BLANCHET AND NAVIS EXECUTED. THEIR LIMBS SUSPENDED TO THE WALNUT-TREE
NEAR THE BRIDGE OF ARVE.
(OCTOBER 1518.)
The bastard was staggered when he was informed that Bonivard had
escaped. He consoled himself, however, with the thought that he had
at hand the means of gratifying his tastes and his revenge, and
concentrated all his attention on Navis and Blanchet. What should he
do with these two young men who had so thoughtlessly fallen into his
net? How, in striking them, could he best strike the independent men
of Geneva? For he was not thinking merely of getting rid of these
two adventurers, but of filling all the city with terror by means of
their death. To no purpose was he reminded that the father of one of
the prisoners was the most zealous of his officers; the bastard cared
little for a father’s grief, and thought that Peter Navis would serve
him still better, when he had given him a striking example of the
manner in which he desired to be served. He pressed the court to hasten
on the trial. Ancina, judge in criminal matters; Caracci, seignior
of Farges, and attorney-general of Savoy; and Licia, his deputy,
constituted by ducal letters judges of Navis and Blanchet, declared
them solemnly convicted, first, of having been present at the meeting
at the Molard, and of having promised, they and their accomplices, to
be ‘unanimous against the bishop’s officers, to rescue out of their
hands any of their number whom these episcopal agents might take into
custody; second, of having proposed, in case the duke should take part
against them, to flee and place themselves under a foreign government
(Switzerland), abandoning thus the sovereignty of Savoy and the
splendour of the white cross.’ The two prisoners were condemned to be
beheaded, and then quartered, according to the bishop’s desire. They
prepared for execution immediately.[166]
Navis breathed not a murmur; the feeling of his disobedience to his
father closed his lips; it appears also that Blanchet recovered from
his terror, dried his tears, and acknowledged his folly. Nothing
indicates that the repentance of these two Genevan youths was truly
christian; but it would be unjust to overlook their noble confession
at the hour of death. The provost and his men, having received them
from the hands of the magistrates, led them to the place of execution.
Their appearance was becoming, and their look serious; they walked
between their guards, calm, but without weakness or alarm. When they
had mounted the scaffold, Navis spoke: ‘Wishing before all things to
make amends for the evil we have done, we retract all that we have
said touching certain of our countrymen, and declare that such avowals
were extorted from us by the fear of torture. After proclaiming the
innocence of others, we acknowledge ourselves guilty. Yes, we have
lived in such a way that we justly deserve death, and we pray God, in
this our last hour, to pardon our sins. Yet understand, that these sins
are not those of which we are accused; we have done nothing contrary to
the franchises and laws of Geneva: of that we are clean.... The sins
which condemn us are our debaucheries.’ Navis would have continued, but
the provost, vexed at what he had said already, ordered the executioner
to do his duty. The man set to work instantly: the two young men knelt
down, he raised his sword, and ‘thus they were beheaded, and then
quartered.’[167]
At last the bishop saw his desires satisfied; he had in his possession
the heads and the quarters of two of the ‘children of Geneva.’ This
little man, so frail, livid, hideous, reduced almost to a shadow,
without genius and without will, had nevertheless the will and the
genius of evil. Notwithstanding his protest against _the mutilation of
limbs_, he decided that three of the quarters of the two bodies should
be exposed over the gates of Turin, and reserved for his own share a
quarter of Navis and of Blanchet, with the two heads. He had the flesh
pickled, for he intended to keep them as long as possible; and when
this savage operation, worthy of the Mohawks, was completed, he placed
the heads and limbs in two barrels on which were marked the arms of
the count, the duke’s brother. The bishop wished to show his flock a
sample of his cleverness; and as the execution did not take place at
Geneva, he intended at least to send the limbs of the victims ‘to stir
up and terrify the scoundrels.’ The bearers of these two pickle-tubs
started from Turin, crossed Mont Cenis, arrived in the basin of the
Leman on Saturday, October 2, 1518, and lodged on ‘the other side of
the Arve.’[168]
On the bank of this river, which then separated the ducal states from
those of Geneva, at the foot of the bridge on the Savoy side, stood a
fine walnut-tree, whose leafy branches spread opposite the church of
Our Lady of Grace on the Genevan side. The bishop’s agents, who had
received orders to make an exhibition of the mutilated limbs for the
benefit of the Genevans, proceeded to the bridge on Saturday night in
order to discharge their disgraceful commission under cover of the
darkness. They carried with them, in addition to their casks filled
with flesh, brine, and blood, a ladder, a hammer, some nails and cord.
On reaching the tree, they opened the barrels and found the features
well preserved and easily recognisable. The bastard’s agents climbed
the tree, and nailed the heads and arms to the branches in such a
manner as to be seen by all the passers-by. They fixed a placard
underneath, bearing these words: ‘These are the traitors of Geneva;’
and the white cross of Savoy above. They then withdrew, leaving the
empty casks at the foot of the tree. ‘It was done by order of your
bishop,’ said the duke in a letter written three days later (October 5)
to his very dear, beloved, and trusty citizens of Geneva, ‘your bishop,
whom we have in this supported and favoured, which ought to be to your
contentment.’[169]
The day broke, the people arose, opened their windows, and went out of
their houses; some were going to the city. One man was about to cross
the bridge, when, fancying he saw something strange, he drew near, and
discovered with astonishment human limbs hanging from the tree. He
shuddered, supposing that this had been done by some murderers in mere
bravado; and, wishing to make the extraordinary occurrence known, he
quickened his steps. ‘The first who saw this mystery did not keep it
secret, but ran and told the news all through the city. “What’s the
matter?” people asked ... and then everybody hurried thither,’ adds
the chronicler. In truth, an immense crowd of citizens--men, women,
and children--soon gathered round the tree. It was Sunday, a day which
the bastard had probably selected for this edifying sight; every one
was free from his ordinary occupations, and during all that holy day
an agitated multitude pressed continually around the tree where the
blood-stained remains of the two victims were hanging. They looked
closely at them and examined the features: ‘It is Navis,’ they said;
‘it is Blanchet.’ ... ‘Ah!’ exclaimed a huguenot, ‘it is not difficult
to penetrate the mystery. It is one of my lord bishop’s messages
come to us by the Turin post!’ Bonivard, who had returned to Geneva,
thought himself fortunate that the swiftness of his horse had carried
him beyond the prelate’s reach, and rejoiced that his head was not
between those of Blanchet and Navis; but he was at the same time filled
with indignation and anger against the monster who had so treated his
two young friends. The Genevan youth indulged in bitter irony. ‘A fine
maypole they have raised us this morning on the city boundary!’ they
said; ‘they have put up a flag already; it only wants a few ribands
and flowers to make the show complete!’ But the sight of these bloody
fragments, swinging in the air, was no fit subject for jesting; there
was great mourning in the city; groans and weeping were heard in the
crowd; women gave vent to their horror, and men to their indignation.
Navis’s father, a man detested by the Genevans, was not the last to
be informed; some people ran to tell him of the tragic event that was
stirring up the whole city. ‘Come,’ said they, ‘come and see the reward
the bishop sends you for your faithful services. You are well paid;
the tyrants recompense you right royally for the disfavour you have
won from all of us; they have sent from Turin, as your pay, the head
of your son.’ ... Peter Navis might be an unjust judge, but he was a
father: at first he was overwhelmed. Andrew had been disobedient, but
the ingratitude of the child had not been able to extinguish the love
of the parent. The unhappy man, divided between affection for his son
and respect for his prince, shed tears and endeavoured to hide them.
Prostrated by grief and shame, pale and trembling, he bent his head in
sullen silence. It was not the same with the mother, who gave way to
the most violent affection and most extravagant despair. The grief of
Navis’s parents, which was expressed in such different ways, struck
all the spectators. Bonivard, who at this tragic moment mingled in
the agitated groups of the citizens, was heart-stricken by all he saw
and heard, and on returning to his priory exclaimed: ‘What horror and
indignation such a spectacle excites! even strangers, whom it does not
affect, are disgusted at it.... What will the poor citizens do now? the
poor relations and friends? their father and mother?’ ...
The Genevans did not confine themselves to useless lamentations; they
did not turn their eyes to the blow they had just received, they looked
to the hand that struck it; it was the hand of their bishop. Everybody
knew the failings of Navis and Blanchet, but at this moment no one
spoke of them; they could only see two young and unhappy martyrs of
liberty. The anger of the people rose impetuously, and poured itself
out on the prelate more than on the duke. ‘The bishop,’ they said,
‘is a wolf under a shepherd’s cloak. Would you know how he feeds his
lambs, go to the bridge of Arve!’ Their leaders thought the same:
they said, it was not enough for the prince-bishop to plunge families
and a whole city into mourning, but his imagination coldly calculated
the means of increasing their sorrow. These suspended heads and arms
were a notable instance of that cruel faculty of invention which has
always distinguished tyrants. To torture in Piedmont the bodies of
their young friends did not satisfy the prelate, but he must torture
all hearts in Geneva. What is the spirit that animates him? What
are the secret motives of these horrible executions?... Despotism,
self-interest, fanaticism, hatred, revenge, cruelty, ambition, folly,
madness.... It was indeed all these together. Think not that he will
stop in the midst of his success: these are only the first-fruits of
his tenderness. To draw up proscription lists, to butcher the friends
of liberty, to expose their dead bodies, to kill Geneva,--in one word,
to take pattern by Sylla in everything,[170]--such will henceforward be
the _cure of souls_ of this son of the pope.
The resistance of the citizens to the encroachments of the prelate
assumed from that hour a character that must necessarily lead to the
abolition of the Roman episcopacy in Geneva. There is a retributive
justice from which princes cannot escape, and it is often the innocent
successors who are hurled from their thrones by the crimes of their
guilty predecessors; of this we have seen numerous examples during the
past half-century. The penalty which has not fallen on the individual
falls on the family or the institution; but the penalty which strikes
the institution is the more terrible and instructive. The mangled
limbs hanging on the banks of the Arve left an indelible impression
on the minds of the Genevan people. If a mameluke and a huguenot
happened to pass the bridge together, the first, pointing to the
walnut-tree, would say to the second with a smile: ‘Do you recognise
Navis and Blanchet?’--the huguenot would coldly reply: ‘I recognise my
bishop.’[171] The institution of a bishop-prince, an imitation of that
of a bishop-king, became every day more hateful to the Genevans. Its
end was inevitable--its end at Geneva: hereafter the judgments of God
will overtake it in other places also.
The agitation was not confined to the people: the syndics had summoned
the council. ‘This morning,’ they said, ‘before daybreak, two heads and
two arms were fastened to a tree opposite the church of Our Lady of
Grace. We know not by whose order.’[172] Everybody guessed whose heads
they were and by whose order they had been exposed; but the explosion
was not so great in the council as in the crowd. They must have
understood that this cruel act betokened sinister designs; they heard
the thunder-clap that precedes the storm: yet each man drew a different
conclusion. Certain canons, monks, and other agents of the Roman
Church, accomplices of the tyrant, called for absolute submission.
Certain nobles thought that if they were freed from the civic councils,
they could display their aristocratic pretensions more at their ease.
Certain traders, Savoyards by birth, who loved better ‘large gains in
slavery than small gains in liberty,’ amused themselves by thinking
that if the duke became master of the city, he would reside there with
his court, and they would get a higher price for their goods. But the
true Genevans joyfully consented that their country should be small
and poor, provided it were the focus of light and liberty. As for
the huguenots, the two heads were the signal of resistance. ‘With an
adversary that keeps any measure,’ they said, ‘we may relax a little
of our rights; but there are no considerations to be observed with an
enemy who proceeds by murder.... Let us throw ourselves into the arms
of the Swiss.’
The bishop’s crime thus became one of the stages on the road to
liberty. No doubt the victims were culpable, but the murderers were
still more so. All that was noble in Geneva sighed for independence.
The mameluke magistrates strove in vain to excuse an act which injured
their cause; they were answered rudely; contrary opinions were bandied
to and fro in the council, and ‘there was a great disturbance.’ At last
they resolved to send an ambassador to the princes to inquire whether
this barbarous act had been perpetrated by their orders, and in that
case to make remonstrances. This resolution was very displeasing to the
mamelukes, who endeavoured to soften the harsh message by intrusting
it to pleasing messengers. ‘To obtain what you desire from princes,
you must send them people who are agreeable to them,’ said the first
syndic. The assembly accordingly named the vidame Aymon Conseil, an
unblushing agent of Savoy; the ex-syndic Nergaz, a bad man and personal
enemy of Berthelier; and Déléamont, governor of Peney, against whom the
huguenots had more than once drawn the sword. The duke, being at that
time in his Savoy provinces, received the deputation coldly at a public
audience, but made much of them in private. The ambassadors returned
in three days with an unmeaning answer.[173]
The bishop was at Pignerol, where he had presided over the terrible
butchery. The council were content to write to him, considering the
distance; and as he was still proud of his exploit, he replied by
extolling the mildness of his government: ‘You have never had prince
or prelate with such good intentions as myself,’ he wrote from Turin
on the 15th of October; ‘the execution done the other side the bridge
of Arve is to give those a lesson who desire to lead evil lives.’
Accordingly the bastard exhorted the Genevans to show themselves
sensible of his kindness by returning him a double share of love. These
executions, far from causing him any remorse, gave him a longing for
more; he invited the Genevans to acknowledge his tender favours by
granting him the head of Berthelier and a few others besides. Making
confession to the council of his most secret anguish, he expressed
a fear that if these heads did not fall before his return, it would
prevent his enjoying the pleasures of the table. ‘Discharge your duty,’
said he, ‘so that when I am with you, there may be nothing to do but
to make _good cheer_.’ To live merrily and to put his most illustrious
subjects to death were the two chief points of his episcopal cure of
souls. To be more sure of obtaining these heads, he threatened Geneva
with his vengeance: ‘If you should refuse,’ said he in conclusion,
‘understand clearly that I shall pray my lord (the duke) and his
brother (the count) to preserve my good rights; and I have confidence
in them, that they will not let me be trampled upon; besides this, I
will risk my life and my goods.’ This mild pastoral was signed: THE
BISHOP of Geneva.[174]
Thus everybody was leaguing against Geneva. Would it be crushed?
Was there in this small republic strength enough to resist the
twofold lay and clerical opposition, which had crushed so many free
cities in the dark ages? There were influences at work, as we have
seen, in the formation of modern liberties, and we find in Geneva
the representatives of the three great schools in which Europe has
learnt the principles of government. The characteristic of the German
liberties was an energetic love of independence; now Berthelier
and many of his friends were true Germans in this respect. The
characteristic of the Roman liberties was legality; we find this
strongly marked in Lévrier and other eminent men. The third element
of the independence of this people was to be that christian principle
which, subjecting the conscience to God, and thus giving man a firmness
more than human, makes him tread in the path of liberty and walk along
precipices without his head turning or his feet stumbling. Yet a few
years more, and a great number of Genevans will find this latter
element in the Gospel. To this Geneva owes principally the maintenance
of her existence.
After the murder of Blanchet and Navis, the passion of independence
became dominant. ‘From that time,’ said a magistrate of the seventeenth
century, ‘the duke and bishop were looked upon in Geneva as two tyrants
who sought only the desolation of the city.’[175]