SECOND ATTACK, IN WHICH THE LEADER PERISHES.
(MAY 4, 1533.)
The Reformation of Geneva numbered in its ranks the friends, not only of
evangelical truth, but of political liberty. There was both good and
evil in this. The vigorous hand of the huguenots may possibly have been
necessary to restrain the intrepid mamelukes; but it was to be regretted
that the arms of the flesh shone beside those of the spirit. If
reasoning by syllogism is bad in religious subjects, reasoning by the
pike is worse still. Some partisans of the Reform gave a new version of
the _Compel them to come in_ of the Romish Church, by practising a
little of the _Compel them to go out_. Both of them need a little
indulgence. The human mind having been kept in darkness for ten
centuries, required a lengthened education before it could understand
that it is unholy to employ in religion any other weapons than those of
free conviction.
[Sidenote: WAR OF THE TONGUE.]
There was another kind of hostility, pretty frequent in those times, and
more conformable to the manner of our days than swords and guns—the use
of ridicule. The Genevans of both schools usually began with legitimate
discussions, the catholics alleging the infallibility of the pope, and
the reformed opposing them with that of the Word of God. They debated on
this subject in the streets and in the convents, around the fire and
even in the council. But they often passed from discussion to ridicule.
One day, when the priests were walking in procession and singing aloud
the prayers for the conversion of heretics, some huguenots, standing at
the corner of a street, fancying a resemblance between their harsh
chants and the voice of a certain thick-skinned animal, said laughingly
to one another: 'Give some thistles to those noisy braying donkeys.'
'Alas!' exclaimed the nuns in their cloister, 'they make so many jests
that you could not write them down in a year!' It is Sister Jeanne who
records this fact, but her narrative is so full of fables that we cannot
guarantee its authenticity.[708]
Most of the priests were stronger in arm than in mind, and preferred a
fight with swords to one with words. That devout canon and valiant
knight Messire Pierre Wernli was bursting with rage. He harangued in the
convents, in private houses, and even in the streets; he wished to fight
and prove, halberd in hand, that supreme respect was due to the papacy.
He held frequent conferences with the heads of the party, both lay and
ecclesiastic, at Percival de Pesmes', at M. de Thorens', or at the
vicar-episcopal's. All kept their eyes and ears open, determined to take
advantage of the first opportunity to secure the triumph of their cause.
They thought the time for action had come at last.
It was now the beginning of May, the date of the fair at Lyons, at that
time much frequented by the Genevans. Some of the principal huguenots
hesitated, however, to go there. It seemed difficult for them to leave
Geneva just at that moment, for all the indications of a storm were
visible in the sky. They believed, however, they should have time to
make the little journey before the crisis arrived. Some of the more
daring among them posted up bills with the words: 'Let us go to the fair
before the war and deliverance of Geneva.' They departed, and in certain
secret meetings it was said that the huguenots who remained behind ought
to be killed, and the gates shut against those who were away: thus the
religion of Geneva would be saved. But in the opinion of others, it was
proper that the pomps of religious worship should form a prelude to
these combats of the faith.
[Sidenote: HIGH MASS.]
Sunday, the 4th of May, was the feast of the Holy Windingsheet. The
linen cloth, in which the body of Jesus Christ was buried, and on which
(it was said) the print of his face had remained, was exhibited that day
in Geneva, and on other days in ten or twelve different cities which all
pretended to possess it. At the moment when the Reform was endeavouring
to restore Christ's true image to the Church, such as it is found in
Holy Scripture, the most ardent partisans of catholicism were found
exhibiting on a sheet the features, which sixteen centuries, as they
alleged, had not been able to efface. To give more importance to the
feast, the vicar-general entrusted the service to Pierre Wernli, who was
looked upon as one of the most important of the canons, and was at the
head of the most bellicose. The congregation was large. Great fervour,
internal emotion, and ardent prayers rendered the service that day more
than usually solemn. Wernli, who had put on his finest sacerdotal robes,
presided over the ceremony with religious enthusiasm and swelling pride.
He was fanatical but sincere. His motto was: 'Everything for the honour
of God and holy Church.' Convinced of the efficacy of the sacrifice of
the mass, he repeated the _introit_, chanted the offertory, consecrated
the host, and went through the elevation. The sympathetic accents that
rose from his heart resounded through the arches of the cathedral. 'What
a fine voice!' said some; 'what a fine man! There is not such another
officiater in the world, and we have not seen so fine a service in
Geneva for these ten years!'[709] After the mass of the Holy
Windingsheet, the catholics could not doubt of the approaching triumph
of the Church.
A new contest was about to begin. We do not forget the small extent of
the field of battle. We are not describing the destinies of the empire
of the Persians or the Romans, of the Russians or the Germans; but those
of a little city, surrounded by a narrow territory. Here, everything is
on a small scale; yet the combat of which we are about to speak led to
the return of the prince-bishop; and if the plans formed between that
ecclesiastical prince, the duke of Savoy, and the emperor himself had
been carried into execution at that moment, as everything seemed to
forebode, liberty and the Reformation would have perished in Geneva.
Would that loss have produced no effect? Are we mistaken in thinking
that the great battle which was to last during all the 16th century—a
battle which the Gospel and liberty fought against Rome, Jesuitism, and
the Inquisition, and which is undoubtedly the most important of modern
times—might not have had the same issue, if this little city, so full of
living faith and heroic courage, had not fought in the ranks, and
imparted to protestantism the vigour necessary to conquer formidable
enemies? When they hear of these petty struggles, many of the friends of
liberty and the Gospel perhaps may say: 'Let us not despise such little
things. It is we whom the narrative concerns. These people were the
first to fight for the precious gifts which we now enjoy in peace.'
Wernli did not intend to remain satisfied with a mass: he believed a
fight was necessary. He had hardly laid aside his robes, his cross, and
stole, when he thought of donning his armour: this was part of his
piety. He had no trouble in persuading his brethren, for the priests
were more zealous than the laymen in these disturbances.[710] The first
battle having proved a failure, they prepared for a second. In the
Reformation of Geneva facts play as important a part as ideas. The great
questions of rights, liberty, and truth were not elaborated simply in
the studies of a few lawyers or divines, but were discussed around the
hearths of burghers, at the meetings of evangelicals, and in the general
council of the citizens, and were decided in the streets in the midst of
formidable struggles. Ideas became acts; doctrines gave birth to events;
theories set men's hearts beating, armed their hands, and produced great
deliverances. There may have been some evil in this mighty activity, but
it was an unavoidable evil.
On the afternoon of the festival, Wernli and a great number of other
ecclesiastics met in council at the vicar-episcopal's. They bitterly
regretted that the good-nature of the Friburgers and the weakness of the
syndics had caused the failure of their plot. They had lost the game,
and must begin again. A project adjourned needs not on that account be
given up. The catholics should take advantage of the time when the
absence of the principal huguenots would make the victory easy.
[Sidenote: A HOLIDAY EVENING.]
During this discussion a few citizens of both parties were promenading
near the Rhone, apparently thinking only of taking a little recreation.
It was the evening of a holiday, and the setting sun poured its rays in
floods of flame upon the lake. The west was on fire, the water reflected
the image of the sky, and flashed with bright and flickering colours.
But the citizens thought little at this moment of the beauties of
nature. However great the apparent calm without, their souls were
agitated by fierce passions. By degrees they entered into conversation;
they spoke of religion, as was their custom; they debated with warmth,
then they began to dispute and to abuse each other, and finally hands
were raised and blows were struck.
The sun set; the brightness died away, all grew pale round the city, and
daylight was fading into darkness. The hour, so favourable for walking,
had attracted many abroad; the noise drew still more. Huguenots and
mamelukes, catholics and reformed, hurried to the Molard. 'What is the
matter?' they asked. The parties were already forming into two distinct
groups. Every one as he arrived joined his friends; they arranged
themselves in order, they soon counted their numbers, and two bands drew
up face to face. Some of the more impetuous went in front and excited
the crowd. The gaoler of the episcopal prisons and his brother, both
great brawlers, who handled the dagger cleverly, 'very riotous men'
(says a manuscript) thorough bravoes of the 16th century, were among the
most violent. Monks and priests of the lower rank mingled with the
people in the square, while their superiors were in consultation at the
vicar-episcopal's. They excited the crowd, and complained loudly that
the Friburgers had hindered them on the 28th March from destroying the
heretics, which, they held, would have been a necessary severity.
Meanwhile the two parties, though already face to face, apparently did
not think of coming to blows. One Pinet, sent by the clergy 'to apply
the match, began to work upon the people.' He glided from group to
group, and strove to inflame the minds of the catholics. 'Who will fight
along with me on behalf of his religion?' he said. Then turning towards
the huguenots, he challenged them, shouting out, with an oath: 'Your
creed is a rascally one, you Lutherans! If there is a man among you
willing to maintain the contrary, let him come here and fight.'[711]
This challenge was repeated several times, but the reformed feared a
disturbance. 'Peace has been made,' said they, 'do not break it.' Some
of them added: 'Be on your guard, Pinet is a sad scamp.' Nobody would
'take the bait.' One huguenot, however, the impatient Ami Perrin, could
not contain himself; provoked by the priests' agent, he rushed upon him
and nearly killed him. Both huguenots and catholics ran between them to
separate them. Peace was restored or at least seemed to be; but a spark
had been struck out, and the fire was about to be kindled.[712]
[Sidenote: MARIN DE VERSONAY.]
A young Catholic, Marin de Versonay, agitated by the scene which he had
just witnessed, left the square and hurried up the Rue du Perron.
Versonay was a man of narrow mind but ardent imagination, and
fanatically attached to the Romish Church, which he looked upon as the
sole and exclusive source of holiness and everlasting happiness.
Moreover he had an unbounded affection for his cousin Percival de
Pesmes, and the profoundest respect for the sovereignty of the bishop.
His ancestors had conferred great services upon Geneva. In 1476 his
grandfather Aymon, councillor to the bishop John Louis of Savoy, had
lent his plate to the city to quiet the Swiss, who threatened it with
pillage. The young nobleman wished to do for Geneva more than his
grandfather had done—he wished to destroy heresy. His wife, with whom
the priests were great friends, urged him on night and day.[713]
The members of the episcopal council, the canons and principal priests,
were all armed and waiting at Messire de Bonmont's house the issue of
this skirmish. At every noise they pricked up their ears, fancying they
heard the footsteps of a messenger; but none appeared, and everything
seemed to betoken that peace would not be disturbed. Pinet had withdrawn
in confusion, and Perrin, notwithstanding his natural impetuosity, knew
very well that the reformed did not wish to take the initiative and
break the public peace. Tranquillity was restored. A few citizens of
both parties still remained in the Molard, but many of the catholics and
huguenots had left, and to seal their concord had gone to drink
together, saying that they intended to remain friends. The match had
gone out.[714]
Young de Versonay and the impetuous canon were going to rekindle it. The
former, whose imagination had been excited, directed his steps to De
Bonmont's house. He knocked violently at the gate and shouted aloud:
'Help! help! they are killing all good christians!' At the sound of
these imprudent words the canons and priests caught fire; some remained
doubtful and motionless, but Pierre Wernli, 'that good knight,'
immediately sprang to his feet. The service he had celebrated in the
cathedral was hardly over, when he had thought of another, and said to
himself that this very day the Reformation must be buried in a
winding-sheet from which it should never rise again. Accordingly, after
taking off his sacerdotal robes, he had put on his breastplate and
cuishes, belted his sword to his side, seized his heavy halberd, and
thus armed,[715] had gone to the vicar-episcopal's. Immediately Wernli
heard Versonay's voice, he thought the hour was come. Standing in the
midst of the priests, and grasping his weapon, he invited his colleagues
by a glance to follow him. Many hesitated, and then, 'burning with love
of God,' says one of his greatest admirers, 'this good champion of the
faith, seeing that nobody got ready for the fight, lost patience, would
not wait for the other churchmen, and went out first with fiery
courage.'[716] The die was cast; the battle was about to begin, for no
one was able to stop the impetuous canon.
[Sidenote: THE TOCSIN SOUNDS.]
However, three other priests, less notable but quite as violent—Bertholet,
Manillier, and Servant—ran to St. Pierre's and ordered the ringers to
sound the tocsin loudly and hurriedly. These men, themselves alarmed at
what was told them about the riot, rang immediately, 'to the great
terror of Christians,' says sister Jeanne. Over all the city swelled the
majestic voice of _Clemence_, an ancient bell, well known at Geneva,
which bears this inscription on the rim:
EGO VOCOR CLEMENTIA.
AVE MARIA, GRATIA PLENA.
PLEBEM VOCO, CONVOCO CLERUM,
VOX MEA CUNCTORUM
FIT TERROR DEMONIORUM.
In truth Clemence at this moment 'was calling the people and
convoking the clergy,' and as for the 'demons, whom her voice was to
affright,' ... they were the reformed—at least in the eyes of the
priests. The huguenots who remained in the Molard, thought that the
papists meditated returning to the attack and killing them in their
houses. The darkness increased the agitation caused by the dismal sounds
from the belfry. 'What is the matter?' said the citizens. 'The heretics
are assembling in the principal square to plunder the churches,'
answered some of the catholics. 'Let us rally on the other side, in
front of the stalls,' was the reply. Some said truly that it was a false
alarm; that the huguenots had gone to the river bank simply for a walk,
as is everywhere customary on a Sunday evening, and that they were
already returning home; but the more violent would listen to nothing;
they hurried from all quarters, summoned by the tocsin, and displayed
their banners. On the side of the stalls they shouted with all their
might: 'Rally here, all Christians, and be of good heart in defence of
holy faith.' And great was the tumult among them. It was quite pitiful
to hear their cries in the streets.[717] The other churchmen, who at the
first moment had hesitated to follow the canon, took courage, and
leaving the vicar's house, descended to the Molard.
In the priests' eyes it was a decisive moment. A great number of them,
no doubt, thought only of their personal interests, but many believed
that the issue of the struggle was a question of life or death for
catholicism in Geneva. They shuddered when they saw those whom they
termed unnatural children, turning away from the bosom of their mother's
breast—the papacy. 'These curious and rebellious minds,' they said,
'imagine that they will overthrow the Church ... but the gates of hell
shall not prevail against it.... O bride of Christ! thou who procurest
for us the chaste and everlasting embraces (_castos æternosque
amplexus_) of the divine Spouse, we are thine for ever!'
[Sidenote: WERNLI'S APPEAL.]
Wernli had made up his mind to give his life, if necessary, for the
cause of Rome. This was not with him the hasty resolution of a moment.
Seeing the progress of the Reformation, he had vowed to sacrifice
everything for its destruction, and it was with this intention he now
descended from the neighbourhood of St. Pierre's to the Molard. It was
necessary to accomplish on the 4th May what the 28th March had been
unable to do. 'Wernli desired to be the first,' says Froment, 'to
support as a man of war the holy mother Church.' He was both the hero
and the victim of this important day. Vainly did the people shout to him
on every side that 'Peace was made;' ... he would hear nothing. 'He was
the most obstinate and the maddest of the priests.'[718] Full of venom
and devotion for the cause of popery, he exclaimed: 'Ho! all good
christians to my aid.' Many laymen and clerks joined him, and they
proceeded hurriedly towards the square. 'The canons and other churchmen
were the first under the flag,' says Sister Jeanne. In a short time
fifteen hundred men, 'many of them priests,' were assembled.[719]
During this time, other ecclesiastics were gathering in arms in the
court of St. Pierre, so as to stop the huguenots who might desire to go
to the scene of the tumult. Three reformers, coming from the Bourg du
Four, soon arrived with hasty steps in front of the cathedral. The
sacerdotal corps immediately barred the way, and the priests began to
attack them. One of them was 'unfortunate enough to receive
_twenty-eight_ wounds at their hands, and fell to the ground.' As for
the other two, 'the dogs took flight,' says the bulletin of St.
Claire.[720]
[Sidenote: WERNLI HEADS THE FIGHT.]
At this moment Wernli and his followers reached the Molard. The night
was dark, the stars above gave a faint light; men appeared like shadows,
and it was hard to distinguish friends from foes. Obscure and confused
noises, inarticulate sounds, marks of approbation or of anger, issued
from the darkness. It was like the hoarse roaring of the sea before the
storm bursts forth. For a few seconds there was a dead silence, then on
a sudden loud shouting. When the canon arrived, armed from head to foot,
he heard the cries of the reformers, and, stirred with anger, he
flourished his halberd, and pointing it in their direction, shouted out
in his Friburg patois: 'Dear God! where are these Lutherans who speak
ill of our law?... God's blood! where are they?'[721] With a coarse
oath, he turned round to his followers, and said, 'Courage, good
christians! do not spare those rascals.' One might fancy him the giant
Goliath, who, with a helmet of brass upon his head, and armed with a
coat of mail, came forth, spear in hand, to defy the army of
Israel.[722]
The warlike canon had hardly given the signal when the combat began. It
was a fine spring night, everything was pale and grey; it was, as we
have said, easy to make mistakes; the silence and obscurity imparted a
certain solemnity to the struggle. The shadows moving about the Molard
became agitated; they rushed upon each other, and dealt frequent blows
in the darkness. One shadow ran after another, but on both sides they
fought desperately and at close quarters. From time to time there was a
brief gleam; sword met sword, and flashed fire. The violent Perrin and
the zealous Claude Bernard were at the head of the huguenots, and struck
stoutly. Among the catholics, John Rosetti and Canon Viole were those
who rushed with greatest fury upon their adversaries. All four fell
wounded on the spot. Others besides them were hit, and their blood
flowed; but they were not noticed, and the combatants trampled the
wounded under foot, until their friends, recognising them, carried them
to some neighbouring house. A blow more famous than all was about to be
struck; a victim more notable was about to bite the dust.
Wernli, who had remained at the top of the square, unable to see his
enemies, was challenging them with all the strength of his lungs. 'Where
are they?' he kept on shouting and swearing; 'Where are these Lutherans
who speak ill of our law?' Some huguenots who were not in the square,
but in the Rue de la Croix d'Or (all the adjoining streets were full of
catholics and reformers), answered him, 'They are here.' The canon, who
could not see, but who could hear, rushed halberd in hand in the
direction whence the reply came. He reached his enemies, striking them
with the head and the butt of his weapon, which he handled as easily as
his breviary. By killing Lutherans he hoped to kill Lutheranism itself.
The huguenots whom he had attacked did not remain idle, but parried the
priest's blows with their naked swords. At last one of them, whom the
long and pointed blade provoked, sprang forward, caught hold of the
halberd, broke it in two and flung the pieces away. The hero of the
clergy, finding himself deprived of his favourite weapon, lost not a
moment; he drew his two-handed sword and rushed upon his adversaries,
cutting and thrusting like a Switzer of Grandson. The huguenots, finding
themselves so vigorously attacked, no longer stood upon the defensive;
they fell upon the champion of the papacy. 'They charged him,' says
Sister Jeanne, who adds, 'but he defended himself valiantly.' His
breastplate protected his body from the neck to the waist, so that all
the blows aimed at him glanced off, 'so completely and cunningly was he
armed.'[723] At last a man named Pierre l'Hoste, as is believed, a poor
carman, impatient at the long struggle, looking upon Wernli as a soldier
and not a priest, approached him, and, moving round him in search of the
weak point in his armour, plunged his sword into his body. The canon
staggered and fell. 'Thus was the blasphemer killed, and he lay in the
square without moving hand or foot.'[724] The struggle occurred in front
of the house of Councillor Chautemps, one of the most zealous of the
evangelicals. Wernli fell on the steps. _They that take the sword shall
perish with the sword._[725] Some priests who were near, seeing their
captain fall, fled each to his convent or to the cloister of St.
Pierre.[726]
[Sidenote: DEATH OF THE CANON.]
The death of the general did not, however, put an end to the fight.
Priests with their partisans, and huguenots, were still exchanging blows
when the syndic of the guard, the head of the military department,
arrived. He raised his official bâton and ordered the citizens to return
to their houses. De Chapeaurouge, commander of the cavalry, zealously
assisted him. 'Stop!' they both exclaimed. All their calling was
useless, so great was the popular emotion, and so inflamed was their
courage, says the chronicle. The syndic, advancing into the midst of the
combatants, conjured them to separate; but he received a blow on the
head from the hands of a priest.[727] What the canon's death had not
been able to do, the magistrate's wound accomplished. This incident put
an end to the contest. The reformed, full of respect for the syndic,
sheathed their swords and withdrew to their homes.
Some priests, however, with a few of their partisans, refused to obey.
They were unwilling to fail this time, and did not intend that their
project should come to nothing. They were determined to bury the Reform.
Exasperated bands paraded the streets, challenging and insulting the
huguenots, who refused to chastise the braggart priests. Even this
forbearance did not appease the fanatics; they continued their
provocations until daybreak. 'All night the christians were under arms,'
says Sister Jeanne, 'seeking those wicked dogs; but it was of no good,
for they were all hidden!'[728] When daylight began to appear, the
clergy and their allies, fatigued with the tumultuous night, went off to
bed, and thus ended their second attack. Now they will try to obtain by
intrigue and terror, what arms have failed to procure them.
[708] La Sœur J. de Jussie, _Le Levain du Calvinisme_, p. 62.
[709] La Sœur J. de Jussie, _Le Levain_, p. 63.
[710] Froment, _Gestes de Genève_, p. 55.—Gautier MS.
[711] Froment, _Gestes_, p. 57.
[712] Froment, _Gestes de Genève_, p. 57.—La Sœur J. de Jussie,
_Le Levain du Calvinisme_, p. 61.
[713] Contemporary MS.—Froment, _Gestes de Genève_, p. 58.
[714] Froment, _Gestes de Genève_, p. 57.—La Sœur J. de Jussie, _Le
Levain du Calvinisme_, p. 61.—Galiffe, _Notices généalogiques_, I. p. 48.
[715] La Sœur J. de Jussie, _Le Levain_, &c. p. 62.
[716] La Sœur J. de Jussie, _Le Levain_, pp. 61-62.
[717] La Sœur J. de Jussie, _Le Levain_, pp. 67-68.
[718] Froment, _Gestes de Genève_, p. 58.
[719] La Sœur J. de Jussie, _Le Levain du Calvinisme_, p.
61.—Froment, _Gestes de Genève_, pp. 57-58.
[720] 'Ces chiens prirent la fuite.'—_Le Levain du Calvinisme_,
p. 63. Gautier MS. Council Registers of May 11.
[721] 'Char Dey, o sont tey ces toux Luthérians..... Sang Dey, o son
tey?'—Choupard MS. Froment, _Gestes de Genève_, p. 58.
[722] 1 Samuel xvii.
[723] La Sœur J. de Jussie, p. 63.
[724] Froment, _Gestes de Genève_, p. 59.
[725] St. Matthew xxvi. 52.
[726] Choupard MS.—Roset MS. _Chron._ liv. ii. ch. xvi.
[727] Choupard MS.—Roset MS.—_Chron._ liv. ii. ch. xvi.
[728] La Sœur J. de Jussie, _Le Levain du Calvinisme_, p.
63.—Council Registers of the 4th and 23rd May.