, saying, without blush or shame:
‘It is a _slippery_ sin.’ M. de Bonmont was the most respected of the
priests in Geneva, for while his colleagues were devoted heart and soul
to the house of Savoy, the dean stood by Geneva, and was no stranger
to the aspirations which led so many generous minds to turn towards
the ancient liberties. The people named him bishop by acclamation, and
the chapter confirmed their choice; and forthwith the citizens made
every effort to uphold the election. They prayed the Swiss cantons to
support it before the pope, and sent to Rome ‘by post both letters and
agents.’[48]
If this election by the chapter had been sustained, it is probable
that M. de Gingins would have lived on good terms with the council
and citizens, and that harmony would have been preserved. But the
appointment of bishops, which had in olden times belonged to the clergy
and the people, had passed almost everywhere to the prince and the
pope. The election of a superior by the subordinates had given way to
the nomination of an inferior by a superior. This was a misfortune:
nothing secures a good election like the first of these two systems,
for the interest and honour of the governed is always to have good
governors. On the other hand, princes or popes generally choose
strangers or favourites, who win neither the affection nor esteem of
their flocks or of the inferior clergy. The last episcopal elections at
Geneva, by separating the episcopacy from the people and the clergy,
deprived the Church of the strength it so much needed, and facilitated
the Reformation.
Duke Charles understood the importance of the crisis. This prince who
filled for half a century the throne of Savoy and Piedmont, was all
his life the implacable enemy of Geneva. Weak but irritable, impatient
of all opposition yet undecided, proud, awkward, wilful, fond of pomp
but without grandeur, stiff but wanting firmness, not daring to face
the strong, but always ready to be avenged on the weak, he had but
one passion--one mania rather: to possess Geneva. For that he needed
a docile instrument to lend a hand to his ambitious designs--a bishop
with whom he could do what he pleased. Accordingly he looked around
him for some one to oppose to the people’s candidate, and he soon hit
upon the man. In every party of pleasure at court there was sure to be
found a little man, weak, slender, ill-made, awkward, vile in body but
still more so in mind, without regard for his honour, inclined rather
to do evil than good, and suffering under a disease the consequence
of his debauchery. This wretch was John, son of a wench of Angers
(_communis generis_, says Bonivard) whose house was open to everybody,
priests and laymen alike; sparely liberal with her money (for she had
not the means) ‘she was over-free with her venal affections.’ Francis
of Savoy, the third of the pope-duke’s grandsons, who had occupied in
turn the episcopal throne of Geneva, and who was also archbishop of
Aux and bishop of Angers, used to ‘junket with her like the rest.’
This woman was about to become a mother, ‘but she knew not,’ says the
chronicler, ‘whom to select as the father; the bishop being the richest
of all her lovers, she fathered the child upon him, and it was reared
at the expense of the putative parent.’ The Bishop of Angers not caring
to have this child in his diocese, sent it to his old episcopal city,
where there were people devoted to him.[49] The poor little sickly
child was accordingly brought to Geneva, and there he lived meanly
until being called to the court of Turin, he had a certain retinue
assigned him, three horses, a servant, a chaplain, and the title of
_bastard of Savoy_. He then began to hold up his head, and became the
greediest, the most intriguing, the most irregular priest of his day.
‘That’s the man to be bishop of Geneva,’ thought the duke: ‘he is so
much in my debt, he can refuse me nothing.’ There was no bargain the
bastard would not snap at, if he could gain either money or position:
to give up Geneva to the duke was an easy matter to him. Charles sent
for him. ‘Cousin,’ said he, ‘I will raise you to a bishopric, if in
return you will make over the temporality to me.’ The bastard promised
everything: it was an unexpected means of paying his debt to the duke,
which the latter talked about pretty loudly. ‘He has sold us not in the
ear but in the blade,’ said Bonivard, ‘for he has made a present of us
before we belonged to him.’[50]
The duke without loss of time despatched his cousin to Rome, under the
pretext of bearing his congratulations to Leo X. who had just succeeded
Julius II.[51] John the Bastard and his companions travelled so fast
that they arrived before the Swiss. At the same time the court of Turin
omitted nothing to secure the possession of a city so long coveted.
First, they began to canvass all the cardinals they could get at. On
the 24th February the Cardinal of St. Vital, and on the 1st March the
Cardinal of Flisco promised their services to procure the bishopric of
Geneva for John of Savoy.[52] On the 20th of April the Queen of Naples
wrote to the duke, that she had recommended John to her nephew, the
Cardinal of Aragon.[53] This was not enough. An unforeseen circumstance
favoured the designs of Savoy.
The illustrious Leo X. who had just been raised to the papal throne,
had formed the design of allying his family to one of the oldest
houses in Europe. With this intent he cast his eyes on the Princess
Philiberta of Savoy; a pure simple-hearted young girl, of an elevated
mind, a friend to the poor, younger sister to the duke and Louisa of
Savoy, aunt of Francis I. and Margaret of Valois. Leo X. determined to
ask her hand for his brother Julian the Magnificent, lieutenant-general
of the armies of the Church. Up to this time Julian had not lived a
very edifying life; he was deeply enamoured of a widow of Urbino, who
had borne him a son.
To tempt the duke to this marriage, which was very flattering to the
_parvenus_ of Florence, the pope made ‘many promises,’ say the Italian
documents.[54] He even sent an envoy to the court of Turin to tell
Charles that he might ‘expect from him all that the best of sons may
expect from the tenderest of fathers.’[55]
The affair could only be decided at Rome, and Leo X. took much trouble
about it. He received the bastard of Savoy with the greatest honour,
and this disagreeable person had the chief place at banquet, theatre,
and concert. Leo took pleasure in talking with him, and made him
describe Philiberta’s charms. As for making him bishop of Geneva,
that did not cause the least difficulty. The pope cared nothing for
Dean de Bonmont, the chapter, or the Genevans. ‘Let the duke give us
his sister, and we will give you Geneva,’ said he to the graceless
candidate. ‘You will then make over the temporal power to the duke....
The court of Rome will not oppose it; on the contrary, it will support
you.’ Everything was settled between the pope, the duke, and the
bastard. ‘John of Savoy,’ says a manuscript, ‘swore to hand over the
temporal jurisdiction of the city to the duke, and the pope swore he
would force the city to consent under pain of incurring the thunders of
the Vatican.’[56]
This business was hardly finished when the Swiss envoys arrived,
empowered to procure the confirmation of Dean de Bonmont in his office
of bishop. Simple and upright but far less skilful than the Romans and
the Piedmontese, they appeared before the pope. Alas! these Alpine
shepherds had no princess to offer to the Medici. ‘Nescio vos,’ said
Leo X. ‘Begone, I know you not.’ He had his reasons for this rebuff; he
had already nominated the bastard of Savoy bishop of Geneva.
It was impossible to do a greater injury to any church. For an
authority, and especially an elective authority, to be legitimate, it
ought to be in the hands of the best and most intelligent, and he who
exercises it, while administering with zeal, should not infringe the
liberties of those he governs. But these are ideas that never occurred
to the worthless man, appointed by the pope chief pastor of Geneva.
He immediately however found flatterers. They wrote to him (and the
letters are in the Archives of Geneva) that his election had been made
_by the flock_ ... ‘not by mortal favour, but by God’s aid alone.’ It
was however by the favour of the Queen of Naples, of Charles III.,
and by several other very mortal favours, that he had been nominated.
He was exhorted to govern his church with integrity, justice, and
diligence, as became his _singular gravity and virtue_.[57] The bastard
did not make much account of these exhortations; his reign was a
miserable farce, a long scandal. Leo X. was not a lucky man. By the
traffic in indulgences he provoked the Reformation of Wittemberg, and
by the election of the bastard he paved the way for the Reformation of
Geneva. These are two false steps for which Rome has paid dearly.
The news of this election filled the hearts of the Genevan patriots
with sorrow and indignation. They assembled in the public places,
murmuring and ‘complaining to one another,’ and the voices of
Berthelier and Hugues were heard above all the rest. They declared they
did not want the bastard, that they already had a bishop, honoured by
Geneva and all the league, and who had every right to the see because
he was dean of the chapter. They insinuated that if Leo X. presumed
to substitute this intrusive Savoyard for their legitimate bishop, it
was because the house of Savoy wished to lay hands upon Geneva. They
were especially exasperated at the well-known character of the Romish
candidate. ‘A fine election indeed his Holiness has honoured us with!’
said they. ‘For our bishop he gives us a disreputable clerk; for our
guide in the paths of virtue, a dissipated bastard; for the preserver
of our ancient and venerable liberties, a scoundrel ready to sell
them.’ ... Nor did they stop at murmurs; Berthelier and his friends
remarked that as the storm came from the South, they ought to seek a
shelter in the North; and though Savoy raised her foot against Geneva
to crush it, Switzerland stretched out her hand to save it. ‘Let us be
masters at home,’ they said, ‘and shut the gates against the pope’s
candidate.’
All did not think alike: timid men, servile priests, and interested
friends of Savoy trembled as they heard this bold language. They
thought, that if they rejected the bishop sent from Rome, the pope
would launch his thunders and the duke his soldiers against Geneva.
The canons of the cathedral and the richest merchants held lands in
the states of Charles, so that (says a manuscript) the prince could
at pleasure ‘starve them to death.’ These influential men carried the
majority with them, and it was resolved to accept the bishop nominated
at Rome. When the leaders of the independent party found themselves
beaten, they determined to carry out forthwith the plan they had
formed. On the 4th of July, 1513, Philibert Berthelier, Besançon
Hugues, Jean Taccon, Jean Baud, N. Tissot, and H. Pollier petitioned
Friburg for the right of citizenship _in order to secure their lives
and goods_; and it was granted. This energetic step might prove their
ruin; the duke might find the means of teaching them a bloody lesson.
That mattered not: a great step had been taken; the bark of Geneva was
made fast to the ship that would tow them into the waters of liberty.
As early as 1507 three patriots, Pierre Lévrier, Pierre Taccon, and
D. Fonte, had allied themselves to Switzerland. Now they were nine,
drawn up on the side of independence, a small number truly, and yet the
victory was destined to remain with them. History has often shown that
there is another majority besides the majority of numbers.[58]
While this little band of patriots was on its way to embrace the altar
of liberty in Switzerland, the ducal and clerical party was making
ready to prostrate itself slavishly before the Savoyard prince. The
more the patriots had opposed him, the more the episcopalians laboured
to give him a splendid reception. On the 31st of August, 1513, the new
prince-bishop entered the city under a magnificent canopy; the streets
and galleries were hung with garlands and tapestry, the trades walked
magnificently costumed to the sound of fife and drum, and theatres were
improvised for the representation of miracles, dramas, and farces. It
was to no purpose that a few citizens in bad humour shrugged their
shoulders and said: ‘He is truly as foul in body as in mind.’ The
servile worshipped him, some even excusing themselves humbly for having
appeared to oppose him. They represented that such opposition was not
to his lordship’s person, but simply because they desired to maintain
their right of election. John of Savoy, who had said to himself, ‘I
will not spur the horse before I am firm in the saddle,’ answered only
by a smile of his livid lips: both people and bishop were acting a
part. When he arrived in front of the cathedral, the new prelate met
the canons, dressed in their robes of silk and damask, with hoods and
crosses, each according to his rank. They had felt rather annoyed in
seeing the man of their choice, the abbot of Bonmont, unceremoniously
set aside by the pope; but the honour of having a prince of the
ducal family for their bishop was some compensation. These reverend
gentlemen, almost all of them partisans of Savoy, received the bastard
with great honour, bowing humbly before him. The bishop then entered
the church, and standing in front of the altar, with an open missal
before him, as was usual, made solemn oath to the syndics, in presence
of the people, to maintain the liberties and customs of Geneva. Certain
good souls took him at his word and appeared quite reassured; but the
more intelligent wore a look of incredulity, and placed but little
trust in his protestations. The bishop having been recognised and
proclaimed sovereign, quitted the church and entered the episcopal
palace to recruit himself after such unusual fatigue. There he took
his seat in the midst of a little circle of courtiers, and raising his
head, said to them: ‘Well, gentlemen, we have next to _savoyardise_
Geneva. The city has been quite long enough separated from Savoy only
by a ditch, without crossing it. I am commissioned to make her take
the leap.’ These were almost the first words the bastard uttered after
having sworn before God to maintain the independence of the city.[59]
The bishop, naturally crafty and surrounded by counsellors more
crafty still, was eager to know who were the most influential men
of the party opposed to him, being resolved to confer on them some
striking mark of his favour. First he met with one name which was in
every mouth--it was that of Philibert Berthelier. The bishop saw this
citizen mingling with the people, simple, cheerful, and overflowing
with cordiality, taking part in all the merry-makings of the young
folks of Geneva, winning them by the animated charm of his manners,
and by the important services he was always ready to do them. ‘Good!’
thought John of Savoy, ‘here is a man I must have. If I gain him, I
shall have nothing to fear for my power in Geneva.’ He resolved to give
him one of the most honourable charges at his disposal. Some persons
endeavoured to dissuade the bishop: they told him that under a trifling
exterior Berthelier concealed a rebellious, energetic, and unyielding
mind. ‘Fear nothing,’ answered John, ‘he sings gaily and drinks with
the young men of the town.’ It was true that Berthelier amused himself
with the _Enfans de Genève_,[60] but it was to kindle them at his fire.
He possessed the two qualities necessary for great things: a popular
spirit, and an heroic character; practical sense to act upon men, and
an elevated mind to conceive great ideas.
The bishop, to whom all noble thoughts were unknown, appeared quite
enchanted with the great citizen; being always ready to sell himself,
he doubted not that the proud Genevan was to be bought. The Castle of
Peney, situated two leagues from the city, and built in the thirteenth
century by a bishop of Geneva, happened at that time to be without
a commandant: ‘You shall have the governorship of Peney,’ said the
prelate to Berthelier. The latter was astonished, for it was, as we
have said, one of the most important posts in the State. ‘I understand
it all,’ said he, ‘Peney is the apple which the serpent gave to Eve.’
‘Or rather,’ added Bonivard, ‘the apple which the goddess of Discord
threw down at the marriage of Peleus.’ Berthelier refused; but the
bastard still persisted, making fine promises for the future of the
city. At last he accepted the charge, but with the firm intention of
resigning it as soon as his principles required it. The bishop could
not even dream of a resignation: such an act would be sheer madness
in his eyes; so believing that he had caught Berthelier, he thought
that Geneva could not now escape him. This was not all; the bishop
elect, M. de Gingins, whose place the bastard had taken, possessed
great influence in the city. John gave him a large pension. Believing
he had thus disposed of his two principal adversaries, he used to joke
about it with his courtiers. ‘It is a bone in their mouths,’ said
they, laughing and clapping their hands, ‘which will prevent their
barking.’[61]
The people had next to be won over. ‘Two features characterise the
Genevans,’ said the partisans of Savoy to the bishop, ‘the love of
liberty and the love of pleasure.’ Hence the counsellors of the
Savoyard prince concluded, that it would be necessary to manœuvre
so as to make one of these propensities destroy the other. The cue
was accordingly given. Parties, balls, banquets, and entertainments
were held at the palace and in all the houses of the Savoyard party.
There was one obstacle however. The bastard was naturally melancholy
and peevish, and his disease by no means tended to soften this morose
disposition. But John did violence to himself, and determined to keep
open house. ‘Nothing was seen at the palace but junketing, dicing,
dancing, and feasting.’ The prelate leaving his apartments, would
appear at these joyous entertainments, with his wan and gloomy face,
and strive to smile. Go where you would, you heard the sound of music
and the tinkling of glasses. The youth of Geneva was enchanted; but
the good citizens felt alarmed. ‘The bishop, the churchmen, and the
Savoyards,’ they said, ‘effeminate and _cowardise_ our young men by
toothsome meats, gambling, dancing, and other immoderate delights.’ Nor
did they rest satisfied with complaining; they took the young citizens
aside, and represented to them that if the bishop and his party were
lavish of their amusements, it was only to make them forget their love
for the common weal. ‘They are doing as Circe did with the companions
of Ulysses,’ said a man of wit, ‘and their enchanted draughts have
no other object than to change men into swine.’ But the bastard, the
canons, and the Savoyard nobles continued to put wine upon their tables
and to invite the most charming damsels to their balls. The youths
could not resist; they left the old men to their dotage; in their
intoxication they indulged with all the impetuosity of their age in
bewitching dances, captivating music, and degrading disorders. Some
of the young lords, as they danced or drank, whispered in their ears:
‘Fancy what it would be if the duke established his court with its
magnificent fêtes at Geneva.’ And these thoughtless youths forgot the
liberties and the mission of their country.[62]
Among the young men whom the courtiers of Savoy were leading into
vice, was the son of the bishop’s procurator-fiscal. One of the ablest
devices of the dukes who desired to annex Geneva to their states, had
been to induce a certain number of their subjects to settle in the
city. These Savoyards, being generally rich men and of good family,
were joyfully welcomed and often invested with some important office,
but they always remained devoted to the ducal interests. Of this number
were F. Cartelier of La Bresse, M. Guillet, seignior of Montbard, and
Pierre Navis of Rumilly in Genevois; all these played an important
part in the crisis we are about to describe. Navis, admitted citizen
in 1486, elected councillor in 1497, was a proud and able man, a good
lawyer, thoroughly devoted to the duke, and who thought he was serving
him faithfully by the unjust charges he brought against the patriots.
Andrew, the youngest of his sons, was a waggish, frolicsome, noisy boy
who, if sometimes showing a certain respect to his father, was often
obstinate and disobedient. When he passed from boyhood to youth, his
passions gained more warmth, his imagination more fire: family ties
sufficed him no longer, and he felt within him a certain longing which
urged him towards something unknown. The knowledge of God would have
satisfied the wants of his ardent soul; but he could find it nowhere.
It was at this period, he being twenty-three years old, that John of
Savoy arrived in Geneva, and his courtiers began to lay their toils.
The birth of Andrew Navis marked him out for their devices, and it was
his fate to be one of their earliest victims. He rushed into every
kind of enjoyment with all the impetuosity of youth, and pleasure held
the chief place in his heart. Rapidly did he descend the steps of
the moral scale: he soon wallowed in debauchery, and shrank not from
the most shameful acts. Sometimes his conscience awoke and respect
for his father gained the upper hand; but some artful seduction soon
drew him back again into vice. He spent in disorderly living his own
money and that of his family. ‘When I want money,’ he said, ‘I write
in my father’s office; when I have it, I spend it with my friends or
in roaming about.’ He was soon reduced to shifts to find the means of
keeping up his libertinism. One day his father sent him on horseback
to Chambery, where he had some business to transact. Andrew fell to
gambling on the road, lost his money, and sold his horse to have the
chance of winning it back. He did worse even than this: on two several
occasions, when he was short of money, he stole horses and sold them.
He was not however the only profligate in Geneva: the bishop and his
courtiers were training up others; the priests and monks whom John
found at Geneva, also gave cause for scandal. It was these immoralities
that induced the citizens to make early and earnest complaints to the
bishop.[63]