STRUGGLES OF LIBERTY. LUTHER. DEATH OF THE BISHOP. HIS SUCCESSOR.
(1520-1523.)
The prophetess was mistaken: the _meal_ was good. On a sudden the sky
hitherto so dark cleared up, and there was a gleam of sunshine. The
duke, who was thinking of marriage, returned to Turin; the bishop, who
was seriously ill and needed a warmer air, withdrew to his abbey of
Pignerol, and the huguenots, freed from their two oppressors, raised
their heads. Ramel, Hugues, Taccon, Baudichon de la Maison-Neuve,
and two others, waited upon the episcopal vicar, prothonotary of the
holy see, and demanded the revocation of the decrees contrary to the
liberties of the city, and the liberation of all citizens imprisoned
by the bishop. ‘In case of refusal,’ they said, ‘we shall appeal to
the metropolitan see of Vienne.’[289] The vicar, remembering the
excommunication incurred in the affair of Pécolat, was alarmed, and
granted all they demanded. This concession raised the courage of the
most timid, and the patriots immediately held meetings to provide
for the safety of the city. Aimé Lévrier, the judge, was especially
prominent. Berthelier had been the man of action, Lévrier was the man
of right: he had seen with sorrow force substituted for law. In his
opinion, every idea hostile to right ought to be combated; and the
government of the bishop was not that of the laws, but of arbitrary
power and terrorism. Lévrier had examples in his own family: the
prelate had caused his brother-in-law (the procurator Chambet) to be
thrown into prison because he was a huguenot, and to be tortured so
severely that his limbs remained out of joint. ‘God made man free,’
said Lévrier, ‘ages have made Geneva free; no prince has the right
to make us slaves.’ Despairing of ever seeing the bishop reign with
justice, he proposed an effectual remedy: ‘Let us petition the pope
for the prelate’s destitution.’ The daring motion was agreed to, and
Lévrier was commissioned to go to Rome to see to its execution. The
princes of Savoy succeeded in stopping him, and parried the blow, in
part at least. Leo X., however, acknowledging how shameful the bishop’s
conduct had been, ordered the bastard never to return to Geneva, and
to select a coadjutor to replace him. This was a cruel disgrace to the
prelate.
Nor was this all: the people reasserted their ancient rights. The
time had come for electing the syndics for the year; the duke and the
bishop, as it will be remembered, had deprived the citizens of the
right to elect, and accordingly the Great Council nominated these
magistrates; but immediately loud protests were heard. The aged John
Favre[290] and his two sons, with De la Mare, Malbuisson, Vandel,
Richardet, and others, protested vigorously against this illegal act,
and declared that the election ought to take place according to the
ancient franchises. The people were at that time assembled in general
council. The mamelukes, unwilling to restore the liberties which their
chiefs had taken away from the citizens, resisted stoutly; and there
was an immense uproar in the assembly. The huguenots, ever prompt,
immediately organised the bureau, not troubling themselves about the
protests of their adversaries, and the popular elections began. At
this news the ministers of the bishop and the duke hurried to the
council, exclaiming: ‘Stop! it is a great scandal; the Great Council
has already named the syndics!’ The huguenots resisted; they declared
they would resume the ancient privileges of which a foreign prince had
deprived them; and the ministers of the two cousins (Charles and John),
finding their only resource was to gain time, demanded and obtained
the adjournment of the election until the morrow. The huguenots felt
themselves too strong not to wait. The next day, which was Monday,
the citizens poured from every quarter towards St. Pierre’s, full
of enthusiasm for the constitutions handed down by their ancestors.
Violence could not annul right; the election was made by the people
in conformity with the liberties of Geneva. But the huguenots, having
recovered their liberties, gave a proof of a moderation still more
surprising than their energy. They knew that by being patient they
would be strong; they thought that the election of huguenot syndics
might, under present circumstances, cause the storm to burst, and
bring down incalculable disasters upon the city; they therefore
returned the same syndics as the Great Council had done. After having
conquered absolutism, they conquered themselves. To construct with
haste a scaffolding that might afterwards be easily thrown down was not
their object; they desired to lay a solid foundation for the temple of
liberty.[291]
They did more: they attempted a reconciliation. Three of them, headed
by Robert Vandel (who was syndic in 1529), called upon the mameluke
syndic Danel, and said: ‘Let us forget our mutual offences and make
peace; let us drop the names mameluke and huguenot, and let there be
none but Genevans in Geneva. Bring the matter before the council.’ The
huguenots, like true citizens, desired union in their country; not
so the mamelukes, who were sold to the foreigner. They referred the
proposition to the vicar and episcopal council, and then to the bishop
and the duke--a sure means of insuring its failure.[292] Moderation,
concord, respect for the rights of all, were on the side of liberty.
The only thought of the priests and mamelukes was how to separate
themselves from the public cause. Of this a striking proof was seen at
that time.
Money to pay the expenses of the war (known as the war _des Bésolles_)
had to be raised. The clergy, notwithstanding their wealth, refused
to pay their quota, little suspecting that by their avarice they were
preparing the way for the Reformation.[293] To no purpose did the
huguenots, who had shown themselves so magnanimous in the election of
the syndics, make an earnest movement to reconcile all parties; the
priests, thinking only of their purses, replied by one of those violent
measures customary with the papacy. A citation from Rome fell suddenly
into the midst of Geneva; the pope summoned the chief magistrates of
the republic to appear before him, to render an account of the tax they
had dared to levy upon the priests; and on the 30th of April the agents
of the court of Rome posted the citation on the gates of the church
of St. Pierre. The citizens ran up to read it. What! the priests must
always keep themselves apart! Poor men who gain their living painfully
by the sweat of their brow, must stint their children’s bread in order
to pay this debt; and these debauched monks, these indolent priests,
still abundantly enjoy the delights of the flesh, and are not willing
to make the smallest sacrifice? The public conscience was stirred,
the city thrilled with indignation, ‘everybody was much vexed;’ the
next day the anger excited by this new act of meanness, this crying
selfishness, burst out, and ‘there was some rioting.’
Had the Reformation anything to do with this opposition to the
selfishness of the priests and the despotism of Rome? It is possible,
nay, probable; but it is a mistake to mix up the Reformer of Wittemberg
with it. ‘Luther,’ says Bonivard, ‘had already given instruction at
this time to many in Geneva and elsewhere.’[294] The _instruction_,
mentioned by the prior of St. Victor, clearly refers to christian
truth in general, and not to the conduct of the Genevese under present
circumstances. Had Luther done more? Had he addressed to Geneva any
of his evangelical teachings, as Bonivard seems to indicate? Had
he begun in this city the work that Calvin completed, as one of
Bonivard’s editors thinks?[295] This seems to us more than doubtful.
The influence exercised by Luther over Geneva is indisputable; but it
proceeded solely from his writings; it was the general influence of the
evangelical ideas scattered through the world by the great Reformer.
It was the year 1520. Luther was known at Geneva. A few huguenots,
indignant at the bull from Rome, asked whether this monk, who was
already spoken of throughout christendom, had not shown that the pope
had been often mistaken, and was mistaken every day? When the pope
had condemned him, had not Luther appealed from the pope? Had he not
said that the power of the sovereign pastor ought not to be employed
in murdering ‘Christ’s lambs and throwing them into the jaws of the
wolf?’ ... When the pope had launched a bull against this bold doctor,
as he now launched a citation against Geneva, had not Luther asked how
it was that you could not find in all the Bible one word about the
papacy, and that while the Scriptures often mention little things,
they positively say nothing of what we are assured are the greatest
in the church?[296] ... ‘We are no longer so frightened at the pope’s
bells,’ said the Genevans, ‘and will not let ourselves be caught in his
nets.’[297] Such was the first echo in Geneva of the cry uttered at
Wittemberg. On those hills which rise so gracefully at the extremity of
that beautiful lake, there was a soil ready to receive the seed which
Luther was scattering in the air. It came borne on the winds from the
banks of the Elbe even to the banks of the Rhone. Geneva and Wittemberg
began to shake hands.
The Genevan priests, hearing the name of Luther, were alarmed; they
fancied they already saw the dreaded face of the arch-heretic in
Geneva, and began to make long processions to avert the wrath of
heaven. One day, wishing at any cost to save their purses and their
faith, they organised a procession on a greater scale than usual.
Issuing from the city they proceeded with loud chants towards Our
Lady of Grace on the bank of the impetuous torrent of Arve, whose
turbid waters descend from the glaciers. All were there--canons,
priests, monks, scholars in white surplices, while clerks, proud of
their office, bore in front the image of St. Peter, the symbol of the
papacy. The spectacle was very displeasing to the townspeople. If, they
thought, we can do without the pope, like Luther, may we not also do
without these canons, monks, and priests? Has not Luther said that ‘a
christian elected by christians to preach the Gospel is more truly a
priest than if all the bishops and popes had consecrated him?’[298]
It is scarcely probable that the Genevans would have had the idea of
putting into practice this theory of the Reformer; but some of them
desired to get quit of this army of Rome, in the pay of the Duke of
Savoy. ‘All the priests have gone out,’ said they; ‘let us profit by
the opportunity to shut the gates of the city, and prevent them from
returning!’ As the priests placed their interests in opposition to
those of the city, it seemed logical to put them quietly out of Geneva.
‘All those black coats,’ says Syndic Roset, ‘were very nearly shut out,
through separating themselves from the republic.’[299] We may imagine
the fright of the priests when they learnt what had been proposed.
There was nothing, they thought, of which these huguenots were not
capable, and such an off-hand way of getting rid of the clergy at one
stroke was very much in keeping with their character. The citizens were
not however bold enough for this. ‘The prudent averted that,’ says
Bonivard. The startled monks and priests returned hastily and without
opposition to their nests, and lived once more at their ease: they
escaped with a good fright. This strange proposal, made by a few men of
decision, has been considered a prelude to the Reformation in Geneva.
That is saying too much; it required the Gospel to be first preached in
the city: and that was the real prelude. The hour of the Reformation
had not yet come; still the lesson was not lost, and an arrangement was
made with the clergy, who paid a portion of the expenses of the war.
Other events gave some hope to the Genevans, whose franchises were so
rudely trodden under foot; their greatest friend came out of prison,
and their greatest enemy quitted this world. Bonivard was still in
confinement, but his relations, who had great influence at court,
solicited the duke to restore him to liberty. ‘I dare not,’ said
Charles, ‘for fear of offending the pope.’ They then applied to Rome:
Leo X. commissioned the Bishop of Belley to investigate the matter, and
the friends of the prior entreated this prelate to set the prisoner
at large: ‘I dare not,’ he replied, ‘for fear of offending the duke.’
At last the duke consented, and Bonivard recovered his liberty but
not his priory. The Abbot of Montheron, to whom Charles had given it,
having gone to Rome to arrange his affairs, was invited by certain
ecclesiastics who coveted his benefice to a banquet ‘after the Roman
manner, and there,’ says Bonivard, ‘they gave him some cardinals’
powder, which purged the soul out of his body.’[300] It was by having
recourse to this ‘romanesque’ fashion that the guilty soul of Pope
Alexander VI. had been hurried from the world. A deed was found by
which the repentant Montheron resigned to Bonivard whatever rights he
had over the priory;[301] but Leo X. gave St. Victor to one of his
cousins, who leased the revenue for 640 gold crowns; and Bonivard,
the amiable and brilliant gentleman, brought up in abundance, at one
time prior and even prince, was left in poverty. It is true that he
succeeded for a time in being put in possession of his priory; but the
duke soon made him regret in a horrible dungeon the liberty and goods
that had been restored to him. Geneva’s day of agony was not yet ended,
and at the very time when the citizens hoped to be able to breathe a
purer air, oppression once more came and stifled them.
Another event which seemed likely to be favourable to Geneva was
approaching. The pope, as we have said, had forced a coadjutor upon the
bishop, and the latter had chosen Pierre de la Baume, an ecclesiastic
of high family, a scion of the illustrious house of the counts of
Montrevel, whom he looked upon as a son. Pierre, who was abbot of Suze
and St. Claude, and bishop of Tarsus _in partibus_, came to Geneva
about the time of Bonivard’s liberation in 1521 to take possession
of his charge. On the 25th of January a _Te Deum_ was sung for that
purpose at St. Pierre’s by the Bishop of Maurienne. Everybody knew that
the coadjutor would soon be bishop and prince; accordingly all passions
were aroused, and after mass, the mamelukes endeavoured to gain over
the future bishop to their side. Besançon Hugues, who desired to see
Geneva catholic and episcopal, but free, waited upon the prelate;
reminded him, to pave the way for a good reception, that one Hugues,
his great-uncle, had been cardinal, and perceiving that he had to deal
with a frivolous, vain, pleasure-seeking man, and who, as a younger
son, was ambitious to rise at least as high as his elder brothers, he
strove to make him understand that, far from submitting to the duke, he
should remember that the Bishop of Geneva was _prince_, while the duke
was only vassal. Pierre de la Baume, a weak man, ever halting between
two opinions, carried away by the honesty and eloquence of the Genevan
citizen, gave him his confidence. Besançon Hugues remained ever after
his most confidential adviser.[302]
Erelong another scene was enacted beyond the Alps. The miserable John
of Savoy lay at Pignerol on his death-bed. Given during his life to
the pleasures of the table and of debauchery, he was now paying the
penalty of his misdeeds. He suffered from the gout, he was covered
with filthy ulcers, he was little more than skin and bone. He had
thought only of enjoying life and oppressing others; he had plotted
the ruin of a city of which he should have been the pastor; he now
received the wages of his iniquity. Near the bed where this prelate
lay languishing stood his coadjutor, who had hastened from Geneva to
Pignerol. With eyes fixed upon the dying man, Pierre sought to buoy him
up with false hopes; but John was not to be deceived. Soon the dreaded
moment approached; an historian, whom Romish writers quote habitually
with favour,[303] describes all that was horrible in the end of this
great sinner. Hirelings surrounded the dying bishop, and turned their
eyes from time to time on him and on the objects they might be able to
carry off as soon as he was insensible. Pierre de la Baume contemplated
the progress of the disease with ill-dissembled satisfaction, eagerly
anticipating the moment when, relieved from his hypocritical cares,
he would enter into possession of all that he had coveted for so many
years. Jean Portier, the dying man’s secretary, the confidant of his
successor, watched that criminal impatience, that sordid cupidity,
and that perverse meanness, which he already hoped to turn to his
advantage. The shadows of the victims of the expiring man were traced
on the walls of the room by an avenging hand, and when at last the
priests desired to administer extreme unction, he imagined they were
covering him with blood. They presented him the crucifix; he seemed to
recognise the features of Berthelier, and asked with a wild look: ‘Who
has done that?’ Far from embracing with respect and submission this
emblem of eternal salvation, he rejected it with horror, heaping foul
abuses on it. Blasphemy and insult mingled with the foam that whitened
his trembling lips. Thus wrote an author less Romanist, we perceive,
than is imagined.[304] Repentance succeeded despair in the guilty soul
of the prelate before his death. Turning a last look on his adopted
son, he said to him: ‘I wished to give the principality of Geneva to
Savoy ... and to attain my object, I have put many innocent persons to
death.’ The blood that he had shed cried in his ears: Navis, Blanchet,
and Berthelier rose up before him. Pursued by remorse, weighed down
by the fear of a Judge, he would have desired to save La Baume from
the faults he had committed himself. ‘If you obtain this bishopric,’
continued he, ‘I entreat you not to tread in my footsteps. On the
contrary, defend the franchises of the city.... In the sufferings I
endure, I recognise the vengeance of the Almighty.... I pray to God
for pardon from the bottom of my heart.... In purgatory ... God will
pardon me!’[305] It is gratifying to hear this cry of an awakening
conscience at the termination of a criminal life. Unfortunately Pierre
de la Baume did not profit by this solemn advice. The bastard died
after horrible sufferings, ‘inflicted by the divine judgment,’ says
Bonivard, ‘and he went into the presence of the Sovereign to plead with
those whose blood he had shed.’--‘At the time of his death, he was so
withered,’ adds the prior of St. Victor, ‘that he did not weigh five
and twenty pounds.’ The prophecy of Pécolat was fulfilled: _Non videbit
dies Petri._ Instead of twenty-five years the episcopacy of John of
Savoy had only lasted nine.
Geneva was about to change masters. The struggle which had
characterised the episcopacy of John of Savoy could not fail to be
renewed if, instead of a shepherd, the Genevese received a hireling.
Who would come off victorious in this new combat? Would the old times
be maintained; or, thanks to a prelate who understood the wants of the
age and the nature of the Gospel, should we witness the commencement
of a new era? There was little hope that it would be so. The episcopal
see of Geneva, which gave the rank of temporal prince, was much coveted
by nobles, and even, as we have seen, by members of the sovereign
families. These worldly bishops thought only of getting rich and of
living in pomp and pleasure, careless of the good government of the
Church or of feeding their flock. The thrones of such princes could
not but totter and fall erelong. Pierre de la Baume, certain good
qualities notwithstanding, could not prevent this catastrophe; on the
contrary, he accelerated it. He had wit and imagination; but was weak,
vain, and inclined to the same habits of servility as his predecessor,
‘incapable,’ says an historian, ‘of comprehending any other happiness
than sleeping well, after he had eaten and drunk well.’[306]
The bastard having breathed his last, Pierre, kneeling by the side of
his bed, rose up a bishop. He took immediate steps to secure his new
property from pillage, and on the 7th of February, 1522, wrote a letter
to ‘his dearly beloved and trusty syndics, councillors, citizens, and
community of Geneva,’ which gave no promise that the reign of truth
would be witnessed during his episcopacy. He began with the falsehoods
usual in such cases, and informed the Genevans that his predecessor had
‘made as holy an end as ever prelate did, calling upon his Creator and
the Virgin Mary with his latest breath.’ He reminded them at the same
time ‘of the great love and affection which John had felt while alive
for them and for all his good subjects.’ ... ‘Witness the chestnut-tree
at the bridge of Arve,’ said some.[307]
A year elapsed before the new bishop came to Geneva. Was it from fear;
or did his temporal occupations keep him away? It was probably the
latter motive. He had to come to an understanding with the duke and the
pope touching his episcopacy, and he visited Rome in order to obtain
his briefs. At last, on the 11th of April, 1523, his solemn entry took
place.[308] A great multitude flocked together from all the surrounding
districts. The syndics, the councillors, and the people went as far
as the bridge of Arve to meet the bishop, who, accompanied by his
gentlemen, priests and friends, and having by his side the Countess
of Montrevel his sister-in-law, the Marquis of St. Sorlin his second
brother, and two of his nephews, advanced ‘riding on a mule beautifully
harnessed and gilt, and wearing a green hat, after the fashion of the
bishops of Rome.’ The four syndics carried a handsome canopy over
his head, which a pelting rain rendered very necessary. ‘More than a
hundred horses crept at a snail’s pace before him.’ Four companies
of archers, arquebusiers, bowmen, and spearmen marched by with firm
steps. In every street of the city ‘young men well mounted, equipped,
and accoutred, rode à l’albanaise.’ Dramas, farces, mysteries, games
and pastimes were given in the open air in spite of the rain, and the
Genevans were full of hope. It might have been said that this branch,
so severely shaken and almost separated from the Roman papacy, was
about to be restored. Geneva, by welcoming the bishop so cordially,
seemed to be welcoming the pope who sent him. This was however in the
year 1523. Luther had burnt the bull from Rome; he had said before
the Diet of Worms, _I cannot do otherwise_. The Reformation was
advancing with great strides at Wittemberg, and was spreading over all
Germany. And yet it was just at this time that Geneva received a Roman
bishop almost with enthusiasm; but if the energetic city should be
disappointed in its expectations, we shall see it rise up against all
the framework of Rome and overthrow it without leaving a single piece
in its place.
For the moment men indulged in the most flattering hopes. La Baume bore
a tree (in German _baum_) on his shield; the Genevese presented him a
poem, the first lines of which ran thus:
But for this tree which God has planted,
Geneva would have had no gladness;
No branch and no support had I
To lean upon in time of sadness.
But God be praised for his good work
In planting here this goodly tree,
Beneath whose shade the poor shall dwell
In peace and unity.[309]
These verses are a proof of the pacific intentions which the patriots
then entertained; for they were written by Ami Porral, a most decided
huguenot, who afterwards became one of the first supporters of the
Reformation. The Roman episcopacy did not correspond to their hopes;
Porral and his friends soon discovered that they must plant _another
tree in the orchard_, the tree of the Gospel, in whose branches the
birds of the air might come and lodge. A priest representing St. Peter,
and dressed as a pope, presented to the bishop the golden key of his
cathedral, and the prelate, standing in the church in front of the high
altar, swore to observe the franchises of the city.[310] But he had
scarcely taken this oath before he imprisoned a citizen unlawfully; and
when the syndics humbly reminded him of their liberties, he exclaimed
petulantly: ‘You always smell of the Swiss.’[311] However, he set the
prisoner at large.
Between 1519 and 1525 there were few days of energy and enthusiasm
in Geneva; her liberty was expiring, tyranny hovered over the city,
a funeral pall seemed to hang upon its walls. This was a time of
bitter trial and depression in the city. In the midst of citizens who
slumbered, of some who paid court to an illegitimate power, and of
others who thought of nothing but amusement, there were many who shed
tears over the loss of their glorious hopes. We feel ill at ease in
Geneva now, and still more ill in the midst of merrymakings than in
the midst of trials. Would the duke and the bishop really succeed in
stifling the new life which animated this little state? A great event
will arise to give strength to liberty. She descended to the tomb with
Berthelier, though still young; she will come forth again when, the
gates of Switzerland opening wide, Geneva shall grasp the hand of the
ancient champions of independence, and receive the words of Him who
said: _The truth shall make you free_.