ASSEMBLY, AGITATION, AND COMEDY OF THE PATRIOTS.
(1516-1517.)
Without delay Berthelier entered upon the work to which he had sworn
to devote his life. Wishing to prepare it carefully, he invited the
most ardent of the young Genevans to confer with him on the salvation
of the country. He did not select for this meeting some lonely field,
above the shores of the lake, as the Grütli: he had to deal with the
inhabitants of a city and not with the children of the mountains. He
therefore took a hall in the principal square of the city, la Place du
Molard, then almost washed by the waters of the river, and appointed
a time for the meeting when the streets were most thronged. About
twilight one afternoon, probably in 1516 (it is difficult to fix
precisely the date of this important meeting[96]), Berthelier, and then
a few other patriots, set out for the Molard: they came from the Rue
du Rhone, la Rive, and from the Cité; those who came from the upper
part of the town passed down the Rue du Perron. As they walked, they
conversed of the tyranny of the bishop and the plots of the princes of
Savoy. One of those who appeared to have the most influence was Amadeus
de Joye, the son of distinguished, upright, and honourable parents,
who had brought him up virtuously. The public voice, while proclaiming
him ‘a merry fellow,’ added that he was honest and straightforward,
and connected with all the good men of the city: he exercised the
honourable vocation of druggist and apothecary, and had always enjoyed
a good reputation in his business. Not far from him was Andrew Navis: a
change had taken place in the son of the procurator-fiscal. The cause
of liberty had dawned upon his ardent soul in all its beauty: in it
he fancied he had found the unknown good he had sought so eagerly;
his imagination had been inflamed, his heart moved, and leaving the
Savoyard party, of which his father was one of the chiefs, he rushed
with all his natural impetuosity to the side of independence. One of
his friends, John Biderman, surnamed Blanchet, had accompanied him, a
young man about twenty-four years old. Full of natural wit, disliking
work, very fond of fun, Blanchet ‘trotted up and down,’ picked up all
the news, repeated it at random, and meddled in everybody’s business.
He had, however, at bottom a sensitive heart, and the tyranny of the
bishop provoked him. Berthelier, who was among the earliest arrivals,
scanned attentively the young people and the earnest men who had joined
them, and experienced a feeling of happiness at the sight. There was
in him a being superior to the follies of banquets. The daily routine,
the small passions, the vulgarity of mind, life such as he had hitherto
known it, wearied him. At last he had before him an assembly brought
together for the noble cause of independence; and for that reason he
affectionately pressed the hand of all comers. At this moment the bell
rang for vespers at Magdalen old church, and was distinctly heard at
the Molard. There were present with Berthelier about fifty citizens--a
small meeting, and yet more numerous than that of Walter Fürst and his
friends. Besides, did not all noble hearts in Geneva beat in harmony
with those of the fifty patriots?[97]
They gathered in a circle round Berthelier, and stood silent; the
heroic citizen reminded them that from the most remote times Geneva
had been free; but that for one or two centuries the princes of Savoy
had been trying to enslave it, and that the duke only waited for the
favourable opportunity to impose his usurped sovereignty upon their
country. Then fixing his noble look upon his audience, he asked them if
they wished to transmit to their children not liberty but ... slavery?
The citizens answered No, and demanded anxiously how the liberties of
the city could effectually be saved? ‘How!’ said Berthelier. ‘By being
united, by forgetting our private quarrels, by opposing with one mind
every violation of our rights. We have all the same franchises, let us
all have the same heart. If the bishop’s officers lay hands on one of
us, let all the others defend him with their swords, their nails, their
teeth!’[98] Then he exclaimed: ‘_Who touches one, touches all_.’ At
these words they all raised their hands and said: ‘Yes, yes! one heart,
one common cause! Who touches one, touches all!’--‘Good,’ resumed
Berthelier, ‘let this motto be the name of our alliance, but let us be
faithful to the noble device. If the bishop’s constables take one of
us to prison, let us rescue him from their hands. If they indulge in
criminal extortions, let us seek out the abominable plunder even in
their houses.’ And then he repeated in a loud voice: ‘_Who touches one,
touches all_!’ And yet in the midst of this enthusiasm, the marks of
fear could be seen on some faces. One citizen asked with considerable
uneasiness what they would do if my lord of Geneva, aided by his
Highness, should attack the city with a strong army? ‘Fear nothing,’
answered Berthelier sharply, ‘we have good friends;’ and he added soon
after: ‘I will go to the Swiss, I will bring back forces, and then ...
I will settle accounts with our adversaries.’[99]
From that time the consultations and debates became more and more
frequent: the discussions went on in private families, at St. Victor’s,
in the houses of the principal citizens, sometimes even in the public
places: men reminded each other of the customs and franchises of
Geneva, and promised to be mutually faithful.
One day Berthelier, Blanchet, and several other citizens meeting at
Mugnier’s to discourse round the table about the common interest,
unfortunately brought with them a vile and corrupt fellow, a creature
of the bishop’s, named Carmentrant. They sat down, the wine circulated,
and their heads soon became heated: ‘The bishop,’ said one of them,
‘has sold Geneva to the duke!’--‘If he breaks his oath,’ said another,
‘his treason does not free us from ours. When princes trample the law
under foot, the citizens ought to uphold it at any cost.’--‘We must let
the bishop know,’ added Berthelier, ‘the resolution we have adopted to
defend our independence.’--‘That is not easy,’ observed one; ‘how can
we approach my lord and dare tell him all the truth?’--‘Let us mask
ourselves,’ returned he; ‘we may say hard things under our masks....
Let us make a _momon_ at the palace.’ The _momon_ was a bet made by
maskers when playing at dice. Pécolat did not seem convinced. ‘Leave
that to me,’ said Berthelier, ‘I shall find a way of speaking to the
prelate.’ Carmentrant listened in silence; he engraved in his memory
every word of the great patriot, ready to add to them his private
interpretations. He asserted afterwards that Berthelier proposed
attacking the prelate’s life; but the contrary was proved, and even
the farce of the _momon_ was never carried out. That mattered not; the
smallest joke at that time was metamorphosed into the crime of high
treason.[100]
Berthelier was not the only person the bishop caused to be watched;
Bonivard, ever sparkling with wit, gave opportunities to informers.
He had at that time a difference with the bishop about the right of
fishing in the Rhone. One day when walking with Berthelier and other
friends, he complained of the prelate’s avarice; and then indulging
in a joke, he said laughingly: ‘If ever I meet him near my fishery,
one or other of us will catch an ugly fish.’ This was made a principal
charge against him: he wished to _drown_ the bishop. They were
mistaken: Bonivard was not a violent character; but he was ambitious,
and, without wishing the bishop any harm, he secretly aspired to the
bishopric. ‘I will go to Rome,’ said he to one of his intimate friends,
‘and will not have my beard shaved until I am bishop of Geneva.’
The court of Turin had not forgotten the famous decision of the
cardinals. A few light words were not enough to prove to the sacred
college that the people of Geneva were in revolt; an _émeute_ (as the
Savoyards called it) furnished this party with the arms they sought.
On the 5th of June, 1517, the only talk throughout the city was about
Messire Gros’ mule, which was dead. This mule was well known, for the
judge rode it whenever he went on his judicial investigations. People
seriously discussed in the streets and at table the cause of the death
of this famous beast. ‘It is Adrian of Malvenda,’ said some, ‘that
Spaniard whose father came from Valence la Grande, who, having had a
quarrel with the judge at a dinner party, has hamstrung the beast.’
‘No,’ said others, ‘some young Genevans meeting the judge on his mule
and wishing to frighten him, shouted out and drew their swords: his
servants drew also, and one of them awkwardly wounded the mule, so that
it died.’[101]
Messire Claude Gros or Grossi, judge of the three castles (Peney,
Thiez, and Jussy) was one of those harsh magistrates who are hated
by a whole people. They coupled him in this respect with the
procurator-fiscal Peter Navis; and Berthelier, De Lunes, and De la Thoy
had often threatened both of them with the vengeance of the patriots.
Their hatred against these two magistrates was such that even Andrew
Navis suffered from it. In vain had he given himself up heart and soul
to the party of liberty; he was regarded with distrust; and men asked
if any good could come from the house of the procurator-fiscal. Quite
recently Andrew had had a dispute with John Conod on this subject. The
two young people were, however, reconciled, and the very evening of
the day when the mule died, Conod gave a supper to Navis and thirty
‘children of Geneva.’ This was the name they gave to the young men
of age to bear arms. That evening, however, some citizens of riper
years joined them: among whom were Berthelier, J. de Lunes, E. de la
Mare, J. de la Porte, J. de la Thoy, and J. Pécolat. ‘Gentlemen,’ said
Berthelier after supper, ‘it is a long time since this merry company
has had any fun.’ They were all agreed. Berthelier delighted in setting
his enemies at defiance without any regard for the consequences. ‘The
mule of the respectable Claude Grossi is dead,’ he continued; ‘that
judge is a wretch continually beating after us and our friends. Let
us play him a trick: let us sell his mule’s skin by auction to the
highest bidder.’ The proposal was adopted by acclamation. Two or three,
however, appeared to wish to withdraw: ‘Let every one follow the drum
on pain of being fined a gold crown,’ said Berthelier. ‘Agreed,
agreed!’ cried the giddiest of the company. At every Court and even in
the houses of many noblemen it was the custom to keep _fools_ who had
the privilege of telling the boldest truths with impunity. The Abbot
of Bonmont had one named Master Littlejohn Smallfoot. Berthelier,
desirous of carrying out the practical joke to the uttermost, sent for
Littlejohn. ‘Here,’ said he, ‘here’s a proclamation for you to cry
through the streets. Forward!’ All marched out with drawn swords, and,
with the drummer at their head, began to traverse the streets, stopping
at every place where the ordinary publications were made. After a roll
of the drum, Master Littlejohn blew a horn and cried with his squeaking
voice: ‘O yes, this is to give notice that whoever wishes to buy the
skin of a beast, of the _grossest_ ass in Geneva, and will call at the
house situate between the keeper’s and the Hôtel de Ville, it will be
sold to the highest bidder.’ ‘Is not that where Judge _Gros_ lives?’
asked a bystander. ‘Yes, it’s he that is the _gross_ ass,’ replied
another. A general burst of laughter followed this proclamation. Andrew
Navis in particular indulged in the most noisy demonstrations; he was
bent on showing that he was as good a patriot as the rest.
The oldest of the patriots were however uneasy: the elder Lévrier
thought they were going too fast. ‘Ah,’ said he, ‘these young folks
will play us a pretty game!’ ‘Certes,’ added others spitefully, ‘this
Berthelier has a singular talent for stirring up quarrels.’[102] The
joke was continued through great part of the night.
The next day the judge of the three castles hastened to lay his
complaint before the vidame and the episcopal council. The vidame
called for the arrest of the guilty parties, who disappeared.
Being summoned by sound of trumpet to appear at the Château de
l’Ile under pain of being fined a hundred crowns, they came out
of their hiding-places, and Berthelier brought an action against
the vidame for having threatened him and his friends with a fine
that was not authorised by the law. The partisans of Savoy were
still more exasperated. ‘There is a conspiracy against my lord the
bishop-prince of Geneva,’ they exclaimed; ‘he alone has the right of
making proclamations.’ They wrote letter after letter to Turin, and
metamorphosed a fool’s jest into the crime of high treason.[103]
The princes of Savoy thought that this was a disorder by which they
might profit. Charles had the reputation in his hereditary states of
being irresolute in deciding and feeble in executing; but whenever
Geneva was concerned, he ventured upon daring measures. He gave
the order of departure to his court; took with him one of the most
learned diplomatists of the age, Claude de Seyssel, whom he thought
he should require in the great matters that were to be transacted,
and arrived in Geneva. The vidame, still irritated by the story of
the mule, immediately presented his homage to the duke, and described
the situation in the gloomiest of colours. ‘You see,’ said Charles to
his councillors, ‘the citizens of Geneva are in revolt: it needs _a
stronger shepherd than a bishop_ to bring them back to their duty.’
But Seyssel was a man of great judgment; he was no novice either in
government or in history; he had studied Thucydides, Appian, Diodorus,
and Xenophon, and even rendered them into French. He inquired more
particularly into the matter, learned that the notice had been cried by
the Abbot of Bonmont’s fool, and that it was the same fellow who sang
habitually in the streets all the comic songs produced by the satiric
vein of the Genevans. The diplomatist smiled. ‘This business of the
mule is a mere practical joke,’ he said to the duke; ‘fools, you know,
have the privilege of saying and doing everything; and as for the band
of wags who surrounded the buffoon, do not let us make these young men
into Cethegi and Catilines. The cardinals will never consent to give
us the temporal sovereignty of Geneva for such foolery. It would be
too much, my lord, for the first stroke; we must mount to the pinnacle
of sovereignty by shorter steps. This story will not however be quite
useless to us; we will employ it to sow dissension among our enemies.’
In fine, the able Seyssel having come to an understanding with the
bishop, the latter summoned to his presence those of ‘the band,’ that
is to say, of the children of Geneva, whom he thought most pliable.
‘You will gain nothing,’ said Claude de Seyssel to them, ‘by following
a lot of rioters and rebels. In making this proclamation you committed
a wrongful action, and you might justly receive corporal punishment;
but the bishop is a good prince, inclined to mercy; he will pardon
all of you except Berthelier and his accomplices. He will even give
you office, places, and pensions ... only do not consort any more
with seditious people.’ Many, delighted at getting out of the scrape,
thanked Seyssel heartily, and promised that they should be seen no more
among the disaffected.[104] The bastard showed himself more difficult
with regard to the son of his procurator-fiscal: the bravadoes of
Andrew Navis, at the time of the proclamation about the mule, had
aroused all the prelate’s anger. It would seem that the poor father
dared not intercede for his prodigal son; one of his friends obtained
his pardon, but only after Navis had promised to reform. He returned to
his father’s office and might be seen constantly poring over the laws
and acts of the exchequer.
This manœuvre having succeeded, and the party of the independents
being thus weakened, the bishop, the duke, and their friends thought
that its head should be removed: that head was Berthelier. It was
not easy, however, to get rid of him: he was a member of council,
much looked up to in Geneva, and possessed a skill and energy that
baffled all their attempts. ‘To catch this big partridge,’ said the
bishop, ‘we must first trap a little decoy-bird.’ The advice appeared
excellent. The prince determined accordingly to catch some friend of
Berthelier’s, less formidable than himself, who by his depositions (for
the _question_ would not be spared) would compromise the best citizens
in Geneva. The decoy would by his song draw the large birds into the
nets spread to catch them.[105]