THE DUKE AT THE HEAD OF HIS ARMY SURROUNDS GENEVA.
(MARCH AND APRIL 1519.)
The duke was at the end of his resources, and the affair of the chapter
had raised his indignation to its utmost. There had been comedy
enough--it was time now to come to the tragedy. Everything must be
prepared to crush Geneva and liberty.
The duke raised an army ‘this side the mountains (that is, in Savoy)
as secretly as he could.’ Then fearing lest the Friburgers, if they
were warned, should hasten to the support of the city, and wishing
‘to catch the fish without wetting his paws,’ he sent M. de Lambert
into Switzerland to amuse the cantons with fine speeches. While the
ambassador was thus occupying the attention of Messieurs de Friburg,
the Savoyard nobles hastily summoned their vassals to arms. The duke
placed his forces under the command of the Sieur de Montrotier,
Bonivard’s cousin and an excellent captain. The latter marched off his
troops during the night and assembled them in silence round Geneva; so
that the duke reached St. Jullien, a league from the city, with seven
thousand soldiers, before anything was known of his enterprise. The
Savoyards had never done so well before. In a short time the people of
the neighbourhood, hurrying in crowds to his standard, raised the ducal
army to ten thousand men.[212]
Then the duke no longer concealed his intentions. He kept his court at
St. Jullien, and there gathered round the prince an ever-increasing
number of nobles in rich dresses and splendid armour; and especially
of young gentlemen brimful of insolence, who longed to make a campaign
against the noisy shopkeepers. Never before had this little town
witnessed so much display, or heard so many boasts. ‘We must put them
down with our riding-whips,’ said some. No sooner said than done. On
the 15th of March, 1519, fifteen of these cavaliers started from St.
Jullien to carry out their plan of campaign; they arrived in Geneva,
proceeded straight to the hôtel-de-ville, leaving their horses with
their servants in the street, and with a swaggering air entered the
council-room, all booted and splashed with mud. Not waiting to be
offered chairs, they rudely sat down, and without any preface said:
‘My lord, desiring to enter this city, orders you to lay down your
arms and to open the gates.’ The Genevan senators, seated in their
curule chairs, looked with astonishment at this singular embassy;
they restrained themselves, however, and replied at once firmly and
moderately that the duke would be welcome at Geneva provided he came
with his ordinary retinue, and only to enjoy himself as he had often
done before. ‘In that case,’ added the syndics, ‘the arms we carry
will be used only to guard him.’ This seemed to imply that another
use might be made of them; and accordingly the gentlemen answered
haughtily: ‘My lord will enter your city with whom he pleases and do
in it as he pleases.’--‘Then,’ answered the syndics bluntly, ‘we will
not let him enter.’ At these words the fifteen cavaliers rose up like
one man: ‘We will enter in spite of your teeth,’ they said, ‘and we
will do in your city whatever we please.’ Then striding noisily across
the flagstones with their spurred boots, they left the hall, remounted
their horses, and galloped off along the St. Jullien road.[213]
As they were seen riding hastily along, fear came over the population.
In truth the moment was critical. Geneva was from that time for more
than a century under arms, and on repeated occasions, especially at
the epoch of the famous escalade in 1602, repelled the attacks of
Savoy. But the Reform gave it a strength afterwards which it did not
now possess. The Swiss diet ordered them to receive the duke; there
were only from ten to twelve thousand souls in the city, including
women and children; and the prince of Piedmont, duke of Savoy, was at
their gates with ten thousand soldiers. They fancied that Charles was
going to enter, to burn and massacre everything: many families fled in
alarm with the most valuable of their property. But their flight was
useless, for the armed men of Savoy occupied the roads, so that the
fugitives came upon them everywhere. Some returned to the city: ‘All
the country of Savoy is in arms,’ said they; ‘and many of our people
have been taken and put to the torture.’ It was then three o’clock
in the afternoon.[214] The patriots assembled: Berthelier, Hugues,
Bonivard, and many others met in order to come to some understanding.
They resolved that it was expedient to send an embassy to Friburg to
inform their allies of this incident, and to ask for a garrison, as the
duke would not dare to fire a gun at the walls guarded by the League.
But whom should they send? Many reasons,--the question of expense
being one,--restrained the citizens, for they were poor. Bonivard grew
warm: ‘You have exasperated the wolf; he is at your gates ready to
devour you,’ he said, ‘and you prefer to let him eat up your milk, your
butter, and your cheese--what am I saying? you would sooner let him eat
yourselves up than give a share of your pittance to the mastiff that
would guard you.’ There was one man in the meeting who never calculated
when the object was to save his country: this was Besançon Hugues. He
was ill, he had already incurred debt in the cause of Geneva; but that
mattered not! ‘I will go,’ said he, and he departed.[215]
During this time the fifteen gentlemen had returned to St. Jullien and
made a report of their visit to the council. Charles and his advisers
did not consider their proceedings very diplomatic, and resolved to
act more officially but more insolently. The next day, Friday, April
1, the king-at-arms, Provena de Chablais (he derived this name from
the province where he was born) arrived in Geneva, and was introduced
to the council with the usual ceremony. A cuirass covered him down to
the waist; on his left arm he wore his casaque or coat of arms, and
his right hand held a rod,--a _gaule_, says a manuscript. He entered
with head erect, without uncovering or making any bow to the council.
‘Sit down by my side,’ politely said the premier syndic to him, ‘and
unfold your message.’ Chablais remained standing, with sneering lip and
silent, although the invitation was repeated thrice. This mute embassy
considerably astonished the Genevan senate. At last, the king-at-arms
quitted his fixed posture and took a seat of his own accord, not by
the side of, but above the syndics who remained impassive. Then he
said: ‘Worshipful syndics and councillors, do not marvel if I did not
sit down when you desired me, and if I sit down now without being
invited; I will tell you the reason. I am here in behalf of my most
dread prince and lord, the Duke of Savoy, my master and _yours_. It
does not become you to tell him to sit down--it is his privilege to
do so when and where he pleases:--not beside you but _above_ you, as
your sovereign prince; and as representing his person, I have done so
myself. Now from my seat I unfold my commission, and it is this. My
lord and yours charges and _commands_ you to prepare his lodging in
your hôtel-de-ville with the sumptuousness and magnificence that belong
to such a prince. Likewise he orders that you will get ready provisions
for him and his company, which will be ten thousand infantry without
including cavalry; for his intention is to lodge here with this retinue
to administer justice in Geneva.’[216]
The king-at-arms was desired to retire, the council wishing to
deliberate on the answer to be returned. The discussion was not a
long one, all being unanimous to maintain firmly the liberties of
Geneva. The herald was called in again, and the first syndic said to
him: ‘Sir Chablais, we are equally surprised at what you _do_ and at
what you _say_. At what you do; for after we offered you a seat, you
refused it; and when you had refused it, you took it.... At what you
say; for you say that my lord of Savoy is your prince and _ours_ ...
a thing unheard of until this time. He may be your prince--that we
believe; but ours ... no! We are his very humble servants, but we are
neither his subjects nor his vassals.... It therefore does not belong
either to you or to him to sit in the place where you are.... As for
what you say respecting our hôtel-de-ville, we know not what you mean;
the duke may choose any lodging he pleases except our hôtel-de-ville,
which we cannot spare. He will be treated as in former times--better
if possible. He desires to administer justice; it is the place of the
bishop and council to do so, according to the franchises which he
himself has sworn. If any one among us has offended him, let him inform
us. Lastly, as to the large train with which he desires to be attended,
it is a singular company for the administration of justice! Let him
please to come with his usual retinue, nay, with five hundred men; but
ten thousand men and cavalry besides.... We have not supplies for so
many.’[217]
Chablais listened coldly and disdainfully. ‘Will you or will you
not obey the orders of my lord?’ he said. The first syndic answered
bluntly: ‘No.’ The herald then rose, put on his coat of arms, and with
a loud voice said: ‘On his behalf then I pronounce you rebellious to
_your_ prince--and I declare war against you with fire and sword.’ Then
flinging his rod into the middle of the hall, he continued: ‘I defy you
on the part of my lord, in sign of which I throw down this rod (gaule);
let him take it up who pleases.’ So saying, he left the hall.[218]
The news of this singular challenge was immediately carried to the
people, who were dismayed at it. The huguenots, seeing that they must
die or be slaves (say the annals), chose the first alternative and
prepared for death, resolving, however, to sell their lives and not to
throw them away. Feeling themselves the strongest body in the city,
they called the people together. ‘Let every one take up arms!’ they
said. They even forced the mamelukes to do so. The gates were shut, the
chains stretched across the streets, the artillery manned, the watch
set: ‘they made all the preparations for war according to the skill and
experience they had in that business.’[219]
The duke, knowing that right was not on his side, resolved to draw
the sword. Advised by Montrotier, a daring officer, he had a fit of
courage, and, closing all the roads, sent out his troops in every
direction. It was Saturday, April 2, and market day at Geneva. The
market was held ‘without a word said;’ they allowed everybody to go
in and out who wished;[220] but about noon a report of the duke’s
manœuvre having reached the city, the inhabitants took up arms. The
peasants, returning from market, described to the Savoyards, with
some exaggeration perhaps, the war preparations made by the Genevans.
Immediately the duke’s fit of courage was succeeded by one of fear.
Bonivard had expected this, and on hearing that the prince was at the
head of an army had shrugged his shoulders. ‘The duke knows as much of
war,’ he said, ‘as a monk bred in a convent since he was seven years
old.’ This display of ten thousand men, assembled a league from Geneva,
these troops sent out in every direction--all ended in a pitiful
retractation. M. de Lucinge, appearing before the council, said: ‘His
Highness has ordered me to inform you, most honoured lords, that he
desires to come and sup with you in a friendly way. If he cannot lodge
in the hôtel-de-ville, be so good as to prepare a lodging elsewhere for
him, his great suite,[221] and two or three hundred infantry only....
He desires to do violence to nobody.’ The mamelukes proposed that
the gates should be opened to the duke immediately, but the syndics
replied that they would consult the general council on the morrow. The
mameluke councillors, who thought that the duke did Geneva a great
honour by coming to it, looked around with astonishment at the answer:
their greatest happiness was to approach a prince and pay court to
his Highness, and these inflexible huguenots turned their backs upon
him. ‘Well,’ said they, ‘if they will not let the duke come to us, we
will go to him.’ Accordingly Montyon and several others of his party
left the council-room. The court-yard of the hôtel-de-ville was full
of citizens waiting to learn the result of the meeting: they saw the
mamelukes pass with astonishment. The spectators whispered in each
other’s ears: ‘They are going to join the Savoyards.’ ... Presently a
loud shout was raised, and several huguenots, catching up some spears
that were resting against the wall, ran after the mamelukes to seize
them; they were almost overtaken when the councillors, deputed by the
syndics, entreated them, for the safety of the city, to avoid a strife
between citizens. The angry patriots returned to the hôtel-de-ville.
Every one was distressed at knowing that there were among them men
capable of forsaking Geneva for the Duke of Savoy.[222]
The disloyalists (as they were called) hastened along the St. Jullien
road. Besides Montyon, there were Cartelier, Déléamont, Nergaz, Ray,
the two De Fernex, and others, making in all between thirty and forty.
‘Our interview with the duke must be private,’ said the cunning
Cartelier, who felt how criminal was the step they were taking. The
duke let them know that at a certain hour of the night he would be
under a particular tree in the Falcon orchard. Thither they resorted
one by one, and were all soon gathered round the tree without being
able to recognise each other except by the voice. The intriguing
Cartelier was spokesman. Political views influenced Montyon, De
Versonex, and others; but in him, it was the hatred he bore against
the huguenots and the desire to be revenged on them. He assured the
duke that the majority of the people were ready to acknowledge him for
their sovereign. ‘But,’ he added, ‘the bad ones have shut the gates,
stretched the chains, placed guards.... Enter Geneva, my lord, sword
in hand.’ They then discussed their guilty projects, and it was agreed
in whispers what the mamelukes should do in order to facilitate the
entrance of the Savoyards into the city. ‘The traitors,’ says Bonivard,
‘entered into a plot with the duke.’[223]
Early on Sunday Charles took up a better position and went to his
strong castle of Gaillard on the Arve, three-quarters of a league
from Geneva. The report of his intentions having spread through all
the valley of the Leman, the gentlemen and the companies of the Pays
de Vaud, Chablais, and Faucigny came thronging in. Nay, more: the
canons and priests of the city, quickly forgetting the lesson they had
received, hurried off to Gaillard. Bonivard, who was almost the only
cleric remaining in Geneva, saw all his theories confirmed. It was his
maxim that ‘people bred up in the courts of princes always remember
their first food.’--‘And now,’ said he, ‘of all the canons and folks of
the long robe, there are left in Geneva only De la Biolée, Navis, and
myself. All are gone to visit the duke at Gaillard, even M. de Bonmont
who was considered the principal friend of the public weal.’[224]
Erelong the castle was filled with an imposing crowd, more numerous
than at St. Jullien.
The storm was approaching, the danger increasing from hour to hour:
the little band of patriots was still full of courage; but alas! it
was an ant-hill on which a rock from the Alps was about to fall. They
had watched the priests with anxious eye, but without desiring to stop
them. ‘These birds have so keen a scent,’ it was said, ‘that they
hasten wherever there is any flesh.’ If Friburg would only send a few
valiant warriors to assist those of Geneva, that Savoyard army would
soon be dispersed; but Friburg remained dumb. The uneasiness spread
from one to another; desponding faces were met in the streets.... On
a sudden two horsemen are seen on the Swiss road.... O joy! they wear
the Friburg colours!... At eleven o’clock in the forenoon of Sunday,
April 3, 1519, Berthelier’s friend, Councillor Marti, accompanied by
a herald, entered Geneva. ‘And your armed men?’ they said to him, and
were informed in answer that, for the present at least, there were
none. The general council happening to be assembled in order to reply
to M. de Lucinge, Marti instantly proceeded thither, but was not
received so well as he had expected. ‘We want ambassadors in doublets
and not in long robes,’ said the huguenots to him; ‘not diplomatists,
but soldiers.’ Marti started for Gaillard, but the Genevans saw him
depart without hope; in their opinion, arquebuses should be the only
answer for the Savoyards.[225]
The Friburger, as he drew near Gaillard, was struck with the large
number of troops around the castle. At this moment the duke was giving
audience to the canons, who were making all the bows and compliments
learnt in former days at court; he hoped to be able to draw them into
the plot, and was therefore much annoyed at seeing this mediator
arrive. Turning impatiently towards his officers, he vented in an under
tone some contemptuous words against him. Nevertheless, a few minutes
later, when he had examined him more closely, Charles took courage,
doubting not that his political skill would easily manage this shepherd
of the Alps. ‘He seems a good plain man, easy to be deceived,’ said the
duke, who, commencing his manœuvres, added: ‘Sit down, Mr. Ambassador,’
and thereupon feasted him liberally, and gave him all kinds of good
words. But the plain man, who was in reality a bold and crafty
Friburger, replied in his Romane tongue: ‘My lord, you have already
told my friends so many lies, that I do not know if they will believe
you any more.’[226] The duke, offended at this rude language, spoke
more sharply: ‘I shall enter Geneva as a friend,’ he said; ‘or, if they
do not like it, as an enemy. My artillery is all ready to _lather_
(savonner) the city in case of refusal.’ Marti in alarm demanded a
truce, at least for the night, so that he might speak to the people of
Geneva and settle the matter, which the duke granted.[227]
All the citizens were afoot: the guards at the gates, the cannon on the
walls, the watch day and night in the streets. At ten o’clock Marti
arrived, and went straight to the council, whose sittings were declared
permanent. ‘Gentlemen,’ said he to the syndics, ‘I think you must trust
the duke and let him enter the city.’--‘And the assistance of Friburg?’
asked some; to which Marti replied: ‘My lords are far away!’[228] He
seemed to have lost all hope. He added, however: ‘There is a truce
until to-morrow morning.’ It was agreed to convene the Great Council
the next morning before daybreak in order to deliberate on the course
to be taken in this terrible crisis; and as the citizens had been on
foot for three nights, they were permitted in consideration of the
truce to go and take some repose. It was then eleven o’clock.
It struck twelve. No sound was heard but the measured steps of the
sentinels; a dark night covered the city with its curtain, and all were
asleep. Suddenly the flash of a torch gleamed from the top of one of
the three towers of St. Pierre; it was the signal agreed upon between
Cartelier and the duke at the nocturnal conference held under the tree
in the Falcon orchard: that flash announced that the Swiss could enter
without resistance. The noise of horses was heard almost immediately
without the city, in the direction of St. Antoine, and a loud blow
was struck on the gate. It was Philip, count of Genevois, the duke’s
brother, at the head of his cavalry: having knocked, he waited for the
mamelukes to open according to their promise. But the sentry at the St.
Antoine gate, who had seen the torch and heard the knock, suspecting
treachery, fired his arquebus and gave the alarm. Immediately the
tocsin sounded; the citizens awoke, grasped their arms, and hurried
in the direction of the attack. ‘All were much frightened and vexed,
and great uproar was made in the city.’ Everybody was running about
shouting and ordering. The count, who was listening, began to fear that
the plot had failed. In the midst of the confusion, a clap of thunder
was heard, which terrified both sides. The count and his followers
hesitated no longer, but retired; the Genevans did the same, and a few
angry patriots, as they passed Marti’s house on their way home, went in
and asked him angrily: ‘Is this the fine truce you brought us?’[229]
The Grand Council met before daybreak on Monday, April 4. The mamelukes
made an excuse for the night affair: it was no doubt a patrol of
cavalry which had advanced too far. But Marti did not conceal the
danger: ‘The duke is at your gates with his whole army,’ he said:
‘if you comply with his demands, he told me you would be satisfied
with him; if not, he will enter by force this very afternoon. Make a
virtue of necessity; or, at the least, send him a deputation.’ The
syndics started for Gaillard immediately. The duke received them most
graciously and affectionately. ‘I will enter Geneva with none but my
ordinary retinue,’ he told them; ‘I will take only five hundred footmen
for my guard and dismiss all the rest of my army. I will do no injury
either to the community or to individuals, and my stay shall not be
long.’ His Highness made so many promises and oaths that entrance was
at last yielded to him.
When this resolution of the council was known, the indignant patriots
threw away their arquebuses; all laid down their arms, and a profound
dejection came over men’s minds. Cries of vexation and of sorrow were
heard, but there still lingered here and there a hope that God would
finally deliver the city.[230]
On the morning of Tuesday, April 5, the duke set all his army in
motion. _All!_... When they heard of this, the Genevans hastened to
remonstrate with him. ‘My people will only pass through Geneva,’ he
answered; ‘fear nothing, but open your gates.’--‘Certainly,’ added
some mamelukes; ‘be easy; they will come in at one gate and go out at
another.’ The triumph of violence and craft was about to be achieved.
A people, too simple and confiding, were now to be crushed under the
feet of a powerful prince and of his numerous satellites. All the gates
were opened, and those which had been walled up were broken down.
The huguenots, who had voted unhesitatingly against the admission of
Charles into the city, looked on with indignation at this sad sight;
but they were determined to be present to the end at the humiliation
of Geneva. Bonivard was the most provident; he took the alarm: he had
no culverins now in his priory, and he could not have resisted the
Savoy army with his ten monks. ‘Consent to the duke’s entrance ... what
madness!’ he exclaimed. ‘Certainly those who know _his honesty_, of
whom I am one, are aware of what will happen.’ And this, in Bonivard’s
opinion, was, that he would be the first victim sacrificed by the duke,
and that there would be many others. ‘Wishing,’ he tells us, ‘to be
wiser and cleverer than the rest,’ he hastily escaped into the Pays de
Vaud. Berthelier, who was more exposed than his friend, and who saw
clearly his end approaching, was not frightened. He knew that the
defenders of law and liberty serve their cause by their deaths as well
as by their lives, and determined to await the attacks of Charles and
the bastard.[231]