THE ARMY OF SAVOY IN GENEVA.
(APRIL AND MAY 1519.)
The army of Savoy approached the St. Antoine gate: it was like a
triumphal progress. Monarchy, according to politicians, was about to
gain the victory over republicanism. ‘In front marched the Count of
Genevois, in complete steel armour,’ say the chronicles, ‘wearing
a long plume, and riding on a stout stallion, who curvetted about
so that it was pleasant to see.’ He was followed by the cavalry in
breast-plates. Then came the main body, to the number of about eight
thousand infantry, headed by six Genevan mamelukes. Last appeared
the duke, followed by all his guard; he had laid aside his gracious
humour, and desired that his entrance should have something warlike
and alarming. ‘Montrotier,’ he said to his principal captain, ‘I have
sworn that I will only enter Geneva _over_ the gates.’ Montrotier
understood him, and, going forward with a body of men, knocked down
the St. Antoine gate and the adjoining wall. The satisfied duke now
resumed his triumphal march. He was armed from head to foot and rode
a handsome hackney: two pages carried before him his lance and his
helmet. One of these was J. J. de Watteville, afterwards _avoyer_ of
Berne. The weak-minded Charles, inflated with his success, pulled
up his courser, and made him paw the rebellious stones. ‘A true Don
Quixote,’ says a catholic historian, ‘he showed the same pride as a
conqueror loaded with glory who at the cost of much blood and fatigue
had reduced a fortress after a long and dangerous siege.’ And if we may
believe contemporary documents, ‘Charles advanced more like a Jupiter
surrounded with his thunders than a conqueror; his head was bare in
order, said his courtiers, that his eyes, flashing with wrath, should
blast the audacity of the Genevans who should be rash enough to look
in his face.’ All the army having passed the gate after him marched
through the city in order to parade its triumph in the streets and defy
the citizens.[232]
In conformity with the engagements made by the duke, his soldiers
entering by one gate ought, after crossing the city, to have gone
out by the other. Bonivard on hearing of this had shaken his head.
‘It will be with Geneva as with Troy,’ said the classical prior;
‘the Savoyards, entering by stratagem like the Greeks of Sinon, will
afterwards remain by force.’ And so it happened, for the whole army
took up its quarters immediately in the city. The bands of Faucigny,
which were the most terrible, established themselves at St. Gervais
by order of the duke; those of the Pays de Vaud at St. Leger, up to
the Arve; those of Chablais at the Molard and along the Rhone; those
of Savoy and Genevois in the Bourg de Four and the upper part of the
city. The nobles were lodged in the best houses situated principally
between Rive and the Molard. The duke took up his quarters also on
the left bank, near the lake, in the Maison de Nice which belonged to
Bonivard. The count, appointed by his brother governor of the city,
fixed his head-quarters at the hôtel-de-ville. Geneva was taken; the
Duke of Savoy had made himself master of it by perjury, and there
he intended to remain. Many citizens thought their country for ever
lost. The plans formed during so many years and even centuries, were
realised at last; despotism, triumphant in Geneva, was about to trample
under foot law, constitution, and liberty. The Savoyards had seen from
their mountain-tops a fire in this city which disquieted them--a fire
whose flames might extend and consume the time-worn edifices their
fathers had raised. They were now going to stifle these flames, to
extinguish the embers, and scatter the ashes; the duke, the emperor his
brother-in-law, and his nephew Francis I. might henceforth at their
pleasure oppress their subjects, put martyrs to death, wink at the
disorders of nobles and monks, and sleep quietly on their pillows.
The Savoyard princes behaved as in a city taken by assault. The very
evening of the 5th of April, the Count of Genevois removed the cannon
from the ramparts, placed them round his quarters, and had them loaded
that they might be ready to fire upon the people, the hôtel-de-ville
thus becoming a citadel to keep Geneva in obedience. Notwithstanding
these precautions the count was uneasy; he had violated his oaths, and
knew that he had to deal with men of energy. He did not lie down, and
at two in the morning his officers went by his orders and knocked at
the doors of the four syndics, commanding them to proceed immediately
to the hôtel-de-ville. ‘Hand me the keys of the gates,’ said the
count, ‘the ramparts, the arsenal, and the provision magazines.’ If
the magistrates had really fancied that the Savoyards would come as
friends, their foolish delusion must now have ceased and the bandage
have fallen from their eyes. But how could they resist? The army filled
all the city, and the citizens were divided: the syndics did what was
required of them. The fanaticism of the disloyal mamelukes was not yet
satisfied. Cartelier, Pierre Joly, Thomas Moyne, and others, taking
a lesson from the terrible Montrotier, who desired to _muzzle_ the
Genevans completely, visited all the streets, squares, and churches,
and began to wrench off the staples and locks from the city chains and
gates, and even the clappers from the bells. The syndics strove in vain
to stop this violence. The wretches did not forget a street, and having
thus disarmed Geneva, they carried all these trophies to the duke. ‘It
is a sign,’ said they, laying them before him, ‘of the real transfer of
the jurisdiction of the city, to intimidate the rebels and deprive them
of all hope of succour. Geneva lies at the feet of your Highness.’ This
occurred before daybreak.[233]
At length Wednesday, 6th April, dawned, and that day was not less
mournful than its predecessor. The Savoyard soldiers, forgetting
that they owed their success to the scandalous violation of the most
sacred promises, intoxicated alike with hatred and pride, began to
show the insolence of conquerors. We know the disorders in which the
undisciplined armies of that period were accustomed to indulge in
cities taken by storm. The ducal soldiers, not less cruel but more
fantastical, exhibited in the sack of Geneva some of those farces
which the imperialists played eight years later at the sack of Rome.
The citizens, taking refuge in the garrets, had given up their feather
beds to the soldiers. The latter slept soundly, and next morning, to
make up for the battle which had not been fought, indulged in one of
a different kind. Instead of balls they flung the bolsters at each
other’s heads; taking the beds for enemies, they thrust their swords
up to the hilt in the feathers:--these were the hardest blows struck
in this war by the soldiers of Charles III.--Then, eager to prolong
their coarse jests, they shook the beds out of the windows, watching,
with roars of laughter, the evolutions made by the feathers in the air.
They next called for the keys of the cellars, and forming a circle
round the casks, tapped them in various places, singing their loudest
as they drank their fill. ‘Lastly,’ says a chronicle, ‘they pulled out
the spigots, so that the cellar was filled with wine; and stumbling
upstairs again into the house, they insulted everybody they met, ran
shouting through the streets, made boasting speeches, and committed
a thousand acts of violence.’ At Rome, the imperialists made a jest
of the papacy; at Geneva, the ducal soldiers, drunk with wine and
joy, trampled independence under foot and exulted over liberty. But
on a sudden, an alarm was sounded: the braggarts imagined that the
Genevans were going to defend themselves, and, the noisiest talkers
being generally the greatest cowards, they all scampered away--some
ran to the right, others to the left; many fled towards the river
and hid themselves under the mills; the more cunning sought other
retreats.[234] It was only a false alarm; the Count of Genevois, being
displeased at their behaviour, had given it that it might serve as a
lesson to the marauders.
During this time the mamelukes were sitting night and day in ‘the
little stove,’ consulting on the best means of repressing for ever
the spirit of national independence in Geneva. They believed the
city could never belong to Savoy whilst those who had voted for the
alliance with Friburg were alive. A king of Rome, while walking in his
garden, struck off with his stick the heads of the tallest poppies.
The conspirators, resolving to profit by the lessons of history, began
to draw up a proscription list, and placed on it the four syndics, the
twenty-one councillors, and other notable citizens so as to make up
forty. Wishing to end the affair promptly, certain mamelukes went to
the executioner and asked him ‘how much he would take for forty heads?’
It seems that he required more than the heads were worth, according
to the value which had been set upon them, for contemporary documents
tell us that they ‘haggled’ about it. Three chronicles of the time, all
worthy of trust, describe this disgusting visit to the headsman.[235]
The rumour got abroad, and all Geneva trembled. Some who knew they
were on the list, hid themselves. ‘A very foolish thing,’ said others.
‘Without God, the most secret hiding-places are but as the fancies of
children, who put their hands before their eyes and think nobody can
see them.’ The boldest huguenots were filled with indignation: instead
of concealing themselves, they girded on their swords, raised their
heads, and walked proudly in the streets. ‘But they were made to _feel
the cord_ (sentir la corde).’ We do not know whether this means that
they were beaten or only threatened. ‘After this,’ continues Savyon,
‘there was no other resource but to commend ourselves to God.’[236]
Berthelier and his friends hurried to Marti. They represented to him
that at the moment when the duke had made such fine promises, he was
thinking only of breaking them; they added that assuredly this perjured
prince would have to answer for his crime. The Friburger, at once
ashamed and indignant, went to the duke and said: ‘What do you mean,
my lord? Do you wish me to be accounted a traitor? I have your word.
You bade me give the people of Geneva assurance of your good will; they
consequently opened their gates in good faith; otherwise you would not
have entered without hard knocks. But now you break your promise....
My lord, you will certainly suffer by it.’ The duke, embarrassed and
annoyed and unable to justify himself, got into a passion, and offered
the Friburg ambassador the grossest insult: ‘Go,’ said he, addressing
Marti with an epithet so filthy that history cannot transcribe his
words, ‘get out of my presence.’[237]
This incident, however, made Charles reflect, and resolve to give
a colour to his violence. Having drawn out all his men-at-arms, he
summoned a general council. Only the mamelukes attended, and not all of
them; but notwithstanding their small number, these ducal partisans,
surrounded by an armed force, did not scruple to renounce, in the name
of Geneva, the alliance with Friburg.
The duke immediately followed up his victory; and, wishing to make the
hand of the master felt, ordered, in the morning of Thursday, April
7, that the ushers and men-at-arms should attend the city herald and
make proclamation with an increased display of force. ‘O yes! O yes! O
yes!’ said the herald, ‘in the name of our most dread prince and lord,
Monseigneur the Duke of Savoy. No one, under pain of three blows of
the strappado, shall carry any offensive or defensive weapon. No one
shall leave his house, whatever noise there may be, or even put his
head out of the window, under pain of his life. Whoever resists the
order of Monseigneur shall be hanged at the windows of his own house.’
Such were the order and justice established by Duke Charles.[238] It
might be said that, with a view to frighten the Genevans, he wished
that they might not be able to leave their houses without walking in
the midst of his victims. The proclamation was repeated from place
to place, and the crowd gradually increased. On a sudden, a certain
movement was observed among the people. A few men appeared here and
there, whose look had something mysterious; they spoke to their
friends, but it was in whispers. The agitation soon increased; it
spread from one to another: here a man made signs of joy, there of
terror. At last the mystery was explained. ‘Friburg!’ exclaimed several
voices; ‘the Friburg army is coming!’ At these words the city herald,
the men-at-arms, the mamelukes, and the Savoyards who accompanied him,
stopped, and, on learning that a courier had just arrived from the Pays
de Vaud, they dispersed.... Huguenots and mamelukes spread through the
city and circulated the good news: ‘The Swiss! the Swiss!’ and the cry
was answered from all quarters with ‘Long live the huguenots!’ ‘Thus
the said proclamation could not be finished throughout the city,’ says
a contemporary manuscript.[239]
Besançon Hugues, having escaped all the perils of the road, had arrived
at Friburg, and, without giving himself time to take breath, appeared
immediately before the council. He described the perfidy and violence
of Charles, the dangers and desolation of Geneva; he showed that the
city was on the point of being annexed to Savoy, and the chiefs of the
republic about to be put to death. If Friburg did not make haste, it
would find nothing but their heads hanging at the gates, like those of
Navis and Blanchet.
The look of the generous citizen, the animation of his whole person,
the eloquence of his appeal, inflamed every heart. Their eyes were
filled with tears, and the men of Friburg laid their hands upon their
swords.[240] A regiment, fully armed, marched out immediately for
Geneva: and that was not all; the flower of the young men flocked
in from every quarter, and the army soon amounted to 5,000 or 6,000
men. Having entered the Pays de Vaud, they seized his Highness’s
governor, the Sire de Lullins. ‘Write to your master,’ said the chiefs
of Friburg, ‘that he do no harm to our fellow-citizens; your head
shall answer for theirs: besides, we are going to give him a treat at
Geneva.’ Their liberating flags soon floated on the hills above the
lake. A great number of the young men of the Pays de Vaud joined them,
and the army mustered before Morges 13,000 to 14,000 strong. At their
approach, the terrified inhabitants of that town, who were devoted to
the duke, threw themselves into their boats, and fled to Savoy. The
Friburgers entered their deserted houses, and waited for his Highness’s
answer.[241]
Governor de Lullins failed not to warn his master, and it was this
message that had interrupted the proclamation. The duke, at once
violent and pusillanimous, was frightened, and suddenly became as
humble as he had been insolent before. Sending for the ambassador of
Friburg, he spoke to him as to a dear friend: ‘Haste to the camp at
Morges,’ he said, ‘and stop this: prevail upon your lords to return.’
Marti, who had not forgotten Charles’s gross insult, answered him
bitterly: ‘Do you think that a ---- like me can make an army retreat?
Commission your own people to carry your lies.’[242] Then the duke,
still more terrified, sent M. de Maglian, a captain of cavalry, to
guard the pass at Nyon, and, ‘changing his song,’ he had it cried
through all the city ‘that no one should dare do harm or displeasure
to any person of Geneva, under pain of the gallows.’ At the same time,
the Sieur de Saleneuve and another of his Highness’s councillors went
to the general council, but this time without riding-whips or wands,
and with a benevolent smile upon their faces. There, after assuring
the people of the love the duke bore them, they were asked to send
two citizens to Morges to declare to the Friburgers that the duke
would do no injury to Geneva. Two mamelukes, Taccon and De Lestilley,
departed.[243]
Everything was changed in Geneva. The proposal to cut off forty heads
was abandoned, to the great regret of Cartelier, who afterwards
said: ‘What a pity! but for these ---- Friburgers it would have been
done.’[244] The huguenots, regaining their courage, ‘mocked at the
Faucignerans and the other men-at-arms.’[245] The inhabitants of the
Faubourg St. Gervais, strongly inclined to raillery, attacked their
guests with songs, epigrams, and sarcasms. The huguenots imposed on
their visitors a strict fast (it was the season of Lent), and gave them
for rations only some small fish called _bésolles_ (now _féras_). ‘You
are too good christians,’ they said ironically to the Savoyards, ‘to
eat meat now.’ And hence they derisively called the expedition ‘the
Bésolles war,’ a name recorded in contemporaneous chronicles.
They could not come to an understanding at Morges. Besançon Hugues and
Malbuisson were urging the Friburg troops to advance; Taccon and De
Lestilley were urging them to retire. And while the leaders hesitated,
the deputies of the cantons arrived and proposed a middle course:
that Savoy should withdraw her troops, and Friburg her alliance. It
was Zurich, Berne, and Soleure that sought thus to take advantage of
the opportunity to withdraw from Geneva the only help which, after
God, could save her. The huguenots, abandoned by the cantons, stood
stupefied. ‘Renounce your alliance with Friburg,’ repeated the League,
‘_without prejudice to your liberties_.’ ‘But they would not,’ said
Bonivard, ‘for they had the majority of votes.’ The real majority did
not therefore consent to this fatal proposition; but it seems that it
was again carried by the phantom of a general council, at which none
but mamelukes were present. When that was done, the duke hastened to
leave Geneva, but with less pomp than when he entered; and the plague
took his place.[246]
When Charles quitted the city, he left behind him sad forebodings. The
Swiss accused the Genevans of violence and insults, declaring them
guilty of disgraceful conduct to the duke, their most illustrious
ally.[247] The bishop, who was at Pignerol, wrote to the citizens:
‘Having recovered from my serious illness, I am thinking of passing
the mountains, for the benefit and good of my city.’[248] Now every
one remembered that he had made use of the same words when he had
put Navis and Blanchet to death. The signs were threatening: the sky
was thick with storm. The citizens trembled for those who were most
precious to them, and frightful deeds were about to increase and
prolong their terror. ‘From the war of 1519 until 1525,’ says the
learned Secretary of State Chouet, ‘the people of Geneva was in great
consternation.’[249]